[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/Jk9wrt1.png[/img][/center][color=#e3dac9][u][b][center]The Compound - Wit's End[/center][/b][/u][/color][color=#e3dac9][u][b][center]Mentioned - [@Marrok][/center][/b][/u][/color]

Willow was somewhat surprised by himself, as that slam into the table passed him by like a blowing breeze. He did not react, but rather, only grinned wider in response. Shade had an effect on him, truly. The boy, was he another, would have jumped out of his skin at the slam, but there he was, remaining seated with his chin resting against the flat of his hand. "This guy," Shade chuckled, "is the most entertaining fucker we've seen since torturing ol' Bob to death," he finished before bursting with laughter. Flinching somewhat at those words, as they had been strung together, Willow turned his attention to the imaginary creature, if only for just a moment, before returning to Pickles, as the jester had presented himself. 

Indeed, the story of Bob was one of dark nature. Willow spent his early life, or rather, earlier life, in an orphanage where the wellbeing of children was secondary to profit. Bob was not his name at the time, but rather Bruce, a man who was well known for his vicious treatment of the young. Willow had not been spared his fist, and could very well display a multitude of scars blanketing his scrawny body presented as gifts from 'Good ol' Bruce', as he was titled. "Show him, show him, show him!" Shade exclaimed, repeatedly slapping Willow's shoulder. "Show him Bobby! Show the jester freak how kind we are! Show him! Show him the gifts we can give!" 

Clenching his teeth, Willow managed to exhale a soft sigh, before he eventually spoke. The boy did not recoil from the clown, who was no doubt used to a more submissive attitude from those he approached. Yes, Willow had enough scars to expose experience in that regard. He had gotten his fear whipped out of him at the edge of knives and the blunt surface of fists. "Shame," Willow stated, tilting his head somewhat, "I was in the mood for porridge." Obsidian orbs met the jester's, abnormally large eyes remaining firm in their stance. "I guess undead isn't too far off," Willow continued, his smirk replaced by his usual, apathetic expression. "In thrall to me? Mh..," considering the question for a moment, Willow lowered his eyes, before a slight smirk returned to his pale lips.

"There it is! There's the Willow I know!" Shade expressed excitedly as the boy gently pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. 

"We all have our peculiarities," the necrokinetic commented, tilting his head, "don't we?" Sharp teeth revealed once more, Willow leaned in as the jester did the same, meeting the insanity with a malicious nature hidden deep within the youngster, a darkness which appeared to surface if only by a minuscule amount. "I guess Reaper..," he hinted back at the sentence previously uttered, "isn't too far off..," Willow finished. Reaching for his mask, the boy obscured his face behind its shape, and slipped his clawed hands into gloves once more. "We're not getting porridge today, Bob. Let's go," Willow stated, pulling his hood back over his head as he started towards the exit, the large man standing and following along without a word. 

"What!? Come on, Willow! You're just going to drop a bunch of one-liners and leave!? For fuck sake!" Shade flailed, "we're not going to show that clown thing what we can do!? Ugh.., you can be so boring, you know that?"