TipsyonTea

The quiet tick of the diner made bad company for your thoughts, most of which were stuck in a loop. Replaying the encounters of the day and the memories of the night previous until it was all a scattered mess you couldn't make sense of.

Your hand had stopped stinging at some point, leaving three angry red lines across the skin. None of the scratches were deep enough to draw blood, thankfully. The blue, hospitality grade bandaids you'd worn throughout the day were off in a bin somewhere, having outlived their purpose with the bulk of the cleaning done. The edge of the counter dug into your back, leaning against it as you curled your fingers down one by one, watching the tendons shift beneath the skin like some sort of irregular hydraulics.

Human bodies were strange. Clunky and bizarre, yet managing to fit together. In your childish memories, the creature's figures were more graceful. Shrouded in shadows cast by the dancing firelight, moving with a beauty humans couldn't hope to match. You couldn't remember if their hands had been like yours, only that your younger self had thought them silly for being so careful with their claws. Insisting you weren't going to cry over a couple scratches, when even stray sticks left you rubbing your skin in pain.

The marks on your hand would fade in a couple days, you knew. Much like them, and then you could carry on with your life without this constant turbulence in your thoughts.

You pressed your lips to a thin line, grabbing your phone off the counter. You didn’t like the thought of them disappearing, even though you should. The silence of the cafe was becoming harder to ignore, Pierrot's absence louder in your thoughts than the natural apprehension of staying back. You had more questions for the smiling phantom than you could tow with a semi-trailer, and while you knew the easiest place to find him would be at the circus, that felt like crossing a line you were trying hard to leave in place.

And yet, as the clock crept closer to seven, there you were debating whether it would be completely ridiculous to stay back the extra hour. Just in case he thought you finished at eight.

Hopeless.

The posts scrolled past one by one. Most of it useless, irrelevant events or even less relevant advertisements. The floors were swept, cutlery polished, coffee machine covered to protect it from whatever terrible elements might afflict it indoors. You were running out of reasons to justify hanging around, struggling instead to find anything of the strange group online. What you did find was in old news articles and live accounts of the shows, scattered few and far between more popular acts and clips from movies. Nothing from the circus themselves. No website or social page. No way to contact them, or way of knowing where they'd go next.

You supposed it made sense why they painted the town in flyers. If they weren't going to market it through the usual channels, stick with what was known. You stopped scrolling as something different went past, dragging the screen back up to a video showing a blurred stage framed by deep indigo stripes of a circus tent. Centered on a performer who was unfamiliar to you, but similar enough in style to what you were after.

You clicked play. The shaky, bootleg footage taken from someone's lap was enough to give you somewhat of an idea what you'd be walking into. Or maybe an inkling of what you were dealing with. It was difficult at first to discern anything from the clamour of the audience, but soon one voice carried above the rest, and a hush fell over the tent. Frantic whispers of “it's starting, it's starting,” fading to the rustle of cloth and excited murmurs.

You couldn't glimpse much of the performer's attire. Only the way the light caught the gold trim and cuts of rich, royal purple. The voice was compelling, even through the grainy audio, commanding attention as they wove a macabre tapestry out of the desires reflected in the audience. Mirroring, in words that were too pointed to be coincidence, the image humanity cast upon those unlike it.

It was educational. The thirty second video didn't quite reach the start of the true act before the phone was knocked over, but it confirmed what you had thought to be true. Pierrot's affection for you was out of place. From what you had seen, the circus were treated with wariness and disdain from even the most ordinary people. One little act of kindness shouldn't have outweighed the natural suspicion a life of treatment like that brought about. Even as a child, you understood it. Anyone else in Pierrot's position would surely see humans the same way as the performer described—

The lights went out.

You blinked, looking up into the empty cafe as the darkness settled. So he had decided to visit. It wasn't a blackout—you could still hear the refrigerator hum, see the faint yellow of the street lights outside the window—so this made the second time. “Pierrot,” you said after a moment, closing to the home screen of your phone. You were going to feel real stupid if it actually was a robber this time, but the chances seemed slim. “You know, I let it slide the first night, but I'm not falling for the same thing twice…”

He didn't respond, and your eyes weren't adjusting well with your phone screen still turned on. Narrowing your eyes, you pulled down the option for a flashlight, pointing it up at the door to the kitchen and tuning it on.

The stark white fell against an empty frame. You frowned, turning around the rest of the cafe to find nothing. Just stairs stacked on top of tables and too many shadows to be completely sure of yourself. Well, there was nothing to be done, if he didn't want to be seen. You made your way over to the breaker, opening the slightly ajar cover to flick the switch back on.

“Expecting-”

You had never come so close to screaming in your life. The voice purred just shy of your ear, and your lungs seized as you jerked around in alarm, coming face to face with the green actor's grinning mask. The Harlequin- Whatever words you had were cut off when the back of your elbow smacked into the breaker box.

“Fuck!”

You hunched over. In the span of seconds going from fear of your life to clutching the back of your arm with a pained hiss. His satin clothes were too close to you, the sound of his answering laugh floating above as he set his hand on your upper arm.

“My, I didn't think you would jump out of your skin like a startled rabbit.” His scent made you realise how near he had drawn, something fragrant and dizzying that stuck in your throat. You were still struggling for a response, almost afraid to look up and see how close he'd drifted. “You were so brave a moment ago. Did you think you were safe, so long as it was that red fool?”

You rubbed your arm, not sure how to extract yourself from his overbearing presence. Your eyes followed the yellow strips holding his coat together around his neck, not wanting to look. It wasn’t safe per se with Pierrot. Safe-er maybe. Less overtly threatening. Harlequin seemed to have no issue with backing you into a corner.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be behind me,” you said, instead of something sharper. Your self-preservation wasn't entirely lacking. Even if he didn’t take offence, with how he hummed low in amusement you worried he might take it as a challenge, and you were too aware of the precarious position you were in. Even if he wasn’t human, his intentions appeared more similar. “I didn’t hear the store bell. How did you get in?”

