Writer in block

Today had quickly gone from good to awful with just the turn of a page, and it was all your fault.

What a horrible situation.

There The Pierrot sat, beside you on the bleachers of his empty red tent, eyes wide and confused as you shook under his judging gaze.

How could you do this to him? How could you be so insensitive?

Especially to the only person who would listen to your artistic ramblings so intensely that it almost made you blush. Pierrot was so kind and caring. He didn’t deserve this. Especially not from a fellow artist…..a friend.

So here’s the situation: you love the arts.

 You love drawing, painting, and often admired crafting as well those who could dance. So, it was no surprise that you adored Pierrot’s work. His grace and talent. It honestly floored you whenever he complimented your own paintings. I mean….why? How could he think your meager doodles could compare to his precisely cut flowers and hypnotic dancing?

You were nothing, he was everything—it was clear.

There was even a day where you had let this slip out. Where you told him how inadequate you felt compared to his skills, but Pierrot, sweet and caring as he was, stopped you with a firm grip on your shoulders and kind eyes.

“You’re simply perfect as you are, my dearest,” he whispered soothingly in your ear that day. “Please never doubt your talents, your work shines brighter than any sun.”

It was then that the clown went from your artistic acquaintance to a close friend.

From that point on, Pierrot made sure to stop any and all discouraging words you’d let slip out. And he certainly wouldn’t allow you to feel intimidated by his abilities, nor compare them to your own in a negative way. The clown’s kind comments seemed to quell the self-deprecating poison that rested like a dirty puddle in your mind. Firmly, you decided to repay him by being more confident in your own art while being more encouraging of his.

And even though the ending to his rather macabre performance at The Circus of Freaks, the first time you saw it, was clearly…..not to your taste---it was the dancing that drew your eye. Oh, the dancing was something else entirely. Even when The Pierrot came to check on you after said show, seeing you leave in such a shaken state with worry in his golden gaze, you immediately burst into rants of joy regarding his shadowy performance despite your fear.

Wanting nothing more than to focus on the good instead of the bad, just as he taught you.

Your eyes reflected his in euphoric glee while asking pressing questions on how and where he learned such beautifully hypnotic movements. Though the clown was vague about the origins of his dancing skills, you gathered, at least, that he was self-taught. Another thing you made sure to tell The Pierrot how amazing he was, each and every time you saw each other, much to his outward joy as well as embarrassment.

Pierrot was so interesting, proficient, and sweet.

Your heart leapt whenever he showed you a new movement or paper concoction.

His creations and overall presence made you swoon with each encounter.

And now….you ruined it.

All of it. Everything.

Pierrot continued to stare at you, eyes wide and shaking as you lowered your head in shame. He sat so close to you, as he often did, but you could tell….or rather, just know….there was no way he’d ever want to spend time with you again after what you did.

How could he?

How could anyone?

Now that he knew your darkest secret, it was all over.

A shame considering that today started out so well with just the two of you hanging out in his large and now vacant tent. The memory of which entered your worrying mind like the hum of restless waves in the sea.

It was in that moment, you began thinking back….fondly… of how it all used to be, mere hours ago:

“Yes, just like that,” your then excited voice echoed softly. “Thank you so much for this Pierrot, you’re a life saver.”

Pierrot’s smile grew wider at the compliment given. Though despite his external glee, your eyes focused intensely on capturing his legs and arms via pencil on the paper pad resting in your lap; all while the clown bent over in a dramatic showman’s bow, just for you. The mist of an early winter morning coldly crept inside the empty tent you two occupied. Despite this wind however, both you and The Pierrot were perfectly comfortable in the warmth of each other’s presence. With a heavy coat on and thin gloves, you still managed to sketch the performer’s lithe form with fervor. Pierrot was your willing and eager model; posing every which way your artistic whims desired. All within his vacant red tent, containing only the two of you and some target dummies the clown used to practice throwing knives at.

It wasn’t every day you had the opportunity to draw a circus tent, let alone its performers.

So this was something special indeed!

As an artist, you were expected to make anything and everything at a moment’s notice. Magically, we creatives are always expected to know how any place should look (even if we’d never been) and then, with the flick of a wrist, bring it to life on the canvas in a way all could understand and appreciate. Unfortunately, such an idea proved to be difficult to achieve without proper visual references at hand. A problem which presented itself when you needed to know what the inside of a circus tent looked like for a client’s picture they’d commissioned you to draw within a limited time-frame.

Luckily, the day The Pierrot came into your life, paper rose in hand, managed to be a blessing in disguise. An answer to your prayers of visual references and poised clowns. You recalled once more, while then sketching the diamond-like patterns of his hat, the false flower the red performer gave you that night in the café. Marveling at how neat the cuts were, how crisp each fold was, as well as the strangely deep crimson paint used to make it pop.

When asking the then silent clown if he created this treasure himself. His nod made you gasp and a spark suddenly turned into a flame.

“Ah wonderful! A fellow artist after my own heart!” your eyes brightened as he nodded again, blushing even harder at that comment.

As expected from this revelation, you began to gush with Pierrot about your passion, to which he listened so intensely that it almost made you blush in turn. It was rare to meet another artist in person, outside of a school or something, let alone one so talented. Naturally, you were excited! Pierrot’s skills both fascinated and humbled you. What luck to meet another like-minded artiste this night, and a clown of all things!

It was only a matter of time before Pierrot asked about your own work, and while you were eager to show him, there was also a sense of dread when doing so. Compared to The Pierrot who could dance like a swan and turn paper into marvels of nature, you felt rather….plain in comparison.

Until, of course, the day you showed him what you could do.

Oh, how his grin grew as wide as an ocean. Golden eyes like twinkling stars the day you handed him one of your many sketch books. Your ego was well fed from Pierrot’s whispered compliments and reverent praise. Perhaps it was vanity that made you trust him more; we humans are such simple creatures after all. Still, you ended up showing the clown new thumbnails every chance you got and asking if he could pose whenever needed (much to his outward joy).

Though the number of hidden pages in your sketchbook implied your interest to be far deeper than pride.

But enough of that. That’s not relevant at all. Clearly.

Basically, your routine began, for over a few weeks now; that the two of you would meet up daily. Usually at a park or in the café where you worked. During those intimate times, you would get to draw the red and gold clown who had a smile as bright as the sun. Pierrot’s eyes always glued to your person and pencil as he eagerly posed for you.

Though today was special.

Today you were inside The Freak Circus during the painfully early hour of 3am, all to draw your favorite clown in his element. After shading in the last bits of his dark pants, you immediately flipped the pad over with a proud grin to show your devoted model the fruits of his labor.

