They say we are what we are, but we don't have to be

He was grumpy.

He'd been collecting rocks. Desert rocks were pretty consistent: agate, sandstone, granite, quartz, shale. Boring things in a boring pile for the boring golem he would never build. He'd tried adding some treasures to spice things up. A couple pieces of flint, some rocks with long veins of copper in them, a couple good geodes, and a little bit of of the titanium that had begun flaking off his side. Boring. He'd found some malachite, but even that shiny green stone which usually delighted him so much wasn't enough to satisfy the boy, and he stared at the pile with growing frustration, blue feathers ruffling above his twitching tail.

It had seemed like such a good idea, building a golem for the Throat. He'd built a few prototypes but non had been quite right- that was ok, he'd figure it out, right? Ha. He was now what felt like thousands of models later, and still he couldn't settle on a design. Nothing was big enough, nothing was strong enough, nothing was fast or handsome or whole. Perhaps the problem was that he had such an indistinct idea of what exactly he wanted- or, perhaps, it was that he had too distinct an idea, too clear an image of towering bay and flaming wings and imposing eyes and distance. No, Zero didn't want to make a golem that was Gaucho. He wanted to make one that was better than Gaucho.

And that, it turned out, was an impossible task.

As he entered his second year of life Zero's feelings on his father had grown no kinder. If anything they were more inflamed as time wore on and his father's absence grew more pronounced, the uncomfortable void between them growing deeper, to the point where  Zèklè's idea of Gaucho was entirely removed from the truth, self-created and surrounded by cruel illusions. Where the lightning bot idolized his mother he had begun now to revile his father, unjustly angry for a multitude of perceived injustices. He had too many other children to care about Zero. He had never loved Ampere. He had been disgusted by the missing wing, the boy was sure of it, an probably was ashamed of his damaged offspring. That's why he'd never claimed him, the way he claimed his other children.

He stomped, snorting angrily, tail feathers flared. Well, Zero would show them!

If he could just get this stupid goddamn golem to work!

"Talk?"

They say we are what we are, but we don't have to be

He was usually such a cheerful boy. A ray of sunshine on a stormy day, a constant smile on a clouded face. That kind of kid, you know? And had she come to him on another day she may have encountered that cheerful boy. He probably would have laughed at her joke, grinning broadly and puffing up his feathers to enhance his small stature. "He'd better look out!" Zero would have agreed, lopsided grin illuminating red and silver sunbeam eyes. On a normal day Zero would have pushed aside his troubles, because what use were troubles when you were Zero the Badass, and the whole world was practically yours?

But today he wasn't Zero the Badass, and the world was not his. Today the boy was Zèklè the Grumpy, Zèklè the Lame, Zèklè the abandoned son of a stupid father who didn't care about him, the broken offspring of a powerful mother he could never measure up to. Today he was just Zèklè the Failed Inventor Who Couldn't Even Get His Stupid Golem to Work. Today the boy was just a boy- no. It was worse than that, really, worse than Megaera could ever have known.

Because today Zero was a teenager, and teenagers have little interest in being cheery little boys, or being reasonable, or really much of anything at all besides his misery and his anger and his, ugh, hormones.

He glowered at the Sunspear as she landed in the dust, powerfully bitter- she was just showing off, rubbing the boy's disability in his face. Zero pressed his body down, wing pulling tight against his side as he unconsciously shifted so she'd see that side, and not the broken one. He let his ears sit back, reveling in the ease of his anger, sinking further into himself as her friendly words crashed against his skull. He wasn't even close to tall, and she knew that! She just said it to make him feel bad! Did she even know who his father was? Of course she did! his mind raged back. That's why she said it! Because she knows I'll never be good enough!

(The teenage boy's brain is not a rational thing.)

He shied away as she slid to a stop, the movement pointed, angry and abrupt. He wished that the ground would swallow up his rocks, hide them away from her. What right did she have to look at them like that, little pieces of his soul he'd scattered on the ground. How did she know they weren't listening to him? Could she really see his failure so clearly? Or maybe Gaucho told her... The idea made his blood boil. Yeah, Gaucho had probably warned her about him, or worse, asked her to look out for his damaged son. The lightning child could picture the conversation. Someone has to keep an eye on him, Gaucho would have said, But he's so worthless I don't want to. Meg would have groaned, but agreed because Gaucho was in charge and everyone listened to him.

On a normal day Zero would have told Meg the truth, but today was a weird day, and he was in a bad mood, so he decided to try his hand at something new. Lying.

"No," the lightning boy snapped, raising his eyes to star up at Meg. "It's fine." His body posture begged her to challenge the assertion, and his mind ached for a fight. "I'm doing fine, an' it's all gonna be great, so you can go tell Gaucho he can keep ignorin' me an' I'm just perfectly fine!"