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grian and mumbo sit silently in front of grumbot, both staring off into anywhere but each other’s eyes. the election days are upon them, and there is no way they’re winning this race.
“there’s no way we’re winning,” mumbo narrates both of their thoughts again, shaking his head. “i– there’s just no way! i don’t even know what i’m doing!” he finally turns to face grian, mustache. “do you?”
“uh-huh, yeah,” grian says halfheartedly, continuing to stare off into the distance, eyes blurry and unfocused. “trust me; i’m thinking of… something.”
they sit in silence for another minute or so before grian slams his fist into the ground and shouts in frustration.
“darn it!” he huffs as his wings flap around aimlessly. some of the air hits mumbo’s face, causing his mustache to sweep into his eyes. “everyone has a better campaign than us! i just— i thought it would be funny to register for you as a joke, but now this is really getting to me too! i’m too competitive to just let this slide!”
mumbo buries his face into his metallic hands. “oh dear. oh lord. should we just pull out of the race? i don't even know anymore— why did i think i was fit for the mayor? what am i even going to do?”
“gosh,” grian says. “okay, okay. uh.” hopping up from his spot, grian paces around with arms folded behind his back, occasionally scratching the ground contemplatively with his talons. “well, uh… we still have grumbot! right? he can help?”
“i don’t really like how you said that like a question,” mumbo says. grian can feel him overheating like a laggy windows computer from several feet away “but you’re right… we did build him for this purpose.”
“if this doesn’t work, the next best idea i have is to cry,” grian announces, mostly jokingly. mostly.
grian pulls out a piece of paper and bounds towards grumbot, scribbling his question on the way. grumbot, how can we win? he then inserts the slip of paper into grumbot’s reader and stands back to watch the lights flicker to life. grumbot sings his little jingle before printing out a sheet of paper, which grian rushes over to collect.
“host the campaign on twitter,” grian recites. he reads the paper again. and again. “huh. um. okay?”
grumbot lets out a few beeps again and spits out another piece of paper. grian picks this one up as well. “have the viewers vote, and your chances will rise. i don’t know how to feel about this…”
“you know, i can see this working,” mumbo says slowly. “technically, they didn’t specify who can’t vote in the elections so… if we just get a little input from the audience, then…”
grian spends a few more seconds staring at the papers before shoving them into his pocket. “well! it’s not like we have any better ideas, right? plus, even if we get accused of voter fraud, punishments on hermitcraft are usually just grindy tasks or whatever. we can take that.”
“you can take it. i am going to flood my central heating system with tears.”
“mumbo, aren’t you literally a robot? how do you even cry?”
“it’s coolant.”
“that— explains a lot, actually.”
realistically, it’s not a horrible idea. it’s just never been done before, which arguably makes it more terrifying. but for all that they know, some other server might just follow in their tracks with a twitter election somewhere in the future, so maybe it’s a good idea to be a trendsetter. admittedly, it would be pretty crazy if this method actually succeeds, and there probably won’t be any big consequences if it fails regardless.
“if all goes well, maybe i’ll make grumbot a twitter account as a reward for the idea,” grian says, mostly jokingly, again. mostly.
grian pulls out his phone and opens the bird app. this is fine. they’re going to be fine. all it takes is a bit of strategy.
besides, what could possibly happen, anyway?