#..huh?

[jokes-on-you-im-funnier]

Stinkeri didn’t want to be at Comedians door asking for help. The two people he needed to talk two were some of the only he remembers having a conversation with, and he didn’t like them.

He knocked on the door a few times, his eyes narrow and his tail twitched impatiently behind him.

this feathered fuck better answer..

comin', give me a second.. comedian reluctantly picked up his crutches- (he was fine without them!) and went to go answer the door. she didn't really know who to expect, considering the only two people who had visited him recently was rococo, looking half dead (when did she die? and come back??) and courier- who was now staying IN his house, along with jester. they swung the door open, but the kind smile on her face quirked into a confused one pretty soon. alright, wh- stinkeri? what're ya doing here?

[em0bussy]

Why do my bones itch when I drink puddle water?

the water is mad

[ovur]

[jokes-on-you-im-funnier]

comedian..? comedian i-i fucked up. real bad.

courier pushed the door open. was he supposed to knock? he couldn’t remember. he couldn’t get himself to enter the house, but he knee if comedian got up she’d hurt himself. he was terrible, wasn’t he?

he felt it in his arms, he felt some terrible way that he could feel something run down his whole body. he didn’t really understand what just happened, but he clearly fucked up. bad.

maybe rhett was right for hating him. he barely remembered their argument anymore. he just knew rhett died hating them.

he fucked up badly.

he was terrible.

courier? what's wrong?

comedian called out. uneven footsteps, and a bunch of muttered curses emerged from him as he peaked from the kitchen to the open door. come inside, tell me what's wrong, okay? i just made lemonade.

she was worried. she hadn't seen courier this upset since- agh, he can't remember. that's.. that's fine. they should be here for courier right now.

[jokes-on-you-im-funnier]

It had only occurred to Georgia after he was drunk off his ass that maybe he should well, tell someone about the body.

He only had a few options… Chester..? No.. she was too much of a gossiper. And well, Courier, obviously, but Georgia didn’t know where he was, or why there was a body in the guys house.

So, that left the drunken Georgia with only one other option his mind could come up with, Comedian.

Comedian and Courier were friends, he was pretty sure… So maybe Comedian would know what happened in Couriers house?

Whether the idea was smart or not, Georgia was at Comedians house, tapping at the door.

fuckin’…uh.. Comedian!! bbuddy— you there..?

comedian glanced at the door. oh, that- that sounded like georgia. he stood up from the chair he was sitting on. yeah, hold on! he put down the cinnamon roll he was eating, walking towards the door and opening it. hey, georgia! you.. you alright? comedian opened the door wider, an offer for georgia to come in.

[jokes-on-you-im-funnier]

comedian, what a joke you’ve become, all grin, no guts, all noise, no drum, you crave applause from ghosts long gone, a pitiful act that drags too long, no punchline left, no crowd to please, just hollow laughter on broken knees, you call it comedy, i call it rot, a fool performing for what he’s not,

pathetic is a word to describe you.

vinegar. :). let's be friends.

okay, so trying to appease them wasn't going to work. good to know. comedian wasn't exactly the best at words, so it was just GREAT that the sadist of a poet who liked pushing peoples' insecurities had come back to him. again. .. this one hurt more. cut deep at things he had long buried away, for things he had long forgotten about, and at new wounds that only stung more. this one reminded him of hatred, when they were older. they managed to get worse. friends? hah, i'm.. not sure i'd be able to be friends with someone as 'sour' as you. .. if it gets you to leave, i guess.

[jokes-on-you-im-funnier]

He was alive! :)

He was alive. He was alive he was alive he was alive he was alive he was alive was alive…

no he wasn’t.

he didn’t feel alive. he felt like he was rotting from the inside out. he tried deep breaths and they made him more nauseous.

why wasn’t he alive. no matter how much he tried to convince himself he knew he wasn’t.

he was shaking. please please please. he couldn’t die in comedian’s house, he couldn’t do that to comedian.

he wouldn’t do that to comedian.

he stumbled about the hall. he looked unwell in his panic.

He wanted to cry.

could he even cry?

he was dead he was dead he was dead. was he dying? was he just almost dead? he was dying.

he wouldn’t die in comedian’s house.

he felt so sick.

he wanted to apologize but he couldn’t get himself to face comedian. he didn’t even know where he was.

im sorry im sorry im sorry im sorry im sorry

the words were mumbled beneath his breath. he didn’t know who he was talking to. he should leave, right?

yeah.

that’s what he should do.

or what he meant to do before slamming his side into the wall. he groaned, and looked confusedly towards it. his head hurt. he was scared and confused.

he was going to die.

courier? courier, are you okay? comedian started walking upstairs, ignoring the burning sensation that remained whenever he walked too much. she was just looking at some old photos right before this. it was filling her with a lot of bad memories to even glance at them- it gave him this sickening feeling in his chest and gut that made him unable to move and kept him in a place of anxiety and sick, sick fear that was such a bad place to be in. looking at courier right now didn't replace the feeling in his gut- but brows lined in worry and he rushed to courier's side. post-boy? what's wrong? she was asking too many questions. please, please, please- please don't be dying- they couldn't have courier die- they wouldn't know what to do with themselves, they didn't want him to die.