“Oh, that hardly matters.” The hand on your arm trailed slowly upwards, over your shoulder towards your face. “There's far more that you should be worried about-” You pulled your head away, but he got what he wanted when you looked up anyway, trying to gauge his expression and finding his smile curled wide beneath venomous eyes. “Hum. Interesting, not trying to run?”

You weren’t, for a myriad of reasons, chief among them being that it wouldn't work. But all of that was immaterial when leaned down closer, the faint glow of green casting a reflection across his black eyes. The metal edges of the breaker dug into your back as he brought his other hand up. Each of your shallow breaths filled with his muddying perfume. “Your heart is racing, dear one. Are you thinking of the possibilities? Waiting to see what I do next…?”

Hells. There was simply no telling what would make it worse. Fleeing would be futile. Pushing him seemed like a monumentally bad plan—knowing what he was, both ineffective and possibly life-threatening—but attacking would be even more dangerous.

You weren’t sure whether it was instinct, or better peripheral vision than you thought. Something caught your eye and you reached without thinking to shove it away from your side, where it had been creeping towards the breaker box. Don’t look. Fucking hell, that wasn’t his hand.

“I’m trying to figure out what you’re here for,” you said, heart in your throat as you pretended not to notice. You watched his eyes instead. Their slight dilation, the slitted pupils with a glow that you hadn’t seen in years. Even if he was trying to hide it, you wondered how other people didn’t look at them and see what they were. How utterly inhuman they were beneath their costumes.

Maybe they don’t usually get this close. It was a flattering thought, but one that left you just as confused.

“I thought I was making my intentions perfectly clear,” he said, after a long moment of searching your expression just as intently. His mask shifted unnaturally with the narrowing of his eyes. The widening of his smile. “Is that your way of asking me to show you more?"

“It is not,” you said, shoving away his actual hand this time when you felt it touch your waist. He allowed it at least, reading your face too closely, but you tried to keep your reaction the same as before. “I didn’t think that-” Another problem presented itself, and you cut yourself off. Wondering how you were meant to explain to a monster that you hadn’t made the obvious assumption because you knew he wasn’t human. “I was trying not to assume.”

“Heh, that was almost convincing,” he said, and you were starting to look for a way out in earnest, wondering if you could escape under his arm. If he would let you, if he would stop you. Anything to put some distance between you and his increasingly provocative antics. “But your eyes say otherwise, dearest. So full of questions. They can’t help but scream for more-”

You ducked. Went under his arm and towards the exit to the counter, half expecting to feel claws sinking into your skin to stop you. Instead, almost before you had started to move, Harlequin stepped back. Leaving you all the space in the world to scramble away from him.

“What’s all of this about?” you said, grasping for anything else to direct the conversation. Foolish, acting as if you had any chance of changing the outcome, if he had already decided it. But you were human. Only human, and just as determined to twist the world around you to your purposes. “When you came in earlier, you and Pierrot were fighting. Do you not get along?”

“I’m more curious about what you and that Pierrot were up to, standing so close to each other… oh how he changed his tune when he realised it wasn’t just the two of you.”

“He was checking that my boss wasn’t being mean,” you said, and it rang hollow even to your ears. “He can’t speak. It makes sense that he kept a distance when someone else came in.”

“Is that so?” Harlequin didn’t look convinced. Tilting his head like he was looking for a different way to spin it.

“Anyway, I need to close up the store-”

“Of course you do, dearest. That's why you were sitting on that little box of yours, watching stolen parts of our show before I got here?”

That… how had he seen that? You pushed away the embarrassed flush and the needling stab of guilt, heart nearly missing a beat. You had good reasons to avoid seeing the circus live. You weren’t trying to shortchange them intentionally.

“Aw, look at that face. Caught red handed ♪” He chuckled at your scowl, musing to himself. “Ah, it's no wonder you didn't see me come in, Jester is quite good at drawing the eye. Although… I'm a little disappointed it wasn't my show you were watching.” You didn't know what to make of his words, your hair standing on end as he moved around the counter. The claws of his hand trailed along the surface as the other reached into his cape. “Ah, that reminds me. Your ticket…”

He came to a stop several steps away, not cornering you as he had done before. Glossy, green laminate caught the light between his fingers, and you finally, finally had the reason for his visit. “Pierrot no doubt gave you a red one, even though you said you had one that was pink.”

“I said I received a pink ticket.” Curiosity wound its way back into the tangle of apprehension his presence inspired. The green slip of paper representing a whole sleuth of questions. “Though Pierrot seemed alarmed when he saw your so-called ‘special promotion’. What’s all that about?”

“Ah, don’t mind him,” Harlequin said, a momentary annoyance quickly forgotten. “It’ll be so much more fun if you use mine.”

Fun for who, was the question. But, if you did take Harlequin’s ticket, then you’d be able to see how Pierrot reacted, and his response would tell you far more than this grinning beartrap. “If I trade, will you leave?”

“Only if you also promise to use it~”

His smile grew as you clicked your tongue. He was two steps ahead on that one. “Then no.” You could always tell Pierrot you had taken the ticket. The reaction would be the same. “I don’t know enough about them. Maybe if you actually told me what they were for...”

“That would ruin the surprise.” He didn’t seem overly disappointed, nor particularly upset as the ticket disappeared into his cloak as he stepped closer. “Or perhaps…” He tilted his head, leaning forward with verdant eyes alight. “You’re not ready for me to leave.”

“Like I said, I need to close up the store.” You backed up. If it wasn’t home time before, it definitely was now. “But thank you for the offer.”

“Then… allow me to give you a gift.”

“That’s okay.” You weren’t letting him get any closer, despite his attempts. A game that he was becoming more and more delighted by. “I need to close up.”

“So soon? Where did all that curiosity go, I wonder~”

You could only say the same thing so many times, glancing around the empty shop. The chairs were all stacked away, tables clear and the display cases covered. Nothing out of place to say that you hadn’t packed up for the night to go home.

“You can leave it on the table.” By his toothy smile, it was like he saw the spiderlegs scuttling up your spine. The fear born from the shadows of the creature behind his mask.

