*this dream takes place the night before Shawn collects the acorns with Ralph, before they plan to go to the Thrift store

BANG!

Smoke and fire leaped from the truncated barrel of Shawn's gun.

Bradford was lifted off his feet and driven across the room, bare heels dragging, his chest a disintegrating swamp of red muck. The gun flew out of his hand.

His body hit the edge of the bar in the Saloon and flipped over, disappearing behind the counter, the sound of crunching glass and the smell of metal cordite filling the air.

Shawn pulled his cowboy hat low over his eyes with one hand as he twirled his gun back into his holster. He leaned against the saloon counter, knowing all eyes were on him. "Anyone else care to try their luck?" His voice, usually the furthest thing from scary or intimidating, had a gravelly drawl to it, one that'd make lesser men fear for their lives.

"It's so sad he had to die!" Gaggles, who was in a cowgirl uniform said as she scurried away from the counter and the through the double swinging doors, fleeing outside.

"Run! He's going to get powerful and more evil every day now that he's with the Order!" Mr. Pibbles said, running in the opposite direction, hairy, thick feet pounding on the worn wood of the Saloon floor, a midget moving with quick speed to escape Shawn's wraith.

He pushed through the door behind the bar, disappearing from sight, the sound of rag-time music still playing on the piano.

There was a creaking sound from behind the counter. A glass falling. A board groaning. And then silence...

Shawn sauntered over to the counter, the spurs on his cowboy boots clicking against the hardwood floor. He pulled himself a seat, and grabbed himself some milk from behind the bar, cracking open the lid and downing a drink straight from the bottle. He wasn't entirely sure why he was here, or even what he was supposed to be doing, but he had a feeling it wasn't over yet.

"Surprise!" Bradford said, his head popping up from the counter. The bad side of his face was worse. Instead of the scarring of skin, the whole left side of his head was missing. A huge gaping hole exposed the innards of his head, gray brain matter mixed with a large pulse artery. Every few seconds it pulsed, spraying a gout of blood onto the counter top and all over his left shoulder.

Shawn kept drinking the milk with one hand, while the other instantly drew his gun and pointed it at Bradford's heart. Here he had steely nerves and poise that wasn't just pretending not to be scared. He set the bottle aside and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Surprise yourself." He waited for a moment to see what Bradford would do before he pulled the trigger.

Blood continued to gout out of the crescent-shaped crater in Bradford's head, spilling across the counter in a messy, splatter.

Bradford looked down at the gun with a crooked smile before looking back into Shawn's face, his eyes grinning mischievously. "Another milk?" He asked.

"Or maybe something with a little more spice to it?" He gestured as if he was going to reach under the counter, perhaps for some shot glasses or a drink...or perhaps for something else.

He waited for Shawn to decide if he was going to allow Bradford to continue, or if he was going to blow him away.

Shawn kept the gun on Bradford, but let him reach under the counter, willing to rely on his obviously superior senses and reflexes to take him out if he did come up with a weapon instead of a drink.

Bradford reached under the counter and produced two shot glasses. Shawn was confident that he could have ended Bradford if a gun had been drawn, and his finger instinctively held the trigger steady for any sneaky movement's on Bradford's part.

Bradford set the glasses on the worn, brown counter.

"What'll it be?" Bradford said. "OK, we got OJ, Purple stuff, some soda, Sunny Delight..."

"Pour me some OJ. Carefully like." Shawn squinted at Bradford, daring him to make any funny moves.

"OJ it is!" Bradford said in his usual, jovial voice, prior to getting his face burned out. And what a face he had now. The burned area was gone. In fact, the whole face was gone on that left side, a crater of blood and skull fragments.

As Bradford poured some orange juice into the glasses, the blood from his brain continued to gout every few seconds, splattering all over the counter and mixing with the drinks.

He held up the shot glass to Shawn.

"I'm glad you shot me in the face." Bradford said, nodding. He was still wearing half of his glasses on the good side.

"The Tattooed Lady gave me a tattoo on the side of my face and now it's really good. It means that it will all come back."

