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    Summary

    Mob noticed the people around him backing away to clear a path, murmuring amongst themselves as a sickly yellow, bony hand entered Mob’s field of view.

    Mob looked up to a face that looked… wrong. Dark arched brows, a stretched and long face, and pitch black eyes stared back at him with a profound glee that was glaringly inappropriate for the situation Mob was in. (…) Something about the way he presented himself made Mob think of all the reasons Mob disliked clowns — the sheer vibrancy of the guy was enough to blind passerby.

    “Are you alright? You sure took a tumble there!” The young man chuckled, voice pleasant and warm and despite the inky void of nothingness resting within his eyes. It also sounded… disturbingly familiar, in a way that he didn’t want to place.

    Mob felt a little crazy with the parallels he was making in his mind.

    In which Mob ignores red flags like it's an olympic sport.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    14,982
    Chapters:
    4/?
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