“Tada~” you nearly sang while making sure to keep your voice lower, as per the clown’s request.

Standing up from his original bow, Pierrot eagerly walked over with a skip in his step. Sitting next to you on the empty bleachers as you continued.

“I feel like I really understand the pose now! The arms always tripped me up before, but it looks great here, right?”

As though you even had to ask, Pierrot vigorously nods with an increasingly reddened face.

“Seriously though,” a grateful sigh escapes as you lower the sketch book, “I really do appreciate this. I’ve gotten so many great drawings of you and this tent. It’s really going to help with my painting, but….I hope this is all, you know, ok? Me being here I mean?”

He nodded happily once more.

Knowing truthfully, it wasn’t…

Not that Pierrot wished to ruin your good cheer with such grim facts, of course.

When you first mentioned the other day about needing some references of a circus tent, the silent clown was more than willing to oblige. Anything for his dearest! Unfortunately, at night with such rowdy crowds, even the best camera could only capture so much of the interior amidst all the chaos. Thus, Pierrot snuck you in  today, sometime earlier. Making sure to surreptitiously avoid the other spectrum of tents in order to make your wish come true. Knowing well, that it would be a few hours till The Jester and others would wake up for their morning duties.

So yeah, Pierrot told you it was fine as long as the two of you were quiet and kept the lights low.

Plus, there weren’t any pink-ticketed victims nearby, ready for either devouring or relocation, for you to accidentally stumble upon. At least not today. So as long as you two were quick and quiet, Pierrot felt the danger of being caught was worth the effort.

Besides, there was little he could deny you, especially when looking at him in such a way.

So appreciative and admiring of his work.

The silent performer’s heart swelled at your continued smile, beating faster and faster, while remembering the way you idolized his shadowed movements the first time you saw him dancing. Mesmerized. Enraptured. Your lips parted so temptingly, cheeks flushed like the blooming of a dew covered pink rose. Pierrot could almost not believe what he was seeing that day, wondering if it were a dream, a trick.

Yet your words…your golden, lovely words, sent him over the moon that night.

Regularly, it seemed you both fed on each other’s compliments like thirsty horses to a trough. Two people who rarely felt that their time and effort in their respective crafts were of any worth; yet, in each other’s presence, the things you both did felt as valuable as polished platinum. Never before had Pierrot felt so proud of his skills until you showed an eager interest in them. Your innocent, wide gaze as the clown demonstrated how to make a swan out of paper, one sunny morning, was forever etched in his fractured memory. Oh, how cute and yielding you looked; it took everything in the clown not to carry you away that very moment.

“It is of no consequence, my dearest one,” Pierrot’s deep, rasped tone assured. “Everything is…taken care of.”

The corner of your mouth twitched upward in a polite grin, noting his cryptic answer but unsure of how to respond to it. There were times when Pierrot was an open book while other instances not even a rebus nor codebreaker could make sense of him. Sadly, he was being the latter right now, but what else could you do? You trusted the clown to fulfill his promise when you asked about seeing the empty tent to get visual references for a personal project. Hell, you even went to bed early to make sure you’d be fully alert for this 3am excursion—and, like a genie, Pierrot granted your wish with performative ease.

 So, you supposed, there was nothing left to do but trust him still. I guess?

“If you say so, Pierrot,” you gave an incredulous reply while maintaining a strained smile. “Either way, I’m super grateful to you. I’ve gotten so many fantastic sketches of both the tent and your dancing in here. Seriously….Thank you so much! I can’t wait to show you the final product when it’s ready! I hope you’ll like it!”

You began to flip some of the pages of your sketchbook as Pierrot leaned forward, looking over your shoulder, eager to take a peek with a slight tilt of head.

With a cat-like smile you asked him slyly, “Curious now, are we?”

His grin matched your own, quickly nodding as he often did.

“Ok, you can look, but they’re rough so don’t judge too harshly, ok? I swear I’ll fix them later.”

You then handed over the book, happy to hear what Pierrot thought. Any and all critique was welcome in your eyes, especially from someone as skilled (and complimentary) as he.

Though a sudden thought entered your mind after letting go of said book.

It came like the force of a truck hitting a squirrel the moment he took it from you and began opening its pages.

At first……….you hadn’t realized….

No….The truth was, you hadn’t remembered.

Remembered until now, that is, what else was inside your precious book of dreams and rough ideas.

It wasn’t until the clown began flipping a few more pages, with innocent glee, did you finally recall why this specific red sketchpad of yours was one The Pierrot should NOT ever see the contents of.

Though before we get into that, dear reader, you must understand just one more thing.

The Pierrot’s form molded to your art style like the soft edges of clay in skilled hands. His form came across so unbelievably well when he first posed for you, that something ended up….happening…after you drew him for the first time.

A feeling, an urge, began to take over.

The contours of the clown’s face and body seemingly flew out of your pencil like a flock of birds at the slightest sound. Even after Pierrot needed to leave each day, likely to prep for his show, you still continued to draw him. Needed to. Referencing the pictures you made earlier. Though it was easy to copy his visage from memory alone.

So then, you drew another image of him and another again.

And even more than that.

For over a week now since the two of you had been meeting up for this, you had been drawing the Pierrot even when he wasn’t around----dozens upon dozens of times. Far too many sketches of your new companion were littered in that cursed book and now…… he would know.

Dread piled up in the pit of your stomach as you noticed the way his face changed with each flip of the page of your red sketchbook; smile growing gradually smaller, gold eyes focused, less dilated.

In a panic, you vainly attempted to reach out to stop the clown, but it was too late.

He saw.

Saw that page after page were sketches…..of The Pierrot.

At first there were only two, then four, fourteen----and then forty, etc. etc.

Soon, it became clear that nearly half the book was filled with meticulously drawn images of…

….him.

And now, we’re back to the present, dear reader, where life was terrible and you had ruined everything.

Wow, you were FUCKED.

It was one thing to obsessively draw something outside of yourself, like a favorite character or celebrity. Someone or something that you’d likely never get to meet, either at all or for no longer than it takes to get an autograph. But this? You felt awful, like a creep. Truly, you’d meant to ask his permission ages ago on whether or not it was ok to paint him in your free time, but now it was too late.

You didn’t mean for it to get this way. Didn’t want your new friend to ever find out, but Pierrot was just so wonderful to draw, so fluid and fun, you couldn’t help yourself. There was something about his style, grace, and overall persona that made you want to put pen to paper. All to see what he’d look like in a certain light or in a different pose. It went on, that you simply became curious as to how he’d look from the side, or the back, or standing far away passing out flyers……unable to see you.

You craved drawing him, needed to.

It became an obsession.

