"Shawn, are you listening to me?" Dad asked in a harsh voice. Shawn found himself at the dinner table, temporarily unable to account for where he had been or how he had gotten there. His mind seemed like it was stirring. His hands felt wet from the murky sink water they had been in just moments ago. Or what felt like seconds ago.

Dad was staring at Shawn with an angry, impatient look on his face.

Shawn felt the anger swimming in him, the dampness of his hands...but seeing his Dad set off years of instinctive reaction, and he clamped down on those feelings hard. His expression immediately shifted into that of good-natured interest as he immediately tried to figure out what his father wanted. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten here, so he tried to play for time until he could recall something. "Yes Dad, I'm listening." His tone was calculatedly bland but also conciliatory. Dad seemed mad, or at least almost mad, but until he knew about what he couldn't get more specific.

"I said, what are you doing in your room all day? Jesus. You spend every minute in there." Dad growled, apparently more angry than usual. His face was a contorted mix of ugly anger. But it had been this way ever dinner since Mom left.

Shawn pretended not to notice the anger in Dad's face, but tried to look serious at the same time - so he didn't seem dismissive. "I'm just playing with my toys." He tried not to sound defensive, but with maybe a little confusion as to why he was being asked a simple question so strongly.

Dad said nothing for the next five minutes. He just shoveled the occasional spoonful of pasta into his mouth. Down the hall, the grandfather clock chimed several loud booms, signalling that it was six o'clock.

"You're mother and I are getting a divorce." Dad said, looking up at Shawn without much emotion, his tone flat with an underpinning of anger. His fork clinked against the plate, twirling pasta with a rigid movement of his wrist.

Shawn almost dropped his fork on his plate as he looked up at his Dad. He heard the words, but he didn't understand them. Well, he understood the words, but he couldn't understand why Dad was saying them that way! He made it sound so dull, like it was some chore he had to do, and not the breaking up of the two most important people in Shawn's life. "Why?" The question came out plaintive, and even a little whiny. It wasn't the way Shawn normally liked to talk to his parents, but usually he knew what sort of response they were expecting. He didn't know how he was supposed to react to news like this!

"**huff**" Dad made a sound of indigence, as if Shawn had said something that Dad thought was stupid.

"You're going to have to decide who you want to live with." Dad said, looking up at Shawn.

Now Shawn didn't know his Dad. Not really. But he did know how his Dad talked. The small gestures that Shawn had come to know, even without actually paying attention. And in this moment, despite this surprising news, Shawn knew that Dad had already assumed that Shawn wanted to live with his Dad.

Shawn returned his gaze and nodded seriously. "When do I have to say?" He could tell what his Dad was expecting, and he made it sound like indeed he did want to live with his Dad. Of course, inwardly he desperately didn't want to make that choice. It wasn't even a matter of who he actually wanted to live with; he hadn't even started to think about what he'd actually want. He was just terrified of whoever he didn't pick hating him forever.

"What?" Dad asked, in a hurried gasp. "I don't want to talk about this anymore!" He shouted across the table, as if Shawn had brought the topic up. Then Dad slammed his fork and knife against the table with open palms, causing Shawn's own dishes to rattle.

Then he stood up and left Shawn alone at the dinner table in the kitchen.

Shawn didn't flinch, but only because he was being really careful not to flinch. He felt himself wilt a little under his Dad's shouting, looking down at his dinner to avoid his angry gaze. Fortunately, Shawn very much didn't want to talk about this either. He finished his dinner quickly, though he was careful to make sure to give his Dad time to completely leave, and put his dishes in the sinkk. Then, he retreated back to the relative safety of his room as fast as he could.

After a few seconds, Shawn could hear Dad's loud foot-falls stomping around upstairs. He could follow them and see the small, artificial lights from the hanging chandelier of the table. The lights shook a little with each pounding footstep Dad made. He was clearly going to his room.

Shawn felt a welling up inside of him that could only be described as a 'call' of some kind. A call to return to Mr. Clayton. This wasn't a feeling that could be pin-pointed. But more of an intuition, the way someone can tell that they are being looked at and just in that same moment, manage to look up and lock eyes with the person observing them.

