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“Send the remaining fools to our local contacts, ” Jester ordered, ignoring the itch of his winter coat and casual hat; cooly observing the crowd of humans drawing near like ants rushing towards a cube of sugar.

A seductive orange glow peeked over the nearest hill where their circus once stood. The leader refused to turn away from the sight of humans marching, his stance carrying the burdens of a spartan when facing a cloud of arrows above.

“Of course, Jes, it will all be settled,” The TicketTaker’s voice from behind soft as wafers dipped in honey, “please—we must go.”

“Give Harlequin the keys to the truck, Bil.”

TicketTaker balked, “What?”

Never glancing back, Jester already knew the expression on his old friend’s face would tempt him to change his plans. Carefully, the leader chooses his words before feeling the muscles in his body expand and change ever so slightly. The blue creature’s eyes grew wide, realizing what was to be done. Bil frantically looked back and forth between his illustrious leader and the flesh-coated portends of doom that threatened to swallow their home once more.

Jester walks forward outside Bil’s grasp, ignoring his worried friend, “Quim tends to drive erratically, they won’t be able to predict his route. You all know where to go. I will find you all in four days time. After that.…”

There was no arguing with the leader of the circus. TicketTaker’s pleas echoed behind as Jester’s arms opened wide; daring whomever was brave enough to challenge in the flashiest way possible. Jester was a performer, first and foremost, and the mob before him was a particularly unamused audience. All he had to do now…was act.

Thankfully, there were many layers under the clown’s coat; thick vests and padding that just barely protected Jester’s armored body, even as the paring knife of a woman wearing a stained pinafore cut through his upper thigh.

Jester laughed, grinned widely, and twirled like an erratic dancer throwing piles of human flesh he’d brought in a small bag on his hip, at the feet of those who hurt him. He’d concocted a speech, one so hammy, and smarmy that a familiar menace would have been equally proud of it as he would cringe at the hackneyed dialogue. Jester was not one for such obvious theatrics, but if throwing a bunch severed appendages at the mob of humans surrounding him was enough to direct their ire away from the now moving trucks behind, then it would all be worth it. How the purple one almost wished to see the look on their faces when the humans came back to this spot later only to realize the ‘organs’ on the ground were made of cheap plastic.

Some humans pointed at the now moving circus trucks, shouting out orders to follow. However, a sudden explosion of freckled yellow lights blinded the crowd went off; fireworks set hours ago by The Doctor singed much of the now dried foliage of the field to flat charcoal. A few humans fell on their backs at the impact of the booming sounds alone, and Jester took his cue to exit, sprinting as best he could with an openly sliced thigh; shouting at the crowd to follow if they wanted closure and an ice cold bowl of revenge.

Thus, the party was split—a family torn apart like those who currently chased Jester with gobs of foam seeping through the corners of their mouths. Hours it went on like this, with several close calls and sliced tendons, yet Jester moved on.

Coughing, The Jester’s knees began to give way as he felt his left arm grow numb, stained with blood. His stomach bleeding regularly, causing the leader to sway in his step. Looking up at the roof-tops of the buildings around, seeing if there were a potential means to lose the mob from above. The humans had effectively blocked several escape routes. Narrowing his eyes, the creature realized that his intel regarding the crowd was not as thorough as he would have liked, plus his sliced thigh made it difficult to climb at the moment. Silently, the purple one crept onward into a nearby alley as several young humans shouted behind him. The only comfort being that his family was hopefully safe, and far from this place due to his efforts.

“Bil knows what to do,” Jester groaned to himself, pressing against the dirty brick of the alley while smoothing some of the blood on the stone ground with his boot.

Catching his breath, the leader fell to his kneels, crawling towards a dumpster to hide and rest for even just a moment. He was far too drained, having ran with several injuries, and an openly sliced stomach, unable to leap from building to building as originally planned. Not that this entire visit had gone as he once envisioned.

What was it again that led to this? How were they so careless?

