Work Text:
“Why do you always have that music playing?” Branzy asked, watching Clown sketch out …something.
They were sitting on the floor of Clown’s room, in between a ball pit and Clown’s mask collection, Clown sitting on the mask collection side, a college block propped up on his lap, while Branzy was sitting directly next to the ball pit, playing with the balls as Clown’s go-to circus music was playing in the background.
Clown looked up at him. “You mean Entry Of The Gladiators?”
Branzy blankly stared at him for a few seconds.
“The circus music.”
Clown nodded.
“You mean Entry Of The Gladiators,” he said, smiling as he turned his attention back to his sketch.
Branzy shrugged.
“That’s a weird name…,” he muttered, throwing a ball at Clown “Hey, why’s it called that, Clown?”
Maybe he was a little desperate for his crush’s attention, but in his defence, your honour, he genuinely wanted to know.
Clown turned back to him, catching the ball with one hand, not even batting an eye.
Literally amazing.
“Well,” Clown started, throwing the ball back into the ball pit “It was originally written as a military march written by a Czechian composer named Julius Fučík. And called ‘Grande Marche Chromatique’, excuse my poor pronunciation,” he said, likely pronouncing it literally perfectly, like the over achiever he was, “which translates to ‘Great Chromatic March’, I believe. However, the writer, I am not going to say his name again because I will genuinely pronounce it wrong, renamed it to Entry Of The Gladiators because of his interest in Roman history and gladiators,” Clown finished, smiling his pretty, small smile, as he always did when he got to talk about or explain something he was interested in.
It was one of the reasons Branzy always asked questions about pretty much everything Clown mentioned. The other one being his insatiable thirst for knowledge, of course.
Boom. Another thing he loved about Clown: He let Branzy ask questions about everything and also answered them in great detail. Barely anyone Branzy knew did that, which was pretty sad.
“Wait, but if it’s a military march, why’s it known as circus music and like, the clown theme song?” Branzy asked, genuinely confused.
“Well, in 1910 some Canadian guy named,” Clown squinted, “ Louis-Philippe Laurendau, I think, kind of, like, edited the march? And published it under the name Thunder and Blazes. Then it started getting kind of popular in North America, especially as a screamer in circuses- circi- circusi, I don’t know-,” Clown paused, typing on his phone while saying something under his breath, “Circuses. That’s the plural of circus. Circuses.” he put down his phone, “Yeah, so it was getting especially famous as a screamer in circuses, which is like, the sequence to announce the jester and get the audience hyped, I’m pretty sure. So, because of that it became the clown theme song. Also because I always keep playing it.”
Branzy laughed. “It really is your theme song, isn’t it?”
Clown smiled. “Yeah, I suppose it is.”
“But… Isn’t what that Louis-Philippe Lauren-something did plagiarism?” Branzy asked, horribly mispronouncing the name.
Clown huffed, smiling.
“Laurendeau. Probably falls under fair use, I think? I don’t think people really cared that much about copyright back then. I mean, it was 1910… And six years prior to the original artist’s death, so I don’t think he had the chance to really care all that much.”
Branzy snorted.
“You’re horrible.”
“That I am,” Clown said, laughing, “That I am.”
“So, why are you listening to it all of the time? I mean, I get that it’s your theme song and everything, but that’s only because you listen to it all of the time,” Branzy said, “It’s like with the chicken and the egg.”
It really wasn’t. He didn’t know why he made that comparison. It literally was not like with the chicken and the egg at all.
Because he knew for sure that the listening to the song all of the time had to have come first and from there it might have devolved into the clown-cycle.
“Like the chicken and the egg, huh… A never ending cycle. What came first we may never know. All that we do know is that all life eventually must come to an end, as does everything except Entry Of The Gladiators.”
Branzy snorted and rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, yeah, edgelord,” he said, interrupted by a “Hey!” coming from his left, “But seriously, why?”
“Well, I don’t know how exactly I first came to listen to the song, but it happened in high school, I think, when I first got my special interest in clowns and stuff, I obviously researched everything slightly related to it and I guess my brain just went ‘What is that melody?!’ on me,” Clown said, mimicking the maybe-maybe-not-viral tiktok sound, to which Branzy just had to giggle “and I ended up listening to the song on loop for five hours, while studying for a psych exam, I think, and I guess I just kept listening from then on.”
“But why on loop and all of the time?”
“Oh, that’s simple. For my Spotify Wrapped.”
Branzy couldn’t help but full on wheeze at that.
Clown did not just go through the entire history of the song and his own personal backstory relating to it, just to say he was listening to it 24/7 for his Spotify Wrapped .
That- That simply could not be okay. No. What the actual fuck?
“You-,” Branzy said, trying not to suffocate from laughing, “You cannot be serious! For your Spotify Wrapped?! After everything you just told me!”
Branzy looked at Clown who, likely subconsciously, was tapping his mechanical pencil against his college block to the rhythm of the song, smiling fondly.
“Mh… I think I can, actually,” The absolute mad lad replied.
Branzy huffed out a laughter, rolling his eyes.
“Yeah, yeah whatever, Clown ,” Branzy said, then paused to consider something.
Clown was- well Clown.
“Honestly, I’m surprised it even took you until high school to get super interested in Clowns with that name,” Branzy said, mostly joking.
“You-,” Clown stammered, voice full of humorous despair “You do know that Clown is not my actual first name, right?”
“I-,” Branzy started, “Yeah, I- Of course I knew that,” he said, laughing awkwardly.
He did not, in fact, know that.
He didn’t even know how he didn’t know that, how he never stopped to wonder why the ever loving fuck someone would name their child Clown and be allowed to do so.
“You… You did not know, did you…?” Clown asked, fully knowing the answer, but likely not ready to accept it.
