We all know they have a low alcohol tolerance but how would each react if they had a hangover the next day?
Sorry for the late reply. As for your question, if it was just their low susceptibility to alcohol, but they all have a high pain threshold. Harlequin got stabbed in the back a few times, and after a few?hours? He's already as good as new and feels great. So let's imagine an almost unbelievable situation in which they fully experience all the symptoms of a hangover. Let's put a spell on them, so to speak…
One more thing: I don't write fan fiction like Destiny or Servitaur. I am not a professional, so I apologize for the possible dryness of the text. You can add to my words if you want, or maybe point out an inaccuracy.
Pierrot -
If you've always taken care of him before when he was injured or bullied, then obviously this innocent-looking boy is using his condition to get more attention from you. Of course, he will be more clingy than usual: he can rub his head against you if you allow it, or purr all sorts of "tenderness" under his breath. However, if you, on the contrary, feel disgusted by his touches and other romantic actions, he will overcome his pain and his desires, as he always did for you.
Harlequin -
The guy is not one of those who openly shows his pain to others, especially in front of you, his potential victim. If it hadn't been for the other circus performers, he wouldn't have gotten out of bed. But he can get the balls out of the bells - he knows how to do that, we've already done that. No matter how bad he feels, he's still an evil gremlin and won't miss a chance to piss off Pierrot. If things are bad for him, then Pierrot must be much worse.
Jester -
He controls everything, regardless of his condition. As a leader, he won't show his weakness even to those close to him. Of course, he will feel bad: the headache and nausea will not go away. Therefore, perhaps a little more Fools will suffer on stage that day than usual. But as I said, it won't affect him much, at least you won't notice it.
Ticket Taker -
This man will do his job regardless of his condition, because he does not want to let the Fool down. While he's in this state, I advise you not to annoy him. Of course, he will control himself, but you don't want to be left without a tongue, do you?)
Doctor -
It's a dubious situation, despite the fact that he has some kind of unstable split personality. In any case, this guy would have found a way to alleviate his symptoms, although I don't think it would have had much effect on him… Type… He has a cute little man tied up here who urgently needs to be dissected, I doubt a headache will stop him.
This started as a joke in how Pierrot would record a ringtone for the MC, and then it all went down from there since I figured it was a great opportunity to play with the voices for the full cast! I am especially fond of how Ticket Taker and Doctor came out :3c
Feel free to download and use these as actual ringtones if you like!
Though maybe not Harlequin's unless you're particularly brave or quick about picking the phone up.
@nekoboydreams I can't be held responsible if you hear any of these in the wild.....
Another random request turned into a full-cast voice dub! There's something incredibly fun about doing these short snippets, so keep an eye out for more in the future!
Summary: Pierrot is far beyond the point of no return, he knows he can’t stop now. He settles between your open thighs with a flush of heat across his face, desperation blossoming into pure and unrelenting ache that settles down between his own legs with a throbbing reminder of how much he wants you.
But this moment isn’t about him— no, this is for you, his sweet thing, his dearest little love. There’s no reason you should ache and need so much when he is right here, ready to serve and pleasure you with no end to his devotion.
Who is he to deny you, after all?
Author’s Note: While the reader’s gender isn’t defined, they are AMAB and have a cock! :3c
AO3 Version
Pierrot has to wonder if you find the room particularly warm. It’s not all that warm to him, though he’s learned that his sensitivity to heat and cold are far different than a human— such sensitive, squishy little things.
Their flesh is so delicate, their bodies so fragile, their constitutions like glass sitting precariously at the edge of a wobbly shelf; while they may seem hardy at first glance, Pierrot knows all too well how easily that can shatter into beautiful shards beneath his gaze. How their bones crunch and their sinew tears, how their senses can get so overloaded by just a fraction of what he or the others in the circus handle on any given day.
… he assumes that the room is warm, if only because he’s noticed you fall asleep without the protective embrace of your bed covers. Where you would normally wrap yourself up like a cocoon you’ve instead begun to forgo that cover to opt instead for brazen exposure. Between the lack of blanket and your loose, tantalizingly short sleep clothes, Pierrot is certain this is the most of your body he’s been blessed to lay his eyes on.
Such a tease.
Surely you must know how this act emboldens his hunger and lust— each inch of bare skin testing his resolve more and more each night that you fall asleep in such a way. Pierrot had previously been brave enough to sit upon the bed with you beside him, but now? Now he can’t even allow himself within arm’s reach; to get any closer than the opposite end of the bedroom is like putting a fresh kill before a starving wolf. It’s a mistake just waiting to happen.
