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"It's really not that big of a deal-"
Bdubs can't help the scoff that barks from his throat, the sound loud and abrasive bouncing off the walls of Etho's MCC trailer. It's a modest little thing, complete with its own couch for short naps and a vanity table for any makeup necessities. He thinks it would be the perfect get away from the craziness and chaos of MCC if not for just how bland the interior feels.
Seriously, would it have killed Scott to add a splash of color around here? Etho might only use this place for an hour or two but there's no point of having a trailer for makeup when the white walls wash everyone out.
At least, everyone who isn't Bdubs. He's been pointedly ignoring how red his face looks in the reflection of the vanity mirror for ten minutes now, even if that has less to do with the trailer's white walls and more to do with the step stool he has to stand on just to comb through Etho's hair.
And maybe also because he's being forced to listen to Etho's false bravado baloney. It's a 50/50 situation; apparently Etho hadn't felt happy enough rattling the hornet's nest just once.
"Yeah, right. Of course." His comb snags on a tangle of hair and Bdubs tugs it free. "It's just going out in front of thousands of people-"
"Which," Etho interjects, "We do all the time."
Bdubs' smile feels almost mean. "Oh we're far from that, sweetheart. When was the last time the Etho Slab wore a different outfit on camera?"
Never. That's the answer.
Oh, Bdubs can already see the whole fanfare it'll cause. The flashing cameras and shouted questions asking why now and if it had anything to do with Joel's old theme.
If Scott has any good sense he'll keep the press firmly away from the championships this event.
Etho's shoulders lift in a useless shrug. "It's…uh, it's a change for sure."
And he says it just like that. Like his mask is still on and Bdubs can't see how his grin looks painful the way it tightens his face. Like Etho doesn't have an arm slung against the backing of his chair, seemingly relaxed when they both know its a subtle attempt to find comfort in being able to wrench himself free at a moment's notice.
Bdubs sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose between his index and thumb. "Etho-" he steps down from the stool, tossing the comb onto the table. "You don't have to do this. You can- I mean I'll go get Scott and tell him to forget about the whole 'team outfit' thing-"
"Woah, woah," Etho straightens and Bdubs finds Etho's hand suddenly outstretched and contorted in an awkward way, as though he'd gone to grab Bdubs' arm before thinking better of it. "Who said anything about backing out?"
"You didn't have to." Bdubs doesn't move. Won't, until Etho gives the word. "You're practically jumping out of your freaking skin and the first team meeting isn't for another hour."
It's more than a little unnerving. Bdubs has seen Etho in a plethora of stressful competitions and situations, but never once has his composure felt this slippery.
"What, a guy can't have pre-show jitters?" Etho asks. Bdubs has half a mind to call him whiny. "I don't want a repeat of last MCC. It coulda gone..." Mismatched eyes dart sideways as though the word might be scratched onto the wall. "…better."
Bdubs clicks his tongue. Etho can bury his anxiety behind frivolous excuses of "pre-show jitters" all he wants, Bdubs has long picked apart the details that mark Etho a live wire in need of wrangling.
And oh, Bdubs does not mind donning steel-toed boots and a Stetson hat for such a venture. Add a rope into the mix and Etho might just be able to bid his nerves goodbye in under five minutes.
Bdubs starts with the bounce in Etho's right leg, the movement subtle but still enough to tip at the frail makeup chair that would be tall for most but fits Etho's lanky frame almost to a T. It's stupid and Bdubs wants to tell him to go put his mask and flak jacket back on so they can spend the rest of the hour playing cards.
But he doesn't. Not when Etho is this determined to go through with the whole "matching team outfits" thing.
Bdubs can't say he hadn't been excited when Etho first brought the idea up. Bdubs has and always will take any excuse to change up his wardrobe; that's the fun of being famous. He's allowed to have an overstuffed closet.
It's just that Etho is...well, he's Etho. Bdubs has seen the guy go to a funeral dressed in his iconic lycra long sleeve and flak jacket.
Nobody would bat an eye over Etho not matching with the rest of the Pink Parrots and Bdubs almost wants to curse the whole team for their stupidity. Why stress Etho out with a costume change when he's already got a championship to win?
Shaking the thought away, Bdubs presses a hand firmly to Etho's right knee, disguising his grounding touch as a means of balance so he can grab the acrylic case of face paint from the far end of the table.
He makes a point to pull away slowly and satisfaction shines clear as day on his face when Etho's leg does not bounce again. That's one problem solved.
