#mizzstro malarkey

The jester beast hunches over his lap with a long sigh. He brushes his claws through the messy bangs of parted fur around his mask. He doesn’t look at Balan.

“You know how I feel about someone digging around in there.”

The maestro’s brow furrows.

“I’m only conducting your memories—guiding you through so I can help determine what ails your heart. I can see them, I suppose, but you will be the star of your own show.”

“Psh, you think I don’t know why I’m like this? I’m the conductor of psycho-analyzing myself, Bal.”

Colorful gem drops appear around him. Mizzstro simply pushes them aside with his tail. The annoying things always get in the way. Balan stiffens at the sight.

“I know you’re hurting, Mizzstro. I can—“

“You can what? Watch from the background as I relive all the shitty things that’ve happened to me?” Mizzstro’s claws dig into the floorboards. “If my issues were as simple as…as getting over a fear of dolphins, or just having goddamn art block then don’t you think I would have told you by now?”

Balan huffs like the beast struck a chord. “You would have never told me regardless because you fear being vulnerable with others.”

“Well, look who’s breaking out their Masters in Psychology. Should I pay that $75 cash or card?”

“Do you use this witty persona to deflect all the negativity surrounding you?”

Mizzstro chokes on his words. In one swift movement he tears into a frustrated shout, flicks his tail with a charge, then teleports across the stage. The green flash blinks through the theatre’s shifting main room. For a moment, rows and rows of empty seats stare back at Mizzstro. He searches the darkness for their lingering image.

With an uneasy sigh, Mizzstro strolls to the edge of the stage then slumps down against the wall.

“…don’t forget to add my recklessly charming personality to the analysis as well, doc.”

Mizzstro chuckles. Balan doesn’t react, much to the jester’s awkward disappointment.

He looks so small, Balan realizes, crouched against the wall with his knees now tucked tightly against him. He grips himself so hard his claws dig into the fur of his upper arms. His tail curls around his ankles, the sharp star tip still poised to strike.

Balan approaches anyway, though gingerly, floating over to little beast. Mizzstro flicks his tail at Balan’s presence but doesn’t stop him from planting down on the floor beside him.

“Putting on the jester hat, hell, the whole mask…and being everyone’s favorite little shithead…sometimes that’s easier. I can control that.”

Mizzstro hurries to wipe the moisture building in his eyes.

“You’re asking me to process things I’m still trying to understand. I’m not even human anymore, Balan.”

Mizzstro’s words hang between them.

“So, I’d rather put back on the costume cause that’s the only way I can get through this shit, even if it hurts just as bad.”

Balan tenses but finds himself nodding slowly.

“I’m glad you trusted me enough to share this, Mizzstro.”

He squirms at Balan’s words but can’t hide a small grin curling.

“Yeah, well… don’t get used to it. Just give me my heart piece therapy badge and I’ll be on my way.”

Balan searches the jester beast’s face. Mizzstro finally turns to look at him, even if just slightly.

“What?”

“Your heart is still imbalanced and missing, I fear. Do you trust me enough to let me help you?”

Balan reaches out for a moment to comfort him before pausing. Mizzstro flinches at the approach—Balan recoiling. Mizzstro shifts and stares back to the ground, his otherwise lively lilac and green eyes glazed over. His tail taps at the ground.

“It’s not…it’s not that I don’t. I just don’t have much of a choice.”

“Without your heart rebalanced, Mizzstro, you may never leave Wonderworld—“

The beast tenses, “—you think I don’t know that, Bal?”

“Please, allow me to help you…” The maestro’s voice strains with desperation, a rare falter of his grace. “I owe it to you to try.”

Mizzstro wipes his eyes again. He can’t cry in front of Balan, not like this.

“If you knew what you were looking for in my head, then you wouldn’t be asking to go digging. You won’t… you won’t see me the same after. I’m not the same.”

Balan floats to the ground.

“I…regret…that Wonderworld has taken your humanity from you.”

Mizzstro stares off, muttering, “Yeah, well, it wouldn’t be the first…”

Balan sinks. Negativity radiates from the false maestro, even as just a glimpse behind the mask.

“The pain you’re in is too much for you to handle alone. If you truly want to leave, let me help you in the best way I know how. I won’t give up trying,” Balan slowly offers his hand out to Mizzstro, “and I won’t let anyone else hurt you.”

Mizzstro’s ears droop. He looks up at Balan’s hand, then to the maestro himself.

“Even if you vandalize the theatre and terrorize Wonderworld,” Balan chuckles. He gives an awkward shrug.

A small smile creeps across the jester’s mask, but its warmth is real. Uncurling himself, he exhales a long, loud sigh, and grabs hold of Balan’s offered hand.