It had something to do with a particular fool’s mask falling off, he recalled, but Jester couldn’t focus; not when his forehead was pounding like the end of a hammer against the meat of his skull. Finally, as his knees scraped against the rough asphalt, Jester grabbed the end of the dumpster, pulling himself further in where he wouldn’t be so visible to the rushing crowds. Sighing, the leader of the circus, maneuvered his aching body once more, pulling the dumpster along in a low screech using his great strength until the back of his head finally leaned against the smooth surface of a bolted alley door where he could finally catch his breath. Now hidden behind the dumpster, Jester chuckled, likely out of delirium. The creature wondered for a moment what unlucky soul lived in a building that had their door nearly obscured by a rusted garbage box.

Foolish choices from foolish creatures.

Taking a few breathes, Jester looked towards the sky, connecting the stars in his mind as he once did during his youth. Constellations of mythic beasts, dead warriors, and forgotten gods had been his only companions during those nights where food was so scarce Jester’s ribs began to show under his thickened skin. Would his new family have to go back to those days because of this? It was certainly possible.

“What a perfect disaster,” Jester moaned, suddenly feeling darkness creep on the edges of his now dimming vision.

Immediately, the purple monster knew he couldn’t allow himself to fall unconscious, not now! Lifting his head only to plop back onto the door behind him, Jester tried to sit up again— over and over, as if lightly knocking against the metal, growing frustrated. Staring at his wounds, relieved that his many clothed layers hid the skin beneath, only made the creature dizzier and the need to sleep far greater. Jester growled to himself, banging his head back and forth on the door behind to keep himself awake.

“Don’t sleep,” he protested in a whispered huff, “—I won’t allow it!”

Banging his head back, again and again until there was suddenly nothing there, and Jester found himself falling all the way to the ground. The sound of cold tile cracking against his aching skull was the last thing Jester felt before blacking out entirely.

All light was screened out of Jester’s vision until he felt the punishing glare of florescent bulbs and.. lavender? Foreign fingers ran over his body peeling membranes of clothing off, piece by piece. Rolling somewhat, Jester found his ribs contracting like an accordion with every breath before trying to sit-up, groaning in agony the hadn’t felt in decades. Frightfully, Jester wondered if the chilly floor were made of iron—his mind going back to a place of nightmares. The leader panted heavily, eyes open but unable to focus on much else. A picture etched on a thin totem, or at least that’s what he could see through the film of milk that currently blocked his sight. Was he back in the cage? Lavender again…. Where was he?!

“Whoa there-hey! Hold on!!”

A new voice pierced through the monster’s sensitive ears making Jester immediately pick-up on his other senses. Jester could feel this person’s rushing blood and a slight uptick in heart-rate as though it were his own. There was a human here. Human—it must be—their organs were too quick, scent too delicious. The purple creature could taste this person’s fear on the tip of his tongue as the world crept slowly into understanding like wiping a fogged up window with a moist cloth. Only then, did he finally see.

“Out,” the leader commanded the surprised human, “out—Leave me!”

Jester’s claws were desperate to pierce through his thick gloves, now crusted with dried blood, and attack, but he hesitated. It was important, when deciding on a kill, if the prey would be missed. Whether they lived alone, what their intentions were, or worse—Jester shook his head, trying rid himself of familiar fears to focus on the here and now. Eye sight finally clear enough to notice a white and red kit by the human’s knees; reaching towards it, Jester grabbing the first piece of metal that flashed under the florescent lights above. Holding up a small pair of surgical scissors in hand towards the surprised human, Jester brought his still injured knees up to his chest in a small attempt to hide his open wound and skin from the human. Vulnerability was the true enemy of monsters.

“Okay, okay,” the human slowly scooted away from him while sitting on the tiled floor, hands up in a defensive posture, “slow down there, tex. I wasn’t gonna hurt you—kind of the opposite actually.”