“...very well.” Perhaps he’d decided he had finally pushed you enough. Or maybe something in your face said you were reaching the end of your tether. He stepped forwards, towards the door this time, pausing only to put something on one of the cleared tables. “Have a pleasant night, dear one. I look forward to seeing you wear it.”

It wasn’t until the front door to the shop jingled shut that you could breath. Hair crawling, realising how loud your heartbeat was in the silence. Approaching the table like it contained a ticking bomb, you were surprised to see what looked like an ordinary pin placed on the edge. Green enamel in the shape of a heart.

So he did leave a gift. That was strange. Unlike tickets, pins weren’t usually something people handed out at random. For him to have left it with you, you couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Your mind turned to petals left on your windowsill, oddly shaped stones and the bones of small creatures. The strange way they smiled whenever you showed you had kept them.

…this is going to end badly.

You knew it, from the moment you’d seen those glowing eyes once more. Even less about these creatures was known to you, their nature blending so well with civilisation that it was hard to tell where the nightmare stopped.

The pin disappeared beneath your curled fingers, cold against your palm as you turned from the table to finish closing the store. Before anything else could turn up to keep you longer.

I can't say I'm entirely happy with this one. It went through a lot of different re-writes and agonising back and forth. I still might come back and do some further edits, depending what direction I decide to take the story in, but for now it can live here instead of draft purgatory.

The phantom claws stayed on your skin long after you'd escaped the street and Harlequin's twisting, winding words. If you thought you understood even a fraction of their thoughts, that encounter had thoroughly rid you of the notion. He couldn't have been more different from the Pierrot, taking the notion of boundaries and picking it apart like claws through a gossamer veil.

His thoughts were impossible to tell. Moreso when you considered what their impressions might be of the humans they lived amidst. Pierrot seemed more straightforward in his interactions, but smiles could be faked, and you now realised, rubbing your arm where the sensation lingered, just how easily he could lie without you knowing. You weren't angry, per se, but the uncertainty of the pink ticket troubled you all the way to work, where news of Carol had did nothing to settle your disquiet.

The monotony of the diner felt surreal after the upheaval of the past day. Its manufactured contents so far removed from the true nature of the world. People were distant, talking on phones and moving according to scripts you didn't see. Smiling and laughing like actors in a different play. It had been a while since you felt like this—like you belonged more to a different place.

The jingle of bells brought you back with a start, finally registering the scream of the milk frothing and removing it from the machine. You looked up as claws pressed to the glass of the door, and there was no mistaking his red and black of his silhouette. He had to duck to make sure his jester cap didn't catch the top of the frame.

Strange how something so out of place felt like the only thing truly present. Too large and ill-fitted in the city size dollhouse you made your home.

“Good morning,” you chirped, and Pierrot's golden eyes found yours above the counter.  His smile was nothing like the menacing shadow of your dream, all bright corners and pink cheeks. Harlequin's claws around your arm squeezed tighter. Reminding you that you didn't know the game. “Would you like to order something?” 

You didn't have time to recover from the doubt of whether they ate anything remotely similar before Pierrot was leaning close over the counter to point excitedly at an item on the menu. You blinked as his curved claw came to rest on one of the newer items, echoing it to him. “The triple strawberry swirl…?” 

He nodded, almost childlike in his smile. The ridiculous image came to you of any of the others with a plastic takeaway cup and fluffy spiral of whipped cream, and you pushed the idea to the back of your head, aware you were drawing too many parallels. The circus was nothing like them, as far as you knew. Too dangerous to make assumptions when they were as much a stranger as any other human. Yet, as Pierrot ruffled through his pockets, his presence felt more significant than that of any other customer. More so when you noticed the chocolate he pressed into your palm on top of the cash, his other hand cradling the back of yours in a much larger grasp.

The awareness of that contact seeped into your skin like a honey-coated rash. Again. You weren't used to this. Humans didn't reach out with this kind of meaningless intimacy, crossing distances preserved by layers of nervous laughter and bashful apologies, polite reassurances towards strangers you bumped into on the street—“no, no, it's okay. You're fine”—it was treated like a ticking time bomb. A game of intentions that erred on the side of ill-will.

“Is that a gift?” you said, and his eyes glowed as he nodded, his claws scraping against your wrist before he drew his hand back. Your skin prickled at the sensation. “...I see, thank you. Just a moment, I'll get your drink ready.” 

It was a simple enough task that took you several long seconds just to remember the first step. Whether you were meant to reach for a cup for the chocolate casing around the outside, or the blender to mix the contents. His presence remained in your awareness, like a bright spot against the rest of the room. You were saved from needing to decide by your boss calling out from the kitchen. 

“That guy,” he said gruffly after you poked your head around the corner. He was drying his hands of some food prep as he nodded towards the blind side of the wall. “Did he buy anything?”

Strange. You always thought it was your superstitious town, bittered by years of missing livestock and unsolved murders, but seeing the expression of your normally even-tempered boss, maybe it ran deeper than that. “Yeah,” you said. “A milkshake.”

“Good.” He looked unsettled, though it may have been the events of the morning weighing on his mind. “I don't want those guys hanging around here without buying anything. Let him know we don't allow flyering inside.”

You nodded, and it wasn't farfetched to think that otherness of the circus would translate to hostility in others. You certainly felt it when you turned back to the main area, nearly jumping out of your skin as you were met with piercing amber against the black sockets of a mask. 

“Gah-” Pierrot stared as you drew a sharp breath, his eyes different up close. You tried not to recoil as you took in his awkward position, stooped half around the counter. As if he wanted to follow you inside. “Jeez you-” He was so close. “Did you forget part of your order?” 

He paused, shook his head, bells jingling as he reached out to take your arm, and you were uncomfortably aware that it was the second time that day you'd been grabbed in the same place. Gentler this time, but you weren’t recovered from your initial fright before he was beckoning you closer, careful not to tug too hard as he lowered his mask to your ear. Your heart stayed at its frantic pace, staring at the silver strands that tickled your cheek as he whispered.

