[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: [@savannahssu][@ZAVAZggg][/b][/color][/center]

	Pickles' eyes narrowed, a look of intrigue and study.  While Pickles found himself understandably fantastic, he hardly ever received the same shared feelings from others.  He was always met with looks of horror or cries of agony.  This woman.  She looked danger in the face and beckoned it closer. [color=f7976a][i] She's interesting.[/i][/color]

	"[color=c4df9b]Noooooo shit,[/color]" came Pickles' audible response as he took a bit of pleasure in watching her walk away.  Pickles took a moment to rub together the tips of his middle finger and thumbs as he parched up on his barstool.  She had drinks, she wanted company.  For whatever reason, Pickles found himself hesitant.  He only let himself ponder upon it for but a moment before launching off the stool and landing hard upon his feet, slamming his shoes upon the ground as hard as he could, demanding a reaction from the gathered patrons.  He wasn't even sure what reaction he wanted.  Any.  Just any.  Any attention at all.  It was intoxicating.  He wasn't invisible.  He wasn't overlooked.  He was regarded.  Fear, curiosity, admiration... It didn't matter which flavor he got as long as he was getting it.  Ol' Jack.  You could ask any patron here if they had seen that sad sap and, despite spending hours here compared to Pickles' minutes, you wouldn't find more than 2 that recognized the former.  After today, those same patrons might find that they remember Pickles for the rest of their lives.  

	The clown obediently followed Tzipporah, led by his own hunger to know this woman.  As he made his way out of the front doorway, he found himself staring at a man on approach, welding a cane and an heir of importance.  Pickles couldn't hold back a chuckle, small at first but eventually erupting into a roar of delight.  These types of people - the ones who put on expensive costumes for the public's viewing pleasure and did a different sort of song and dance for the crowd - those were the most hilarious types of clowns.  Pickles' gave the man a finger gun and a click out of the corner of his mouth.  "[color=c4df9b]You!  You slay me with that getup.  I swear YOU'RE a god of comedy![/color]"

	He made his way back to the friendly woman who was now sat up upon some boxes, their liquid party still within her grasp. [color=f7976a][i]How about 'Rah?[/i][/color]  Jack seemed to be trying to come up with the prophesied nickname.

	"[color=c4df9b]No.  You're stupid. STOP talking,[/color]" he said aloud as he reached for his cider, waiting for her to oblige.
	
	[color=f7976a]Tzip?[/color] Pickles hid his frustration, which took every fiber of his being. Jack had no imagination.  After all these years, after continuing this epic partnership, Jack was still just a potato in a field of strawberries.  Pickles tried to subtly, but physically shake the voice loose, to resettle the contents of his brain so that the part that Jack controls might get trampled and buried under the rest of the crazy bullshit that embodied his mind.

	"[color=c4df9b]You're stupENDOUS![/color]" he said, louder than before, trying to glaze over his previous comment.  He sized her up, scanning her from her feet to her charming hazel eyes.  The gold bracelet on her wrist caught his attention more than once.  "[color=c4df9b]So what is it?  You can tell me.  What makes you... [i]Here[/i]?[/color]"  Her eyes captivated his without even trying.  For a moment, but [i]just[/i] a moment, Jack and Pickles forgot who was in control.