#mombath

     “I told you- you can’t join! And Elsa’s not gonna tell you any different. Now, if you wanna come back here and watch the show every night till ya get it outa your system, I ain’t gonna stop you. But that’s the most we can do for you.”

   When he catches her staring Eve quickly looks down at her phone in order to pretend as if she wasn’t. She was gawking because his hair is absolutely hideous, but she has learned to keep comments like that to herself.

     “Well, we sure accomplished a lot that time. That was sharp dialogue, all the way through.”

❝ ——— crusts off. ❞ he grouses, trembling fingers flinching back from the cramped parallels bars, from the tipping-tapping of easter-prim nails. dandy, in his alligator polos and tied sweater-caplets, of lemonade-pinks and citrus-brights and crisp cottons, almost charming if not utterly frightening, brandishing a dull knife, smeared with the oils of peanut-butter and the pulpy seeds of strawberry jam — and kurt: on all fours, a pair of wrists and aching knees, caged as if a pet, an exotic beast to be trotted out for a show. ❝ and you can’t have me caged up, because — w - what about food ? i mean proper meals; you can’t just expect to feed me crumbs by hand forever. and water — ❞ his stomach grumbles: he watches the sandwich, swallowing. ❝ and — basic functions. ❞ he blushes cherry-dark, cheeks to ears. ❝ you took me from the circus, because i’m one of the acts. if you want me to sing, you have to treat me well. ❞

        “See now, lookie here, mate.... this economy’s done me a real wankin’.” More like he did him-self a real wankin’, or, if you want to be technical, his old “friends” did. But we won’t get into that. He held out his hand expectantly, making too-intense eye contact with the other as he asked, “You look like a rich enough chap. Do some good for ya bloody neighbourhood and give me a twenty.”

          There were many things about the Mott household that the Clown could gripe about, but having an actual bed to sleep in wasn’t one of them. He’d spent most of the night curled up impossibly tight on a bed in one of the house’s many guest rooms. Many of which seemed to be collecting dust, but he hadn’t fussed when Dandy showed him where he’d be staying. Hm...speaking of that brat, he hadn’t heard from him in what seemed suspiciously long. Picking his head up off the mattress, he turned to look toward the door...only to find that the young man was already standing there, fixing him with an odd gaze. The Clown practically leapt up, all at once on all fours on the bed, back arched slightly like a spooked cat. A resentful sort of hiss crawled out from behind his mask as he glared at the other, not at all amused to have been spied on.

“Dandy.” Winter speaks softly, “My name is Winter--I’m the new maid. Your mother thought it best if I came and introduced myself to you.” She’d offer a slight curtsy in the maid outfit, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, officially.”

  “BOUJEE, man, you look boujee, absolutely bourgeoisie.” NOT SO MUCH HIMSELF; fat schlops of red (don’t be too alarmed— it’s not human; it’s rat) dripped down his chin to his mouth, & his hair was disheveled and his vibrations were ALL OVER THE PLACE, bouncing from the neat little lawns to the street to the electricity poles, where they were sucked up. This HAD to be the work of the spiders.        & something about the guy set him off! He was TOO neat-looking, his hair too coiffured. But he wouldn’t let his suspicions get in the way. “But tell me, chap, in strictest confidentialities. Are you a spider?”