“Is he… being mean to you, my dear?”

The strangeness of his proximity was overridden by alarm, quietly worded as it was. You tried not to shiver, his hand encircling your arm to keep you close. 

“No,” you said, an octave too high. The scent of freshly spun candy cotton that enveloped you, at odds with risk that blood might be spilled. You knew what they were like. “Not at all. Why do you ask?”

His eye widened, and in the one amber pupil you could see, the darkness behind it was more absolute than any mask could hide. You didn't know if he noticed the stiffness in your response. The way your hair stood on end; whether he understood what that meant for you. Or if, in his eyes, you looked like startled prey.

“Will you… come tonight?”

“To the circus?” That seemed like a monumentally bad plan, following a creature, who was already appearing in places he shouldn't, saying things you really knew he shouldn't, into his version of the woods. “Not tonight. I'll probably be covering for a coworker.”

The edges of his mouth moved to say something further, but you both jolted when the clatter of the shop door broke the silence, and a sultry voice interjected. “Oh there you are, Pierrot. I was starting to think that- oh my.”

Pierrot leapt back as if burned, snapping around to face the other member of the circus. Harlequin wasn't as tall, but he still ducked to avoid the twin tails of his hat catching on the door, gliding into the shop with all the casual confidence of your encounter on the street. Judging by the curious narrowing of his eyes when he spotted you, he remembered it just as well. 

“In broad daylight?” he said, more towards a stiff Pierrot than you. He raised a scandalised hand to his grin, and you could still feel those claws digging into your arm, even as he ran them along his mask. “Whatever were you planning, I wonder~” 

Unlike Pierrot, Harlequin seemed intimately aware of the implications of your closeness, leaving you at a loss for what to think. If closeness meant the same thing for them, you should probably be treating Pierrot's hovering very different from gratitude. Your hair stood on end as you registered the quiet rage that was radiating off the now silent performer.

It seemed like something that would lead to an argument, but the shop door jingling open cut it short. Harlequin twitched as a younger, more excitable voice called out. 

“Mommy, look! There are clowns!”

You winced in sympathy as the child pointed, their voice stark against the serenity of the cafe, and the poor mother looked like she'd tasted a sour prune. Chagrined by unwanted attention as both performers' heads turned, she pushed the child's arm down, her tone indulgent, but quietly urging them to leave the topic alone. “That's true, darling. They're quite big, aren't they? But this circus isn't for children. It’ll give you nightmares.”

You were sure the circus was capable of giving adults just as much to fear, if the truth ever came to light, but the despairing wail in response was rather cute. The curiosity of a child that age would be unbearable, though for the so-called monsters… Harlequin had a peculiar look as he regarded the tiny human. Pierrot looked even warier than the mother, keeping his distance. You smiled as assuringly as you could towards the poor woman.

“Can I get you and the little one something?” The prospect of a treat was more than enough to capture the child's attention. You weren't sure if it was appreciated or not when they turned to their mother to begin tugging on her sleeve excitedly, but it ended up being a coffee and a hot chocolate.

“And you?” you said to Harlequin, who had been making silent faces at Pierrot throughout the exchange. He was technically in line next after the mother and her child, despite the woman behind him staring down at her watch. He turned to you with a needling grin, something different about the way he watched you, compared to his idle amusement on the street. 

“I'll have an iced coffee,” he said, procuring the money to pay from somewhere under his cape. You had an inkling, with the way he held it out to you, that he had something planned. It was less of a surprise than with Pierrot when his claws caught the back of your hand, your expression souring as he placed the notes into it. Leaning forward, his fingers dug a little more tightly when you tried to pull back. “You know, I don't recall you mentioning anything about a red ticket-” 

“Ugh! Will you freaks quit bothering people wherever you go.”

Harlequin's serpentine gaze narrowed as it flicked to the side, whatever barb he had prepared interrupted. You yanked your hand back without thinking. Only realising, as you felt the trail on your skin like blistering coal, that he hadn't loosened his grip. Those sharp claws had tightened with the intent of keeping you there, and you covered your pained hiss with a grin as the woman stomped up to the counter, pulling out her card. It's none of her business. “You can take my order first if you're going to waste my time flirting with these weirdos. I want a two shot macchiato. No sugar.”

It was hard to comprehend sometimes, that people like her actually existed. “I'm already in the middle of taking an order-” you said, before Harlequin's lilting voice cut in.

“Oh don't trouble yourself, dear one." Dear one? The abruptness of his name must have showed on your face. "We aren't in any rush ~” He stepped back, his gaze focused more on Pierrot as he hummed. “Why not do the busy one's drink first? I'm sure we'd all rather she be on her way ♪”

“Excuse me?” the woman sneered, and Harlequin brought raised a hand to his mouth, tilting his head with a vicious grin. 

“Mm? Are you not in a rush? I assumed you would prefer to have your drink sooner, so as to get wherever it is you're going ~”

It was just plausible enough that all the woman could do was glare. You ignored the stinging at the back of your hand as you looked to Pierrot. His eyes were wider than you recall ever seeing, but fixed unerringly on the hand you pulled out of sight below the counter. Seems like he doesn't care either.

Fine. Even if it felt like rewarding bad behaviour, you entered the amount for card payment and started on the one order you had before hers—the mother and child—no point letting her have her way completely. Harlequin's drink you wrote on the same tab as Pierrot, slipping it under the machine at the back as you got started. 

Busying yourself gave you a distraction from your spinning thoughts, at least. Ignoring the woman who sighed and tapped her foot with every perceived mistake, you kept a silent eye on the performers who stood off to the side, radiating a tension that was starting to affect the other customers. Harlequin spoke under his breath with sharp smiles and glances at you, while you only saw Pierrot's back, the rigidness of his shoulders saying enough. 