Clearly, The Pierrot would never look at you the same way for this creepy behavior.

You just knew it.

In a panic, your hand splayed across the pages he was looking over and the clown’s unreadable gaze finally met your frantic one, blinking.

“Pierrot, I’m so sorry!”

The silent performer lowered his hands with a downward tilt of his head, as though confused by your words. Taking a deep, nervous breath, you eventually found the courage to continue.

“I-If I’ve crossed a line or made you uncomfortable…then---Wow, I’m so sorry--Crap, I-I--!”

As your scrambled brain attempted to articulate what you really wanted to say, The Pierrot just stared at you more befuddled than ever. The torturous awkwardness only grew in the circus tent you both occupied like creeping mold in a basement. Suddenly, another, stronger wind rushed through the entrance of the vacant tent as you backed away from the clown, hands no longer on the sketchbook. Rubbing your arms, you looked away from Pierrot while still sitting on the bleachers, in utter shame. This whole horrible situation made the world feel as though it were spinning, and the wind certainly wasn’t helping.

Though the sudden gust did distract you from how your mysterious friend was processing all this.

There The Pierrot sat next to you still on those cold bleachers, holding your sketchbook in his clawed hands as though it were as fragile as a porcelain dove. Seemingly confused, at first, by the sheer number of pictures of himself. Wondering silently as to how you were able to draw him when he wasn’t present for most of these pictures.

Then the clown parted his lips.

Breathing harder. Pulse racing, eyes widening--

--As he finally realized.

Pierrot’s smile returned tenfold, eyes shimmering like traffic lights in a jam. All this and then some lead The Pierrot to visibly shake.

An act which only caused dread to pile up in the pit of your stomach at the sight.

Oh, how he must hate you! Look at how he’s shaking from sheer terror! Smile or not, that was just The Pierrot’s way after all. Anyone could plainly see his discomfort towards what you’d done now! Especially as he went so far as to potentially break the rules of his workplace to bring you here so early in the morning. Oh, you felt awful, like a creep. A horrible, shameful, wretched thing.

No sane person would find this charming.

Obviously.

Pierrot, of course, saw everything he’d been hoping for since the day you two met in these sketches, but your teary and frantic gaze simply confused him. Why did you look so worried? So sad and panicked? All he could see from these drawings were your confessions of love. Of wanting to know him, be with him.

To the clown, this was clear.

Surely, you understood?

Mechanically, the silent performer continued to flip the pages of the sketchpad, despite your pleas. If there was one thing Pierrot was familiar with, it was how deep the admiration of another could consume someone whole. How such feelings took over one’s days and nights where all they could do was dive deeper. Willingly drowning in the unforgiving ocean that was true love—Oh yes, The Pierrot was intimately familiar with what you were going through.

And he thought it beautiful.

These images you made….. they captured so many angles of him with such expression, it honestly made him dizzy. The way you drew his eyes changing size and depth depending on mood, the detail in each bit of his costume down to the stitch; long, silver hair peeking through an oversized hat---all these things made with such care, such love, that Pierrot began to blush once more. As he often did.

Just then, your hand covered the page he was currently looking over as it had before. The action causes him to face you while blinking innocently.

“Seriously, Pierrot,” your voice shook in fear, “I just think you’re really cool. An amazing artist and friend! I just….I don’t know—crap…!”

The clown continued to blink at you, though his gaze softened in growing understanding as you went on.

“You’re just so cool and I like drawing you.”

Pierrot knew this, he saw it, he loved it!

“I should have asked first, I should have! I just—I don’t know….”

Couldn’t you see the beauty in what you’d done?

Your devotion and obsession made him feel more wanted than ever before. The sight of your sweated brow baffled him. How could you be plagued with worry? Wondering endlessly if this twisted love would be returned. However, it was because of this reaction that the silent clown truly felt you two were connected at this moment. Connected in the conflicting desire to be accepted, combined with the dutiful burden of appearing as, what human society deemed, normal.

“Please don’t hate me!”

The pleas from your delicate throat made the red clown’s heart leap towards you at that. Golden eyes growing so wide at your words, those awful words, heart clenching in empathy. Hate you? What a concept, an impossible and horrible thought! As though The Pierrot could ever feel anything but love towards someone as sweet and kind as you. But your words were familiar despite the absurdity of it all. How he often felt this, knew this; worried you would hate him too for any little misstep as your kind often did. Pierrot stifled himself in more than just his voice, and now he saw….

…You had done the same.

Suddenly a loud snap echoed throughout the empty tent as the clown closed your sketchpad harshly. The noise caused you to stop your frantic ramblings for once. Listening. Now alert.  

“No,” his voice was firm.

Seeing your shimmering gaze fearful to meet him, Pierrot in this moment, felt he understood you in ways no one else ever could.

“My dear one,” the clown then placed his hands over your shoulders (book tucked under his arm) not yet touching as though you were made of precious glass, “I am so delighted you wish to draw me, but please do not distress yourself.”

Your head snapped to him at that, looking at the clown incredulously.

“You…you don’t have to say that—“

“I must,” he leaned forward, noticing with an internal glee at your blushing face, but managing to keep his words clear and comfortable for your sake. “Because it is all true.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but a long clawed finger stopped you, “My angel, you must know that your drawings are very much admired, wanted, and….loved? I have told you as much, haven’t I?”

Pierrot’s sharp senses, never missing a beat, measured your shaky breathing. Taking care to not push; not to alert nor overwhelm too soon. You were a deer in a brush. Any little thing could set you off in this moment, and no one was more keenly aware of this than a hunter. And oh…Pierrot was a hunter. So, the clown took his time with you, his precious and adorable prey; his everything.

To put you at ease.

“L-Loved?” You asked with such a tremble in your voice, The Pierrot nearly lost himself in it.

Almost drowning as narcissus did in that oh so tempting lake.

“Yes, very much loved,” he pleaded, hoping you’d see. “So please, do not be sad, my dear. I would be honored if you continued to draw me.”

Then, his voiced lowered like the heavy metal hook of a crane:

“As much as you desire.”

At first you wondered if you heard him correctly. After all, Pierrot’s voice was often low and at times hard to understand (though in your defense, the clown could be quite cryptic with his words). Yet now, in this empty tent, he was as clear as a bell. Regardless, you could hardly believe the, usually, silent performer’s eager acceptance of your obsessive behavior. It just didn’t make any sense. Though the earnest looks in his glimmering eyes convinced otherwise.

Meeting him head-on, you felt the need to ask once more, to make sure, “I—and just like that, you’re ok with me painting you? So many times? Even when you aren’t here to pose for me? Sorry, yeah, it’s just, I’m having trouble wrapping my head around this….”

