Chapter Text
Harlequin had been sleeping poorly as of late. As of a long while, actually, except for when they were on the road. He liked sleeping when they drove, constant motion making him pleasantly uncertain of his own position in space. He liked sleeping when they drove because the vehicles they occupied were the closest to a shared sleeping quarters he could get.
Well. Shared with his fellow cast members. He could invite people over if he liked, guests just wanted a show and then they'd keep his bed nice and cozy for all of an hour. Full disclosure, he more wanted whatever arrangement Jester had with that damned Doctor. Big guy slept at the foot of their bed like a damn pet. Ticket Taker as well, though he moreso stood in the corner for as long as it took for Jester to sleep. Harlequin didn't like the idea of a watchman, but he'd settle for a warm body.
Ah well. Pillows were softer anyway.
He stared for a very long time at the ceiling of his green tent, sparsely decorated because belongings took a long time to pack. His bed was uncomfortable, if it could even be called such. More duct tape than air mattress at this point. An unpleasantly cold breeze made its way in.
He wondered if Pierrot was warm. He'd heard the guy's lumbering footsteps outside a while back, making his way to his sweetheart's house. Probably cozied up right now, maybe even sprung a few spines. Huffing out snores like the overgrown beast he was. Harlequin could be in that bed if he wanted. He could rush right over and sleep next to Andrey and it'd be warm and just comfortable enough to pretend he actually wanted to be there.
Pierrot could be in Harlequin's bed if he wanted. He did not want.
The new apple of Pierrot's eye was…fine. Nice, even, a kind guy. Orangish hair. Heavyset. Harlequin could definitely see the appeal. He looked like he liked dogs.
What Harlequin actually liked, besides how uncertain Andrey was about them all, and how easy that made him to fool, was how he'd mellowed Pierrot out. That wouldn't last long, of course, but Harlequin would take any old chance to savor the rare smile from his coworker. It'd been a while since one of his knives actually scratched anyone.
Harlequin could change that, with enough poking and prodding and flirting with his stupid new toy. Pierrot would bite like the ill-trained mutt he was, and he'd forgive Andrey no matter what but hate Harlequin for the rest of his miserable existence. That was how it went. Just about a million years of the same thing, over and over again.
The nice thing about Pierrot, mellowed out as he'd been recently, was how damn touch-starved he was. It was easy to relax him, unless you were one green-clad man, just wait till he's taken his mask off and scratch the top of his head. Like a dog. A bird being preened, maybe. He'd practically melt. Tail would flick around if you got very lucky indeed.
Harlequin watched when that happened, when he relaxed enough to let his guard down. It was usually Jester (Pierrot was the more prized of their two favorites, stupid overgrown dogs lounging around on their lap. Birds, maybe. Something like that, Doctor had a beak, didn't it?) who could get it to happen, speaking in that calming way they did and combing their hand through spines until Pierrot was half-asleep and almost sweet. Harlequin had chanced petting at his tail only once, earning himself a snap from Pierrot and a sort of derisory look from Jester. Not his place, then.
He sighed huffily. How was he to get to sleep like this? Maybe he could sneak into Doc's tent and snag some sedative pills. They were strong things, left him with a nasty headache. Not sleeping had the potential to do the same, so it was alright. He'd get painkillers too, he needed those often enough. Damn aching joints.
Said aching joints made awful popping sounds as he crawled out of bed, spine twisting in ways it arguably shouldn't. Should he get a cane? Would that paint him as weak? Whatever. He shivered bodily as he put on a cloak ("always be seen in a cloak when not performing, so as not to reveal your true bodies," said the ever-wary Mx. Jester) and padded for the medical tent. No matter how gaudy the props and toys, Doc had a damn fine stash in there, hypnotics and sedatives and the odd steroid.
Before he could brush the curtains aside, gravel clattered behind him. He whipped around, neck popping once again. Christ, should he get that checked out? Pierrot stared at him, nice golden eyes glowing just faintly. Was his mask on? His mask should be on, he was outside his tent.
He inched closer. His mask was on. There was this awful spell of quiet.
"It's just me out here, don't get all choked up." He shifted so all his weight rested on a hip. That'd hurt in the morning.
Pierrot breathed in sharply like he did when he was mad, or surprised, or…what the hell, he did it all the time. "Why are you out here, then?" Fair question. "Borrowing something, you know how it goes."
He hated these strained conversations so much. At least when they argued words flowed freely, at least they were biting off each other's heads instead of their own tongues. He smiled, awfully strained. "Andrey not like pets on the bed?"