The leader held the scissors firmly, pointing towards the woman before glancing at his surroundings. A small entry foyer with peeled wallpaper the color of guacamole. Chipped lintels and fixtures seemingly never dusted as though the area had been rarely used. Alternatively, this human’s form finally began to make sense amid the strange colors and surroundings. Their hair of light lavender, arm covered with an inked image of a snake. At first, he wasn’t sure if this being was really there, though decades of memories and human fashion caught Jester up on what era it currently was, as well as the type of human you likely were. An artist most likely, or at least someone who empathized with the lifestyle.

Turning his head towards the faded stain beneath his jeans, the leader pressed himself closer to the wall as the human, still kneeling on the tiled floor across from him, did the same.

“Yeah,” the stranger dared speak, pointing to the stains on her tiled floor, “that’s your blood—remember? Blood?”

Jester narrowed his eyes, “I’m aware of what blood is.”

“Oh…good. Cause you might have a concussion too, which yeah,” the human nervously brushed a piece of lavender hair behind an ear on the shaved side of their head. “Not that it’s good, but you know—”

“I will only ask this once: where am I?” Jester interrupted firmly, trying to get to the point.

Pursing their lips, the human only slightly lowered their arms, eyes darting towards the scissors he held and back to his injured stomach. Instinctively, Jester shielded the large wound with his free arm, shaking as he tried to keep himself balanced using the wall behind him. The human’s compassionate eyes hardly impressed the leader, however it did alleviate some of his concerns. At the very least, it seemed she hadn’t seen his true skin while Jester was passed out. A small comfort, if nothing else.

The human leaned back from the purple one’s intense gaze, “An hour? You’re in the back entrance of my cozy rent-controlled place—otherwise I’d be out on the streets like you were—Think you chipped some paint off the hinges or something though, didn’t even know that door still opened.…”

A twinge of mirth was heard in the human’s voice, though Jester neither smiled nor laughed in turn; his arm still extended, tightly holding the pair of curved scissors towards the strange person.

“You think me…homeless?” Jester muttered thoughtfully. “Leave the first aid kit and I will take nothing else. You will not see me again, I give you my word.”

The leader of the circus could feel a dollop of blood pour through the fingers of the hand pressing on his stomach while leaning forward. His one arm stretched towards the human faltered, keeping the scissors in hand stubbornly up, teeth gritted. The human stared at him warily, eyes moving up and down Jester’s tense form. She could tell, from his hostile posture, voice, and the scissors in hand that this guy would not respond well to help. A cloud of empathy swelled within her at the thought of what this poor wretch had gone through to feel so guarded towards a small thing such as she.

The human began carefully eyeing his wound, “You definitely need medical attention, just let me—“

“No.”

She huffed at his curt reply, “I won’t touch you! It’s kinda a bad look to have someone die in your apartment—almost as terrible as living next to a lit-up billboard, but without the property tax deductible.”

Jester blinked at the joke, lowering the scissors in hand, though still at the ready. Years of experience, betrayal, and aching bones echoed the past like yellowed pages in a half-burnt photo album. If this human knew the truth, knew what he was, then their kind eyes would quickly turn to red-hot hatred. Nothing in life was ever truly given, not for free anyway; everything had a catch, a price—and Jester was not one to leave unpaid debts.

The human raised their hands again in surrender, stretching the tattooed snake on their bicep enough that it almost looked like the inked serpent were traveling lower and lower down her arm in a vain attempt to escape its fleshy prison. After awhile, the human pulled up their legs, pressing against their chest. The pose mimicked Jester’s own. They both sighed and huffed in timed unison before the human finally decided to speak.

“Got a name?”

Jester merely glared at her in what was becoming his usual silent treatment.

“Right,” she clicked her tongue and began to turn around, “well, not that you asked, but my name’s Anya—as in—I’ll be On-Ya like envelope glue.”

The leader raised a brow, surprised but not necessarily shocked that the human would leave themselves so open, not at all caring about her name. Continuing to hold the pair of surgical scissors towards Anya, the human then reached behind her lavender head, pointing towards the nape of her neck where tips of a raven’s wings peaked through the neckline of her shirt.