With a joyful and wide smile, The Pierrot pulled back holding the sketchbook in both of his hands, presenting it to you finally.

“Not at all, in fact,” he started with some hesitation, “I think it’s beautiful.”

You blinked at that, unsure how to respond.

Thus, Pierrot continued, “It pleases me that you are so inspired by my appearance, dear one. Most would be afraid or full of hate at seeing someone so….unlike themselves. But your pictures could never have such an ugliness to them. You are–y-your work, rather, is…beautiful.”

Your mouth parted at this, opening and closing, unsure still of what to say. The normally silent clown often had a talent of making you feel whole. Seeing your odd quirks as gifts instead of burdens. You knew it was wrong to paint someone, someone you knew personally, without their permission. It was a line that most people wouldn’t cross, but with Pierrot, he could see the beauty in what you did. He was your biggest fan, greatest supporter, and now willing muse.

A muse….oh how amazing it felt to finally have one!

That’s what this was wasn’t it?

For so long you were without inspiration, floating in limbo with your art. Forced to draw pictures you hated for money to help pay the bills alongside your meager barista salary. Now however? You had not only Pierrot’s permission to keep drawing his beautiful form but his blessing as well? It was strange. A voice in the back of your head kept poking you, saying something was wrong with this, but your heart chose to ignore all that. Meeting the clown’s grinning gaze with a smile of your own. What was the purpose of logic in the face of true acceptance? What good did it do to worry about how wrong this all was when it felt this good?

Surely, it was fine if he said so? Your muse…

You finally smiled back, placing your hands now over his on your sketchbook. A touch that seemed to make the clown pause while breathing for an instant.

“Thank you, Pierrot! You’re the best muse out there, you know that?” You giggled at his now shimmering and rapidly batting eyes which only grew wider in that moment.

“M-muse?”

You shrugged, “Yeah, I mean, I think that’s what this is, isn’t it? Cause drawing you just feels right, you know? Like I was meant to or something—Ugh sooorrrrry---That got weird again, just ignore me ok, haha!”

The clown continued to be affected, in many different ways, by your words. Ignore you? Now that was one thing The Pierrot was incapable of doing even if asked by his beloved. His heart was beating a mile a minute at this bombshell of a revelation: he was your…..muse? He inspired you? Does this mean you were meant to draw him? To love him?

Were you saying what he thought you were saying?

The joy, no, the wave of euphoria that ran through the clown’s towering body shook like the bones of an old woman. How you aged his heart like wine and cheese with every word, every compliment, and now with each drawing. The drawings of him that inspired you---fulfilled you—how he made you complete.

“So um,” your words brought The Pierrot back, momentarily, “do you wanna look at some more pictures? There are a few in the back that I think came out really well?”

He blinked at you before your voices collided in a mix of eagerness and flushed desperation:

“Only if you want, of course—!”

“—Yes!”

You both then grinned at having said these things simultaneously in silly eagerness. Leading you aside to one of the many empty seats in the red tent, Pierrot sat on your right side with an eager grin. Motioning for him to lean closer to you, which he did without hesitation, you began to recount your thought process while showing the clown more images of his smiling face. At first, you felt embarrassed when describing all the things you love drawing about The Pierrot to, well, Pierrot himself. However, the clown made sure to quell these fears with eager questions of his own.

Questions such as what made you draw him in this particular angle? How did you learn to paint with such accurate perspective? What did you like best about his costume or appearance? The latter question, you were the most eager to answer.

“Oh! Well, I think you know how much I love the bells and patterns and such,” you gestured to one brightly colored picture in the book with a smile, “but your hair is so inspiring! Incredible to draw!”

Pierrot raised a brow at that, looking at you with an unreadable gaze. Your hand then reached up towards the clown, pausing as though to ask for permission which was given with a gentle grin and slight nod from him.

“It’s just the most beautiful color and so soft,” his heart beat faster at this, smile widened blissfully at you now touching his hair. “Honestly, I thought you were lying when you first told me it was your real hair. I just couldn’t believe it!”

Pierrot gave you a funny face and shook his head, waving it off.

“Haha! Yeah, I guess a lot of people would assume that it’s a wig. Oh but um…..actually….” you stopped for a moment with a more pensive face.

Tilting his head, the clown waited for you to continue, confused at the sudden change in topic.

Biting your lip you hesitated but continued, “There was something I’ve noticed, when drawing you all this time, that I was hoping you could clarify? Though it’s totally ok if it’s too personal or something!”

Relaxing a bit, Pierrot smiled, “Of course, dearest. Anything.”

“What exactly is going on in the back of your neck?”

As though the sound of a ticking clock had suddenly echoed throughout the tent, the clown was suddenly more aware of how much time had passed. Granted, it was still very early in the morning. Even The Jester and TicketTaker wouldn’t be in this area of the circus for at least an hour or two’s time. Despite knowing this, Pierrot looked around for a moment as though you two were about to get caught.

For a rare moment since you’d known him, he was avoiding your gaze.

“I’m so sorry, it’s probably too personal like I said! It’s just, you sorta notice these things when drawing someone over and over—and you know what? We can forget about it—“

The clown finally looked forward, settling his wary gaze on the empty stage he normally performed on before replying. Still not facing you. Golden eyes calm, but sad.

“There were some people, my dear….cruel ones…”

At this, you looked at him, worried (oh how he hated being responsible for that expression on your lovely face).

“Like that guy was….the one who hit you when we first met?”

Pierrot simply nodded, still not facing you with the faded expression of a soldier desperately trying to not let himself re-live an old and painful memory. Clenching his claws somewhat to stay grounded, the clown continued.

“So I must hide the rest of my hair….Otherwise, some may take it as an opportunity to…hurt.”

The only sound that could be heard was the chilly breeze of winter, threatening to enter the tent. Air growing colder with each minute as Pierrot’s words finally sunk in for you.

It still never made sense that anyone would be so cruel enough to hurt people who were just doing their jobs. Sure, the circus was…weird…scary and such…..However, even one wasn’t in love with each and every performance the clowns put on, it was all for fun, right? Harmless.

It was just a horrible coincidence that the troupe came right before that woman disappeared.

That’s all.

“Pierrot,” With a hand on your heart, you then hesitantly asked while gesturing to his silver locks, “May I…may I see? The rest of it…I mean.”

Blinking, The Pierrot finally faced you, studying you for a moment before nodding and reaching back behind his great hat. Fingers delving underneath to draw out hidden strands, fulfilling your request.

But oh…..what happened next….

How was one to describe this? How could anyone?

