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Summary
“Would it be bad if I said I’m just trying to hide from Pierrot and Harlequin?” you asked, letting your voice sound as tired as you felt. You couldn’t see the Doctor’s face; in fact, now that you thought about it, you had never even seen his chin. Yet even so, you could swear the interpreter’s stunned gaze was fixed on your entire being. A small laugh sounded from behind his mask.
“That’s new. What makes you think you’re safe here?” he asked, leaning over the chair, his hands gripping your wrists as if he needed the support—though you clearly felt his deliberate intent to let you feel his claws. The question made sense; there was no real safety anywhere in the circus. Still, this clown’s tent was the only place that felt a little calmer—if you ignored the strange activities and the odd things the Doctor said to you.