And yet he watches. Aches. Craves the taste of your skin on his tongue, your warmth against his fingertips, your body writhing with his own in the sensual wave of endless pleasure as it overtakes both of you in tandem.
Oh, how Pierrot loved to torture himself. It was perhaps a good thing that Harlequin didn’t know the full breadth of his adoration for you, else the other would use it as an opportunity for ceaseless verbal torture at best… and tattle on him at worst. He doesn’t want to know what the others of the circus may think, but Pierrot would like to avoid finding out if he can help it.
The only attention you should have is his, after all. Pierrot can barely handle the thought of anyone else looking at you the way he does, aching and feral behind the guise of mere innocent affections.
… How much did you know?
Pierrot has to wonder. To guess. To ponder. Did you think that he harbored such feelings for you? Did you think that he craved you, even if it was only a fraction of the truth? Did you… sleep like this on purpose, just for him?
That was a dangerous line of thinking— even Pierrot knew the risks of assuming such things no matter how much he wanted them to be true. But still, he allows himself to fantasize on the concept for a while as he watches your slumbering form through the small hours of the morning. A glance at your phone on the bedside table revealed he had several hours more before your alarm would go off and you would wake for work, completely unaware of the nocturnal visitor who had become so familiar with you and your apartment.
Could he…?
Pierrot risks stepping closer to your bed. He can see the way your chest rises and falls, how your face turns to nuzzle into the pillow, how your body curls up so perfectly— making you look even smaller than what you already are compared to him. So soft, so fragile, so… utterly his. He’s close enough to feel your body heat and every breath is entirely full of you.
“Oh, sweet angel,” he purrs, voice so low that it rumbles in his chest, “you don’t know what you’re doing to me, do you? Such a tease, sleeping like that. Your body is just… so perfect.”
He steps closer, knees touching the edge of the bed. Pierrot could reach out and touch you if he wanted. He could… cup your cheek against his palm. Nuzzle into your throat. He could even—
Pierrot’s thoughts are broken when you suddenly shift. The fear of waking you up is a sharp buzz in the back of his thoughts, eyes darting towards the door he’d slipped in (a door you seem to forget to lock frequently) as he debates whether he needs to make a quick retreat. Before he could finalize that thought, however, he hears something drip from your lips. Something delicious. Something that makes his entire being quake and quiver.
His name.
“Pierrot….”
It’s soft. So soft. Almost as soft as you, each letter curling possessively around your lips and tongue, dripping like sugar-sweet syrup. Pierrot is certain that you are still asleep… yet you whispered his name as if you knew he was there. Knew he was aching for you. Wanting you.
He can’t stop the grin that pulls across his face, revealing razor-sharp teeth with a gleam against the moonlight trickling in from your bedroom window. If you could see him he would be like a phantom in your room, eyes golden in their glow and his shadow leaning over your helpless form on the bed. His eyes move down your body, drinking in every inch of your bare arms, your chest, your stomach, hips, thighs and—
Oh?
Pierrot blinks. His eyes flick up to your face, half-surprised to find it still peaceful and sleeping despite the growing interest between your legs.
It’s not like he hadn’t seen this before— the way your body grows taut and needy just before the crest of the morning sun. He’s experienced much the same situation and often taken care of such needs by his own hand. But… this is the first time he’s seen it happen to you like this. With his name whispered on your lips like a prayer.
You’re practically begging for him. And who was he to deny his dearest of such things? If you ached for his touch as much as Pierrot wanted to give it to you, then… shouldn’t he do it? The logic feels sound enough, but the risk tempers his burning desire like ice against his thoughts.
And then you whisper again.
“P-Pierrot… ah….”
No, not a whisper. A whimper. A plea. Pierrot has memorized how you sound in your sleep since falling for you— how your nightmares leave you shaking and this… this is not a nightmare. This is… arguably the opposite of a nightmare, he’d say. Something so sweet and delicious that it leaves Pierrot’s tongue slipping out between his lips and tracing across the razor edge of his teeth.
You… want him. Yes, he thinks, there’s no other reason that you would be like this. As close to bare as your precious constitution would allow for yourself, naked of blanket and shame and openly whimpering for him while tucked away in the safety of your most private dreams. Dreams of him. Pierrot inches closer to you, until he’s slowly climbing on top of the bed with the gentle grace of a stalking cat.
