A Day of Clowning 9

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#72 of Anteronian Adventures

Ailen stands up for herself in the midst of this confrontation.

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"No."

The harlequin grips hard against the clown's shoulders, leaning in, a growl forming on his lips. "What did you say, girlie? Remember, we're siblings in this comedy of life. Why would you want to throw it away?"

She yanks herself free of him, spinning around, reaching into her top, and pulling out a giant and sloshy water balloon. She slaps it against the harlequin's face, staining his motley in a deep blue ink.

"Gaah!? What the hell did you do that for, you stupid clown!"

Ailen smears her gloved hand over her face, smudging the getup and half-revealing her true face behind the disguise. "Silliness is fine for a short time, but sometimes, you gotta be serious about what you want. I'm serious when I say I want you to give me back my friend!"

"Oh, so you want the wizard, do you?" the harlequin says, chuckling. "Well, you'll have to do better than ruining my getup. After all, I've brought around a couple friends myself!"

With a snap of his fingers, two burly mimes rush out of the forest, wielding their man catchers and swinging them at Ailen.

A sword of pure energy and the hook device clash against the weapons, the two dik-diks struggling against the strength of the two newcomers.

"Judicators, love?" Lovemore says.

"Corrupted like our clown here, seems," Lerato says.

"It's a powerful enchantment," Lovemore adds, pushing back against the foe, waving his hooves in the air. The ground underneath the mime melts away into quicksand, swallowing the corrupted officer up to the hips.

Lerato fires her hook gun, the projectile opening up, metal striking the man's throat.

In an untimely manner, he grunts, but not before the hook closes around his neck, pulling him down right in time for a glove-powered punch to send him sprawling back, groaning.

Ailen pulls her other water balloon out, tossing it in her palm. "So, 'brother,' you think you're ready to cut the contract now?"

The harlequin chuckles a low, slow thing, grasping his face. It soon turns into peals of unhinged laughter as he throws his head back. Even as the three-step into place to confront him, he shakes his head, pointing toward Ailen. "Oh, you stupid, stupid bitch! If only you realized just how screwed you really are!"

Ailen narrows her eyes. "Explain yourself and stop with your cryptic nonsense."

"Oh, but it's so fun to be cryptic and nonsensical, my sister in clowning, but here's the deal: We didn't do anything to you at all. Nothing that you couldn't do to yourself."

Lovemore steps forward, "But the enchantments! The transfigurations!"

"She's a spell caster! Of course, she could do that to herself, and she did. Allow me to show you!"

He steps up to a tree knocking on the trunk. It clicks and opens like a door, and behind it is a reflective surface. Upon that surface is the scene of Ailen sitting in a chair, not in a dark display in a void, but in a dressing room. There, she strips down. There, she applies makeup. There, she fills the balloons and puts on a smile.

"What are you trying to prove with this?"

"Truth, my dear, is subjective," the harlequin says. "What's easier to believe that a wizard saw the perfect opportunity to go on a rampage of debauchery in the city of sin? Or that a bunch of clowns got together and manipulated their minds? After all," he says, stepping up to the knocked-out mime, motioning to him, "we have the law on our side."

Ailen drops her balloon. It flops onto the floor uselessly. "So, what are you saying?"

"You can keep all your paraphernalia, makeup, and magical additions, Miss Ailen. You can go on and lie to yourself about how it was some magical influence that made you eat a woman's ass and suck a random stranger's dick. But you'll be the biggest clown to assume it wasn't you who did all those things. We simply pushed you out the door. Mess with us, and we can worsen things for you."

She falls to her knees, landing on the balloon, plopping it, and staining her legs and her skirt with deep blue ink. It's a silly little game. Ha... haha.... Haaa..."

She buries her hands in her oversized gloves, so ridiculous to see a sobbing sight, even as the sad white clown stumbles to his feet, rubbing his head.

"As for you two," the harlequin says, motioning to the dik-diks. "I think you surrender yourselves to us before we make you disappear in ways you won't like."

Loreto looks to Lovemore.

Lovemore looks to Loreto.

Lovemore claps his hands together, and a puff of smoke rises up between the two.

Loreto mounts the hook gun, pulling her husband onto it, and fires, launching the two of them above the trees.

"They're getting away!" moans the Pierrot.

"Are they really?" the harlequin says. "Looks to me like they're just running from their problems again. Meanwhile, we've got ourselves two morsels just ripe for harvesting."

"Not if I have anything to say about it!" shouts a righteous voice from the forest.

"Oh, come on!" the harlequin shouts. "Randomly appearing is my schtick! Get your own!"

"Oh, I have my own," says Purity, her arms folded over her unbuttoned and destroyed top. "And you're going to get my personal brand of justice coming right up."

Ailen blinks, chuckling. "You know what? Fuck it." She picks herself up, ink dripping from her. "What's funnier than fucking you up, Harle?"

"I dunno, but I think we're gonna see the punchline very soon," he says, smirking through his blue mask.