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The last time Boosfer had seen his brother was about a month ago now. Back when that other invis guy with the exact same trims as Wemmbu came by, trying to figure out his identity. The last time he'd actually seen him with his own two eyes was even longer. Invis potions and voice modifier obscuring anything and everything that would have physically labelled him as his brother, as “Wemmbu.”
Now, Boosfer wasn't the type to worry, especially not for someone such as Wemmbu. First of all, it went entirely against this carefully crafted personality that he had built around himself. Practically no-one even knew he and the other voidling had any sort of relation. Boosfer’s pretty sure everyone just assumes he’s a dragonfly hybrid of some kind and that Wemmbu is a dragon hybrid. Secondly, Wemmbu can handle himself. The other voidling was literally one of the most powerful players on the server. Thirdly, everyone on the server still thinks that he's dead (barring Flame and maybe Parrot) and there’s no way Wemmbu’s paranoid ass would give up that lie without being forced to. So really, what reason was there to worry?
He shoves the image of Wemmbu’s paling hair and discoloured fingertips from his mind.
Taking a step outside of his (stolen) base, he looks around. Carnage from one of Wemmbu’s previous “visits” still litters the ground. Massive craters dent the mushroom covered land. Honestly, sometimes Boosfer can't tell if his brother even cares whether he lives or dies. They've grown up together, they've laughed together, they've whispered secrets together, and yet… All it seems they've been doing as of late is try to kill one another. A simple talk seems almost impossible with Wemmbu’s violent temper and Boosfer’s tendency to do nothing but ragebait.
That was until they were so tragically trapped together below the nether.
“Wemmbu?”
“Hm?”
“Can I have one of your orbitals?”
“..No.”
A thud sounded as Boosfer flopped onto his back. The ghast under them let out a quiet murmur.
“Wemmbu?”
“...”
“Where did you get your orbitals?”
Taking a glance at the other voidling, he sat silent and stoic. Wemmbu’s expression shifted to something akin to annoyance. To anyone other than Boosfer and maybe Egg, that’s likely all that you’d be able to make out in his face. Though, if you knew what you were looking for, the way his tail swayed leisurely behind instead of jagged whipping betrayed him.
Boosfer grinned to himself. Looks like he hadn’t forgotten how to read the other entirely despite the distance and earlier disagreements.
“Bu?”
“...”
“Buuuuuuuuuu?”
“What?” The fake aggression in his voice was obvious.
“Can I have my mace back?”
“...I’m banning you once we’re out of here?”
In that weird void dimension that lay within the void of the Nether, they had managed to not kill each other. Stuck on a happy ghast and floating around aimlessly, looking for any kind of escape. Every new discovery had only led to more questions and even less answers. He decided to leave all the big thinking for someone else, someone like Parrot. He was more focused on the person that he had been stuck with down there. Down there, away from prying eyes, hiding ears, and practically nowhere for either of them to run away from a real talk. Or some semblance of one at the very least.
“I thought you were actually dead by the way.” Both of them sat on the front of the happy ghast, Wemmbu in the middle, holding the reins of the stolen creature, and Boosfer on his left. Wemmbu tilted his head towards him, acknowledging but not verbally responding.
“I actually grieved, you know. The version of the story that I had heard was that Capital City’s guards had somehow managed to finally kill you. Unbelievable, I know. But I had no way of disproving it. There was no sign of you and I don’t know where the hell Egg went.” Boosfer paused. Feigning indifference, he picks at non-existent grit from under his claws.
“Is that why you started attacking Capital City, perchance?” Wemmbu glances at the other.
It was. Does Wemmbu need to know that? Nah. He can probably read Boosfer well enough to figure it out himself anyway.
“You can’t just say perchance.” He drapes himself over Wemmbu, his head resting on his shoulder.
“Shut the fuck up bro.” The other tenses at being touched, muscles tight. Boosfer was about to pull away, worried that he’d crossed a border that may end with him getting a black eye. Before he could the other relaxes, leaning almost imperceptibly closer.
And, for the first time in a while, Boosfer allows himself to genuinely smile.