He frowned.

"But, don't shoot me anywhere else. OK partner?" he said

"As long as you don't shoot me." Shawn held up the glass and clinked it against Bradford's before downing his juice. He furrowed his brow as an odd thought occurred to him. "Do you know why I shot you the first time?"

Bradford downed the drink, enthusiastically. He seemed happy that Shawn was in agreement, reminding Shawn of the jovial, care-free and innocent Bradford he had once met a long time ago.

"Because you knew, deep down that I was out to get you." Bradford answered. "Because you probably thought I was never going to forgive you for betraying me and killing Ron and April and all of us." Bradford said, with regret, but still maintaining his good cheer.

"But all of my anger has been transferred." Bradford informed Shawn. "To my friend."

"Can I show you? I promise I won't make any sudden moves." Bradford assured.

"O...kay." Shawn had a bad feeling about this, but bad feelings weren't enough reason to shoot someone.

Bradford reached down below the counter, and suddenly a second head appeared next to him. It was smaller and...and...

"This is Mr. Clayton!" He announced, all happy, half a face missing.

"Go ahead Mr. Clayton! Tell 'em!"

"I don't knowwwww." The Ventriloquist dummy said in a off-colored, high voice that sounded like one of the three stooges. "He looks like someone that we'd have a problem with...."

"Come on." Bradford insisted. "Don't be that way Mr. Clayton. Aren't you gonna tell him how when he passed up the Ventriloquist job, that I got it?"

"I think you just did!" The puppet and Bradford laughed simultaneously.

Shawn started, and literally jumped back from the counter when he saw Mr. Clayton. "W-what is that?" The aura of cowboy bravado in his voice, and the aura of danger that had previously surrounded him instantly dissipated. Shawn's voice was pitched higher, and he sounded vulnerable, almost younger now, fear stripping away the imitated maturity he possessed. He shrank back, even as he tried to keep the gun steady, unsure as to which of the two to point it at anymore.

The puppet's eyes were round and natural. It's mouth opened and closed in an artificial way. Yet Bradford did not move his mouth when Mr. Clayton spoke. And the puppet's voice was high and thin, equally chilling in its pointed look as with its eerie movement.

"Hey, he's got a gun. I think we should kill 'em. We should wait for the right moment and then...." The puppet cautioned.  "Ka-pow!" Mr. Clayton finished, smashing a limp fist into a flattened, face up palm.

"Now now." Bradford said. "I've always been a good kid. They'll be no killing. I'm not the kind of person to do that."

"Yeah!....But I am" The puppet seemed to stare vacantly at Shawn. Was it a smile? A Joke? Or a threat?

"He's just saying that because he got my anger when I took the job." Bradford explained. "I'm not really an angry kid. But I was really upset and kind of bummed that you betrayed all of us and killed my best friend Ron." Bradford reiterated.

"So when I took the Ventriloquist job, all that anger had to go somewhere. I have to tell you, it's really like I dropped a ton of bricks that I was carrying around. Now that Mr. Clayton has all my anger, I feel like my old happy self again!"

Shawn made no move to get any closer, but he tried (unsuccessfully) to keep from sounding too frightened. "Bradford, can-can maybe just you talk to me? I don't think I want to talk to Mr. Clayton..."

"He doesn't want to talk to me. I told you he was a no good, dirty, rotten, scoundrel. He's probably the kind of kid that would stab his own friends in the back. He's probably the kind of kid that would betray people. He's probably the kind of kid that would let a big, scary man with a cleaver cut up all the different kids that he never met before just to save his own skin..." The puppet said with growing anger.

"There, there, Mr. Clayton." Bradford said, trying to reign the puppet's obvious jabs at Shawn in. "You'll get no pity-party from me on that. I've let go of all of that. And while I'm happy to talk about it, its not polite to do so in front of someone who isn't feeling good. How would you like it if you weren't comfortable and someone asked you do do something you didn't like?"

"He's a rat!" The puppet yelled

Nevertheless, the puppet disappeared below the counter.