You couldn’t hold back a gasp at the sight. The Pierrot’s hair shimmered like moon beams across a platinum lake. Cascading down his shoulders. His hair resembled drops of melted ore from a forge when curling down and over his scarred neck as well as broad shoulders. From this, you knew that the only reason anyone could hurt Pierrot was out of sheer envy over his silver locks. He had hair only described in folktales like Rumpelstiltskin or Rapunzel but somehow the scene before you seemed even more magical than anything you’d heard as a child in those stories.

Closing the sketchbook once more, you put it aside to focus entirely on your beautiful companion. Sitting up, placing your knees on the bleacher seats, you attempted to meet his great height on equal footing. At this, Pierrot, who was still facing you, seemed surprised to see your arms out-stretched and now eye to eye. A feeble attempt you made to make sure you wouldn’t lose balance from the awkward positioning. The clown’s previously sad expression now full of worry, for your wobbling form, clawed hands kept close but not touching as if ready to cushion a potential fall. It was a kindness which caused you to blush while leaning into him.

“Pierrot, you’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen,” you could almost feel his breath hitch at the words and sudden closeness that you initiated. “I know this won’t solve anything, but…I hope it helps.”

And so now that you were tall enough to meet his eyes, something the clown so rarely experienced, you wrapped your arms under his own, hugging him. The first thing you noticed from embracing The Pierrot was how comfortable it felt despite him wearing such heavy-looking fabric. He was soft yet his muscles were stiff in this moment, from what you did not know? You could not know, of course, that it had been centuries since the clown could even remember being hugged or simply touched in a non-violent way. For a moment, his arms lay stretched out on either side of you, shaking, unsure of what to do. This was so rare, so foreign, yet warm and inviting all at the same time. Pierrot felt unworthy of such affection, no, he was unworthy…of you. He knew this from the day you met, but couldn’t help but breath in your good scent; trying desperately to latch onto something real, to know truly whether or not this was all actually happening to him.

“You can hug back you know,” your honeyed words whispered sweetly in his covered ear (now that you could reach it), causing Pierrot to shudder in your arms. “If you want, that is—oh!”

With your permission, the clown quickly wrapped his arms around you tightly, spinning you closer to him and onto his lap. Now the height difference was more noticeable again as your head was buried in his warm chest. At this new angle, you could hear The Pierrot’s rapidly beating heart like a rabbit’s quickened pace. With a smile, you rubbed his back soothingly, sighing against him as he attempted to bite back a needy groan.

As though you two were dancers, tired but willing to go on till the end of a long night, you gently rocked back and forth in each other’s arms.

Pierrot leaned down, brushing his masked lips ever so lightly on the top of your head, eyes shut. You could not feel the tender kisses he continued to place but the closeness made you feel something deeper than the relationship between an artist and their muse. The heat from your sweet clown coursed through you, burning. At this, you moved aside one knee over his lap, now straddling him. A light sigh then turned into a soft whimper as you pressed yourself against him; happy to feel tight muscle under layers of red motley. The shift in mood and sound were as loud as church bells to The Pierrot’s keen ears; all while his golden gaze now focused entirely on the angelic form before him.

Keeping you close with strong, long limbs, the clown managed to lift one gentle clawed hand to your chin, tilting it up slowly. Both of your flushed faces now in each other’s view made things seem more real than before. Sitting once more on your knees, still on either side of his waist, you propped yourself closer to his view. Pierrot gulped at your sudden boldness and heat, his other arm around you tightening, causing you to groan.

He shuddered at that.

Oh, what a beautiful sound! What rapture and bliss! And he was the cause of it.

HIM…you….wanted…him?

Pierrot’s eyes began to see nothing but hearts around your gorgeous and yielding form. To think you would be so pliant after hearing about one of his many woes. The clown would happily let all of his hair get ripped out by the scalp if he could hold you like this for all eternity. Pain, scars, and blood were small prices to pay to see your lidded, needy eyes focus entirely on him; wanting him. Pierrot had to hold back from panting at the sight, making sure to prop you up with both of his arms so that you wouldn’t feel any ‘surprises’ in his lap. His little deer, his adorable human—yet the clown had to be careful, especially now, as he so desperately wanted to lose himself in you. Otherwise, you would run---

--And he would be forced to give chase.

Though thankfully, that day didn’t seem to be today. No, for you see this day you were entirely his; sealed with a kiss. Pressing against him, you groaned in his pleading mouth, fingers gently running through the smooth strands of his hair which were thin and soft. To you, the texture resembled strands of silk, ready to be made into beautiful fabric worn by royalty. Pierrot tilted his head at the gentle touch, whimpering as your tongue attempted to polish away his woes as though he were a precious jewel once covered in dust.

Oh, how he drank every little mewl you made against him, your lips so much softer and sweeter than the most delicious treat he could think of. Pierrot’s keen mind started taking notes at how you pressed your hips against his stomach when his claws trailed down to your outer thighs. Noting with far too much drunken glee at your moans when lightly biting your bottom lip. Monstrous tongue tempted to come out, and explore every crevice inside; every secret you had. Wanting so badly to taste you, to consume and ea—love every bit of you!

Though just as The Pierrot’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, you pulled away.

Both groaning at the lack of contact, the clown vainly attempted to lean back into your lips. Though the next words out of your mouth caused him to cease such movement in the best way imaginable.

“Fuck,” you panted, face flushed, with a light laugh, “you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that. Wow.”

Pierrot’s head snapped down at you, staring with wide, hopeful eyes with pupils turning into soft hearts.

Did you really just say—? Did you—? Did you?

Suddenly a cool, powerful breeze shoved its way between you two, cooling down the heat with an unwelcome nip. The wind was so strong that your sketchpad opened up and pages began fluttering in a blur like the wings of a humming bird. Pierrot held you closer to him (not that he needed a reason) attempting to shield you from the crisp wind. Shivering against him like a small animal, you wrapped your arms around him further not seeing the darkened blush and wider smile of The Pierrot as it all happened. Finally, the wind died down, and you sighed before looking at his face sheepishly.

“Wow, uh, almost forgot it was winter, what with all the---you know?”

However….when you actually looked at the red clown’s face, you didn’t see the usual smiling, happy face of your muse. Nope. Not in the slightest. In fact, it would be more accurate to say that he had the opposite expression, though one small modicum of relief was that, at the very least, his ire was not directed towards you.

“Uh….Pierrot?” you asked with a wary gaze before you saw what he must’ve been staring at.

