Oh, Brother

"Last time I checked, blankets where used for keeping warm. Not murder."

*(M)*(H)*

I was rather irritated at the moment. Going through mail was already stressful enough, -with so much of it consisting of fan-mail, pranks, threats, among other things- without another damned guy flying around the room blithering incoherent things in a hand form. Don't get me wrong, as a brother, I have an unconditional love for the guy, but honestly, the man needs to be shot with a tranquilizer every once in a while. May sound a bit extreme to you, but believe me when I say he's driving me insane. A bit like himself.

I was in my humanoid form while reading the mail. I appeared to be average young man with dark blue eyes, and white hair that seemed to go in every direction. As normal, I wore a black dress shirt with a white coat, pants, shoes, and a single glove on my right hand. My brother wore the left.

Speaking of the devil, as I pulled my hair in irritation of the forth threat of today, the left hand whizzed down the hall past the open door of my office. He laughed insanely, even with no mouth. What the hell did he think he was doing? -Trying to get me to sign his death warrant?- I couldn't read the mail. Not with him going up and down the hallway. I placed both hands on the table and stood up, stomped over to the door, and just as my brother came by for the three-hundredth time, I punched him right in the palm. The hand hit the wall right in front of the door and fell to the ground, looking in as much pain as hand could look. I glared dangerously at it, fists tight at my sides, breathing angrily. "Stop it." I commanded.

"Owww… Why'd you do that?" The hand whined painfully twitching a bit. In a slow flash of light, a man, much like myself, took place of the hand. However, all the colors were weird. The shirt was white, but the coat was neon orange and the pants were lime, the shoes being violet. His eyes were mismatched hazel and yellow. Not that I could see them, he had them shut tight while wallowing in pain. "That really hurt! You could've just told me to stop…" He murmured, clutching his aching stomach.

"You never would have listened." I scolded. Being with him for many millennia, I knew my brother well enough to know he doesn't listen to a lot of things. He obeyed me more than others, but he was still like a four year old who wouldn't stay still when told to. I folded my arms, relaxing a bit.

Nuh-uh! You never asked!" The neon man argued, trying to stand on two feet very wobbly, relying on the wall to keep him steady while he used his arms to hold back some of the pain. "I would have done it if you said so!" He whined like a child.

I rolled my eyes at him, and sighed. So immature, this guy. So different from me, even as a twin. "You know as well as I that there are commands you won't obey." My brother opened his mouth to protest, but I raised my index finger to stop him. "No, no, no, stop right there. No games, just sit down and stop screaming." I ordered, feeling rather cold as I said that. I pointed to a chair near my desk with the same hand, motioning for him to sit there. At times, I felt a lot like a parent to him. Other times, I felt I was near to committing incest. Nevertheless, I stayed valiant with him, dealing with his shenanigans and idiocy, and enjoying his company and loyalty.

With a grimace, he marched over to the chair, and sat back in it lazily. I sat back down in my chair, facing away from my brother, finally able to get back to work. Sorting through the stack of mail, mostly throwing them into a trash pile if I deemed it unimportant, opening only a few labeled ones, I expect to have a small conversation with the other one. I usually did, if he was ever around and not doing something annoying. I didn't mind them, we had them for many past years. But right now, even after many minutes, my brother was silent, and I grew worried, as he was the one to always start the turning, I checked on him. "Crazy?" I called.

Quickly, slightly suspiciously, he answered, "Master?"

Although I was slightly relieved, I was still worried about his quietness. I knew he had lots of mood swings, but it was rarely like this. "You okay?" I asked, turning to look at him.

He wasn't in the chair. Panicking a little, I scanned my eyes around the room. Luckily for me, his blindingly colorful clothes gave him away. He was rummaging through my secret cabinet. "Hey!" I yelled at him. He flinched, falling out of the cabinet he had been going through, as a chocolate chip cookie landed next to him. MY chocolate chip cookie. "What do you think you're doing?!" I growled at him, gripping the back of my leather chair with a fierce anger. He rubbed the back of his head hat had been hit in the fall.

"I was hungry, and your not-so-secret cabinet was so tempting… You didn't even paint over the hinges…." Indeed, the cabinet was just a cut-out square in the wall attached to hinges, covered in the black paint like the wall around it. Over time, the paint had fallen off the metal hinges. But that was where I kept my special things and sweets, he had no right to be going through it!

"Why don't you just… go mess with the Smashers or something?" I suggested to him, shooing him away. "And… give me back my cookie!"

Crazy frowned slightly, brightening only after he had thought of something. Then, a mischievous smirk pulled at his lips. He jumped to his feet, bowing to me for some odd reason. "That's a great idea, muahahaha, I'll do just that." He cackled, taking a bite of the cookie, causing my eyes to widen and my jaw to drop. "And… no." He skipped out the door, taking my sugary circle of joy away.

"No! Get back here with my cookie!" I yelled at him, but to no avail. I wasn't going to chase after him. So sighing, I slumped down back into my chair, looking pitiful as I sorted through the papers again. Taking from a tall, neat stack of envelopes the left of my desk, I examined them, before most likely tossing them to them to a larger, messy pile on the right side of my desk. I would do this for hours on end, every week. It was so boring, so tedious and soul-sucking. I would much prefer seeing two to four people try to kill each other by throwing them off the stage. That is why I made it my job.

But for now, I flipped through pointless fan mail and bills, opening few that I thought were important, only to deem them a waste of my time. I used to read all of them, back in the first few years, until I realized that most humans are a bunch of blithering idiots. Seriously, reading what they say nearly gives me a migraine. Why do I have a body modeled after them? The Smashers, that's why.

Now of course, no story is good without a problem, that's why I'm telling you this one. After another hour, I heard the distinct sound of an explosion. Far and muffled, mostly because of the immensity of the mansion. But I still felt the shockwave and trembling of the building. Without hesitation, I reverted to my original right-hand form, an exact copy of my brother's, but in reverse. I flew down the halls, past confused characters and people peering out there doors, and I came to a halt a the main kitchen, speechless, and looking somewhat like a frozen tasered hand.

"What… did you do?!"

Author's notes: Ha, ha! First chapter of my first story! I, um…. Don't expect a single person to read this yet. But If they do, great! You get the soul-wrenching task of having to wait or be completely uninterested! Good luck with that!

Yes, the hands will often transform between a human and giant hand form. Don't kill me, cause my stories aren't always consistent. In this one they can do that, but probably in others they'll just be giant floating gloves.

I, um… honestly don't have much else to say. Comments, questions, constructive/deconstructive criticism- all accepted.

I'm new to this, okay?!