Shawn wished he could go upstairs and play with Bobby or Ralph right about now. But he knew it was impossible right now. And he had an obligation to Mr. Clayton. He didn't resist the call, instead heading straight up to his room the moment his dishes were in the sink.

There was a quiet comfort to the room when Shawn entered. A sense that he was returning to a more comfortable, less chaotic environment. Mr. Clayton obviously must have climbed out of his case because he was waiting at the familiar chair when Shawn practiced in front of the mirror.

The Puppet was sitting erect, as if waiting for Shawn to sit down and prop him up on Shawn's own knee, perhaps to start a practice session. Who knows? Maybe Mr. Clayton would suggest sound substitution or how to work on troublesome letters when speaking.



"I heard it all bub." Mr. Clayton said in a high-pitched, but somehow somber voice. "It's not good news. It's not good news." He said as Shawn shut the door to his room, the 'click' of the door, sealing Shawn off from the cruel world and leaving him alone in the world of his G.I. Joes and with Mr. Clayton.


"The Old Man told you they were splits, right? I saw it coming. I didn't want to tell you about it though. Yuck-ahhh, Yuck-ahhhh." Though Mr. Clayton ended this sentence with his traditional phrase, the sound 'Yucka' was drawn out and sour to express how Mr. Clayton was disappointed and perhaps disgusted by the turn of events.

"Splits-ville. I've seen it all before." Mr. Clayton said with distant, philosophical tone. "A real shame." He consoled Shawn. "I'm sorry about that bub. I really am." he finished, adding his condolences.

Shawn went over to the chair and picked up Mr. Clayton to prop him up on his knee almost automatically. "I know Mom and Dad are mad at each other, but why do they have to make me pick? I hate this..."

Mr. Clayton’s arms and legs flopped around uselessly until Shawn put them in the right position.



"Well, it’s complicated." Mr. Clayton said. "But not really. It’s what happens when people aren’t turned towards the same thing. When they aren’t focused on the same purpose ."

Shawn plopped himself down in his chair, and almost instinctively angled Mr. Clayton towards the mirror, like he'd done so many times before. "I guess, but that doesn't make it any better for me. I wish I could make them stop fighting and get along."

Mr. Clayton’s arms and legs flopped around uselessly until Shawn put them in the right position.



"I wouldn't worry too much about it bub." Mr. Clayton reassured. "Whatever is happening. It probably isn't your fault. You probably have nothing to do with it. Adults are complicated. Its so confusing when the world is so big and your just your age."

"Hey, I've got an idea to cheer us up. Want to practice our Vs? Remember, V = THEE

"Vinnie Very much Values Victory" becomes "Thinny Thery nuch Thalues Thictory! Yucka Yucka!"

Shawn sighed as he settled in. "I wouldn't mind so much, except they're making me pick which one I want to stay with. And whoever I pick, the other one's gonna think I'm bad."

He checked himself in the mirror to make sure he was doing his performance right. "Vinnie Very much Values Victory. Thinny Thery nuch Thalues Thictory. Vinnie Very much Values Victory. Thinny Thery nuch Thalues Thictory." He kept repeating the phrases until the two were indistinguishable.

"There you go!" Mr. Clayton rejoiced"Now, do you feel better?”

"Do you want to do our little routine now?”

The ‘little routine’ as Mr. Clayton called was a new gig where Shawn would ask Mr. Clayton three silly questions and Mr. Clayton would provide three silly answers. The third question Shawn asked was supposed to be slightly off color or ambiguous so that Mr. Clayton could answer in a manner that would shock or wow the crowd. Of course, they had never actually performed in front of a crowd before.”

OOC: Shawn Decides if He feels better

Shawn nodded in reply to Mr. Clayton's question. He did, in fact feel a little better after practising for a bit. When he performed - even if it was just a rehearsal - he had to get into a character, and that meant pushing aside he was feeling and concentrating on the moment. And even though his situation hadn't changed, and all his troubles would come crashing back when he was done, at least he'd had a little bit of time where he wasn't dwelling on it.

"Sure, let's practice our routine for a bit." He straightened up, adopting a more performance-appropriate posture than before, facing Mr. Clayton a little to the side so he could bend down a little and it looked like the two were having a conversation. He brightened his tone, and made sure there was a cheerful smile on his face. "Hey, Mr. Clayton? How do you make a hot dog stand?"