Unsurprisingly, your book was once more the culprit. For you see, the pages of the sketch book just so happened to turn to a very specific drawing. One that caught the red clown’s attention in the worst way and made his claws dig slightly into your hips. Not that anyone could blame him. It was, after all, an image of The Harlequin; lounging happily with a seductive smirk. His clawed hands beckoned towards the viewer which only made the red clown’s blood boil. Pierrot knew the menace eager posed for this image, waiting and wanting your attention. The thought of him in this pose, alone with you, and in such a state causes a fiery rage to burn within him. Any memory of the beautiful moment shared earlier was thrown away in favor of the envy Pierrot felt in this moment.

Biting your lip, you attempted to explain, “Ah—hah….actually, uh, forgot about that one. Harley---um, Harlequin said he was willing to pose for me so, you know---?”

Words weren’t really your strong suit. Your mother had always said this: that you were unclear, often over-explaining yourself without getting to the point quick enough; blaming you for every little misunderstanding in a conversation because you said ‘to who’ instead of ‘to whom.’ Phrases like these made you move to the other side of the globe just to be able to breathe properly again. Regardless, your mom’s words haunted you while staring at The Pierrot’s current, almost vexed, state. Wanting nothing more than to say the right thing. Do whatever you could to bring back his sweet, smiling face. The face that inspired you in the most creative ways.

The face you loved despite never having seen its full glory before.

Love is a complicated thing, like a rubix cube where sometimes you could solve every single side of the shape except for one little mis-matched square getting in the way. For Pierrot, the frustration he felt in that moment was equivalent to that feeling of frustration after hours of work. Today had been perfect, thus far, it really was bliss until this little snag appeared. As usual, the red clown had some trouble quelling his rage, though he did his best for your sake. Claws at bay, strained by your hip but making sure never to dig any deeper. It was second nature for him to do this. To hold back. But now he did it for you. 

Always for you, with purpose.

Pierrot’s eyes then blinked, fingers twitched, even as you placed your delicate hands on his shoulders, breaking his concentration. The soft feeling of your touch made his golden eyes now stuck on you: the object of his desire, like a man dying of thirst suddenly spotting an oasis. Silently he looked at your awkward face, pleading, wondering, and needing you to save him; knowing of course, that you would. 

Still…….there were doubts. Horrible thoughts and fears that stabbed at his mind like a pitchfork into hay.

Why did you draw his rival in such a pose? Surely Harlequin tricked you? Right? Yes. That must have been it. He must have forced you to draw him. Oh, what a horrible cad---a dastardly devil---awful—no good PIECE OF—

“Oh hey!” Your heavenly voice cut through his unbridled rage like a knife through a cake. “I have an idea, one sec!”

With that, you got off of The Pierrot’s lap, taking your sketch book with you. For a moment, the red clown panicked, worried that you were about to leave. And so soon---without another kiss? Would he ever get a kiss from you again? Oh, how could he ever live without your soft lips against his? It was too much to bear. Pierrot then reached towards you, ready with an excuse, a reason, something to keep you with him if only for a moment longer—Jester and his rules be damned. He needed you---he had to have you again! Please don’t leave!

However, no such words came out of his mouth, especially after your very odd request left Pierrot stumped:

“Can I borrow one of your throwing knives? I promise I’ll give it back.”

Suddenly, all the rage and fear left the clown’s fragile ego in favor of staring at you. Eyes big and wide in confusion with the tilted head of a cat trying to understand his owner’s command.

You giggled at the expression, “Come on~ I’ll be careful, trust me.”

With a wink and soft smile, Pierrot’s heart swelled with joy once more. It was strange again for you to ask; he was yours and you had proven to be his. A familiar blush rose to the clown’s face and only a second after he nodded did reach for your desired object.  Pierrot handed over a single kunai from his pocket which you took immediately while thanking him happily. After, you practically skipped towards one of the many training dummies in the tent, sketchbook in hand. Pierrot then stood from his seat, worried that you would hurt yourself wielding such a sharp knife but the tear of a page brought him out of his concerned state. You then stabbed a piece of paper ripped from your sketchpad right onto the target. With a wide grin, you motioned him over, ready to see what you were planning.

Pierrot cautiously walked over the lower seats of the bleachers towards your eager and waving form. His face then went from confusion, to surprise, to a wide smile all in one until he was finally by your side. Another blush ran over the red clown’s cheeks as he began to process what you had just done. What you had done….for him.

“Tada!” you said in a flashy voice before moving away from the target with jazz hands.

Stabbed onto the bullseye, was your drawing of Harlequin. Kunai right between his eyes. You then smiled at Pierrot, before looking at your watch with a light shrug.

“Sooo….. since it should be like thirty minutes till the rest wake-up,” your eye brows wiggled towards the red clown and the target. “How about a little demonstration of your other skills, Pierrot? Maybe even a lesson?”

A wink was then given.

Such a strange gesture that Pierrot had never really known or understood outside of the literal handful of movies he’d ever seen. It was a cute gesture, wasn’t it? A…..flirtatious one? Surely it was? Of course. Oh. OH! Of course it was!

Now he understood.

Like a new lightbulb screwed in a socket, the red clown brightened up. Part of him, naturally, kept tabs on the time—knowing that you two were cutting things close. That this morning’s blissful activities and revelations would soon come to an end. For now, however, his attention was on you. So then, the clown smiled, nodding eagerly; nearly gasping as your soft hands grabbed his own. Eager to learn a skill the monster had honed for centuries. Eager to know him.

Oh, how Pierrot’s heart soared that day.

Things were so wonderful really that a lingering doubt entered the back of his mind like the ones you revealed to him about your artistic skills. A dark cloud the clown immediately pushed away with so that it wouldn’t, couldn’t ruin this beautiful moment. “Well?” you tugged on his arm once more, pointing at the image of The Harlequin still impaled onto the target with a mischievous grin. “Come on, teacher---show me how to stab that olive ogre. I know you wanna do it~”

Pierrot then did something unexpected. So strange and wonderful that it threw you off guard. He laughed, or more accurately he chuckled. It was so soft, so sweet a sound, that you almost felt like an audience should have been around to see such a wonderful spectacle. The Pierrot’s hair swirled, shifting around his chuckling form like the impressions of a leaf in the sand. It was sweet and smooth, you could almost taste it. In fact….you wanted to taste it---taste him.

“But,” Pierrot protested with some worry, “my dear one, it is your picture. Are you sure you want to use it for this? It will be torn apart.”

With a quick wave of your free hand you scoffed, “Nah, it’s fine. Besides, the eyes are uneven cause Harlequin kept moving—he’s the worst model honestly, not like you~ My perfect muse.”

Pierrot stood still, stunned, and burning for you. Hand still on his own, you then pressed yourself against his heated body. Leading the clown’s clawed appendage to rest on your waist while tilting your head to meet The Pierrot’s great height. With a low, sensual voice, you urged him on:

“So, how am I supposed to position myself, sensei?”

