of the sentence is also my will. Pretty funny, ah?
Clownernia is famous for one thing that none of the other cities are quite so famous for, though one called Jesterville comes close... but Jesterville has just about everything anyone could ever imagine happening within its incredibly tall walls.
That thing that Clownernia is so famous for is: alcohol. Booze. The gud stuff.
And not the light and good tasting stuff like wine or cocktails. Nah, they serve the hardest, most potent whiskey and bourbon that would make even the most practiced old geezer (I'm imagining a farmer from Kansas) gag and try to hide his watery eyes.
I am currently entering a bar to avoid the coppers running around with their gleeful faces looking for the sucker who was scaring everyone with horns and fire. Hah. They'll never catch me.
In this bar is something I actually don't mind about this place: drunks.
You'd think in a place like this, with everyone laughing so often, that the people would be happy, party drunks.
Not so.
Just about all of these suckers are miserable and depressed once they've been juiced up enough.
And I love it.
"Hey, bartender, got anything that tastes good hiding behind that counter?" I shove a red-faced man off a stool and sit down, ignoring the fact that there were several empty stools on either side of it.
"Only if you can make me laugh." Came the reply along with a grin and a wink.
I sigh. "That's a resounding 'no', then. Alright, just give me something that won't make me gag."
He laughed easily, surprising me. "Looks like I owe you a good-tasting drink. Hmmm let me see what I can find back here. Oh! Looks like I've got some water. Would that work?"
I think it would be funny to wipe that smirk off his face, and his laughter gave me enough power to do it... so I do. My hand turns into a wipe, and I wipe his face with it, painlessly removing the smirk.
I gain a smirk on my own face at the stunned expression that appears on his face. "No, water will not do. Something else."
He frowned dramatically. "I don't want to give it to you, but a deal's a deal. Ah well. Here ya go." He hands me a pretty little glass filled to the brim with red liquid. It looks like blood. I'm a bit wary, knowing these clown's penchant to trickery, but in the end I just knock the drink back with a quick prayer.
He was right. It does taste good.
And it's not blood.
"Did you hear about that monster running around town?" I overhear a group of girls chatting around a nearby circular table.
"Yes, I did." Came a reply in a judgemental tone. "He's a menace to this lovely city."
I decided that Girl #2 is an idiot, despite her cute voice.
"What are you talking about? This city is miserable. The only reason anyone still lives here is the booze." Girl #3 spoke up, already quite drunk, and gained an approving nod from myself. She wasn't that far from the truth, and her voice was even cuter.
"You're just upset because you were forced from your home when it was destroyed by our powerful jester." Girl #1's voice was the least cute, but still rather cute.
Eaten by curiosity, I turn to glance over my shoulder at the conversants, and would have choked if there was anything in my mouth or throat to choke on. Sitting around the table were three... lions? What is up with all of that hair? It's actually terrifying. It's sticking up in every direction like a lion's mane, and I don't like it one bit. It's worse than the eighties' hair styles. How did I miss them when I first came in?
Probably because just about everyone in this acursed city looks wrong in some way or form. It's sad, really. And definitely not fun to look at.
Unfortunately, one of them catches me gaping at them, and raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow at me. Her face looks great, but that hair... "What are you looking at, punk? Don't like my hair?" The voice identified her as Girl #3, and she was indeed quite drunk, judging by the empty glasses sitting in front of her and held in both hands.
How did she know? "Uh." Now the only real question is whether or not I tell the truth.
"Don't even think about lying to me." Girl #3 must have psychic powers. Well that's cool, I guess.
Honesty it is. "Yeah, I mean, no. I really don't like your hair. It's kinda scary, actually. Why do you have it up like that?"
My honest response earns a sad look, immediately making me regret my words. "My mom makes me wear it like this. The only way I could change it is if I ran away. It's not my choice, OK?" She looks close to tears.
"Oh." My stupid brain apparently isn't capable of coming up with anything resembling intelligent as a reply, as it's too busy cussing me out for not being able to come up with anything resembling an intelligent reply.
See why I hate this place? It's hard enough as it is just dealing with the crap in my head. And now I've got to deal with literal clowns on top of it all? It's not healthy.
"Why don't you run away, then?" No, mouth, no! You're supposed to shut up and let me turn back around and never interact with these girls again! Why would you ask a question I don't even want the answer to?
"Hey, don't talk to my friend like that, you meany." Girl #1 speaks up with a protective tone and posture. Though I have no idea why.
"It's OK, Caeren." Girl #3 stands up for me, though I still don't have a freaking clue what I did that needs standing up for. She sets her empty glasses down and regards me with a serious, dignified expression. "The reason I can't run away is... my adoptive father is the Jester."