Bdubs gives a small shrug that's far more relaxed than Etho's earlier one. "Eh, it was your second event. This'll be like a do-over, 'third time's the charm' and all that crap."
He swipes a thumb over the blocky lettering on the acrylic case, the one that spells "Classic Colours" with an unnecessary "u" because some people will never understand there's only one right way to spell "color".
In the reflection of the vanity mirror, a suspiciously thoughtful look crosses Etho's face. "I mean, I did get 37th."
Those six, simple words are enough to freeze Bdubs' thoughts in place. To anyone else Etho might sound humble, sat in a chair and confessing to a poor performance that implies he can only improve from there.
But Bdubs knows better. He doesn't need to see the glint in Etho's eyes to know it for the jab that it is, because even though Etho had gotten 37th place on his second MCC event, Bdubs had gotten 40th.
Oh, it's a dirty play. Dirty, but oh so well played.
"And they didn't roll out the red carpets for you?" He tugs at the case's lid. It doesn't budge. "Poor thing."
Bdubs wedges his fingernails between the acrylic, tilting the thing toward him as though getting a better view would make opening it easier. You'd think people would make it a walk in the park to open this stuff—anything to mitigate the possibility of flinging paint everywhere.
And yet here he stands in an increasingly long battle of strength and with a flush on his cheeks the more amused Etho's expression becomes. Goodness sake, he thought the embarrassment would've ended at the step stool.
"It's not funny." Bdubs huffs out and raises the case to his mouth. His teeth have never failed him before. "Here I am, trying to be a big ol' help and all I get is someone judging me."
"I wouldn't say I'm judging..." Much to his dismay, Etho takes the acrylic casing from Bdubs before he can really sink his teeth into it. Jerk.
There's a tick of silence before the case pops open between his hands with a click.
Bdubs' eyes widen. "I loosened that."
"You sure did."
Etho's gaze conveniently isn't on him when Bdubs levels Etho with a venomous glare. That sounded sarcastic, far too sarcastic for someone supposedly still full of "pre-show jitters".
Well, at least Etho isn't in his head anymore.
What's another sacrifice of his pride and dignity for the greater good?
It's what Bdubs repeats to himself as he pinches a triangular sponge between the tips of his fingers and swipes the face paint from Etho's hand. He dabs a bit of the sponge into Etho's old glass of water before pressing it into the color tray. "Close your eyes. And quit smiling, it'll crease the paint!"
To give credit where it's due, Etho's eyes do close. "I thought MCC was all about smiling and having fun."
"You can do that after I'm gone and don't care about you ruinin' it."
Oh, that did not help Etho's smiling problem. Though, it's more of a grinning problem with how smug it looks.
"You're not sticking around?" Etho asks in a knowing tone and Bdubs suddenly feels grateful Etho can't see the redness that darkens his face.
Well, he was gonna stick around, but Bdubs had planned to do it quietly so Etho wouldn't stray from his team between games in search of Bdubs. They'd had that problem the first time Etho played MCC, which had cost Etho's team precious time they could have spent strategizing.
Bdubs still doesn’t feel the slightest bit bad about it. Seeing Etho try to subtly fix his hair and dry the spit from his lips in the occasional camera pan had long become a favorite memory of Bdubs’.
But he had sworn Scott he'd be on his best behavior, and that's a promise Bdubs intends to keep despite the mischief just begging him to cause.
He swipes a bit of paint against Etho's face. The green looks vibrant against his pale skin. "I've got better things to do than watch you on a stupid TV screen. Shops don't restock themselves, y'know."
One of Etho's eyes slip open. "Your shops aren't stocked?"
Right. That damn rocket crossbow Etho kept around for Hermits who didn't stock their shops. While a good motivation to keep the shopping district functioning, Bdubs can't say he'll be singing its praises when that crossbow ends up pointed at him.
Honestly, it's a wonder it hasn't yet. Bdubs has been out of bamboo mosaics for a while now.
Bdubs carefully pokes Etho's eyelid back down. "They will be when you get back. Y'know, would it pain you to stop by my bamboo shop once a month?"
"Hey," Etho protests, "I drop by when I need to."
"Yeah, and what you need to do is start putting bamboo in your builds-"
Etho's face scrunches in distaste and Bdubs scowls.
"What did I say about ruining the paint!"
"You said not to smile, not that I couldn't express myself-!"