Harlequin

Harlequin was not one to let people get too close to him. Yes, of course, his daily routine was closely connected with society, and being a rather sociable mister, he did not complain about it. But nevertheless, this did not prevent him from keeping a conditional arm's length distance from everyone he knew, and even with whom he sympathized. And anyone who crossed the line he set received a one-way ticket - to the pink tent, to be eaten by his fellow clowns and himself.

So you were quite surprised when this same jester came to you with a request to patch up his wounds after an unsuccessful meeting with an unfriendly passerby who was lucky enough to hit Harlequin in the face with a stone and leave a large red mark on it.

It was not the first time you did something like this. Pierrot, your friend, who just so happens to be a fellow monster clown and the sworn enemy of Harlequin himself, also often got it from the haters of his circus. But nevertheless, it was still strange to patch up the scratches of someone as flirtatious and frankly arrogant as this jester. Pierrot was completely different.

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And so you stand in front of Harlequin, who was sitting behind the counter in the bar where you work. Actually, you had long been assigned to close it at night, but since both jesters had a nasty habit of coming only at night, it had to be postponed.

You bring a cotton pad soaked in safe alcohol to a particularly large wound on his white cheek, to which the jester hisses painfully and winces. But he still does not move away, trying to be patient and let you do the work.

🃏☘️-"Ghh, ow that actually hurts a lot..." Harlequin grumbled as you removed the disk from his face before letting out a snort.

🃏☘️-"No wonder why that bastard Pierrot is so obsessed with you." he said humourlessly, his oil-black eyes staring at you with the glowing green pupils.