At My WIT’s End!

Mr. Wit gives the question a thoughtful hum, tapping the end of his raven-head cane into the ground rhythmically as if counting the seconds that go by.

“Friends? What a dreadfully… human word.”

He smiles, and whether it’s genuine or mocking is impossible to tell.

“No, no, dear Anon. No friends here. Just me, and my wonderful little circus troupe. I much prefer undying, unquestioning loyalty to trivial, peculiar notions like friendship.”

- 🐦‍⬛🎪

Mr. Wit stares at Anon for a moment, and the silence is almost deafening as he attempts to fathom sharing a space with that smelly creature.

“Ha-ha. I’d sooner stick my head in a box of sand and suffocate.” Says the ringleader, still vividly mentally experiencing living with Pennywise.

He shudders, then recoils and scrunches his painted nose as if he had launched himself face first into the sewers.

“No, no, dear. I reside in my tent. At my circus. Sewers and humans carry the same stench,” He pauses for a brief moment, narrowing his eyes as if to enunciate. “…Shit.”

Wit visibly reacting to affection:

Wit taps his chin in an exaggerated effort to appear as if he’s pondering his answer. He isn’t. Really, he’s just dragging this on for as long as he possibly can. When he speaks, his voice carries a curious, almost playful sarcasm.

“Capture? An ugly word. Heavens, no.” He leans forward slightly toward Anon, wearing a grin consisting of sharp, dagger like teeth that become impossible to ignore with the proximity.

“That implies effort I simply don’t need to make. I provide people with what they’re looking for and they walk in of their own accord. Humans are wonderfully foolish that way, you see.”

The ringleader waves a dismissive hand and hums softly to himself as though the conversation has begun to bore him.

“By the time they realise something is terribly wrong, they’ve already built the cage for themselves… and driven themselves delightfully mad while they’re at it. I’ve heard humans call this manipulation, but I prefer the term… customer service.”

Mr. Wit squints and leans down at the stupid anon. “Will Mr. Wit give you a kiss? Will Mr. Wit pay taxes? Who knows! Some mysteries were never meant to be solved.” He stands again, to his full height, and taps anon on the head slightly with his cane. “Truthfully, I’d rather eat a lightbulb. I don’t know what germs you carry. Though, the audacity to ask me that was certainly entertaining.”