[center][img]https://i.ibb.co/XV76TzX/Pickles.jpg[/img]
[color=a9a9a9][b]JACK PERKINS[/b][/color] :+: [color=a9a9a9][b]WIT'S END, NYC COMPOUND[/b][/color] :+: [color=a9a9a9][b]MENTIONS: [@Shard][/b][/color][/center]

	Pickles stared at himself a moment longer is the shattered reflection of the mirror's remnants.  Though the vessel was the same, the operator had switched entirely.  His eyelids rested a little lower than before.  His resting face was now that of a perpetual grin.  His once fair posture was now twisted, his neck jutting forward a ways causing his head to lead his shoulders.  Even his breathing pattern was different, taking on a slower, deeper rhythm.  Pickles admired himself and relished in his own image.

	At this point, Jack probably would've wiped the blood off his face, wrapped up his hand and tried to return to work as gracefully as possible after such an embarrassing calamity.  Jack wasn't here right now.

	"[color=c4df9b]Heh-heh heh-heh [i]HEH-HEH[/i] heh-heh![/color]"  Pickles sputtered out melodically, relishing in the sight of his own blood stained lips moving at his command.  He pulled up his fist and inspected it.  The blood had already clotted, though there was still a lot of healing that needed to be done.  Pickles didn't care about the damage so much.  He just liked the fact that he could feel anything at all.  Finally satisfied with being the pilot once more, Pickles turned to the door and took his exit from the restroom.  

	[color=f7976a][i]What are you going to do?[/i][/color]  Jack's inner voice rang out in Pickles' mind, full of uncertainty and apprehension.  Pickles had no intention of sharing his time.  The question would go unanswered.  Jack was going to find out the same way everyone else would. He stomped passed the kitchen staff, a few of which had to double-take when they regarded his appearance, but Pickles' stride carried him forth too quickly for anyone to stop him and inquire about his face or hand.  In seconds, he was in the barroom.  Pickles' eyes scanned the surroundings.  He was looking for something.  Some[i]one[/i], perhaps.  The first thing he spotted was an ash tray that housed three butts.  The smoker must've already left the bar as there was no one around it.  Pickles' wicked grin grew ever so much wider as he walked to the tray and stuck his hand in it, grabbing at the ashy remnants within.  With his soiled and dirty fingertips, he rubbed the dark ashes over and around the sockets of his eyes, creating a sunken look to them.  His face.  He had his face again.

	Pickles breathed slowly in through his nose and out of his mouth, his eyes shutting softly as he took in the air.  He was nearly whole and it was glorious.  Quickly, though, his eyes shot back open and starred out with an intensity that the ashy shadows only served to amplify.

	"[color=c4df9b]HellooO denizens of this fine, [i]FINE[/i] establishment,[/color]" Pickles began to announce with his unsettling, wavering voice.  "[color=c4df9b]You may have seen a fool before -[i] A FOOL[/i] - who made quite the ass of himself.  That fool is gone now.  Gone, gone, gone, [i]GONE[/i].  If anyone would LIKE to try and find out what kind of fool I am, I'LL... be... here.[/color]"  Pickles then gave a very dramatic, exaggerated wink toward everyone before doing a skippity step and a single twirl, finishing his performance with a bit of jazz hands and an open mouthed grin.  Suddenly the jubilation completely disappeared from the clown's face as he let a flash of intense anger rise to the surface.  His eyebrows dropped and his grin morphed into a snarl and he held that scowl for two full seconds before going right back to his happy, maniacal grin.  The old barkeep looked like he wanted to say something, but wasn't sure if it'd be a good idea right now.  Everyone in this place was weirdly unique.  When you interview for a job in the compound, there are some universal questions that eventually always got asked.  The old man had some idea as to who he was looking at and decided it best to leave it be, for now.

	Pickles' eyes eventually zeroed in on a child that had somehow been allowed into the bar.  He was a curiosity and an opportunity all rolled into one.  Pickles loved kids.  He comically sauntered over to the table and looked at the young man's much larger companion, sizing him up a bit, before returning his attention to the boy.  "[color=c4df9b]My my my...[/color]"  He began, his tone taking on a deep, yet effeminate quality.  "[color=c4df9b]Are you LOST little fellow or did Daddy just need to COOL off?[/color]"