Are you telling me I'm not good enough somehow? “What? No!” This was so that he didn’t have to think he wasn’t good enough. So that he didn’t wake up every day wondering what was wrong with him, what he did so wrong. Wondering how…despite giving away every part of himself, it hadn’t been enough. “I just don’t want that for you. I don’t want you to go through what I did.” He sounds like a father now, like a crabby old man, and he knows it. He hates it. He’s the fun brother! He’s supposed to be letting Ambrose chase tail and drink his nights away while he’s still young enough to survive the morning after. Not telling him to save himself for marriage! “How do you know that! How could you possibly know that!” Eric’s voice rises, more than angry, he’s frustrated. How can he not see that he’s doing this for his own good? How can he not see the world is cruel and love is shit? He is selfish in that moment, he only thinks to look through his own eyes. He feels only with the scarred areas of his heart. Wait, are you jealous? If Eric was drinking water right now, he’d be doing a spit take. Where is the nearest watering hole? “Are you fucking kidding me?” Him, jealous. Never! As if he could ever fall into such basal feelings. “Ok, maybe a little bit, but not in that way!” Eric breathed out loudly through his mouth. “I’m trying to protect you, dumbass.” His anger quietens then, his expression softens. “After all you’ve been through, I don’t want you to get your hopes up for nothing.” “You're my brother. I don’t want her to break your heart.” But "Sentimental Boy" is my nom de plume Art by Swan, Code by Swan (fixed by Cala)

He's being defensive, and he knows it. And maybe he's refusing to see the full picture.

He has no reason to assume Cirilla is going to make eyes at the first lion with XY chromosones—especially not without telling him. Nothing she has done has indicated infidelity, if he can even call it that. Him and Cirilla aren't even an item yet, not officially. All he knows is that he can't stop himself from gravitating towards her. He doesn't even like to get serious with relationships. But for Cirilla? He'd consider settling down.

Has she forgotten him while he clings onto her memory—the pink blazoned afterimage of her eyes?

@Eric raises his voice, exasperated. Deep down, he knows Eric isn't trying to take a dig at his ego. He's trying to help him. Whatever he went through has laid a heavy hand on him, but Ambrose is no stranger to rejection. After all, his own parents styled him an usherer of misfortune. Maybe it isn't a complete coincidence that the two found each other.

"You're not my dad, all right?" But Eric is right. He has no way of knowing what the woodland Sigrun is doing beyond this miserable desert. She certainly is taking her time bailing him out. "Why does everyone think I need protection? Do I look like the kind of guy who'd do something stupid?" He pauses then, the gears in his head turning. "No, don't answer that." Resigned to having lost this squabble, the tense line of his shoulder drops, exuding a sigh fetched deep within the chest cavity.

Stupid desert. Stupid pride. Stupid eye. Stupid, stupid, stupid. "We're screwed." He finally concedes, exhausted. "What's the backup plan? We have one, right?"

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Oh how they are both blinded, each by their own pasts, their own scars that burn still in the cold of that desert den. Maybe that’s why Eric clings so fiercely to him, like a mast in a storm. Because all this sage advise he’s giving is really just another childhood fear, the fear of being left behind again. He can still remember the day Elena left, how small she had seemed between her two parents, how her big brown eyes had looked back at him and nearly swallowed him whole. He had vowed to find her then. And just like @Ambrose, the image of the brown eyes followed him as he grew, and grew. Eric had been just a boy, barely turned two when he went out searching for her. Had he really planned on marrying her then? What if she had said yes? Would she have been able to stand him for all these years? That’s the thing. They all left. So he was a big believer on leaving first. You’re not my dad. Oof, that was a gorilla love-tap to the chest. Before that moment Eric hadn’t admitted it to himself, how, with Ambrose, sometimes the line between little brother and son became blurred. His mouth opens up at the patchy boy’s question, and then immediately shuts at his next statement. He’s frustrated, scared, but also doesn’t want to keep fighting. Ambrose’s heart was probably just as stubborn as his head! “Uh.” Eric looks around as if the key to their escape plan is right here, in this den. Anybody got an app for magic carpet rides? Anyone? A discount would also be nice, we’re pretty poor. “Look, here’s what we’re going to do.” He’s the eldest, right, he’s gotta have the bigger brain. “Do you know how to make an elephant mating call?” Ok. Maybe it’s not as big as we’d hoped. But "Sentimental Boy" is my nom de plume Art by Swan, Code by Swan (fixed by Cala)

Guilt sweeps over him as soon as he says the words. You're not my dad. Really? He doesn't deserve Ambrose's pointed remark—he just doesn't want to think about the one good thing he has blowing up in his face. Maybe he just doesn't want to admit that his best friend could be right. Things are bad enough without wondering who Cirilla is paying court to in his absence.