The way you shifted leaves you on your back, legs outstretched and splayed apart with a growing shape tenting the front of your pajama bottoms. Pierrot can’t help but feel a growl rumble through his chest at the sight, whole-body almost trembling with the mere weight of his desire that blooms hotter with every breath he takes in. He can practically smell your arousal, aching and twitching as his hot breath falls upon it.
You whimper again.
“Pierr—“ your lips try to shape his name, but stop short when a gasp cuts through the sound. “Puh…ple—ah… plea—se….”
How are you still asleep, he wonders? The dream you’re having must be so good, so lovely; is his sleep-born self pleasuring you too? Is he exploring your body the way you deserve, memorizing every inch of tantalizingly bare, sensitive flesh against his claws, his hands, his tongue?
For a moment, he wonders if more is happening behind those closed eyes of yours. A tangle of limbs, lips parted and gasping for air, bodies taut with euphoria the likes of which Pierrot himself could only barely imagine— it’s all just too tantalizing to linger on for very long.
Pierrot is far beyond the point of no return, he knows he can’t stop now. He settles between your open thighs with a flush of heat across his face, desperation blossoming into pure and unrelenting ache that settles down between his own legs with a throbbing reminder of how much he wants you. But this moment isn’t about him— no, this is for you, his sweet thing, his dearest little love. There’s no reason you should ache and need so much when he is right here, ready to serve and pleasure you with no end to his devotion.
Who is he to deny you, after all?
It isn’t hard to slip your cock out from your boxers. The throbbing length practically begged to be free of its confines after all, and it only takes a gentle tug over the front where the fabric is folded over itself before it slips into the open air with a gentle twitch; Pierrot is all too happy to avoid disturbing you from such sweet, deep dreams with anything too abrupt. He would have resorted to cutting them off you of course, but that would have been… difficult to hide, and he doubted that you’d simply assume you had fallen asleep without them.
Little blessings and a bit of luck, he figured, that things turned out the way they have. It only emboldens the man further though, falling deeper into his conviction that you want him to do this. You ache for him just like he does for you, you just weren’t ready to show it yet— or even realized such affections and lust were already brewing in your belly. Such emotions would need to steep in your waking hours more before Pierrot could sip upon your succor properly.
But for now, he is enraptured by your dick.
The shape of it, the way it throbs, the heat of it against his palm as his hands naturally explore its length. He is especially fond of the noises you make as he does so— sweet whimpers spilling from your lips as the tips of his claws lightly trace up and down the shaft. It’s not the first time he’s seen a human cock, though it is one of the few. He remembers a time when he had accidentally bared witness to one of Harlequin’s sexual escapades with a circus visitor and… well. Pierrot and Harlequin haven’t talked about it since.
But there was also a time when a pornographic magazine found its way onto the circus grounds after one particularly busy weekend. It wasn’t unusual to find various paraphernalia— empty alcohol bottles, cigarette butts, the occasional vape— but that had been the first time Pierrot had encountered such an item. The pictures of humans across the pages both confused and delighted him, but he didn’t manage to keep it for long before fear of discovery outlasted his curiosity and the magazine ended up being shredded and tossed into a bin on one of the streets outside where the circus had set up.
But Pierrot is reminded of that magazine again. Reminded about how he had stared at one of the pages and wondered to himself what such an act would feel like— he remembers his eyes glancing over the soft, plush lips of a woman, wrapped around the shape of her partner’s cock. Her ruby lipstick seemed to glisten against his skin where it had smeared down the length of the shaft. The picture of course was still, but it didn’t take much to imagine how she might have looked bobbing up and down the length, her eyes half-closed and staring at the camera with a sultry look that left Pierrot’s stomach twisted with emotions he had yet to properly label.
He knew what they were— he knew what it meant to be aroused and hard, but… something about seeing someone else in the act of pleasure, someone actively giving pleasure to another, it….
Well, it certainly left him feeling breathless and feverish to say the least. Especially now that he has you. His beloved, his darling, the one person he would happily pleasure and love and do almost anything for with just a word. And here you are, begging so beautifully for him. Pierrot feels a low, rumbling groan move from the center of his chest and up his throat. The force of it shakes him, but does absolutely nothing to wake you.
Have you always been such a heavy sleeper…?
Pierrot is far too lost in the haze of pleasure and his need to satisfy you to think much on the question. His hips shift, pressing down against the mattress to quell his own throbbing ache— just a little friction won’t hurt, just a little indulgence of his own so he doesn’t mentally snap from all the heat building up within him.
