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While out and about in Destiny City, you notice a particularly strange street performer who isn't getting much attention on the corner he's stationed himself at. He's a rather peculiar looking clown, complete with cliche red nose and squeaky shoes. No matter how many balloon animals he makes or tricks he tries to play, no one seems to pay him any attention. You happen to make eye contact with him and unfortunately, it seems to excite the fellow to have finally won over someone's attention.
You manage to cleverly excuse yourself from the situation but nearly everywhere you go after that point, the strange clown is following you. The more you try to ignore him or brush him aside, the angrier he seems to get - and it's a little creepy, just how menacing he looks with that bright red smile gets turned upside down. Even as you manage to make your way to you or your friend's home, you can't help but notice the familiar, disturbing honks of a bicycle horn or the squeaks of oversized shoes following you... even up onto the front porch steps.
Clowns, Lacey thought, were something that should never have existed and yet - here they were, in Destiny City, as though they belonged there. As though their incredibly shitty costumes and ******** awful makeup were meant to be a part of the otherwise not-too-terrible backdrop of the street she was currently on; as though he was wanted here. Especially considering that he was now holding out one of his abhorrent balloon monstrosities towards her like it was something that she had asked for, in spite of the fact that she would never have asked for anything so completely ugly in her entire life, let alone from a clown.
Nobody ******** wanted clowns around unless they were stupid (like Malaise). Lacey eyed the man with more than a little disgust, flipped her hair out of her face, and made to leave, because like hell she was standing around a place where this damned ugly clown was lurking about. Halloween or not, clowns were pathetic; and anyone who said otherwise was just plain stupid.
But to be honest - most people were just plain stupid.
The heels she was wearing were at least three inches tall, clicking loudly on the pavement as she pushed past midday shoppers and jabbering teenagers, but Lacey had practically grown up wearing heels and found no discomfort in wearing them now. They made her already tall self feel even taller, even more powerful, and she found a particular sense of superiority and smugness in wearing them, because they put her at just around six foot. She'd gotten a fair few compliments on her height and build; fawning, supercilious commentary on how she should be a model, or whatever other s**t came out of people's mouths these days, but Lacey was not interested in the placid, superficial lives of the fashion industry. They were a bunch of moronic airheads.
She was interested in music. In drumming, to be more precise, because that was where her heart was, and where she was damned ******** good at things. Drumming was an art form, and she was a damn ******** good artist, no matter what that b*****d ******** Malaise ********, she still hated him, even if he was a good lay. That was part of the problem, even if the firsthand experience she had on that front wasn't exactly current knowledge.
Like she ******** cared. He was a jackass.
Just a jackass that was good in bed.
She pushed that thought away, mostly because thinking of Malaise just made her angry, but also because she could hear footsteps behind her, and not the kind of someone casually going the same way as she was. Lacey glanced over her shoulder and saw, to her disgust, the clown, painted face expressionless as he stomped after her, his large red nose bulbous in the bright ******** off, bozo," she called, making a face, and kept walking.
He kept following. It was getting a little unnerving. Lacey twisted around and flipped him the bird with absolute precision.
"I said, ******** off, a*****e. Don't get your panties all in a twist just because I didn't like your little show."
There was no answer. The clown strode forward, for all intents and purposes ******** stalking her, and Lacey turned abruptly down a side street, away from her own apartment, because like hell she was going home with this skeevy dickwad following her.
She kept up the rapid pace even in her stilettos, winding this way and that, until, at last, she couldn't see him anymore. Lacey veered down another side street, then another, then finally made it to the front steps of the large house she rented a room in, fumbling out her keys with black painted nails.
There was a sound of squeaking footsteps. Lacey did not turn around but instead burst inside and slammed the door shut behind ********," she muttered, and deadbolted the door.