Predictably, @Eric opens his mouth and quickly shuts it again. Ambrose has no idea why he asked. If he never did anything stupid, he wouldn't be missing an eye right now. He wouldn't be stuck in the armpit of the oasis. He can still feel the breath of that dappled asshole, just before everything went black.

It hurts like hell. Enough to put a considerable dent in his mood. Better him than the others, though. He doesn't know what he'd do if it was Eric in his stead. The man with the heart of gold, despite his own hardships.

There's a brief silence strung between them, and Ambrose flicks a single ear when Eric pipes up again, hesitantly. He has his full attention now. Here comes the master plan. The grand design. The plan of attack.

Elephants.

That's the plan. That's the plan? "I..." He loves Eric. He really does. But he can also be astonishingly... stupid. "Wow. Elephants. That..." The sentiment is so bizarre that, for a full five seconds, Ambrose forgets about his misery. "... officially tops all of the terrible ideas you’ve ever had before this one."

Yep. Screwed.

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OOC: It's giving Miguel and Tulio vibes. “What?! I have great ideas. I have amazing ideas.” Eric huffs, though the heat quickly creeps up to his cheeks. He does a quick recap of all the ideas he’s had before and sure, they weren’t all winners. But the coco-o-matic came pretty close! You know, before it sliced his paw open. The palomino lion gets his composure again, and leans forward in a conspirative gesture. “Look, we sound the elephant mating call, or a calf-call, both work and then,” he drew a circle in the dirt with a claw, “this is Andal, right,” Eric moved a pebble into the circle, “this is us, and Uma, of course,” before also placing his paw on a stick, “this is the elephant”. He looks up at @Ambrose to make sure that his pupil is following his strategy carefully, after all, it is so masterful he might not understand it on the first try. “The elephant comes in,” Eric made a trampling sound effect, “AHHHH! Everyone panics,” and then slid the rock out. “And then we just run away into the badlands and hide!” Come on! It was foolproof. Or at least way more foolproof than the coco-o-matic. Not that he knew when elephants mated. Or when they had calves. But it was like one of those great spy movies or whatever and they just needed people to think there was an elephant coming “Unless you, Mr. Know-It-All, have a better idea?” Better than stampeding elephants? Yeah, right! But "Sentimental Boy" is my nom de plume Art by Swan, Code by Swan (fixed by Cala)

He fixates his gaze onto the floor as @Eric begins to scribble on it, equal parts indifference and boredom. Not only is he proposing a ridiculous plan, he's giving him a full lowdown. He takes it all in without interruption, only half listening as the other begins to demonstrate. He even watches as one pebble enters as the other exits.

It feels like centuries before Eric concludes his little plan. Then, a beat. "Elephants." He repeats again, his tone unchanged. "While we're at it, why don't we find a warthog and wait for it to fly us to cloud cuckoo land?" He's clearly less than impressed. He decides he'd rather die in this miserable den than suffer the embarrasment of trying to mimic an elephant mating call.

Not to mention, the noise alone would alert the entirety of Andal, and—why is even entertaining this notion? Giving up then, he rolls back onto his side, fetching a sigh deep from his chest. "I'm going back to sleep." He says, almost offended at this flimsy excuse of a plan. His tail lashes behind him, almost seeming to indicate the spot next to him. "Leaving or staying?"

-exit-

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Oh, come on! It was a great idea. A little…controversial, but most great ideas are. Eric has half a mind of executing the plan on his own, but decides (at the last possible minute) that his pride isn’t worth getting any innocents accidentally stamped on. Didn’t want to give the Andalian king any more reason to want their pretty heads on a platter. “Fine. You come up with something then!” He’s angry, turning away from the patchy boy away and pouting dramatically, but only somewhat. It’s hard to be angry at the person who might be the only thing you have left in the world. Even if he doesn’t appreciate your amazing ideas (so hard, being a genius). At his question, Eric sighs, and pads up to Ambrose’s laying form. He lies down too, spooning him, and breathes out into his mane. “Night, night, kid. I hope you dream of elephants.” -Exit Eric via sleep- But "Sentimental Boy" is my nom de plume Art by Swan, Code by Swan (fixed by Cala)