Pierrot's eyes sparked with something angry, maybe embarrassed. It was hard to tell the difference, no matter how much you analyzed him. Nobody analyzed him more than Harlequin. He ought to keep a score so he could finally be the best at something among his coworkers. "Andrey needed sleep and I was polite enough to leave. You could learn a thing or two." Not as hotheaded today. Unlucky, a scuffle sounded fun.
"Aw, shame. Well, hope you don't get too cold tonight~" Pierrot scoffed. "Maybe I'll stop by after you…" he tapped his finger to his chin mockingly.
"Keep away from him, Harlequin." Oh, getting snappy! He should keep it up.
"Fine, fine. Needs all his rest for the visit tomorrow, eh? You did give him a ticket?" Pierrot didn't dignify that with a response. Harlequin sighed.
"Ah, back to the silent act. Sleep well, Pierrot~" He'd never say he meant it. Pierrot needed time to heal from taking the brunt of attacks on the street. They quietly shouldered past each other on the way to their quarters.
Harlequin never did get his sleeping pills, he realized. Whatever, he didn't feel like getting up again.
He rolled over and clutched a pillow tight to his chest.
He was right about one thing, at least. He did wake up with that nasty headache, and a sore back to boot. He rolled right out of bed, though not gracefully enough to avoid ending up on the floor. He'd given up his career in acrobatics long ago.
"Finally up?"
His cheek squished against the floor as he turned towards Jester. "Down, actually."
He didn't get a laugh.
"I hear you were out last night." They crossed one leg over the other, perched on his vanity. Ever the showoff, that one. He rolled, a little more languidly this time, onto his back. "Don't worry, cloak and mask stayed on…who told you anyway?" Pierrot…probably him. He wasn't a snitch, but he was willing to abandon most morals for Harlequin. Almost flattering.
They stood. "Doctor, though Pierrot informed it. Under the impression you stole from him." Made their way over slowly. "Didn't touch a thing, boss~"
"I know. Why do you think I'm here?" They finally crouched beside his head. Searched his drawers, then? Any semblance of privacy between the lot of them was long gone. "You had better not take anything, hm? Need you sharp for the performance." He felt claws scrape at the junction between his neck and chin. Despite his best judgement, he leaned into it. He had never been the favorite. He'd take what he could get. "Now, clean up. Bil has food."
Gladly, he thought, as he painted his mask again (apparently glass thrown hard at one's head chips acrylic) and meticulously adjusted his costume. It was uncomfortable at best, but certainly safe. Pierrot hated them. Harlequin would make fun of him for it, but really he couldn't bring himself to do it. His cruelty had certain bounds, arbitrary ones at that.
The circus was empty as usual. Marketing yourself as a real freakshow had a tendency to do that—Harlequin heard they'd gone out of style. Still, it was bustling at night. Everyone wanted a good scare.
Bil's tent, that was where he had to go today. That was alright, it was a neutral enough meeting space. He hated using his own. He slinked in, stood in the corner.
"I hear you wanted something from my tent?"
Oh, Doc. He towered next to him. The guy walked real quietly for such a presence. "Just a sleep aid. Honestly, I don't see why you're making a big deal," he scoffed. It wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be the last and everyone knew that.
"They're awful for you. I've tested them extensively."
God, could he just be left alone for once? "And I've used them and been just fine. Mind your own, eh?"
Doc's expression remained the same as always. He did like keeping that mask on. "Keep safe," it murmured, in that half-gentle way it did. Harlequin felt a loosely fisted hand brush against his cheek. Again, he'd take what he could get.
Ticket Taker served Jester first. He always did, of course. They tore in while it was still warm.
Meat dish today, something gristly probably scrounged up from a supermarket bin. He hated the scent, and the texture, and frankly everything else. He did clean his plate, of course.
Pierrot ate with this wild ferocity like he hadn't had something edible in days. He probably felt awful, to be fair. Honestly, a strawberry milkshake? They were goddamned obligate carnivores. He didn't realize he'd been staring until Jester kicked him under the table. He shot them a nasty look, though it was deflected with a smarmy kind of smile. He wished they'd scratch his chin again. Pathetic, on his part.
Doc cleared the table. He was good at cleaning, maybe even enjoyed it. The rest of them were told to prepare for their acts. Harlequin did not do as much, but he wished he did, as it turned out a nap left him with sorer limbs and less time than before. At least his act was easy enough. Set up the props, make sure he could project his voice. The like.
The circus remained disappointingly empty as the sun made its way ever so slowly downward. They would surely not get a good hotel room on their next trip.
Actually, come to think of it, it seemed too empty. Andrey had promised to come, hadn't he? Shouldn't be hiding, he'd already met the lot of them.
Hm. Only one way to find out.