“No laugh, huh?” The human said dryly, her back still turned. “Look, I’m not here to make you uncomfortable, but this is my home, and my home is for healing—“

Jester finally lowered the scissors to the ground, feeling a rare opportunity glide by as she droned. However, something this human said specifically made the creature pause: ‘not the first person who’s come knocking at my door.’ In frustration, Jester gritted his teeth realizing there was a possibility she had other humans in the building, ones that he could not smell or hear due to the continued banging in his head. If so, then he couldn’t stay here…not for long anyway. Looking towards the black bolted door that led to the alley, Jester pondered on the idea of knocking the human out to make his escape; take the kit, and hope this Anya wouldn’t call anyone after.

Raising his hand, Jester made up his mind. It was the best option, the only one that made sense. The only one that would get him to his family sooner. It was worth the risk even if this 'Anya' did have other humans somewhere upstairs. He had to risk it. He had to. Jester decided, leaning forward and—

“Urg!”

The purple clown clutched at his stomach in sharp growl; dropping the scissors, Jester’s claws retracted as he doubled over in pain. Anya, almost turned around but stopped herself. Looking from the corner of her eye, she reached back to slide the first aid kit towards Jester.

“I won’t look, I won’t touch you, and I didn’t see much but you’ll need iodine,” Anya started worriedly. “If your stomach’s bleeding then you gotta sew it up too and it’s gonna hurt like a thousand fire ants in your crotch, but I’ve done it before—So, I’ll walk you through it, ok? No peeking. Scout’s honor.”

Anya raised up two crossed fingers much to Jester’s surprise.

A promising gesture, meaningless in the long-run—about as binding as a hot glue gun. Jester did not trust it, still, beggars were not in fact choosers, and while Jester would NEVER beg, he at least could choose ‘something’ in this imbalanced predicament. Looking at first to Anya, making sure her back was still turned, Jester used his free hand to slowly peel away the sticky fabric on his stomach, wincing. He couldn’t run, at least not without passing out again from blood loss, making his options scarce. Clenching his fists, the leader leaned back against the wall of the small apartment foyer, looking up at flickering florescent lights in defeat.

Jester sighed, “Very well…”

He couldn’t see it, but Anya smiled at that.

“I’ll get to know you better than you know yourself, stranger! Count on it!”

“I severely doubt that,” Jester waved her off.

From there, Anya began instructing Jester, with her back turned, how to sterilize and sew his wounds; repeatedly telling him that it’d be best he finds professional medical attention soon. Jester responded aptly that he had a Doctor he’d see later. For an hour or so, the leader sewed, cleaned, and taped his cuts; grumbling while trying not to growl despite the pain. Still, it weren’t as though he didn’t have some form of entertainment at hand.

After all, he was in the presence of a potential fool.

“You are a scout,” Jester suddenly brought up while sewing his open stomach shut.

“What?” Anya asked, surprised.

The leader shifted his aching body, sighing at the stinging feeling of iodine on his now closed wound.

“From before,” Jester mimicked the sign with two fingers she’d made before, not that Anya could see with her back still turned, “your ‘scout’s honor.’ Not to mention your talents for sewing up open wounds.”

“Heh, well, let’s just say my residency is done at home these days,” Anya’s shoulders rolled as she began to chuckle, “But, dude—‘scout’s honor’? That’s just a saying! I mean—I could’ve been a scout, but if you sealed up those stitches like I told ya, then you’ll be one hell of an explorer in no time!”

Jester mulled over her words, now cutting the string before starting on a new bandage.

“Perhaps I am an explorer…..”

Anya chuckled, “Oh yeah? Seen a lot in your day, huh, chief?”

“Much,” the leader answered with a grunt as his wound began to sting again, “enough to make one vomit.”

Anya slowly sat up straight, one eye glancing back to Jester, but never turning around. Determined to keep her promise much to the purple one’s simultaneous relief and surprise.

The human began slowly. “Most people seem to like travel.”

“I am not like most….”

Anya rolled her eyes, “Oh sure!—You’re an extra special sundae with sugary fudge on top. That’s why you wouldn’t dare let a lowly wretch such as I touch your sacred body, right?”

