#i hesitate to tag this as disco elysium cause of how little i actually referenced the game but. oh well

[spellbook-gayboy]

20 with whoever you'd like :)

20.

"Y'know, there are a lot of situations that that phrase can be applied to, dear brother," Ian grumbled, "but one of the very few exceptions is the fact that you only managed to half-cut the rope that's still wrapped around the bloated corpse's neck."

"Okay, that's fair." Rex murmured in response. The corpse in question still dangled limply from its spot on the bare poplar tree, the thick yellow cord that served as a noose digging into swollen and purple flesh. A gentle wind set it in sway, the shiny white footwear attached to its feet occasionally clicking against each other. "Maybe we could find someone to help, or...?" The hero starts, his voice trailing into silence as something dawns upon him. His eyes, from behind the thick goggles, sweep the small backyard they find themselves in. "...where are we? Why are we doing this? This isn't a superhero thing, it's not even a 'Rex and Ian do crimes for fun' thing! Wha- why are we tryna cut down a body?! What the hell is going on?!"

Ian looks his brother over, recognising the expression that was currently stuck to his features. "Honestly, I'd ask the writer. Some of these prompts have been low-effort before, but this?" he declares, throwing his hands up in a display of useless frustration. "Thi-this is just a scene from Disco Elysium! Like a straight rip-off!"

"Disco... Elysium?" Rex questions. The specific combination of words rings empty in his mind, the two nouns sounding almost absurd next to one another. The gears within turn: could he be referring to some obscure police procedural from decades past, or a novel in his house's vast library? Perhaps something more current, like a film that just released in theatres, or even, God forbid, a trending topic on social media? Despite the absurdity, there is a pang of familiarity at the name, scratching at the edges of that pink wet sponge between his ears. He focuses, and focuses, until...

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Challenging: Success] - Disco Elysium is a video game, written and designed by the Estonian novelist Robert Kurvitz and a collective of fellow artists, musicians and creators, and is currently published by the games publishing company ZA/UM. It styles itself as a 'detective RPG', and features a distinctive painterly art direction, the brainchild of oil painter Aleksander Rostov. From what you've been able to recollect, there is also an apparent ongoing legal dispute between Kurvitz and shareholders of ZA/UM, and you have been advised several times to not the game legitimately, lest you contribute further to the practices of ZA/UM. The advice seems sound, and you already have the perfect method of pirating it on your games console. You will do it, once your curiosity tips you into morally justified piracy.

"Woah woah woah, stop that!"

I'm sorry?

"You! Yes, you! Listen here, Harry, putting us in a different setting is one thing, but subjecting my little brother to the game mechanics? Oh, you should be thanking your ancestors that I'm a fictional character, or I'd have ripped your fucking balls off by now!"

Okay, first of all, it's the new year, and I'm trying to spice up my writing a little. I'm sorry that being out of your comfort zone scares you, Ian, but you need to understand-

"I don't need to understand shit! Listen, Cape-Watch, the old man, everything up until now, completely fine! It's in-universe, so I don't have a problem with any of it! But this?! What's even the point? A funny reference? A fourth-wall break? Like, at least plan these out first!"

How am I supposed to plan these out? They're meant to be short little snippets where people can point and yell 'there's my little guy!' Nothing more than a little serotonin boost before the weekend. Were you expecting Shakespeare?

"Don't give me that! I've seen you write better than this, Harry! Don't you want to be... I don't know, a great writer? One of the greats of AO3, or whatever?"

Not really. Sometimes I write prose, and sometimes I write pigshit. At the end of the day, as long as I can still write, I'm happy. It's all words to me, Ian.

Ian sighs. He rubs exhaustedly at his brow, already tired of debating his creators' reasons for writing. "Fine, whatever makes you happy. Just take us home so I can wipe my own memory."

Rex was very confused by what he had just heard. "What the fuck."