You could feel Pierrot’s chest, now against your own contract itself upon your words. A rare, but playful smirk showed itself on your face at the clown’s stiff reaction.

“I mean,” you licked your bottom lip, still grinning, “how am I supposed to position myself….to throw a knife?”

Golden eyes never left your own, at least not until he could see your tiny pink tongue stick out in the most teasing way possible. In that, The Pierrot was hypnotized. His brain rattled, fuzzy, almost trying to figure out the best course of action in this moment. Oh, how he wanted to react! To do something you liked, to do so now! To keep you. Make you stay.

If only there were a way for this all to last.

But instead, Pierrot panicked…. unfortunately for a few beats too long before you began to worry.

“You know—no pressure,” you coughed, unconvincingly while trying to pull away from him in sudden embarrassment. “Only—uh---if you want to.”

Though The Pierrot wouldn’t let you pull away, not with his hand still in yours now holding tighter. With the confidence drudged up from years of repressed desires, he gave a hard tug; one that made you stumble back into his arms. Arms that now held firm in a confusing combination of comfort and possession. Looking down at you, the clown leaned forward and whispered hotly over your trembling lips. Eyes like targets on your beating heart.

“I do want.”

His teeth then bared, almost a hair away from you. Sharpened and ready to bite. For most, this would be a deal breaker. A time to say: ‘You know what? I forgot that Jaws is my least favorite movie and I have no interest in trying to hook-up with Free Willy’s cousin—Buh-bye!’

But instead, you were into it.

Oh….like…..you were way more into it than you ever thought.

After having drawn The Pierrot all this time it was easy to see that his teeth were not normal. Part of you rationalized this as part of the circus act. Some really cool make-up/costume design techniques that even a fellow artist would struggle to tell from reality. Still, the clown’s teeth always seemed to mold with him. Never impeding his speech nor puffing his cheeks as most cheap halloween fangs would. However, The Pierrot did often refuse to eat in front of you so---yeah….of course they were fake….he just wasn’t allowed to take them out cause it was a pain to have to put them back in before a show.

Mhmm…

Sure….That’s gotta be it.

Still hot though.

And that last thought made you want to smack yourself, even as The Pierrot’s other hand rested on your waist, turning you around slowly to face the target. The clown’s hot breath kissed your cheek, then ear, and now to the back of your head. Now resting against his chest, you trembled as one clawed hand began trailing up your side. Slowly. Carefully.

Gasping lightly as Pierrot’s claws raked over you, crawling slowly up to your stomach then over your bicep, you almost forgot where you were. Should you have been able to see The Pierrot’s expression you’d have see how much the clown was in love with you. How much he desired everything that you were. Especially so as his other hand guided your pelvis back into him. His body felt hot despite the winter air; you resisted the urge to grind back into him---wanting so badly to hear how the clown moaned. Would it be deep? Light? Or guttural? Wondering still if perhaps he could make a sound so beautiful that it’d rival the light chuckle played earlier. Oh, how you wondered, wanted really, to know---needed in fact--

Suddenly the feeling of metal in your hand brought those horny thoughts crashing like a wedding cake down a flight of stairs.

“You must hold the knife like this, my dear,” a soft, deep voice instructed while curling your digits over the covered blade. “Then…you may strike.”

“OH! Ah--! Yes!” you almost moaned—God how embarrassing!

Pierrot was a creature of prey, as such, he knew how you felt in this moment and oh did it please him. Your sweet, simple reactions made him want to take you right here and now in the middle of his stage. How poetic would it be though? To be deep inside you, performing an act of love on the very platform where hundreds came to watch. The idea was so tempting that the clown began to drool, but---no. No, for your sake, he had to hold back. Plus, there wasn’t much time left and as much as Pierrot wanted to continue—to feel you---he had to make each moment count.

So, since you had asked for a knife throwing lesson, well, he was certainly more than willing to give it.

Releasing you, just for a moment, the clown encouraged your first throw. There was now a simple, innocent smile on his face concealing the darkened urges within. The shift in tone was such a surprise that you almost whined as he moved away from your now cold, needy body. Internally however, Pierrot noted the way you reacted to his absence. Relishing almost sadistically at how you seemed to want him as close as he wanted you. His heart beat faster, even more so, as your arm reached back, knife in hand, ready to throw it as instructed.

Perfectly as instructed, really.

Oh….you were so good at following instructions---the clown just realized….

That was….useful to know.

The thought ended up distracting him until Pierrot heard the ‘thump’ of a blade connecting to the target. With a giggle you pointed happily at the target, noting how the kunai hit the top half of Harlequin’s hat. You then jumped up and down, proud of your little achievement. It was such a cute sight that Pierrot could not help but join you in the exuberance. Hand in hand now, you tugged on him eagerly, spinning round and round in childish glee. Immediately thanking the clown and asking for him to teach you once more.

With kind eyes, The Pierrot was, as always, helpless to refuse you.

“Of course, my dearest,” he laced his fingers in yours. “Nothing would bring me greater joy.”

The rest of the time you had left together was spent learning how to throw knives at Harlequin’s face. A perfect day really, as far as The Pierrot was concerned. His golden eyes shone brightly as you attempted to replicate his techniques. You even cheered as the clown threw three knives in a row on the menace’s drawn eyes. Pierrot puffed his chest, proud of course at that one.  Effectively, the paper on the target was shredded to pieces—barely any trace was left of the drawing it once held. A goal, The Pierrot was happy to have accomplished.

Your laugh and gentle touch on his claws only added to the silent clown’s incomparable joy.

“Wow uh….that was so much fun, but maybe don’t tell Harlequin we did this,” you chuckled. “It is a little mean…”

Pierrot didn’t think it was, but he could deny you nothing. So he simply smiled and nodded while staring fondly at your hand on his. Still, all good things must come to an end as they say and it was soon time to leave your little cozy honeymoon suite. Knowing that The TicketTaker and Jester would be coming by this area soon, The Pierrot, with your help, made the tent as it was when you two arrived. Reaching out, he held your hand with such tenderness that simply didn’t seem possible given his claws and imposing size. The red clown was a gentle giant, one who led you through the circus, secretly and quiet with the soft steps of a preying lioness. You looked around frantically, keeping up as best you could.

It was risky, after all.

This was his job, and Pierrot was willing to get in trouble for you.

The thought made you feel guilty when he first suggested coming here, but the red clown was just so determined to please you that it was hard to say no. He knew how badly you wanted to draw him and the tent. The images and memories made today were some of the best you’d ever known. A light blush creeps on your face as you two finally make it to the entrance. Looking up at the tall clown, still holding you near, with grateful eyes. Pierrot was so sweet, so kind…..he even forgave you, no, rather he encouraged you to make even more pictures of him. All of this felt like so much—so beautifully overwhelming like hands curling just an inch or two from your throat.

