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there is a moment, just after death, where it feels like nothing is real.
branzy stares at his hands, at the blood on them, and it's in the ridges of his fingers and it smells like copper and it's all over his freshly washed shirt.
he thinks, well, maybe it's not just your own death that turns the world fuzzy with unreality.
spepticle's body hasn't despawned yet.
there's a lot of blood. he beat spepticle to death, after all.
hah. all for ten diamonds and his honour, which at this point probably doesn't really exist anymore? buried right next to his sense of morality and any goodness he might've had.
good riddance, right?
who cares for morality if it's you or them on the chopping board, and it was always branzy at that point, wasn't it? and then it was spepticle, because branzy has some powerful allies, now.
allies or. huh. how would one describe clownpierce?
doesn't matter.
spepticle's dead, vitalasy is well one his way to joining him, and branzy killed one of them so he's basically doomed.
clown didn't force him to drive his fist into spepticle's face until it was unrecognisable.
clown didn't force him to do anything.
and yeah, that's scary!
that's. really goddamn scary.
okay, fuck. clown could come back any minute and branzy doesn't know what he will do if he finds branzy still in the pit, crying his eyes out and being generally pathetic but, well, if he had to guess, it probably won't be pleasant.
look. branzy saw clown behead zam with his scythe in one, clean strike and he saw leo torn to shreds in the pit with enough time to scream.
call him selfish, but he sort of wants to live and not die a brutal death by clown's hands.
for multiple reasons.
one – branzy would rather prefer to keep his head firmly on his shoulders, thanks! a gruesome death? branzy hardly knows her!
oh wow. that wasn't funny. hah. oh no, he's still crying. oh god. just keep going with the list, branzy.
two – ookay. this one's a little personal, but branzy's already crying in the murder pit he just killed his ally in so, whatever. doesn't get much worse than this, does it?
so, privately, in the back of his mind, branzy thinks that if clown were to kill him, take his scythe and put it through his throat, branzy doesn't know if he'll come back. not because it's his last heart or anything! just because. huh. it's hard to describe.
just because branzy doesn't think he'll be able to take it. if clown kills him, he won't want to return.
that's terrifying, isn't it?
as if branzy has never been betrayed before. hell, as if he wasn't the one doing most of the betraying!
but that's the truth! if clown kills branzy, then there's no going back for him; because he can only take so much of it, maybe, silently admiring, thinking that maybe there's a chance, just to–
just to stand in some other pit, and be alone with himself. alone with his desperation.
that's really funny! so funny, in fact, branzy wants to rip his hair out.
spepticle's body is still here.
the blood is starting to stink.
and that's when clown comes back in, and in some way, whenever their eyes meet, branzy is back in his corner, doomed to silence and an adoration larger than himself.
doomed to be swallowed by fear.
clown admires the scene for a bit, branzy thinks, because he paces around the room, taking in the bloodstains on the wall, kicking spepticle's face so he can look at that, too.
he seems impressed.
branzy hates himself for feeling pleased at that.
"branzy! good job." he says, voice content in that way it only gets after a good fight, a good kill. he must be grinning under that mask.
"haha! yeah! awesome job! fantastic! i– uh… couldn't find the way out?" branzy offers, desperate to hide his shaking voice. he doesn't succeed, of course. when does he ever?
clown steps closer and branzy sniffles, trying to wipe the last tears off of his face quickly.
it doesn't really work, and he's really only smearing blood over his face but. who knows. maybe it'll cover the tear tracks. cover weakness in blood, isn't that the thing you're supposed to do here?
clown tilts branzy's head up with the edge of his blade, still sticky with vitalasy's blood.
branzy swallows dryly.
the circus' lights are blinding, even down in the pit, and branzy knows his tear tracks must be visible and he's still covered in blood and. he hates this.
"tell me what's wrong, branzy." clown says softly, so caring that branzy could almost forget the knife at his throat, the fact that any second, he could wake up screaming in his bed with blood of his own on his shirt.
"i killed spepticle."
"and?"
branzy swallows, and there's still blood on his hands and his cheeks feel numb. clown tilts his head expectantly, and branzy thinks that there's no universe where he doesn't answer clown. there's no other possibility.
"you– you don't understand, clown. i liked it. i punched his teeth right out of his mouth and i liked it . i enjoyed it! i–"
clown kneels down, right into the puddle of blood left behind by the body that's finally gone, and he cradles branzy's face in his hands.
branzy, despite himself, leans into the touch.
"oh branzy. that's a good thing," he says, his thumb just hovering over branzy's cheek, "that's a good thing."
right. that's a good thing, isn't it?
if he's a good fighter, if he can kill without remorse then he's an equal to clown, not just some servant slash underling, then maybe–
okay, this whole thing must've been going to his head. branzy, a good fighter?
well, it's hope that springs eternal and all that.
clown leans forward, until his mask is brushing against branzy's mouth and branzy's frozen in place, back in his corner, back to that old confusion and he's–
fuck, branzy's scared.
he's still scared, in a moment that's almost all he ever dreamt of, still covered in the blood of a boy he should've never killed.
he feels, just for a second, the same euphoria that had filled him when his fist first connected with spepticle's face and then it's gone, and he's cold again.
clown doesn't give him quite what he wants, either.
carrot and the stick, right? a strategy as old as time.
"you look good like this." clown mutters, and the illusion of his breath still makes branzy shiver.
and then, in a flash of purple he's gone and branzy's alone in the pit, with his blood and self doubt and freshly gained heart.
he's never been more confused.