He marched his way through the circus, stopping at each tent. Bil wouldn't let him go to the black tent, surely. Not at the ticket booth either. Bil shot him a glare.
Of course they all hated him. He'd done something unforgivable.
Doc's tent was clear as well. He was only sorting the medicine cabinet (actual medicine for their various injuries, not hypnotics and the like).
Was it really? Surely they could see his reasoning. She was weak, and they were so hungry. Jester couldn't sustain Pierrot for long, let alone the rest of their miserable bunch. Of course he missed her. An angel among beasts, sure, but eating was more important than any of their feelings.
Jester was only rehearsing. Their goddamned story about what he'd done, of course—the poisonous one, really? A gross oversimplification, and it wasn't as if they could talk. He hadn't…he hadn't killed her with the poison. Taken care of her. God, whatever. It was his teeth that did the work.
He'd been the first to eat, that part was true. Ripped into her like the hungry animal they'd made him into. The body tasted of metal and an underlying sweetness that was so inherent to her, almost fermented by the time he tore off his serving. He'd felt sick for days. Better sick than dead. Better sick than hungry.
He checked his own tent for good measure, just in case he'd somehow snuck in. It was unimpressive, one of the smaller at the circus grounds. Nothing there. Andrey surely didn't want to visit.
Better hated than ignored. No matter how much he justified, some small part of him knew his more personal reasons for killing her. It was just…annoying, seeking after Pierrot's acknowledgment like a needy pet. At least like this he could take it. At least like this Pierrot wouldn't forget about him.
He wanted for more, naturally. Pierrot would make a damn good companion, and Harlequin would mellow himself out if it was necessary. He was a creature of change. He could change if Pierrot wanted him. Pierrot would never want him, of course, because he had ruined everything friendly between them years ago.
He wondered sometimes if he could have worked something out back then, made Pierrot grateful instead of absolutely miserable. If he could work something out now, miraculously save…whatever they had left. Would love (affection, let's say, Pierrot simply would not love him) feel better than ire?
Ah, well. He'd probably regret it someday.
He peeled back the curtain to Pierrot's tent. Poor guy was curled up on his bed, staring at the striped wall. Surely there were better things to do?
"Andrey ditch you?"
Pierrot glared.
"Hey, relax, I haven't seen him either…" he held up his hands, grinned. He really didn't make it easier for himself, did he?
"He informed me he was sick." Pierrot's voice shook, just a tad.
"Hm."
"He did not appear sick."
"Probably busy. Don't get too attached to a guy with a job, eh?" He sat down lightly next to Pierrot. Corner of the bed, easy to kick off. It felt warmer in here. The guy was practically a space heater.
"You've no right to speak on our affairs." He felt the blanket shift as Pierrot flipped onto his back. That was comforting, at least, he didn't hate him enough to feel unsafe. Still, hardly baring his neck. "Aw, can't your dear friend offer advice~?"
"We are not friends."
"No?"
Of course they weren't. He liked to pretend sometimes, when he was especially tired and his bed was cold. He ought to invest in a weighted blanket, make the illusion of company a little more convincing. That, or convince Pierrot that sleeping together would actually help in his endeavors somehow. The former seemed more feasible, despite their limited budget. "No."
"Still firm as ever, hm~"
"You could stand to learn. I hear Jester isn't too pleased?" God, what an asshole. Jester was half of the crew who didn't hate him, how could he live with only Doc on his side?
"Jester is just peachy, and I'd advise you to shut up about them."
"Sore spot, then?"
"Tell me how last night with Andrey went?"
Pierrot made this nice growling noise, deep in his chest. Harlequin only laughed, not with his chest at all, because he wasn't that amused. In fact, his chest hurt quite a lot. Pierrot had the capacity to do that to him. He hated it. He couldn't hate Pierrot.
"Hey, cheer up. I'll leave him alone tonight, how's that~?" Harlequin stretched, finally, about to get up. "You had better." A hand on his wrist.
Another uncomfortable silence. The hand lingered a second too long.
He sighed. "Just don't know what he sees in you." That was a lie, that was the worst lie he'd ever told. Pierrot contained just about half the galaxy, and all the love in the world. That was why he loved so deeply, and kindly, and why his presence in rooms was so undeniable. Harlequin wanted to tap the love from him, so he could be more than a speck of dust next to a whole planet. Harlequin saw everything in Pierrot except himself, that was the issue.
Goddamned expressive mask. Pierrot looked at him, question in his eyes. "That so?"
"Sure it is."
"Sure."
Harlequin remained on the bed for a while after that. Maybe if he stayed, he'd soak up a semblance of importance.