Circus of the Dumb

Chapter 4: Dirty Clothes and Broken Bottles

"He can do his separately," Mister Blister quickly replied, taking the opportunity to reach forward and shut the door himself. Nobody argued.

"What's that?" Penelope questioned, some worry spilling into her voice as she watched the clown before her sift through six or so playing cards. She seemed to be relatively aware that she was on the verge of being threatened, though so far she had only been violated by Papa's creepy dialogue and mannerisms; what truly lied in store for her would be far worse.

"It's like Bingo, but from Mexico," Papa Corn swiftly explained, the familiar words practically instinct at this point. He was always eager to take the chance to properly introduce his primary fascination, and a soft smile began to play on his lips as he presented the cards to Penelope. "For instance, here's a good one," he continued, gently retracting a card from his makeshift deck. He held it up by its lonesome, his index finger stroking the imagery almost affectionately. "La Botella—The Bottle." It was a weathered depiction of what might have been a Coca-Cola bottle, red as the blood running through the veins of the woman cautiously eyeing it. "Much like that one," he murmured, his gaze shifting to the soda bottle perched atop the counter, nearly full in preparation for the long hours Penelope was expecting to face during her night shift. She chuckled unevenly as a form of acknowledgement, attempting to suppress her gut feeling of absolute dread.

The four clowns settled by the washing machine looked up in unison upon detecting a familiar noise—a high, prolonged whistle, most often directed at Noodledome as a way of giving him orders. The oversized crony, visibly giddy as usual, eagerly peered over the washing machine to locate the source of the sound; Papa was reciprocating his gaze, his chosen playing card having swiveled to face the man he was addressing. He said nothing, only offering Noodledome a couple seconds to register the subtle command before he was facing his target once more, her expression still a distressed mix of worry and confusion.

"What was that?" she questioned again, sounding significantly more concerned this time around—however, her dialogue was quickly followed by a loud clang, prompting her attention to depart from the clown at the counter. She stood on her heels, attempting to get a better view of the individuals huddled around the washing machine a couple aisles away, as the noise had quite obviously originated from them. "Do you folks need some help?" She called warily, and Noodledome only giggled from his place beside his fellow clowns. He had simply smashed his large fist against one of the vacant washing machines, somehow grasping Papa Corn's unverbalized intentions despite his childlike mind.

"The only one who'll be needing help is you," Papa muttered as one gloved hand shot forward, grasping the glass soda bottle before Penelope could even comprehend what was happening—and then it was making harsh contact with her head, causing its contents to spill over her in a heavy wave. She released a sharp cry of startled pain as she stumbled backwards, her hands protectively positioned over the source of her newfound anguish. Her attacker was already hefting himself over the counter, quickly shoving himself into the woman and pressing her firmly against the wall as she overcame her initial daze.

"Here we go," Pipette commented as she stayed crouched beside the active washing machine, her tone sarcastic in nature. She was unable to observe the scene properly, but she didn't particularly want to, nor was there a need. All four clowns knew exactly what was coming.

"Please, don't hurt me," Penelope was begging as she tried and failed to remove herself from Papa's grasp, her fists desperately pounding against his shoulders. "Please, you can empty the register if you want—just let me go."

Papa's gaze had grown hungry as he looked her over, one hand clasped around her throat while the other supported him against the wall. "Miss Pipette," he suddenly breathed, startling the clown in question from her position by the floor, her eyes widening in mild confusion—she was rarely called over when the boss was engaged in his personal endeavors, and she was almost afraid to so much as consider what she was needed for. Her gaze hesitantly drifted to Mister Blister, who was already watching her in his own subtle surprise, though this quickly dissipated as he allowed his features to resume a hardened neutrality. The eye contact was brief, but consisting of an unspoken communication, and then Pipette was cautiously rising to her feet to respond to her summons. She didn't speak as she approached Papa Corn, her gloved hands politely clasped at her stomach. Penelope was absolutely terrified, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks as she looked from one clown to another.