OOC: Feeling Better: Shawn receives +1 to all rolls this scene



"A Hot Dog Stand?" Mr. Clayton asked quizzically in a Vaudeville kind of tone "Hmmmmmmm. Well, I guess you have to get a dog and then make it stand! Yucka, Yucka!” After Mr. Clayton uttered the punchline, Shawn heard the canned laughter of a typical sitcom sound off in his mind.

"Mr. Clayton!" Shawn's tone sounded like the long-suffering wife's on an old sitcom. If he'd had his hands free, it sounded like they'd be on his hips. "How do you make an egg laugh?"

"An egg laugh?" Mr. Clayton asked in a humorous tone, the crowd, if there was one, would have been ready to sound off in canned laughter."You’ve just got to tell a joke and ‘crack it up!” After Mr. Clayton uttered the punchline, He looked at Shawn expectantly. There was a heavy weight that his look carried. The expectation of an off color remark that would be not only offensive but maybe too macabre or too uncomfortable for even parents

Shawn saw the weight in his expression, but didn't show it to the hypothetical audience. Instead, he grinned through it. "Oh, you're a real smart one, Mr. Clayton. But if you're so clever, what's the meaning of life?"

Mr. Clayton gave Shawn a blank, vapid look. It seemed in the Dummy's plastic eyes, there was a serious, impassive expression of bottomless depths. It was like looking into two black holes on the edge of oblivion. Something about them seemed to draw things closer and more focused.

"Life...?" Mr. Clayton began before pausing."is a trifle." Shawn could hear Mr. Clayton’s voice now, so faint and yet so crisp in its enunciation — hollow as if it was emanating from an empty school gymnasium.

"Life is a trifle. It is nothing....."

Then Mr. Clayton broke the tension in his voice with a raucous "Yucka! Yucka!!" in a jovial laugh

Shawn held his smile for a few more moments, and then almost seemed to deflate as he went from his performance posture to something a little more casual. "I think we're getting better? For the second one, maybe the answer should be 'crack it up with a good yolk'? And I dunno if the audience would really like the third one."

Mr. Clayton gave his own relief of an expression, his arms sagging a little bit as Shawn's hand loosened inside of him.

"We are getting better." Mr. Clayton said. "That's for sure. You know? Yucka, Yucka and all. I think we need to work on the second and the third line too. We're good enough to do a performance but only in front of our closest of friends."

"Who are our closest friends? Who won't make fun of us? Especially if we have to move from here and live with Mom, wherever she is."

Shawn considered the question, but it didn’t have a happy answer. “I don’t know...we’ve been so busy practicing lately. The only people who wouldn’t laugh at us are probably Michael and Ralph. But Michael wouldn’t get the jokes, and Ralph is...he’s still trapped in what Bradford did to him. With his new mom and stuff.”

Mr. Clayton shook his head in dissatisfaction, his slatted mouth moving with the head side to side.

"Well...” Mr. Clayton said. "We need to match our physical practice with an idea. And to do that, we need to talk about.” He cleared his Puppet throat, slatted mouth moving and opening for a second as if he was expecting a drum roll on a game show.

"Hierarchy!” He announced in a high pitched showman’s voice.

“Hierarchy?” Shawn didn’t really know the word, but it sounded vaguely familiar to him. He wracked his brains, and vaguely recalled something that Mr. Clayton had once said. “That’s something about that big pyramid, right? I think you said that once.”

Mr. Clayton nodded his head this time.

"That’s right!!!” Mr. Clayton rejoiced. "I don’t care what they say at school, you’re an A+ student in my book. Yucka! Yucka!.”

"Hierarchy shows you what is important. It’s a bunch of different things that come together and are related. And what’s at the top is the most important idea. He announced in a high pitched showman’s voice just like last time.

“Ever see a Christmas tree?”

Shawn glowed a little with the compliment, even if the shot at his school work stung a bit. “Of course I’ve seen a Christmas tree- there’s a star at the top, right?”

Mr. Clayton nodded his head with even more vigor, and Shawn felt the tension in his own wrist as he made the Puppet's head move.

"That’s right!!! And that star, it's kind of a mystery, right? It's not like it has a label. The bottom of the tree is the widest part. And as you go up, up, up the tree, it gets thinner and thinner until you come to a point.”. Mr. Clayton explained. "And at that point, at the top of that tree, you can see everything below.”