…
It was there that one of his underlings found him. Melancholy demeanour gone like puddles of water under the sun. The signature smile plastered right back where it belongs. Living on this server for all this time has taught him that genuine emotion is a one way ticket into servitude. That’s exactly how he’ll end up being exploited, that’s how everyone on this damn server ends up being exploited. A weakness is found and that weakness is used to the advantage of someone else. The slightest bit of sincerity is taken and returned with a knife to your throat.
“Boosfer!”
“Yes, my little goony woony? What brings you here to disturb my lovely peace and quiet?” His voice carries a light tone but a sliver of passive aggression still slips its way in. Boosfer remains smiling, however his lips peel back to reveal pointed canines.
They freeze in a moment of hesitation. Boofer’s known to be unpredictable. He’s known to make rash, idiotic moves at a moment's notice. It would be no surprise if he just decides to up and lob their head off. He had been having a moment before they so rudely interrupted. Violence is the only language that the people on this server seem to understand anyway.
“Oh- so um, I was passing through Capital City earlier today. Just like on the outskirts, there were a bunch of people talking about something. So I wandered over and listened in a bit, just like eavesdropped a little because I got curious and- ”
Boosfer’s attempt at a civil attitude drops entirely. He’s already been having a bad day and this was just pissing him off further.
“Spit it out.” He mentally slaps himself for that one. Too much. Too uncharacteristic. Too genuine. Oh well. He just may end up killing this kid anyway with the way they just go on and on.
“Right! Sorry! So, um, I heard there was gonna be like this big gathering in the Law’s northern council and they want everyone who can to attend. Something about the future of the server or something like that…”
Wordlessly, he waves the guy off. Not bothering to watch how they sprint away from him. The Law… That was the group that Flame kept complaining about back during Wemmbu’s death. Right! It’s that one group that was led by that one fluffy cat guy. What was his name again? SpinachP? No… CabbageJ? Eh, close enough. He’s also heard rumours of a massive fight occurring that had something to do with The Law, Flame, and Wemmbu.
Again his thoughts slip back to his brother.
“Hm… I guess it couldn’t hurt to see what’s going on.”
With that, he pulls out his own trident and begins to make his way back over to the main server.
…
Okay, this was a mistake. Boosfer has been standing in the same spot for the past hour or so with his neck craned towards the massive stage ahead. It had been long enough that a deep seated ache made its presence known in his neck, legs, and back. He’s not getting old is he? Surely not. The caracal hybrid, that must be… KaleF? He had been yammering about achieving serverwide peace and something else that Boosfer didn’t care about.
Absolutely nothing had been said about Wemmbu at this point. Honestly, Boosfer was contemplating bombing the crowd or maybe trying to shoot the cat hybrid just to shake things up a bit. He was so goddamn bored.
“I believe Unstable should have a king.” Oh? That was something a little more interesting.
A king on the server meant power. Power in the hands of a singular person over the thousands of people that played on the server.
“I’m suggesting an election. Anyone and everyone is welcome to participate! Anyone with 100 votes will immediately be entered into the runnings.”
Boosfer hums to himself. The rest of the caracle's words flew in one ear and out the other. Lettuce! LettuceK, that’s what his name was. Sounds doable, however it also sounds like a hassle and a half. Where’s the fun in ruling anyway? If the idiots on this server can’t take care of themselves then that’s to the fault of their own. Anyway, running in an election probably means public speaking… The voidling shudders at the thought. Who’d willingly subject themselves to such torture?
“...and to convince you to vote for me,” Lettuce’s amplified voice returns his attention to the speaker.
Sighing, he looks back up to the stage.
He pauses.
What?
He blinks, rubs his eyes, pinches himself but nothing changes. The figure still stands there. A figure that looks eerily similar to his own. Bruises and cuts litter their skin. Their face appear gaunt and pale.
Words fell on his ears, yet it all seemed like loud buzzing. Few bits of information were truly distinguishable within the hum of white noise.
“...I become king… Swiftly execute…”
Green eyes lock onto purple ones. The gaze is held for a few moments before the other is dragged away yet again.
Boosfer laughs, quiet and humourless. Plans were already swirling though his head. There were some favours he could call in here and there. Blackmail isn’t entirely off the table either. His feet move on their own. Looks like he’s getting over his fear of public speaking sooner than he ever thought.