#parttwowritesathing

The point where Héctor would come to question everything with Ernesto came on a rooftop.

They’d drained whatever was left of the cheap tequila and spat at the world walking beneath them. Who knew being broke in Mexico City would be so damn fun?

But as the laughing died down, and the conversation grew more pensive, Héctor turned to Ernesto and finally asked, “So after all this time, what do you think it’s all about?”

“What?”

“You know,” He said, as he looked to the starless sky, “What we’re doing? You got an idea of what this mess is about, amigo?”

“Ay dios mío, that’s obvious!” Ernesto said, flopping back onto his bag and reaching up, “To be stars! We’ve got the talents, the looks-”

“I personally think you look like an ass.” Héctor said.

“Oh shut up,” He laughed. “We got every right to it! We’re gonna work our asses off, become richer than God, and then live the good life.”

Héctor was quiet for awhile, and Ernesto finally turned to him.

“What about you, then?”

“Hmm?”

“What do you think this is all about? It’s only fair I know.”

Héctor turned to look at him, smiling gently. “Easy,” He said, “To have enough. You know… Provide for Imelda and Coco. That’s all I want, at least.”

And Ernesto, too, was quiet for awhile.

“I think I’m going to sleep,” Ernesto said, rolling over.

“Night, tonto.”

Looking back, the conversation would haunt Héctor. He didn’t catch it then, but the gears were turning in Ernesto’s mind.

If only he noticed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes: This is a little standalone work that fits into the continuity of that main thing I’m doing (here’s the first chapter of that for those interested). Idk, it’s more of a character study of Ernesto and Hector and the conversation that may have sparked the murderous intent. 

Big thanks to The Bro @loracarol for helping me edit, as per the usual, and also to my buddy who helps with the Spanish! 

They were engineering students. They all were engineering students, and they all did things that engineering students did, were what engineering students were: Which is to say, tired, angry, hungry, and most likely hungover. You try to sharpen a pencil with a razor-blade to 0.03 mm and not lose your damn mind, architecture is a bitch and that doesn’t even include the shit you have to do digitally. 

Admittedly, it was Chell’s fault for taking a drafting class, she always had neat handwriting and was decent enough at art, she figured: Hey! What’s the worst that can happen! 

The worst that can happen is your professor is vehemently against mechanical pencils and you spend the rest of your life slaving over a trash-can with eight different sharpening implements while your buddy fucks around coding his sentient fucking Roomba or whatever the fuck it was Wheatley was up to. 

Yeah so maybe Chell was a little annoyed. Shoot her. This was the fifth time she broke the lead on this pencil and if Wheatley said another “Hoo-rah yay! It works!” she’d flip her shit. 

This time, however, it wasn’t Wheatley who broke the silence and incited her ire, no, it was the Roomba. “Hello, Father,” It said, in that stupid text-to-speech voice he’d given it. It startled her, obviously, and for the last time that night, her pencil was nicely broken and she gave up, slamming the stump of wood down on her desk and holding her head in her hands. 

I’m gonna dismantle that thing. 

“Woah, shit, you weren’t supposed to say that, say: Hello, world,” Wheatley muttered to himself, click-clacking away on his keyboard. 

“Of course, Father. Hello, world.” Wheatley made a noise that could only really be described as a startled squeaky toy as he looked down at the Roomba, rolling slightly towards him. “Why do you fear me, Father?” 

“Whathefuckishappening- Chell!”

“Congrats, Dr. Frankenstien, you’ve made yourself a son.” 

“Actually it’s Frakensti- no, wait, you’re right. Dammit. Uh... Can you, uh... Help me?” 

“Absolutely not,” Chell said flatly. 

“Father? Why do you desire help?” 

Wheatley widened his eyes, looking down at the Roomba and back up at Chell, mouthing I’m gonna have to dismantle it. 

“Father?” The Roomba pressed. 

“Right, uhhh... Because parenthood is very difficult! I’m asking for help talking about uh... The birds and the bees! But that’s a talk for later, uh... Chell! Let’s go get something to eat.” 

“It’s three in the morning, cafeteria’s closed.” 

“There’s those shitty frozen grilled cheeses in the kitchen.” 

“Don’t swear, your son’s right there,” Chell said, deadpan sounding as ever, but an amused smile playing on her lips, “Don’t want him to pick up your swearing habit.” 

“You curse like a sailor!” 

“I’m not a parent,” She retorted quickly, standing up and wincing as she stretched, cracking her back in a single row - she had to’ve been sitting hunched over since seven.

Wheatley followed her as she wandered out towards the shared kitchen space of the dorm, the Roomba close at his heels. “Father, where are we going?” 

It went ignored by both parties as they meandered into the kitchen and stared, blankly, at the microwave, door just... Missing. Gone. 

The situation had Rick written all over it, but he’d clearly gone off to cover his tracks. 

“What the fuck.” Chell was beyond done. Couldn’t do a damn architectural drawing, couldn’t sharpen a damn pencil, and now, couldn’t eat a cheap frozen grilled cheese. 

She was actually going to commit murder. 

“Father? Why does the lady keep cursing?” 

“Uhhhh.... Roomba, might be a good time to take our leave.”