“Ugh, the coffee's as bad as the company,” the woman sneered, when she finally did receive the coffee. The mother had already ushered herself and her child out of the shop, drinks in hand despite nervous glances at the circus members. It was a relief when the witch disappeared out the door too. Your heartrate could settle, despite the slight tremble that had started on your scratched hand. It really stings…

You took a deep breath, reaching for Pierrot's cup next. It was clearer now which step you needed to start with, ignoring the two sets of inhuman eyes that had stopped bickering long enough to watch you work. It was all eerily quiet, save for the sounds of movement in the kitchen, the lull of mid-afternoon traffic, before the schools got let out. You weren't sure what to say. The sting of the scratch still played pinball inside your thoughts, and whenever Harlequin did seem to move in your periphery, Pierrot's looming presence shifted as well. 

“Thanks for waiting,” you said eventually, when the two drinks were finished and you could set them on the counter with Harlequin's change. You smiled faintly as it broke whatever silent stare off was between them. “Enjoy your day. I'm sorry you had to deal with that other customer.”

“It is of no consequence.” Harlequin voice was quieter than before, though you would hesitate to call anything about him contrite. "Perhaps-"

Your name being called from the kitchen put an end to it. Thank the stars.

“I've got to go,” you said, interjecting as much false cheer as you could as you waved both of them off. “Enjoy the coffee, and good luck with your shows- uh, if you're performing.”

I'll have to put something on this before it gets infected. 

Hhhhhhhhh this took a while (T▽T) Harlequin nearly killed me with the number of times I had to move around his dialogue. There sure is a lot that he WANTS to say, but they're in the middle of a cafe, so I had to cut most of it out!

There are some parts I'm still not happy with, just tone or pacing wise, but I've been having fun exploring how small things can spiral ~ I noticed Harlequin really wasn't all that forward when he visited the cafe the first time, but if Pierrot were there, I think he would be more provocative to get a reaction. Someone's really not going to be happy about that scratch though... hahah

Thank you for reading! And thank you to those that left comments on part one, it was really encouraging ♡♡

For the first time in years, something had been different.

You rested your head on your palm as you stared through the steam curling off your mug. Unseeing. Picking aimlessly at the sides of the table where the chipboard had started to flake. You already knew what had changed. You already knew why. The cold sweat had faded, the embers pushed safely back into the corners of your mind, but his face lingered. The sound of leaves crunching underfoot. The silent dread as something found your vigil.

The dreams where the creatures found you were few and far between, but the face of the thing this time had been different. Filled with a too-wide grin that shone like the moon. Three long, curved horns that tapered into soundless bells and eyes that reflected the dancing flames. Its claws had been too large. Too close. Reaching into your hiding place as you laid in petrified silence.

“There is no turning back,” it had said in a voice coated with tar, dripping from its teeth. “There is nowhere left to run.”

You never saw how it ended. Whether the nightmarish rendition took you to join the circle of the campfire or dragged you deeper into the shadow of the woods. Instead, you woke feeling as if you had stopped breathing altogether. Heart lurching like the ground had tipped out from under you.

The sun hadn’t yet risen when you did. Its pale, delphinium blue barely touching the shadows of the horizon. Now, hours later and on your second mug of the morning, it bled fire across the clouds, threatening the eyes of any who dared gaze upon it. You groaned, watching your heavy breath stir the surface of your drink. Some nature infommercial droned on in the background, set to a channel that played documentaries more often than it did the fresh miseries of the news. Better for your sanity, that way. There was always something going on in the world, and knowing about it seemed to make no difference at all. You were only half listening as the interviewer leaned over to ask their guest a question.

“I've always had a fascination with them,” they responded, and the footage that played on the screen showed an animal most wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole. “It can be quite dangerous, trying to get close enough to make proper observations. We've had a few close calls out on the field, but their deadliness is what makes them such an interesting group to study.”

“Have you ever been bitten by one before?” the host asked, and before any answer could be made, the screen turned black with a quiet click. Your own, glossy reflection stared back at you, one arm raised with the remote. You looked tired, even from afar.

It doesn't matter. Your eyes slid shut as your head dropped back into your hands. You already knew it would make no difference. Bitten or not, people were drawn to the damndest of things, and by this point you should be twice shy. Yet the red ticket still sat in your bag, somewhere on the counter. A gift that wasn't covered in blood—small mercies—but the colour of it.

It was more civilised than the mangled carcasses they used to leave outside your window, at least. A hoarse laugh disturbs the steam above your drink as you realise, of all things, you were still considering going. Insane or curious enough to want to see what a circus of made of monsters would be like.

By the time the cup was nothing but bitter dregs, you were no closer to a decision. Whether you wanted to court that darkness beyond your understanding—and suffer for it all over again. Most dangerous and exotic things that people loved weren't capable of that feeling in return. They didn't follow you back to your home, leaving claw marks in strange places and bloodied gifts for you to find. Watching you from the shadows with eyes that shone like…

Cats. You pulled a face at the unhelpful tangent, leaving the table to rinse your cup in the sink. Yes, cats do technically fit that bill, but they don't kill people. Not unless you counted the larger ones…

The distinction became harder and harder to see.

You set the porcelain down on the rack, reaching for the towel to dry your hands, already dressed and ready as your thoughts drifted restlessly. Inhuman. He was one of them. Draped in red and gold finery, ruffles that framed his tearful mask, but there was no mistaking the strangeness in his eyes. The awareness, sharp and prickling, that settled in your bones the moment you made the mistake of extending your hand. It wasn't the sort of feeling you could mistake.

You had no idea what you looked like in that moment. What sort of face you made as you realised he was one of them. His eyes had shone like shards of pyrite, a fathomless black behind the strange material covering his features. He had still taken your hand, both taller than you expected, and somehow smaller than your memories provided. You'd been too stunned to say much after that.

You grabbed your bag and locked the deadbolt of your unit, restless as you took the elevator down to the common grounds. Pavement curved around the flower beds and trimmed shrubs, hiding none of the same secrets you once knew. You checked your bag for your phone. Keys and wallet, glimpsing the red ticket tucked into one of the corners.