Jester’s eyes twinkled, “Perhaps you are starting to know me.”

The human laughed, though the sound only made Jester concentrate further on tending to his wounds:

“Be sure not to wrap that gauze too tight.”

“You’ll want to cut the thread two inches after the wound, I know it seems like a lot but trust me, you’ll need it.”

“Take two and a half pills now, I know that’s not what it says on the label but trust me, you’re gonna need it.”

Anya strangely continued to have interesting and thorough medical advice, though Jester would not admit that he’d heard at least some it from his Doctor prior. Sighing, the leader almost wished he’d paid more attention to the avian creature’s medicinal rants. Having Doctor’s care at the ready was taken for granted. This incident, if nothing else, proved how imperative it was for his family gain more medical knowledge; himself included.

“Here,” Anya reached into the first aid kit, feeling for some tape, “seal it with this.”

Jester eyed the human still as he took the tape and carefully sealed one of many bandages he’d been applying on his person.

The human hummed in curiosity as Jester spoke again.

“You have not once turned around to check on my wounds…”

Anya chuckled, “I ain’t Pandora, bro—if you say I shouldn’t open the box, then I won’t.”

“Hm,” Jester, before cutting the medical tape. “Bil would appreciate your….obedience, perhaps…”

“Hey!? Setting me up on a date with someone else before we can finish our own? That’s cold, Stabby.”

The leader raised a brow, closing the first aid kit with a hard snap.

“What…did you call me?”

Anya grinned at the wall she continued to face, “Well, it’s not like you’re gonna tell me your name or anything so I had to come up with my own. Stabby just felt right…given the wounds and all.”

Jester’s brow twitched just as the human began to laugh again. Normally, he’d scold someone, threaten at such disrespect but he was far too tired and preoccupied to care. Trapped in a small mint green foyer with one metal door to the cold alley and the other end a staircase towards Anya’s apartment. It was cramped, suffocating at first, but eventually the air began to feel oddly warm after awhile. Not comfortable, of course, but manageable. Idly, Jester glanced towards the now closed first aid kit by his legs as Anya continued to laugh and joke with him like a pair of old friends. It was an opportune time to act, Jester declared internally.

He wouldn’t get another chance.

Anya was distracted, trusting to a fault in a way that reminded Jester’s of Pierrot’s misguided innocence. Raising his clawed hand as she spoke, Jester remained calm, confident even, in this decision. It was for the best; the quickest and most efficient way home. It was—

“It’s ok.”

Jester paused as Anya’s voice lowered an octave, his eyes still, claws twitching.

“I saw the crowds on TV,” Anya spoke softly, “and what they think you did…”

Jester narrowed his eyes, “You knew, yet you helped me…”

The human sighed while wiping her sweaty brow, “Maybe everyone’s right about me. Maybe my heart bleeds so much I need a tampon to soak it all up, but….I.. I see so many people hiding from bad situations, assholes, and—…I don’t know why..”

The creature’s claws slowly came out further, sharp as ever as a bead of sweat descended his brow.

“Realizing you know nothing and continuing to make the same foolish choices does nothing,” Jester advised coldly.

“Can’t get anywhere without some trust, friend,” Anya smiled again, leaning her head back towards him in a way that made the monster nearly salivate, “and I refuse to let others dictate who I am or how I should be.”

He approached, he had to. This was foolish, a waste of time—

“Besides, Stabby,” Anya joked, “any dude who’s strong enough to sew himself back up and NOT cry has seen some shit. And..well..I hope next time you travel, you eat a light lunch. The world shouldn’t make you vomit, even if there are a lot of ‘emetics' out there making it tough.”

He approached, a hair away, until she added:

“There’s always family…even if you have to make one yourself.”

Jester then leaned back, his mouth parting in a low and frustrated huff. His head hit the wall behind him as you leaned yours closer, still not facing the monster and all he was. It was avoidance, temporary at best. Anya was no one special, one of many well-meaning fools who let murderers into their homes without a second though. She would one day regret her generosity, Jester knew this well. Human society punishes those who love openly, even among their own kind. And in that….for even just a second….Anya felt like kin. But the feeling was fleeting, likely from the light concussion and headache medicine he’d recently ingested.