“Oh, my dearest,” he finally whispers, breathless and desperate as he nuzzles the underside of your cock. The heat of your arousal is practically intoxicating to him, and Pierrot can only wonder at what he looks like— flushed, breathless, tongue trailing along his teeth and lips— while he worships your sex like its the most lovely thing in the world. And in that moment, it is.
He continues to speak with an almost desperate lilt to his voice, “Has anyone put their mouth on you before? Touched you like this? Worshipped you the way you deserve? Eu me pergunto...”
Of course he doesn't get a response from you, but he fantasizes it all the same.
His tongue presses out past the edge of his mask, material warping physically in order to accommodate his open mouth while his tongue slides along the length of your throbbing shaft. Pierrot purrs again at the taste of hot flesh as he simply indulges in it for a moment. Even as the vibration of his noises travel through him and makes your cock twitch and throb he feels all too selfish in this moment. You’re not awake to enjoy this worship after all, but he very much is; he can adore and taste and drink down all he likes of you, to know you so carnally without you having the same benefit.
That will come later, Pierrot assures himself. When you were ready for him, ready to admit your desires and passions as they burned through your body and soul alike. Ready to tell him your wants and needs so that he could give them all to you without a moment’s hesitation— when his devotion and utter obsession wouldn’t be at a risk of frightening you like a skittish little thing.
Would you ask him to put his mouth on you? Would you demand it? He ponders on the options of his fantasy for a few moments before restraint begins to crack and Pierrot’s desire to have you down his throat becomes a blazing wildfire he cannot hope to quell.
The wet, wriggling organ of his tongue slides around your cock, squeezing it for a moment before tasting from tip to base. There’s a sweetness to it behind the warm tones of flesh, precum that has started to spill out of you in gentle rivulets of liquid that Pierrot feels compelled to lap up— it only causes more to dribble down your cock and—
Oh, Pierrot is already ruined for it all. There’s a part of him that already knows he will end up doing this again sometime in the future. Waiting for an excuse of a whimper or gasp that breaks through from your dreams. He knows that he will become a nightly phantom of pleasure between your legs, wishing and yearning just once that you could be awake to look him in the eyes. So that he could see the way yours would roll back into your head when he swallows you down to the base and milks your cock with his throat.
Oh, if only…
The taste of you is no longer enough. Pierrot needs to feel the shape of you inside of him, throbbing thick and needy against his tongue. He savors the raw desperation coursing through his thoughts before pulling his flushed face back to look at how your sex stands impressive and hard before his eyes; the mere sight makes him groan again, grinding his hips down into the mattress.
He’ll take care of himself later, when he’s back at the circus and not at any risk of leaving behind evidence your brain wouldn’t conveniently ignore or explain away. And it was surprising the things you were so apt to ignore. You delightful thing, beautiful thing— Pierrot worries and enjoys equally your lacking perception at times. So sweet and loving, so kind and naive, so defenseless and vulnerable…
It was only a matter of time before he wouldn’t have to worry about your safety amid a world of sinners and malice. He’d take such good care of you! Provide and love and protect— he’d have a place prepared at the circus just for you, his wonderful little human, and you would be able to explore and enjoy all the little things you liked as Pierrot had no intent to stop you from indulging in your hobbies. You wouldn’t have to cook, to clean— maybe Ticket Taker could even be persuaded to allow you a small allowance if you behaved well enough. And if not, then Pierrot would have given you every single scrap of money he had just to make sure you had everything you wanted.
He’s forced back into the present moment when you shift again. Pierrot freezes, terror like cold ice flowing through every cell of his body, but—
It’s nothing. Your head turns in your sleep, lips mumbling something that sounds precariously like Pierrot’s name that he’s still a bit too hazy-minded to understand. He sighs in relief nonetheless, pressing kisses up the underside of your cock as if in apology for nearly waking you before finally taking the tip against his tongue and between his lips.
Delicious. Pierrot knows he will eventually be absolutely drunk off this feeling, of having you in his mouth and throbbing hot and needing on his tongue. He wonders how many times a human can climax before they have to take a break— the pornography that he’d come across made it seem like a few hours is normal, but Harlequin had also joked that such materials were rather inaccurate. Since Harlequin technically carried more experience (and Pierrot was NOT going to ask anyone else on the matter) he begrudgingly had to assume the other was correct.