His smile returned to you from the night before, warped to match that of your dream. You were still lost as to why he didn't attack you in the late night of the shop. Whether the ticket was gratitude for your help, or an apology for his trick with the lights—lurking in the dark while you feared he had returned to settle some perceived slight—he'd been so civil afterwards. Smiling and treating you with the sort of reverent attention that was hard to miss, and you had decided against calling him out.

They always did seem more comfortable in the dark.

You took the usual route, through streets that had more cracked gutters than pavement, full of gardens in varying degrees of disarray. Some resembled junkyards more than a place of residence. Others were a tangle of weeds and overgrown grass, fewer still showing signs of maintenance. Regular mowing and a lushness that came with irrigation. You paused at one in particular. A chicken wire fence with patches of grass struggling to survive. The earth that had been scratched bare, and its clucking residents, usually a comfort from the old memories of home, were nowhere to be found. You pushed down the pervasive sense of unease and continued onto the main street, pausing at the sight that greeted you.

It stood out like a sore thumb. Lithe and tall, dressed in satin green and gold trim. Black patterned hearts caught the light and tricked the eye as he waved little slips of paper at passersbys, and you watched the people dodge around him, struck by the absurdity of it all. Hiding in plain sight. Is the whole circus full of them?

The embers tucked away seemed to flare brighter. Thoughts swimming to the surface that you'd rather leave buried. You weren't part of those woods—you never would be—but you could never fully escape the envy of things that were. You weren't sure why these ones had decided to come here. Curious of humans perhaps, in the same way they had been drawn to the flames. Or perhaps by necessity. No where left to run.

The figure in green seemed to be able to talk, which made things easier. He turned as you made your way down his side of the street, radiating all the practised charm of those supermarket volunteers haranguing visitors at the entrance. “Care to visit the circus?" His voice was smoother than Pierrot's, anything uncanny easily explained as the hollow echo of his mask. "I'll bet you'll be surprised ♪ Here, take a flyer!”

“Thanks…”

He pushed the paper into your hands, and a glance confirmed it was identical to every other one you'd seen around. When you looked back up the menacing grin had grown wider, and the performer seemed to notice at once that you had stopped, rather than continuing on. Hard to say whether it's part of the act. He doesn't seem quite as friendly.

“Something you're curious about, little one?”

Much like Pierrot, his mask conformed to whatever features lay beneath. Lips shifting as he spoke, but never changing from that smile, as though he were merely mimicking words.

“I was just thinking that your masks are interesting,” you said. You'd never been able to tell if it was a reflective membrane that made their eyes glint like sunlight through stained glass, or something else entirely. “I haven't seen anything like it before—is it makeup?”

He hummed, considering you, then dipped into a bow that brought his strange features shockingly close. That uneasy awareness settled on your skin like oil, urging you to run. “Asking a performer about his mask? What a bold little monster. Are you really sure you want to know what's underneath~?”

“I wouldn't ask you to take it off,” you said automatically. His eyes were close enough to see how the viridian green floated above the black, glinting like lamplight. Despite the strange undercurrent of his tone, you didn't pull back. Not just yet, when you didn't know if you'd get another chance to observe them in the bright light of day. Perhaps you could put your curiosity to bed once and for all. “I figure it's not something you show to random people. I just haven't met a travelling circus before… What made you want to join?”

He raised a brow, and there was a sliver of comfort in the fact he seemed to be just as puzzled by you, his head tilting at an angle that seemed more natural than his expression.

“Why? Little one, what's not to love about the circus? ♪”

“You tell me,” you said, ignoring the surreallness of the situation. “We haven't had one visit town before. Although I'm not much a fan of… loud sounds.” The screaming. You'd never get the screaming out of your head. “Is it very noisy?”

His eyes seemed to narrow with the widening of his smile, that prickling awareness at the back of your neck growing stronger. “Hm… in places. Some do so love to cause a stir. But I much prefer the stories told by the silence. Isn't it much more fun, looking for the things that people don't say?”

“...you're very good at not answering questions.”

“Heh!" He brought a hand to his mouth as he straightened, and a tension that you hadn't realised you were holding eased. "What a sharp tongue. But it wouldn't do for me to give away too much~ Unless... you were to obtain a special ticket."

He was sounding more and more like a car salesman the longer you talked to him, and you angled your foot to move away. You drew the line at being swindled. "I'm okay, thank you-"

"Oh don't fret. It's nothing sinister. All you need to do, is if you happen across someone offering a pink ticket, be sure to accept ♪ We're running a very special promotion."

Your smile slipped, losing an unexpected foothold in your understanding of the situation. Another puzzle. He was watching you carefully. Just as intently as you were trying to understand him.

“A pink ticket?” You remembered Pierrot's face when you showed it to him, something sharp and unusually hostile in his expression. Indeed, counterfeit. He had said, giving you no choice in the matter. I would not want you to encounter trouble at the entrance. This one's smile looked like the definition of it. “I... did receive one of those. I thought it might have been fake.”

“Oh! You got one already?" You grew more certain. Nothing good could come of the glee that crept into his tone, voice dropping to a velvety purr as he regarded you more closely. "Wonderful~ That does make things so much more fun.”

“Fun how, exactly?”

He brought a finger to his lips. “That's a secret.”

It was perplexing. The entire situation. Monsters in jester caps handing out tickets veiled in threats. It was nothing so simple as a campfire in the woods—then again, maybe that had never been simple. You'd only been too young to grasp what was beyond your understanding.

“I see. Well... thank you, for entertaining my curiosity.” That sharp curve widened across his smile again. The one that said he found your words particularly amusing. “And excuse my manners. What was your name?”

His bow felt mocking, somehow. “I'm the Harlequin.”

A moniker. Or perhaps something different—the monsters in the woods had never talked of names. Nor had they ever asked for yours. “That's a role, not a name.”

“So many questions~ Are you that taken by me?”

Still dodging them. “Just curious how the circus works, but I won't pester you any longer. I have to get to work myself.”

“Of course.” He stepped aside, sweeping his hand out in a gesture that was entirely unnecessary. His smile spoke more of hunger than joy, when his eyes were curved up into that crescent glint. “By all means, don't let me keep you.”

