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Wemmbu doesn't consider himself uncaring. At times he's careless, sure, and maybe he gets facetious more often than not, but he isn't emotionless like people seem to think. The wind is warm, the sun is setting, and Wemmbu is... well it's obvious isn't it? He's mourning. It hasn't been long since he's arrived at this island, and Elquackity likes to attempt to ragebait him whenever he is on the main comm, but he genuinely doesn't think he'd know of spokes death unless that bastard had told him. Strange right?
In front of wemmbu stands two gravestones. One covered, one uncovered, both empty. And yet both are still real. He didn't need to dig two holes to put two empty coffins in the ground but he did. No one could afford such luxuries on unstable, the most you'd get was being thrown on a ditch, sunk in the ocean, or burned. On his left the grave has a folded blanket at its base, and sunflowers are growing around it. Believe it or not he didn't plant any flowers near rejoice's grave, but maybe life does have a sense of humor.
On his right, the slab of stone has balloons tied to it. Starflowers growing in the dirt behind it… he sighs as he signs his book, already forgetting what he wrote. It doesn't matter, this is a grave, no one should be reading what he has written. His brother is dead. Death has always been this… strange concept to wemmbu, always permanent in his mind, always lingering, but it wasn't real. Not until rejoice. Not until Sargelaw. Never real. But after that he forced the idea of death and dying away because he couldn't function, and he knew he needed to be stronger. The strongest even!
That didn't get wemmbu anywhere. Death became real. Egg was gone and death was suddenly real and there and he… Wemmbu would do anything as long as it meant his last close relation wasn't taken away from him. Wemmbu became a monster- or maybe he already was a monster, a tool, something to be used and discarded without a moment's notice… the enderling doesn't know, he's never known! And it's right, arachnid is right, if anyone has eggchan, they have wemmbu! Wemmbu has always had blood on his hands, blood of the guilty, blood of the innocents, blood of the deserving and undeserving alike. There was never such a thing such as an exception with Wemmbu, everyone died.
But now he's drowning in blood, and he doesn't know how to swim. He never learned. The two stupid slabs of stone in front of him mocks him. Proves that wemmbu will never, ever be strong enough to protect anyone. To prevent anything. To be anyone. That's not his ego talking, it's just facts. He is the worst at protecting people he loves. Maybe he's paying for the sins of his mother, who was dead when he hatched. Or maybe the sins of his brother's mothers too. Or maybe… wemmbu just deserves this. After all he is a deplorable, useless, waste of oxygen, who destroys everything around him slowly but surely.
With a sigh, Wemmbu takes a mace out of his inventory. It's not crucible, or gambit, or pearl… one spoke gave to him. It has a dark handle, with the metal electro dyed some type of mesmerizing rainbow. Alt, is what is engraved on the breeze rod. He doesn't want this, he won't keep it either. With the wildflowers and the book he shoves the mace into the box and slams it close. As if the mace burned his hands. Wemmbu goes back to doing… this! The compartmentalizing! The pretending! Forcing himself to forget! Void, hes a fucking bum. He can't even face this, he'll never be able to face anything.
He still finds himself staring, and covering up that stupid box. He can't stop staring and void above he wished more than anything he was able to cry. Even just a little. But he can't, so wemmbu is stuck staring numbly at a fucking slab of stone as the sun sets behind him. For fucks sake, hes a mess.