35th of Ymiden 720
So many visitors, such a grand audience he was treated to, with such a multitude of new faces. In Zunylanih's Shanty, he had the pick of the crowd, and there were few buskers of a mind to ply their craft in these trying times... Yet that was what clowns were for, was it not? To bring joy and comedy to the masses. To entertain, fill with wonder, and that ever elusive shred of hope...
So it was, Zuny found himself in a square in the middle of the Shanty. He was doing a messy, uncoordinated dance. He wasn't much of a dancer, not half the one that Omesintihlih was. But he'd learned enough to be able to move, in a more or less chaotic pattern of footwork. As he did it, he placed his mask on his face, then removed it, then placed it back. A ribbon tied the mask to the collar of his motley costume in case he got clumsy. Replacing the mask back on his face, he set about doing a headstand. It was slow going, but he was able to do it, albeit only for a few seconds.
The small crowd, with their sullen and downcast faces, began to mill toward the clown and his performance. Thus having attracted an audience, he hopped back from his headstand, onto his feet. The Yludih swept his arm into a flourishing bow, at which there was sparse clapter from the crowd that was gathering around him.
Yet he had a few eyes on him, and with that it was only a matter of time before his performance really caught fire!
He smiled at them behind his mask, and smiled with his pose, raising his hands in a kneeling curtsey. He spun in place a couple times. Then he removed his mask, letting it drop, ribbon and all to reveal the face of Keque, his original form that he grew up with, before he found out about his amazing heritage as a shapeshifter.
His arms did circular motions in the air, one-way milling and then the other. Coming together to a formal steeple in the middle at the end of their motion. Another small bow of his hip. He took the mask that hung from his collar, and placed it on his face. Time for the main attraction!
He mimed having trouble pulling it off of his face for a few moments. Tried as he might, he struggled and struggled, making a realshow of it. Until, at last, he pried it off with his fingers on the edges. Then the mask fell off, to reveal a bearded stranger, Dura Elmont, the brown-bearded porter. He was a few inches taller than Keque, and so he rose to his full height. The motley he wore was specially tailored to adjust to forms and shapes with different sizes and dimensions, so it wasn't a stretch for Dura to wear the motley as well as Keque!
He bowed a final time, as the crowd gave greater claps and children laughed at him.
Ahh, these were the moments worth living for!
Zuny was winding down from his performance, when a young lad, no more than ten years approached him, wringing a hanky in his hands. He opened and shut his mouth several times as he got nearer to Zunylanih, until he finally piped up, "Hey ah, mister?" Zuny pointedly ignored him as he took off his motley hat, bells and all, and stowed them away carefully in the satchel with the masks. The mime shut the clasps on the satchel's harness. Then he donned his long woolen coat, and tossed the satchel into his donkey's pack.
He didn't want to encourage kids unless they were really insistent about seeking attention. Especially these days, where giving alms to one meant getting mauled by hundreds the next day. "Away with you, child! Dontcha see I'm busy?" He callously uttered as he leapt onto the back of the donkey. The jackass brayed at the sudden addition of its master's weight, but held steady well enough.
The child, undeterred by any means, wore a fierce look on his face at the clown's irritable answer. "Hey! Mister, tell me how you did that trick!"
Zuny, wearing Keque's cooly indifferent face, smiled nevertheless at the child and shrugged. "Go to clown college if you want to learn. I've better things to do than reveal our arcane secrets..." Keque turned his donkey around on its four hooves, and began trotting away slowly, clip clopping on the cobbles of the street. However, he didn't get ten meters before he stopped. He turned to look over his shoulder and audibly sighed to see the child still standing there, holding his hat or hanky or whatever it was in his hands.
With a tilt of his head, and another sigh, he indicated that the boy should follow him.
A break later, he found himself in his flat, in the flophouse he shared with several other degenerates. Much like him, the faces always changed, a revolving door kept an influx of new degenerates every other tentrial, new faces and people to play with. That’s how Zuny preferred it to be, however. The more he met, the more faces he was exposed to, the better, in his opinion.
He sat the boy down on the dilapidated and dusty floor, and then sat across from him, cross-legged on the ground. Then, he studied the boy’s face. So happy to have this time alone with his heroic clown, a true fan of the mummer’s arts. Such innocence and purity of thought. If only such innocence could be bottled and sold to the highest bidder. Perhaps Zuny would never need clown again, but merely sell innocence by the dram.
But no, such a thing was intrinsic to the child’s nature, as a new being. A budding maggot suckling from the rot of civilization. Zuny wondered if the child had a family. Most likely he did, he was rather chubby, especially for his age. Probably of some rich merchant or perhaps even an aristocratic house. But then, where were his guardians if the latter was the case? So Zuny deduced that he was merely some well-fed urchin, or else afflicted with a slow stomach.
He studied his face, and as he did so, told simple little jokes.
”Now, Possy, how does a squid go into battle?”
Possy shook his head, indicating he didn’t know the punchline. Then Zuny smiled, and said, ”Well-armed.” And he cackled. Possy smiled as well, and giggled. Zuny studied the lines of his face as his expression changed, blood lights playing upon the lines of his face. Oh yes, Zuny would have need of this face, this mask. It would certainly open doors he hadn’t imagined could be.
”Where do you find a dog with no legs?”
Possy shook his head again, eager to hear the punchline.
”Right where you left it!”
Another peal of laughter and giggling. Zuny could certainly get used to having such a audience, untouched by the simplest and worst of jokes, who found even their puerile humor appealing. He’d never have to try to clown again, when he could simply get by with an audience that had no standards.
”What did the left eye say to the right eye?”
”Between you and me, something smells.”
Possy roared at this point, doubling back in laughter. By now, Zuny had absorbed all the information he needed in order to imitate the boy’s face. Bodies were easy to replicate, he could just more or less adopt the shape of the kid. But the face? That was always a challenge and a difficult one at that. One detail could be out of skew, and give up the entire game.
So, as Possy struggled to find his breath after the last joke landed, Zuny’s face and body began to shift beneath the folds of his motley. The flowing and voluminous robe-like garment accomodated the change, but the hem came up a little short for the stubby legs of a fat child. His hair turned curly red, like the child’s and his face became fat and cherubic.
By the time Possy found his footing on the floor, Zuny had made the transformation complete. But he wanted to surprise his audience, and so replaced the bleached leather mask on his face. Once there, he held it, and for a moment stood before the boy, unmoving. Then, with a swift motion, took off the mask, and said, ”Boo child, I am You!”
At this, Possy screeched loudly, and ran frantically away from Zuny, out of the flophouse, and out of the Yludih’s orbit. Never to return to the Shanty. He would likely develop a lasting fear and loathing toward clowns. But such was the life of a fool. Scorned and belittled by society, never taken seriously. At least until it was too late.
