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It’s no surprise that Branzy is scared of Clown, even though they are - for the moment - allies. Most people are scared of him. He’s put a lot of effort into making sure that’s the case, partially for his own safety but mostly because there is something so very satisfying about having the power to make people tremble with his mere presence.
Branzy’s fear isn’t unusual at all, but his response to that fear is … interesting.
By this point, Clown is quite familiar with the different ways people act when they’re afraid - fight or flight, and all the variations thereof. Fight, of course, is by far the most common on this server; none of them would be here if they weren’t at least a little bloodthirsty. Flight is a close second, because even the strongest fighter knows when to cut their losses and run if the odds become too overwhelming. Void knows Clown himself has spent his fair share of time fleeing, especially during the early days of the server.
Branzy doesn’t really fall into either category. Instead of running or attacking when he’s scared, he bargains and begs and flatters and generally does his best to please whoever is threatening him, shamelessly chameleoning himself into whatever role he thinks is most likely to keep him alive.
In this case, Branzy seems to have decided that the best way to keep Clown happy is absolute, unquestioning obedience.
And Clown didn’t even have to threaten him into it. Normally, he has to put much more work into getting this kind of response from someone, and even then they tend to be all begrudging about it. But from the very first trust exercise, Branzy just follows every order he’s given without protest, even when he quite clearly thinks he’s walking into a trap.
Once Clown notices this tendency, he can’t help playing with Branzy, just a little. Just to see how far this will go.
“There’s coal over there, Branzy. Go get it,” he says, gesturing to an uncomfortably narrow walkway above a lava pit, and Branzy nods and edges his way over, one hand trailing along the wall for stability.
“Go down in this hole,” he says, and he can see Branzy taking in the way the small space and the height difference will put him at a disadvantage, can see him eying Clown’s scythe, but after barely a second Branzy pastes on a cheery smile and scrambles down anyway.
“Close your eyes” thrown out at complete random has Branzy tensing and holding his breath like he’s expecting something painful to happen, but his eyes stay closed, not even a hint of purple peeking through his lashes.
Clown gives one arbitrary instruction after another - stand here, go pick up that dripstone, dig there, let me see your pickaxe - and waits for Branzy to refuse one, or complain, or at least say something about how obviously pointless the task is. But he doesn’t; they’ve been down here for over an hour at this point, and not once has anything even approaching the word ‘no’ ever passed his lips.
Clown would be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying it.
He almost makes a game out of it for himself, trying out different orders to see what will unnerve Branzy the fastest and what will get his guard to drop. The best results seem to come when he finds excuses to get close while staying out of Branzy’s direct line of sight - leaning over his shoulder to look at something, or telling him to stand in a certain spot and moving behind him with quiet steps for no reason other than the satisfaction of watching him tense up.
Branzy does a credible job of pretending he isn’t frightened, but he can’t quite hide the shaking in his hands or the slight hitch in his breath whenever Clown steps into touching distance. It’s not just fear that’s making Branzy shiver, though, which Clown learns when his half-joking offer of a kiss gets accepted immediately and very enthusiastically.
Or maybe Branzy just has even weirder fear responses than Clown gave him credit for. Who knows? Either way, Clown certainly has no complaints; this just makes the game even more fun.
Partway through the trip, they stumble into a small cave system. It doesn’t lead anywhere interesting, and between the two of them they make quick work of clearing it of both coal and mobs. Well, almost clearing it; they must have missed some dark crevice somewhere, because a zombie drops down from a high ledge just as they’re preparing to head back to their mineshaft.
Branzy doesn’t seem to have noticed it yet, too caught up in trying to reach one last stubborn piece of coal ore, and Clown smirks behind his mask as an idea occurs to him.
“Look at me, please,” he says. His voice isn’t especially loud, but Branzy jolts like he’s been shouted at and immediately spins to face him, putting his back to the zombie. Clown meets his eyes and says, sweet and soft like he’s coaxing a skittish child, “Now, don’t move.”
There’s an unasked question in the crease of Branzy’s eyebrows and the tilt of his mouth that quickly turns to alarm when Clown summons his bow from his inventory and nocks an arrow, but he doesn’t move except to swallow nervously.