He wants desperately to prolong this experience, to properly memorize your shape and taste and every sound that passes from your beautiful lips but—… he knows that it’s already a risk. Pierrot knows that this is a mistake, that he’s crossed that line he had set up for himself specifically so that he didn’t go overboard and absolutely ruin himself for every encounter in the future. He pushes your cock deeper in his mouth, just an inch or so, and he’s bombarded with the thoughts of how he’d compose himself tomorrow when he visits you. How he’ll have to act sweet and polite, a silent figure you seem so open to talk to for hours… all while a blaze as hot as the sun is eating him from the inside out remembering just how delectable you taste. The floodgates have not just been opened, but they’ve been broken entirely off the hinges with no hope to repair them.
Oh, it feels so good…!
Pierrot whines as his hips start to wiggle and thrust uselessly down into the mattress, wondering deliriously what your body would feel like instead around him. Tight and hot, more addicting than the worst drug in the world and all his. His pretty thing, his beautiful human, his beloved and his darling and his—!
There’s movement. Pierrot freezes again as the motions continue, as your body shifts and twitches in what he hopes desperately is just another wave of unconscious movement that will settle down as long as he—
Just. Remains. Still.
Fear prickles in the back of his thoughts alongside a deep shame. Shame that, despite the fact he’s mere moments from possible discovery, he’s still so hard and aching and so so addicted to the taste of you. Pierrot wants to forgo sense and risk just to swallow you to the base, choke himself on you. He wants to milk your cock with his tongue and throat, to drink every drop of your spend until there is nothing left for you to give. He wants to worship you, memorize each and every inch of bare flesh until he knows your own pleasures as well as he knows his own.
But he can’t. He can’t risk this— no, this is bad. This is so very bad. The line has been crossed and the last remnants of something he could even call restraint is nothing but frayed twine. Maybe he can finish you off and hurry out of the room, maybe he could pretend that it was just the TV that awoken you (you seem to like leaving it on at night after all).
Maybe he could…
perhaps….
But what if….?
Pierrot is frozen with indecision mixed with arousal, his cock throbbing and hard and needy between his legs as he ruts into the bed, tongue wrapping around your cock twice over while he can just suckle and mouth at the first few inches. He wants to move his hands from where they grip tight and useless over the bedsheets so that he could hold your legs open properly just to make sure they wouldn’t close and so much as attempt to deny him such ambrosia of your orgasm. He wonders in his delirium if he could milk more from you if he massaged and groped the soft shape of your balls, which sat tight and unexplored from all but the briefest glances before he’d begun to worship you properly.
But he can’t. He can’t so much as think for a second more before he suddenly feels you shift in a way he knows indicates you’re waking up. You groan, voice groggy and hoarse from either sleep or pleasure (and there is a crashing sense of shameful pride in Pierrot knowing it was him to caused the latter) before your eyes flutter open and your gaze instantly glances down to find the monster feasting between your thighs.
“P…Pierrot….?” You mumble, half-lidded gaze feeling like fire and brimstone upon Pierrot’s senses. He feels so good and yet so terrified, his careful series of plots and plans crashing down all in this one moment of weakness.
But the next word from your perfect lips seem to offer forgiveness and mercy, a blessing he doesn’t truly deserve.
“…dreamin’…?”
The word is thick with drowsiness but as clear as glass. Pierrot chokes on your cock for a moment just from the sudden realization that his mind is able to click together: you think you’re still dreaming. It’s simultaneously the best and the worst thing that could have happened.
Because now, Pierrot doesn’t even try to stop himself from diving into the deep end of his perverted ache. He growls, knowing perfectly well how it rumbles down to the root of your dick, and delights in the moan you offer him in kind all while your eyes watch him.
‘Mine,’ he would say if he could, if he wasn’t gagged so perfectly by you, mouth filled to the brim with twitching, hot flesh. ‘My dearest.
Você é o meu amor.
Você é minha vida.
Você é meu tudo.’
Your voice sounds like heaven when you gasp and breathe his name. Whether it’s the force of his throat swallowing around you or the mere intensity of his love that echoes in his mind, your orgasm forces itself through your body like a crashing wave against the rocks. It’s powerful and nearly overwhelming, making your legs shake and tremble, trying to shut instinctively around Pierrot’s head— only then does his hands move from the sheets to hold them open, to force you to feel every second of his love and to spill yourself into him, onlyinto him. He would happily do this every night if you desired, emptied your body of need into his mouth and body to leave you sated and blissfully tired.
