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Clown knew that his outfit used to be multicolored.
It had been the black and rose of playing cards, the colors of his casino. Black as the night that hid his lust and red as unrestrained love. It was neat, elegant, chillingly clean-cut.
The black was gone now. Instead, all Clown saw was red; the scarlet red of blood, the blood of the countless players he’d torn apart for daring to wrong him. Anyone who’d crossed him was a target. He wasn’t picky.
His composed, well-kept costume was ripped, torn, and bloodied from countless fights, but finally, finally, he had everything he needed. Eight hearts won in combat (the players he’d taken them from had never had a chance) and an elytra ripped mercilessly from the back of its previous owner.
The beacon (a beacon of life- a fitting name for the purpose the item served) in his hands shone bright white and blue; the white of Branzy’s shirt buttons, styled into tiny clubs (the symbol of reckless youth, like their wild love and the passion that came with it) and the blue of Clown’s tears.
He blinked and let it vanish from his hands, hardly needing to tell it who to revive. Just like that, Branzy, his Branzy, was standing in front of him, and he was beautiful.
Branzy’s silver hair, the color of the ashes Clown knew so well now, was peppered with the blackness of the Void he’d dragged his enemies into. His eyes, the gorgeous violet of sunsets, were alive in a way Clown had missed dearly. Despite the obvious scar running across his neck, red was thankfully gone from his look. Never again would Clown let Branzy steal his colors.
“Oh, Branzy,” Clown greeted longingly. After so long, so much violence, finally his peace had returned.
“Clown?” Branzy looked around confusedly, obviously disoriented. Was he okay? Surely death had hurt- was his Branzy hurt!? He’d fight the Void for Branzy if he had to.
“You’re back! Are you alright?” Clown demanded, perhaps a bit too harshly, but he wanted to make sure Branzy was safe.
“Uh- yeah- I mean, as alright as a newly-revived person can be!” Branzy joked. Oh, how Clown had missed Branzy’s humor, his happy prankster personality. Not a soul on the server was quite as adorably incompetent as Branzy.
“I missed you so much,” Clown told him. Nobody besides Branzy would ever hear Clownpierce, the deadliest player on Lifesteal, being so affectionate. But Branzy was worth it. “Don’t worry, I made sure they all paid for what they did.”
Clown saw Branzy hesitate. He couldn’t know, but that hesitation was in fact Branzy’s sudden fear as he remembered who he was talking to.
“You really shouldn’t have killed so many people for me-” Branzy of course didn’t know quite how many people Clown had killed, but he knew revival took at least four hearts, and he doubted Clown had only killed four players. That just wouldn’t be like Clown.
Clown’s mask tilted to the side in a hawklike motion, a predatory look Branzy had hoped would never be directed at him. “What was that?”
“You um, shouldn’t have killed them for- for me!” Branzy repeated, tripping over his words and shuffling backwards nervously, hoping Clown wouldn’t come after him.
“You don’t appreciate my gift to you?” Clown asked, voice dangerously calm. He wasn’t one to be loud with his anger- the quieter Clown was the more danger you were in. When there was silence, that was when you had to be truly afraid.
“No, I mean- I do-” Branzy began, but Clown interrupted him before he could finish (not that he would really finish- he didn’t think he could get through a sentence in this state).
“You would rather be dead?” Clown demanded. And well, no, Branzy did quite enjoy life, thank you, but- was it worth all this death? Was it worth becoming Clown’s… prized possession? He’d fallen for Clown first, but he really hadn’t thought this through. Clown’s love was… dangerous. Clown’s love meant constant fear and isolation from anyone else. And Branzy really didn’t want that.
Branzy couldn’t lie and say he wanted death. He didn’t, not in the slightest- death wasn’t pleasant. “Well, no-”
Clown sighed and lowered his head slightly. “Do you know how long it’s taken me to get this?” he asked, voice rising in pitch inhumanely. It was then that Branzy realized just what was so wrong about Clown’s outfit.
Clown was covered in blood from head to toe. His outfit, red and black before, was now the same colors but in all the wrong places, unclean and unkempt, crimson stains coating him and black scorch marks the only thing keeping him from being fully clothed in red.
Clown looked insane.
“I- thank you, Clown,” Branzy stammered, that part genuine. He really was grateful to be alive. “But- I’m not worth all their lives-”
“Oh, but you are, Branzy,” Clown told him. He probably should have felt happy about that, but somehow Branzy really didn’t think that was a good thing.
“So much death…” Branzy mumbled, horrified. All his former friends, killed by Clown in revenge for his death. And even though he hadn’t directly killed them, he’d be their enemy now purely by association with Clown. Even worse, he didn’t have a choice. There was nobody left that would want to help him now; they’d all suffered at his or Clown’s hand.
“That’s how Lifesteal is. Didn’t you realize that?” Clown leaned in close, his breaths like the deep rumble of thunder as they came through his mask. Branzy closed his eyes tightly in fear, praying Clown’s strange obsession with him would keep him from being hurt. Clown’s inhaled slightly, a softer noise, and he made a sound almost like a coo. “Aw, I’m sorry. Am I scaring you?”
He sounded genuine, real worry behind the question, and Branzy was quick to assure him otherwise. He didn’t need to displease Clown. He didn’t really think Clown would believe him, nor would he be upset if Branzy did say yes, but he didn’t want to risk an answer Clown wouldn’t like. “No, of- of course not, heh!”
“I apologize,” Clown said, backing away reluctantly, his breaths no longer audible. Branzy couldn’t pretend he hadn’t just felt a wave of relief. “Really.”
“Um, thank you,” Branzy replied quickly, nervous laughter escaping him against his will. He couldn’t stop staring at the blood coating Clown, absolute terror setting his nerves alight despite knowing he was the one person Clown wouldn’t hurt. Still, he couldn’t count on that.
Clown’s shoulders relaxed abruptly and he walked forward, holding out his hand. You’d almost think he wasn’t a feared assassin. “To the casino?”
Branzy didn’t trust himself to speak. He took Clown’s outstretched hand, knowing it meant letting go of the former friends his mind was desperately clinging to. He couldn’t hold both Clown’s hand and another’s.
He might be physically inseparable from Clown now, but really Branzy had never been more alone.