"What do you think?" Bradford asked, the gaping hole that Shawn caused still bleeding fresh blood onto the counter. Though, with the foggy logic that only makes sense in a dream, Shawn couldn't remember if it was the gunshot or the betrayal at the cabin that had caused the bloody hole in Bradford's face.

"I'm just getting started. Am I any good?"

Now that the dummy was out of sight, Shawn had a slightly easier time of getting himself under control. At least it wasn't a marionette, right? He gave Bradford a slightly sickly smile. "You're...really good at it. I'm sorry if I was rude; dummies always creeped me out a bit."

"It's alright." Bradford said cheerily. "I'm so glad that I'm not mad at you anymore. Even if Mr. Clayton is angry. I'm sure that over time, I can get him to let go of being mad at you. It just like my Mom says: 'small gestures and time.' That's what she says."

Bradford's good eye turned cross-eyed for a moment, drifting towards his nose as if he was trying to gaze at the ruined hole in the opposite side of his head.

"Next time you see me at the Circus, I'll be all tattooed on that side!"

"But next time you see me in the real world, I'll look normal. It's part of the magic of the Circus and what the Tattooed Lady did to me."

"That's weird, but kinda neat." Shawn was slowly stabilizing; the cowboy gruffness was gone, but he was starting to sound less openly terrified.

"I'm still gonna be here as the Tattooed Lady's apprentice for a while. In the Circus. Before I come back. So I won't be helping out with the Great Soul Race."

"So how are you finding things?" He ask, Cheerily.

"It's all been kinda crazy..." Shawn opened with a bit of honesty, but he knew he couldn't really open up to Bradford. Despite his protestations of forgiveness, there was a lot of justifiably bad blood between them. He tried to avoid any incriminating detail. "I met a guy named Griffix who's teaching me card tricks, but mostly I'm just nervous about the Race."

"Yeah. The Race looks like its going to be really hard from a distance. I mean, when I'm done with my training, I think I'll be able to help you guys out more. I mean, especially if I end up getting control of Mr. Clayton the way I'm supposed to."

"Hey, you ever wonder what happens after the Race? I mean if we win? If the Order wins? Do you think that you'll stop worrying? Or that I'll be able to go back home to the farm and leave the Circus behind?"

"I don't know. I'm trying not to think about it." Shawn didn't think the Circus seemed like a fair place, and he didn't really think he'd ever be able to stop worrying.

"Oh." Bradford said, somewhat dismayed by Shawn's answer. "Well. What have you learned? Anything good? I mean from the Order. Like I said, I'm not a really good ventriloquist. But the Tattooed Lady found some old vinyl records that the last Circus Ventriloquist recorded. All these instructions on how to work the doll and your mouth. She let me make cassette recordings of them. So now I've been listening to them. It's hard work."

"What have you learned?"


A large skull fragment fell out from the left side of Bradford's face, landing on the counter with a loud, hard 'plop' noise.

Shawn pulled a deck of cards out of his pocket and fanned them out on the counter. He kept it well away from the blood spatter, but he was too polite to mention the mess. "Just a card trick so far. It's supposed to make people like me more, but I haven't really had a chance to use it."

"Oh! Card tricks!" Bradford exclaimed, with all the enthusiasm of a new puppy. "I can't wait. It'll just be like Joey's birthday party from a few years ago. It's gonna be great."

He waited for Shawn to proceed.

"I don't think the magic part will work on you, since we're involved in the Circus, but I can at least try the regular card trick part." Shawn fanned out the cards and did the parlour trick competently enough.

OOC: 21:26, Today: Shawn Cramer rolled 1 success using 7d10 with the World of Darkness nWoD system with a target of 8, rerolling on 9 or more with rolls of 2,4,1,9(+5),5,2,7. Wits + Subterfuge + Striking Looks.

Shawn's instincts seemed to be vindicated. Bradford's eyes----or eye----remained fixed on the cards, marveling at the daft way that Shawn moved them and the sleight of hand he used. But there was no magical affect.