“I did not know,” Branzy admitted, his facial expression turning into what he imagined looked like the sad pensive face emoji.
“I-,” Clown sounded truly desperate at this point, “How- How did you not know? I- I’m pretty sure that, by Dutch law, it’s illegal to name your child that! I- Why would you think that my parents seriously named me Clown?!”
“I’m sorry!” Branzy was near tears. “I’m sorry, I just never questioned it, please forgive me!”
“I-” Clown paused. “I can’t tell if you’re being /j or /srs right now-”
“I’m being /hj,” Branzy responded.
“Okay, good, I didn’t actually want you to feel bad,” Clown said.
Another thing to love about Clown: The way he communicated clearly what he means and trying to avoid misunderstandings. A very underappreciated trait most people sadly did not possess. Clown was truly an enigma.
“Oh yeah, don’t worry, I just feel a little stupid because it should’ve been obvious,” Branzy replied, trying to communicate as clearly as Clown.
“I mean, we are in the US of A, where you could likely name your child Clown, so I guess it’s not that bad.”
“So, uh, what’s your actual name, then?” Branzy asked, “I mean, if you’re comfortable sharing.”
Clown smiled.
“Don’t worry, I don’t mind you knowing,” he said, “My legal name is Pearce.”
“Pearce…,” Branzy said, trying out Clown’s- Pearce’s name, “That’s a cool name. Kudos to your parents.”
“Oh, I actually chose it myself,” Clown-Pearce said, sounding just slightly proud, “But yeah, it is cool, I agree.”
“Oh! That’s really cool. Has it got any interesting meaning or history?” Branzy asked, knowing that, knowing Clown, it most definitely did have at least one of the two.
“Yeah, actually,” Clown started, “It is both related to the English name ‘Pierce’ and the Greek name ‘Piers’, which means rock or stone. I think it also originated from the baptismal name for the son of Peter from the times of the Anglo-Saxon tribes ruled over Britain, or something. It also has ties to ‘Petros’, like one of the friends of Jesus from ‘The Bible’, I think. Who truly knows, though. It’s really confusing, but I liked the fact that it sounded like and was related to the word ‘pierce’.”
“That-,” Branzy laughed, “Jesus from The Bible, I swear, you’re insane.”
Clown smiled.
“So I’ve heard.”
“Listening to Entrance of the Gladiators-”
“Entry Of The Gladiators.”
“-for your Spotify Wrapped is something only insane people do.”
“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do it for the vine!”
“I would not”
Clown gasped in a mock portrayal of betrayal.
“I cannot believe you, Branzy Craft!”
“And I cannot believe you, Clown Pearce!” Branzy metaphorically slapped back in a posh accent.
“Did you-,” Clown laughed, “Did you just call me ClownPierce?”
“Yeah!” Branzy said jokingly, but turned more serious after a second or so, “By the way, do you want me to call you Pearce from now on, or would you prefer Clown?”
“I don’t really mind,” Clown said thoughtfully, “I guess it really just depends on what you would prefer to call me.” He paused. “Though, if you decide to call me Pearce, it might take me a while to get used to it, since you know, you’ve been calling me Clown and stuff.”
“Yeah, I’m probably just gonna stick with Clown,” Branzy replied truthfully.
Clown nodded.
“Alright, good to know,” Clown said, once again picking up his college block to continue working on his sketch.
Silence.
“Soooo,” Branzy said, dragging out the ‘o’s, “What are you drawing?”
“...”
“Clownnnn…”
“What you would look like as a bird,” came the reply from a not-looking-up-from-his-work and probably embarrassed Clown.
“Ooo!” Branzy exclaimed, excitedly, “What kind of bird am I?”
“A crow.”
“Any particular reasoning?” Branzy asked, as he had no knowledge, whatsoever, about crows or birds in general.
“Well, for one, crow’s are typically known as tricksters and you do enjoy pulling one prank or another,” Clown said, “They are also known to be smart, which you are, no doubt, and I also took a personality quiz, pretending to be you, choosing the answers that sounded most like what you would choose.”
“Awe, you think I’m smart?- Wait, is that why you asked me when I feel most motivated and what activity sounded the most interesting to me?”
“Mayhaps,” Clown said in that mysterious way that was a pretty obvious give away that Branzy was correct.
Branzy chuckled.
“But, seriously, you think I’m smart?”
Clown looked him dead in the eyes.
“Do you think you’re not?”
“Uh-,” Branzy started, unsure how to answer the question correctly.
He wasn’t particularly smart or special in any way. He was average at best.
Especially in comparison to Clown, who was so amazing at everything he did.
“I wouldn’t really call myself smart. Not when-”
He was cut off by two hands adorned by rings taking his own and Clown inched a little closer.
“You are smart,” he said, sounding dead serious, “You are incredibly smart, Branzy. You are smart in communication, work ethics, emotions and even your smallest pranks require a lot of intelligence to come up with and execute,” he continued, making it sound true.
Saying it as if he truly thought so highly of Branzy.
“Branzy, you are smart and you are so incredibly interesting to talk to, alright?”
Branzy could feel his cheeks heating up at both the words and the intensity and conviction Clown spoke them with.
He had never heard Clown speak with that much passion before, not even when he was ranting to him about things that Clown deemed as very important.
Branzy didn’t want to think about the implications of that connection because his heart would simply not survive it.
So, instead of thinking or talking further about it, he nodded.
“Yeah, I- uh, yeah,” he said, stumbling over his words, “You too, Clown.”
Clown’s expression softened as he blessed Branzy with one of the prettiest and most raw smiles he- or anyone for that matter- had ever seen and squeezed his hands, before letting one of them go and positioning himself with his back to the wall, once more.
Oh, what am I gonna do? Branzy asked himself as he watched Clown sketch bird-him with a soft smile on his face.