“It should be safe now, my dearest,” Pierrot leaned over to whisper.

You blinked, looking around to see you were now outside the circus, back in the city that was still waking up. A yawn threatens to rise out of you before you push it back, though it seemed The Pierrot noticed and gently placed his free hand on your shoulder.

“I know you have the day off but….I hope you are able to get some rest and,” he paused, “—and—have pleasant dreams…?”

You smiled at that.

Taking advantage of him being so close to you, his face right against your ear, you simply turned your head to him—lips now brushing against his masked cheek as you whispered back.

“I most certainly will, thanks to you, my muse.”

With a quick kiss and a squeeze of his hand, you let The Pierrot go. Walking towards home while giving a promise to see him later; barely noticing how his figure leaned towards yours, desperate and hungry. His body attempted to pull you back like a magnet to a pile of coins. Pierrot’s face was struck in awe only to break out into a large grin and reddened cheeks.

His eyes now rolling to the back of his head as a clawed hand slowly reached up to rest on his face where your lips once were.

You kissed him…..twice…..

But why?

A lingering thought betrayed the bliss he felt now. It oozed into him, disassociating his tether to this world with the unwanted feeling of static cling. Is he reading you right? Are you truly interested? Oh, why does his brain keep envisioning you two together---in bed---in rapture? But just as equally, he sees you in the kitchen with him, baking a cake. It’s shaped like a heart but when split in two it has buttery cream inside. The taste is sweet, but overwhelming, yet it could not compare to your lips. Your lovely, soft lips. A thought which made Pierrot tremble and fall to his knees, only when your body was out of sight of course. He sat there, fingers on his lips, tracing the remains of your saliva that he hoped were still there.

It's strange being in love, isn’t it?

Or at least, what he knew was love.

Our minds are odd, aren’t they? Clouds as thick as cotton candy become the edges of a television set of our imagination. Deluded fantasies playing on a screen showing how our lives would be together as lovers, even if you’ve only exchanged a few words in reality. Even before Pierrot knew your name, he knew SOMETHING was there. Something deep, carnal, yet real. Most people try to quell these feelings. Know that it’s too soon to think about how the other person would look in the morning, disheveled, and raw–eyes only for you. Especially as the clown had thought about it before even knowing your name. Thoughts about how he wanted to be your lover, your friend, and the only person in your life who mattered. Pierrot’s mind did what all of ours do when you just discover a new love---jumping ahead of all the awkwardness and dilly-dallying that came with the very human concept of ‘dating’ to a time where saying ‘I love you’ would become routine.

Why go through such frivolousness of ‘will we/won’t we’ when Pierrot already knew? When you did too.

The silent clown then finally stood up, finding a steady posture only after wiping some left-over drool on his face. He had to be composed now, cool and calm. The type of person you would feel comfortable around. Though The Pierrot knew this would not last long for he was only so strong. Your declaration of love today was real, palpable even. He still felt your lips on his own; a phantom touch which served to drown Pierrot’s thoughts in a downward spiral of tongues and spit that beat even his best dreams.

He knew then how to handle this.

It was definitive.

Decided.

You told him so with your actions.

For just as he could not voice what he wanted, you had the same trouble.

So, from this, Pierrot could read your intent—your every movement like bumps of braille upon a blind man’s fingers. The clown knew you, felt your arousal and love. He could taste it on his tongue as though it were dried honey from the edges of a jar. So what if you never confessed with words? What good were words when your body spoke the only language that mattered? Bodies were trustworthy, weren’t they? Especially when it comes to love, right? Walking now, slowly, with purpose, did The Pierrot have a mission.

He must see that you went home safely, made sure you were ok, and, if necessary, protected you the only way he could.

The Pierrot was nothing else if not resourceful. Though really, would you expect anything less from your muse? It was clear. Pierrot would take you, protect you, have you live with him; surely this would make you happy? You would be fine, you must,  you want him–you showed it-you were—

“And where do you think you’re going so early in the morning, Pierrot?”

The clown unexpectedly froze. Long limbs immediately felt far too heavy to move any further upon hearing the familiar commanding tone right at the entrance of the circus behind him.

Pierrot slowly turned to face the stalwart amethyst creature who spoke with a crooked smile.

“Jester…I was—”

The purple leader then clicked his tongue against the teeth of his mask as the once wide and brilliant smile on his face soon melded into a stern frown. 

“Ah-ah Pierrot, careful, we’re outside, you know. Though you’ve already broken several rules that perhaps you think it’s alright for one more, hm?” Jester scolded almost playfully, though Pierrot knew the other clown was not joking around. 

The Pierrot stiffened at that, fingers clenched in and out scratching the palms of his leather gloves. With his back turned, Jester began walking towards the entrance of the circus only to turn towards the red clown, his glowing amethyst eyes stared with the thin sharpness of a blade. A gesture Pierrot knew well which meant: ‘Come inside—NOW.’ So after one last glance in the direction where you left, gold eyes wide and begging, he did exactly that.

 The red clown’s heart ached at the thought of not being able to see you for some time—perhaps….not at all….A rising panic exhibited in his sensitive chest, Pierrot soon found it a little hard to breathe before forcing himself to calm down. Saying familiar mantras in his head, over and over, while remembering that Jester may be sadistic and cruel but he was rarely that way with his own kind. Yes….yes…surely it’ll be fine. It’ll be ok. All Pierrot needed to do was prepare you better, then Jester will see you and understand. He will, he must! Then–then everything would be ok. 

Ok…just fine…

Unfortunately, Pierrot’s shaken state distracted the monster far too much to notice the obvious missing piece to this puzzle as he walked almost downtrodden behind Jester’s heavy aura. A detail that had the red clown just looked to the side, even a glance, would have answered the question now burning in The Pierrot’s mind: 

How did Jester find out?

In the shadows between two innocuous tents of unimportant colors stood a figure of green and gold. A grin so wide grew on the menace’s face, teeth almost glowing in the obscure darkness where he took refuge. Hardly moving while watching The Pierrot’s shameful walk, still as a statue save for a single torn piece of paper the green clown twirled between his fingers. Paper that seemed to have a drawn figure on it; roughly done in smudged graphite, a drawing of a smarmy character which bore a similarly toothy grin to The Harlequin himself then chose to crush the torn bit of stationary in tucked between clawed hands before walking away to revel in his poisoned victory.

--------------------

Author's Note:

he would love his new form idk why