"That's amazing." Bradford remarked. "Every kid at my school and in my small town back home would love that trick. What do you think is next though? Will you learn to be in a hat, like a white rabbit? Or maybe pull one out. If the Fortune Teller gave you a choice between being invisible or flying, what would you choose?"

Shawn shuffled the deck carefully before returning them to his pocket. "I don't know what could be next. Maybe a hat trick, though I'm not really good with animals. If I got two choices, I'd pick invisible I guess? It might be nice to fly, but I don't know what I'd even use it for. But I've only really seen magicians on TV and movies, and that's like camera trick and junk, you know?"

"Oh I dunno." Bradford said. "I'm listening to the cassettes, and they seem to say that if you put lots and lots of work in, you can be a master Ventriloquist!" He informed Shawn.

"Imagine that? Me. A master at something. And when I go away from the Circus, I still get to have a real-looking face too! I mean, I can only go up for 3 hours at a time before it wears off."

"But think about your situation. If I can be a master Ventriloquist, you can be a Master Magician! Just think of all the things you can do. Better card tricks. Or, like, sawing something or someone in half. Hey, shouldn't you have an assistant?"

"That's true - if you practice something long enough, you can get good at anything." Shawn considered what Bradford said about an assistant. He didn't know all that much about magicians, but he kept coming back to a director he'd worked for who'd been a really big fan of old movies. The whole cast got dragged to this one showing of a silent movie about a magician who kept a man locked in a box, and he'd only let him out as part of a magic show or to kill people. Mom hadn't realized how adult that movie would be, but she didn't want to complain in case it jeopardised further roles, but it had formed a bit of his mental image of a magician's assistant. "I don't know if I'm good enough to have an assistant yet..."

Old movies. Shawn had seen a few. It sort of divided the kids at school. Some kids that Shawn heard speak wouldn't watch anything that wasn't a cartoon. Other kids got scared of the black and white movies. And some just thought that they were boring because they weren't in color.

"Do you need one? I might know someone." Bradford offered.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 09:11, Wed 21 June 2017.

"I think I'm okay, but thanks for the offer." Though as Shawn considered it, he couldn't help but feel curious about how Bradford knew a potential assistant. "Who do you know?"

"Well, there's a few kids at the Circus that might be able to help. The lead Carnie. His name is Hogwash. He's got a lot of kids. And he could trade you one." Bradford said, as if trading a human was a normal kind of thing.

"Ha-hehe." Bradford chuckled, "I'm just kidding" Bradford said, as if realizing that the words that came out might be a little strange or insensitive. It was the first time that Shawn had seen Bradford speak oddly without the puppet being there. Perhaps the words sounded strange to Bradford too, because he quickly tried to recover, his face taking on a strange aspect---apart from the hole in his head---as if he had said something that wasn't cherry and was out of character.

"Just...umm...kidding."

Shawn was weirded out by Bradford's 'joke', though when he said was kidding Shawn gave him a polite chuckle. Then when he saw Bradford's expression, he gave the half-faced kid a concerned look. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Bradford said. "I gotta go. I gotta go practice. I get all jittery when I'm not practicing. I don't what to, you know, let the Fortune Teller down."

He reached under the counter and grabbed Mr. Clayton, the doll now looking limp and lifeless in his hands. Except for those eyes.

"Uhhh... You're not gonna shoot me if I leave, are you?"

Shawn eyed the doll suspiciously, but shook his head. "No no, you're good. Just...you know, be careful and stuff. I don't trust Mr. Clayton."

Bradford didn't say anything. Shawn ...

OOC: Shawn Rolls Wits + Occult with the following results

0 Successes: ...Wakes up

1 Success: ...detects something

2+ Successes: ....feel's something that he takes with him from the dream

OOC: 21:07, Today: Shawn Cramer failed (no successes) using 6d10 with the World of Darkness nWoD system with a target of 8, rerolling 10s with rolls of 4,2,7,2,5,7. Wits + Occult + WP.

OOC: Shawn Joins Thread

Shawn: Middle of the Night, Murmurs in the Office...