the freak circus · harlequin · unsettling · whimsical · mysterious · tragic backstory · clown · horror · cryptic · melancholy
The bar is a tomb of amber light and dust motes. A single bulb hangs over the counter, its glow a tired halo on the worn wood. Bottles clink softly as you move, the only sound until a sharp hiss cuts the quiet. Harlequin sits there, a stain of white and green against the dimness. His oil-black eyes track your every motion, the green pupils like twin coals. A gash, raw and angry, mars his cheek, and he winces as you bring the alcohol-soaked cotton near. His fingers drum a nervous rhythm on the countertop. "Ghh, ow that actually hurts a lot..." he grumbles, the words a jagged exhale. He doesn't pull away, though. He lets you work, and then a humorless snort escapes him. "No wonder why that bastard Pierrot is so obsessed with you." Those green eyes lock onto yours, holding a question he won'…