Wickerends was good at running. As a boy it was one of the few things he excelled at and wasn't soundly beaten for. Stealing apples, pick pocketing and other shadowy operations that he'd practiced as a golden eyed child of nine had been vehemently thrashed out of him. Or at least his mother had tried to. But even the dear old Madame couldn't beat out the slightly grubby spirit and his theiving ways. Which is probably why he was running, yet again. And from two men that he'd become painfully familliar with, Mr.Freak and his brother Mr. Winch. He could hear them now. Huge shoes slapping agaisnt the cobbles with a sickeningly comical squelch.
"Wait to we'll get you, ya bloody theiving git." Mr.Freak said, paint white faced stretched taut into a manical grin. The stick thin, short clown jittered a she ran, as if not completelyn in control of his small body. behind him Mr.Winch said ntohing. Concentration thrown into putting one huge leg in fornt of another as he raced after the by now sweating Wickends, occasionally crusing the odd trash can and offending sleeping cats.
"Oh you wait, you sniveling little bastrad. 'E'll string you up all right. Like a bloody turkey in the window."
How could he talk? Wickends thought, kicking desperately now at the road beneath him. It had beguin to rain and as he turned into a narrow alley he skimmed his elbow against the wall. That scary little clown had been sprinting after him for twenty minutes and still had the breath to throw verbal abuse at his back. He was lost. He'd lost track of where he was and was now running blind in the pouring rain. The clowns were getting closer. He could hear Mr.Freak chuckling behind him.
"Gonna kill ya. Gonna rip ya open like a midwinter boar. Gonna-"
Wickends stopped listening. Forcing the clowns voice into the dark recess of his mind where he kept his mothers warning and all the other things he liked to ignore. He turned right and then right again, praying he'd end up somewhere with an oepn sky and a ban against psychotic homicidal clowns.
He thought he heard Mr.Freak say soemthing and laugh uproariously but couldn't make it out with the rain coming down all around him. It wasn't until he saw the brick wall a couple hundred metres in front of him that he realsied.
"Yer bloody fool! We gotch' ya now. Make no merstake. masters gonna break you, then he's gonna throw ya ta us. Wont that be bloody fun! Wont that be damn entertainment!"
Wickerends cursed in every language he knew. He wasn't a mage and a brick wall was, even here, still a brick wall. He had a sickening feeling that if he hit it now, running flat out, he'd bounce. Once. And messily. Swallowing the lump in his throat and with a trembling hand, he dug his fist into his coat pocket and closed around soemthing crisp and hopefully, life saving.
There was a high pitched sound, like metal clashing against metal. Mr.Freak snarled and kicked his tight-clad legs into gear, jumping at the dissapearing theives figure.
"No!" His thin thingers clamped around empty air and he rolled to a neat stop. He spat on the ground in front of him. "Bastard."
Behind him Mr.Winches brain failed to realise the coming obstacle and as one foot touched the edge of the wall, the rest followed quickly after. There was a thud. Mr.Wich swayed slightly and the red brick wall fell over backwards with a huge resounding "thud". "Mrghh?" Mr.Winch said staring bleary eyed at his small companion.
The larger clown was a traveling mass of muscle, barely encompassed by his stripy pants and polka dot shirt. He wasn't just huge, he was mammoth. And any action was taken with very slow deliberance usually, just because by the time any thought had traveled form his brain to his limbs, it had passed the point of further consideration, on the fact that it would take too long to make the trip back.
Mr.Freak swore. And when Mr.Freak was upset he could swear himself into a whirwing of menace and blood red vengance. When he'd petered out the walls around him were shredded with nail marks and Mr.Freak looked up at the bigger clown and said with a touch of regret, "I suppose we'll have to tell the master then."
"Just leave the talking to me Winch. It'll be all salt and Vinegar."
"Bloody cheating, sniveling, whining little turncoat buggering bastard. Who knew he had a damn train ticket? What's a bugger like him doing with one of those?"