The zombie is advancing slowly, its legs damaged by the fall, so Clown can take his time aiming. It wouldn’t do to miss this shot. He doesn’t actually want to hurt Branzy, not when he’s playing along so nicely.
“Um,” Branzy says, high-pitched and worried and looking like he would much rather be anywhere other than here. “Clown?”
Clown shushes him, and he quiets, clearly unhappy but still unwilling to argue. He’s shaking slightly - either from fear or from the effort of keeping still, it’s hard to tell - and his eyes keep darting from Clown’s face to the razor-sharp tip of the arrow like he can’t decide which is more dangerous.
“Hold still,” Clown reminds him, and lets the bowstring slip almost carelessly from his fingers.
Branzy’s eyes squeeze shut as his whole body tenses, clearly expecting to be hit, but the arrow passes cleanly over his shoulder just like it was supposed to and buries itself in the eye of the zombie behind him. The zombie drops like a discarded ragdoll, and Clown makes a satisfied noise at the sight.
“You’re welcome,” he says cheerfully, dismissing his bow back into his inventory with a gesture.
“What?” Branzy squints open one eye, then the other, before looking down at himself in disbelief. He pats at his chestplate like he’s expecting to find an invisible arrow there. “What was that?”
Clown gestures past him at the zombie, and quietly relishes in the warring confusion and relief on Branzy’s face as he tries to process what just happened. “We had a friend.”
Branzy’s mouth opens and closes several times, forming the beginnings of words without actually voicing them. Eventually, what he settles on is, “Can I … move now?”
“Of course.” Clown spins around, casual as anything, and sets off in the direction of their tunnel. “We’ve still got work to do, we can’t just stand around all day.”
Branzy doesn’t answer, but Clown doesn’t have to look over his shoulder to know that he’s following.
As their work on the funhouse continues, Clown finds himself wondering about Branzy’s motivations. Is this painfully obedient behavior all a fear response, or does he think that stepping out of line would risk his place in this partnership and his best chance at getting revenge?
If he does, it’s a completely unfounded worry; Clown wouldn’t really kick him to the curb for refusing to play along with one of his trust exercises. It takes more than that to get on his bad side, especially given that Clown needs Branzy’s redstone skills as much as Branzy needs Clown’s scythe. He has no intention of calling off their deal for anything less than a complete betrayal.
But if Branzy hasn’t realized that by now, Clown isn’t going to tell him. Being able to mess with him is too much fun.
With every order that Branzy follows, Clown becomes more tempted to push further, to see just how much he can get away with. What it would take for fear to finally win out over self-preservation or determination to get revenge, for Branzy to dig his heels in and say no, I’m not doing that.
Branzy had already been willing to take off his armor as soon as Clown asked - well, demanded, really. His hands had fumbled on the buckles out of nervousness, but he’d still shed one piece after another into a gleaming blue pile on the grass, and hadn’t even turned around when Clown circled behind his unprotected back just because he could.
Would he drop his weapons, too? Would he kneel, if Clown ordered him to, and bare his throat to Clown’s scythe? Would Branzy come back to him afterward, if Clown drove the blade home and watched him bleed out over the unfinished dirt floor of the circus, or would that be enough to make him run? How many of his hearts would he be willing to give up for the chance to hurt Zam?
Not many, probably. Maybe not even one, if Clown was the one taking it. He still isn’t sure exactly where the line is when it comes to Branzy’s obedience, but that would almost certainly be crossing it.
He won’t lie and say the idea isn’t still enticing, but he’s not ready to risk their entire partnership just for a bit of entertainment. There’s still that trap to finish, and besides, he’s gotten used to having Branzy around. He likes the way Branzy jokes when he forgets to be afraid, and the unexpected brilliance of his redstone, and the look he sometimes gets when Clown draws a little too close, half fear and half anticipation.
He just likes Branzy, period, if he’s being honest with himself.
So, as much as he wants to keep upping the ante on their little game, it’s far better to just keep things the way they are. He can continue teasing Branzy with pointless orders and playful threats, keep him amusingly nervous but not scared enough to run, and in return Branzy will stay, just for a little while longer.
Just until they don’t need each other anymore.