“Good luck with your flyering-” You moved past him, thoughts already turning to what exactly Pierrot had said, only for your heart to leap into your throat as sharp-tipped claws sunk into your arm, just above the elbow.

Tugging you back until you hit a warm chest, his breath met the side of your neck, chuckling low near your ear. “Do be sure to visit soon, little one ♪ I think I'm looking forward to what your experience will be like~”

Too close. He was far too close to your neck for a creature with teeth meant for tearing through bone and sinew. You jolted forward and he didn't stop you, his grin wide as you turned. It was a conscious effort not to cover the part of your throat where the warm flush spread like a contagion. He didn't need to see how you were affected. Not when you were still figuring that out yourself.

“Until we meet again ♪” Harlequin sung, and you could still feel the prick of those long-fingered claws he waved at you. Your heart didn't slow. Your body insisting on oxygen it didn't need, because if you had to run, it would already be too late.

“Yeah,” you said, finally gathering yourself to leave. You couldn't collect your thoughts, grasping for any sense of wit. There was no response that felt adequate when the busy street didn't feel half as safe as before, phantoms moving in the shadows of alleys. “...bye.”

Harlequin laughed, and he seemed to like the way you found it hard not to look back as you hurried off to work.

Still getting the hang of second person pov, since it's meant to be—*checks notes*—"not a defined character".

...

//tosses notes

I'm not sure I understand how reader-insert works, hahahah.

The dividers are by @darthsuki , TFC belongs to @nekoboydreams . I had this all written up and ready to go when that ask came out about what Harlequin would do if the MC said they still had the pink ticket, which was great because I had based this off a similar premise (´▽)>

I usually go back over old stuff and edit things obsessively, so if I make any changes I'll leave a note. Thanks for reading!

You turned back on the building you'd passed, finding the rear lane where everyone stored their bins and discarded rubbish. Some drunks must have taken up residence the night before, and you ignored whatever was crawling around in a split-open bag as you found the street opening closest to Harlequin.

He always seemed to have an eye on the surroundings. You doubted there was much that didn't go unnoticed, but maybe you were being a little vain thinking he was angled towards the direction you usually came from. Either way, if he was going to make a habit of lurking around your workplace, you might as well have some fun with it.

You waited a moment for him to spot whoever his next target would be, and you failed to hide a grin as you crept along the wall towards him. They're just sitting there like… little baubles. I can see why cats always want to have a go at the Christmas tree.

Inching close enough at last, you reached out, tapping one of the bells dangling off the end of Harlequin's colourful hat, blinking when it only gave you a hollow little tink.

He snapped his head so quickly towards you that it could have smacked you in the face had you been standing any closer. You stumbled back with a laugh, and the sharpness in his gaze eased to amusement as he registered your presence. Shame, there had been something thrilling in his momentary annoyance. None of the intensity cloaked by his sticky charm.

“Your bells don't work,” you said, beating him to the punch. Your disappointment at the lack of sound was more than made up for by having caught him off guard, his hand half raised towards his hat as if to prevent it from being pulled off. He raised a non-existent eyebrow, covering the motion with some needless adjustment to the headpiece, brushing clawed fingers through his hair.

“How bold. Trying to catch my attention, are we?” You would have rolled your eyes at his theatrics with the usual disregard, but he was quick to step forward. Closer than usual, ignoring the fact you were both on a busy street. The issue with having snuck along the wall, as successful as it had been, was that when you stepped away in surprise, it pressed firmly into your back. “Alright. You have it now, my dear. What entertainment can I provide for my captive audience?"

You snorted, although the sound came out weaker than you intended, rattled when he raised an arm to block your path towards the coffee shop. It may have been preemptive to think he wouldn't try anything on a busy street, his unnatural eyes narrowed in amusement.

“Nothing really,” you said. It wasn't as if he were blocking you on both sides, but his gaze tracked as you edged towards the open exit. “Though, isn't it a bit strange for a clown to have bells that don't work?”

His smile widened, and you had the sinking feeling of a mouse that just stepped into a mousetrap. He didn't dignify the comment with a direct response, instead leaning down until you could hear your pulse in your ears. “If you're going to insult me, dear-” He caught your arm when you tried to sidestep, claws sharp through the fabric as he held you just long enough to hear his whispered response. “-I am going to assume you want me to find a way to keep your mouth shut.”

Shit. You froze, aware of his hand on you as much as you were the passing traffic, breath caught in your throat. You hadn't expected him to get this close. Not when they were given enough trouble just flyering—actively cornering a passerby against the wall would have the police called. And yet, on this particular occasion, no one seemed to care. He stepped away before they could change their minds, your heart still in your throat as you tried to figure out how serious he was being. He hadn't done that before. Actively touched you. Kept you in place with anything more than playful words and gestures, although he seemed to like the impact it was having.

You remembered to breathe, trying to ignore the feeling of phantom claws against your arm. “Touchy about being called a clown, huh.”

“You think so?” He tilted his head, the bells swinging silently on either side of his amused expression. “You looked like you wanted a reaction out of me, dear. Was the one I provided not enough? Or perhaps you were hoping for… more.”

You weren't getting anywhere, brushing off the part of your arm where he'd grabbed you. Telling him your intentions was only going to provide further ammunition, so taking a deep breath you straightened yourself up, informing him in no uncertain terms that you were going to work. He didn't stop you, but his dark laugh seemed to follow you further than it had any right to.

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Maybe she was being too blunt, but it had been annoying her for long enough. Her sister's words about being lovesick and desperate were still bouncing around in her head, and it wasn't like either of those things were necessarily bad, but something about it irked her. “I can't figure out why you want to spend time with me.”

He jolted, looking for a moment like he would reach out to shake her. It was only when her stance shifted abruptly that he thought better if it, casting his gaze down at his shoes. “Uhm. I guess, It was the night we first met.” His raised hand reached across his chest instead, clenching his other arm. “Maybe- it didn't seem like much to you, but… I was in a really bad place that night, and talking with you really cheered me up.”