And if you thought this was a dream, it means it has happened before.
It means you’ll expect it to happen again.
Pierrot can’t contain his excitement as he pulls himself off of your cock, licking it clean to the very tip where such succor spilled from. He knows that you’re oversensitive already, body twitching and moans turning into soft whimpers— he has to stop himself from starting the cycle all over again.
“Hmm…. P-Pierrot….?”
“Sleep.” he finally says, throat beautifully hoarse from his devotion. He’d hang on the sensation until it numbed the following morning, remember it like a treasured memory whenever he smiled at you tomorrow. “Você está sonhando, meu amor. There are no monsters here…”
None besides him in some ironic sense, though it seems like Pierrot has little to worry about that. He barely registers the fact that he had orgasmed himself somewhere amidst the worship, pants feeling decidedly wet and in need of a thorough cleaning before someone found out. It’s not ideal, he would have much preferred to enjoy his end alongside you properly— to feel perhaps what your cock would feel against yours, hips grinding and rolling together in feverish want—
But ah. No. Not tonight. Not yet.
He instead watches your eyes flutter shut once more, exhaustion seeming to take hold of you before he finally slides off of the bed and takes a great care to situate the bedroom so that you wouldn’t think much of what had happened. Pierrot moves the blankets around, if only so the wet spot where his own need had been leaking would seem more like a mess of your own making. He carefully manages to dress you with your sleep shorts again, going as far as to make sure they were perfectly settled over your hips just so that you’d not question anything. He could have gone the extra mile to wet the front where your dick would have made a ‘mess’ of the fabric, but…. Oh, that would have been too dangerous, given Pierrot’s only genuine option would be to use his mouth.
No, this is perfectly acceptable. Given what you’d been able to ignore before he figures this is perfect. His ache has been given a salve, his obsession an outlet, his heart a lifeline so that he didn’t lose control of his restraint to simply whisk you away to the circus outright.
He could take this as a mercy upon his heart and sanity if nothing else and be grateful, tucking away the memories for himself to selfishly indulge in later when it was just him in his tent with a hand stroking desperately over his own dick.
He can’t wait to see you again tomorrow. Can’t wait to see that pretty face flush when you see him, remembering the ‘dream’ you had with such wondrous clarity— would you start to imagine and fantasize more? Would those nocturnal desires bleed into the waking hour? Would you approach him? Confess your mutual love for him?
Pierrot can barely wait for the answer as he leaves your apartment, hurrying through the empty streets back to the circus with a gleeful kick to his steps.
Because tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that—
Hello, sorry for the number of questions in advance and for if they will be a bit of a spoiler.
1.
I noticed that people have already asked about Pierrot's face, but after looking at it, I had questions about his black stripes on his face, can they disappear from strong emotions or at Pierrot's own will? (sorry if I misunderstood)
2. Is there black skin under his hat and is there hair there?
3. What would happen if M/C refused all the tickets or just didn't come to the circus (even if there was a red ticket) for some reason?
4. I don't remember if anyone asked or not, but how would the characters react to alcohol, who would immediately pass out or who wouldn't care
5. Is Harlequin curly, and Pierrot disheveled? If so, how would they feel about M/C having combed their hair! (What shampoo do they use for their hair? It looks gorgeous)
6. How would Harlequin react to the M/C in a clown/jester costume?
I really liked your game, I wish you further progress and success, I look forward to the continuation of this story and once again I apologize for the questions and unnecessary inconvenience, good luck and rest:3
( I hope the translator will translate correctly without misunderstandings)
No problems!
1. Actually, the disappearing stripes were a mistake haha! I'm already fixing some sprites like that, but I think I’ll only update the downloadable version when Day 2 is released.
2. And yes, there’s definitely something slipping out there but it’s not black hair.
3. So Pierrot would keep stalking the MC throughout the days!
4. They’re actually pretty weak to alcohol it was never something they were too interested in trying. I imagine Pierrot would be the first to go down after drinking, followed by the Ticket master, Harlequin, Jester, and lastly the Fifth one, who's the most resistant.
5. Yes, Harlequin has curly hair. Pierrot's hair is mostly straight, but with a slight wave at the ends. They wouldn’t mind if the MC played with their hair Pierrot would actually enjoy it haha. And when it comes to shampoo, they’d usually pick one with a scent they personally like best.
6. Harlequin would respond with a wicked laugh, asking what exactly the MC is trying to say by wearing those clothes.
dededos
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