Surely.

“Turn around,” Jester ordered.

Anya practically jumped at the sound, slowly twisting her hips to face him. The human eyed his now bandaged body up and down. It seemed Jester was now more covered up than when she’d first met him mere hours ago. Blinking, the human finally met the creature’s strangely colored eyes, realizing that she hadn’t gotten a good look at them before she began facing the wall. Such a gorgeous color….

“If you’d be so kind as to fetch me some water, Anya…”

The human’s mouth went dry before she snapped out of it, nodding fast enough for her fact to blur.

“Uh, yeah—YEAH! Shit, you must be thirsty,” She stood up. “Just hold on one sec, I’ll get it for you!”

Anya quickly moved towards the staircase, eyes bright and eager. It was the first thing ‘Stabby’ had asked of her directly and while it was nothing glamorous, she was determined not to fail. Though for what reason, she wasn’t completely sure? There was something about this guy that exuded authority—something that made her want to please him even when he was being curt. Still, she was excited to get him a drink, worried that she hadn’t done so sooner. How thirsty must he be? Poor thing.

Jester listened for Anya’s frantic steps as she ran up to fetch him a glass. With a light groan, he struggled to stand up while leaning against the ugly green wallpaper, looking down at his bandaged wound, smiling. Monsters healed much faster than humans, and two hours were all he needed to have the wound close-up enough to move around. Jester buttoned up his coat, torn as it was, grateful to the dark color for hiding the blood stains well enough.

Lightly, and with ease, he opens the locked alley door wincing at the finger’s of cold air run through his long locks. The Jester carefully closes the metal contraption, giving one last look as the warm foyer is replaced with the dark metallic exit. He stood there, for just a second in contemplative silence before turning away, scoffing.

“A fool indeed,” Jester mused before adjusting his gloves and limping away, “a lucky one, at that.”

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A/N: Thank you again to @midnightguardiananel-blog for commissioning me this fic of Jester with their OC!!!

So, in the older headcanons for Poppet are no longer true; she has undergone a total redesign, and her true origins remain a mystery. While a deeper dive into her nature may come in time, it is clear that Poppet stands apart from the rest of the The Freak Circus troupe.

Jester and Harlequin might mockingly refer to as a "Fool" or a "Sock Puppet," yet one who holds far more authority than they would ever admit.

Stitched together by the Doctor’s hands, Poppet’s existence is a reluctant debt owed to the Jester and Ticket Taker.

Assigned to the Iris Tent by Ticket Taker, she acts as the circus’s broker, deceptive of all trades.

Poppet’s role is to lure, wrapped in the aesthetic to visitors. She offers readings of the past, present, and future, drawing visitors in with tarot, charms, and palmistry that feel unnervingly accurate.

When she offers a guest a choice—one card or three—she is not merely performing a trick. She is navigating the threads of their fate.

A single-card draw allows her to grant a powder wish, but her power is transactional and inherently parasitic; there is always a "catch" hidden in the fine print of the reality she manipulates. Despite her outward charm, she is a vessel of the void. Her stitching holds back an abyss that hungers for more than just coins or curiosity.

She invites you into her tent with a welcoming smile, but be warned: there is a reason she keeps her clawed fingers tucked away.

Above all else, do not shake her hand. 

Should you make that contact, you might find that you are no longer the one deciding where your shadow goes.

ℳ𝑜𝓇𝑒 ℐ𝓃𝒻𝑜 𝒜𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒫𝑜𝓅𝓅𝑒𝓉

❝That is all the information you shall have for now, my playthings.❞

— poppet ⋆˚꩜｡⋆

♤ — 𝓉𝒻𝒸 𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓎𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

iyayadonna, all rights reserved. — ⋆˚ ᓭི༏ᓯྀ ꩜ 。⋆ .ᐟ