Nope. That didn't help. In any other case maybe it would add up, but it didn't explain why her sister seemed to think he was so head-over-heels. It was suspicious. “So, if anyone else had been nice to you, you would’ve felt the same?” 

He looked taken aback, and slightly hurt as his knuckles started to whiten. “I think you're overestimating how many people would be kind to someone like me.” 

She raised a brow. For the first time since the night they met, his expression fell into something bitter and resentful. She'd gotten so used to his nervous smiles and quiet laughs, she'd almost forgotten he could make a face like that. 

“Most people barely acknowledge I exist,” he said, looking away from her. “If they do, it's only because they have to, or they think I'm a threat. To most of the world I'm just… invisible.” The wind played around them, starting to pick up more now that the storm clouds had thickened. He finally looked back at her, seeming frustrated and tired with the world. “So it means a lot to me that you wanted to help. More than you know.” 

So that was why? It hadn’t occurred to her that most other people would see his size and colour as something to be wary of. Even though he was gentle, others probably didn’t see it that way. It didn't make sense to her why people ignored him though. 

“Maybe we should get you a cat bell,” she mused. 

Damon blinked, looking at her for a beat. “Pardon?” 

“Oh. I was just thinking—I bet people would notice you more if you didn't walk so quietly. And! It'll save you from getting punched by sneaking up on the wrong person.”

Her, namely.

He looked like he didn't know what to make of her words, but that was his fault. She hadn't expected him to launch into a depressing rundown of his life that she had no idea how to respond to.

“Or we could… I dunno, put squeaky toys in your shoes?”

“I would rather not,” he said faintly.

“But it would be funny,” she insisted, rocking back on her heels with a grin. “It would be ‘squeak squeak squeak’ whenever you walk, or ‘squeak-squeak-squeak-squeak!’ if you're trying to walk fast.” 

He looked at her in disbelief, and if he'd been trying to have a serious conversation it was ruined by his lips twitching up to match hers. “You have a weird way of trying to cheer people up.”

“Just saying. If you're tired of being ignored then that can be changed.” 

He finally laughed, his eyes crinkled up with his grin, shaking his head. “It’s okay. I don’t mind as long as I can have your attention.”

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Let's just wait for him to leave. She kept to her corner of the store, taking a deep breath and having it settle in her chest before letting go. She was getting worked up over nothing. She'd come back another day, or wait for him to visit the store on his own. Monday wouldn't happen, but her sister was probably right on that front. She was rushing things. Too preoccupied with whether her sister's new partner might be a potential threat to accept that maybe her sister knew what she was doing.

Certainly more so than she did-

“Hello...?”

Her eyes flew open, snapping to his voice at the other end of the shelf. Damon stood with a curious expression on his face, one hand in his coat while the other held an expensive-looking camera. He blinked at her sudden movement, seeming to pick his words carefully.

“I thought it was you,” he said, watching her thoughts run a mile a minute. “Are you here for something?” 

I'm here for you. Hell no. No way she could say that. Why did she think this was a good idea? It was so awkward. 

“Kind of?” She looked down at the bouquets in front of her, the colours reminding her of craggy hills and autumn. She liked flowers, but not enough to buy them. That much seemed abundantly clear after Thursday. “I… thought you might've been working today.” 

She tried very hard not to look at him, stuffing her hands in the pouch of her sleeveless hoodie. She hadn't been planning to go anywhere except her sister's place, and she was certainly dressed the part.

There was no reason for her to be nervous, she reasoned. If he got the wrong idea then that would actually solve a great deal. She could wash her hands of him. He wouldn't show up again at the store, and there were always other opportunities to meet her sister's new side piece.

“So you came to see me?”

She couldn't read his response at all. His eyes were slightly wider, but he kept his face neutral, aside from the slight twist of his lips to the side. Like he was thinking, evaluating her. She didn't like how unsettled it made her.

“Technically... yes,” she said. She felt her claws sharpen as the back of her neck prickled. He was looking at her so intently. The small nook of the store was well hidden, not that she was worried about being backed into a corner. Not for the usual reasons, at least. Her gaze trailed back to him, weighing up the size difference. “How'd you even spot me back here?” 

“I saw you when I came in,” he admitted, smiling sheepishly. The shadows around his eyes weren’t as bad as the other day, but they were still pronounced, as if he hadn’t been getting enough sleep. “I was going to say hi earlier, but…” His expression was sweet, a bit too much so, his front canines peeking out. “It was cute watching you try to hide from me like that.”

“Hide?” Hide? She stared at him a beat, her eyes wide in disbelief. 

She didn't hide. Was he trying to pick a fight? It wasn't her fault any sane person would be ringing alarm bells after a random person they met showed up at their shop. Except—he saw her when he came in. He knew she wasn't following him.

...gods, she was an idiot. Even if she was glad to avoid the misunderstanding, she wanted to take a swing at him just to show she wasn't hiding because she was scared. She covered her face with a groan. 

How dare he call it cute.

“You know what- fine,” she said. “But this is the third time you've almost snuck up on me. Are you doing it on purpose?” 

“Huh?” He acted like he didn't understand the cause of her anger, despite the suppressed smile playing around his lips. “I just walk quietly. Are you sure you aren't the one distracted?” 

She wanted to punch him.  Her lips curled back over her teeth, bared in something that would have been a vicious grin if her hands weren’t still covering her mouth. If he was trying to rile her up it was working, but he wasn't going to like the consequences if he pushed too far. 

“Says the one leaving secret notes in books,” she said accusingly. “Play it off all you want. You’re sneakier than you pretend not to be.”  

He tilted his head, red eyes wide with an indistinct emotion. After a moment he stepped closer, trying to peer around her hands as she reared back in surprise. 

“So you got my note?” he said. 

It was a new feeling, being so agitated and yet unthreatened. Maybe she didn't mind it as much as she put on. She couldn't feel the usual itch in her fingers. Her cheeks were warm, rather than burning underneath the markings.

“You're doing this on purpose,” she accused. 

His eyes crinkled up with his smile. “Maybe. I didn't think you'd get so defensive about it.”

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