"But it's still connected to the bottom of the tree. It's still connected to the fun presents. It's all part of the same thing. But you can't bring everything to the top of the tree. That's why you don't see presents at the top of the tree. You only get the notion that there's some overall idea that shines. A star. A star that casts it's light and it's idea over the whole of the tree. He explained, his voice now thin, reedy but also filled with wonder.

“To get to that pointed star, to get to that sharp idea, you've got to leave the presents. You don't completely leave them behind, because they are still part of everything that's going on.”

"But you let them stay at the bottom. Where they belong."

"You've got to get to Greater Ventriloquism. You've got to leave those presents. The things that you think are more important. Like candy. Like Worrying about where you'll live even."

"It's just Greater Ventriloquism. That's the shining star you have to head towards. That's where everything will come together for you. You can't fully get the idea because it's so far up from where you are right now. But as you get closer and closer to the idea, it will be come clearer." Mr. Clayton explained.

Shawn was tired and sad and a little frustrated, and it felt like Mr. Clayton was criticising him for not focusing on practising hard enough. "If leaving the presents is so important, why don't you do something about that? Feddler was in my head and you got rid of him. Why don't you just find the bit that loves candy too much and drown it in the sink or something?" He didn't really mean it, he was just getting worried that all this effort was for nothing.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:52, Fri 11 Oct 2019.

"I'm just a dummy. Remember? I'm made of wood. I'm a trifle. I am nothing."

Mr. Clayton gave a little shake of his head, as if everything Shawn said was both expected and slightly humorous. The effect wasn't one of making fun of Shawn, but rather, the way a teacher would smile at a student learning the ways of an experienced practitioner.

"This is complicated, mysterious stuff bub. Don't beat yourself up about it. I wouldn't worry too much about leaping up the mountain right now, this instant. If it is important to you, you'll do something about it....one step at a time"

Shawn sighed, but did feel a little bit better. "I just wish there was a sign I was on the right track, something I could learn that worked. Like, when Griffix taught me magic, I learned that card trick that made people like me."

"Paah!" Mr. Clayton dismissed and the motion of dismissal was a bit of a challenge for Shawn's wrist as he had already been practicing for quite some time. Days now.

"A card trick might make people like you. But people are quick to change their minds."

"Just look at what happened to Ralph. He got all mad at you. At least he's back on your side. And don't forget about Eric Trenk. There wasn't a card trick in the world that could bring him around at least not for the long term"

"And what about Mom? Do you think she'd be nicer if you got a good movie role? And how many would it take? You'll always be chasing the latest gig with her. We don't even know what makes Dad happy."

"You know what makes people happy? Laughter. And there's now better way to do that then to put on a show. You can even do the card trick with me if on stage if you like."

Shawn actually brightened a little at that thought; it sounded like something the audience might enjoy a little more than some of the material he’d been workshopping with Mr. Clayton. Though he did have a few concerns about how that might work. “Would it work with that many people on stage if you helped? It only worked one at a time before. Should we add it to the rehearsal? Oh, and we’d need to make sure it doesn’t do what it did to Eddy - do you think he remembers the trick at all?”

"Want to give it a whirl right now?" Mr. Clayton asked Shawn with renewed vigor and interest in this potential activity.

"We can shuffle the cards and practice our opening act! Yucka! Yucka!"

Shawn reached into his pocket and pulled out his deck of cards, then looked inquiringly at Mr. Clayton. "So, um, are you gonna let go of my hand for this, or can you help shuffle the cars somehow?" He did need two hands to do the trick properly, and Mr. Clayton might have a hard time helping with how stiff his limbs were.

"Nope!" Mr. Clayton announced with a sharp, high-pitched bark of his voice.

"You're gonna have to shuffle with one hand and make me speak with the other! Yucka! Yucka!"

His blank eyes looked over the deck. "Oooo--weeee! I can't wait. This is gonna take a lot of practice. But do you think this is a good idea?"

Shawn feels less and less sure by the moment. "I just thought it might be a good idea, is all..." Experimentally, he tries a one-handed shuffle, to see how hard it would be to do with Mr. Clayton on his other arm.

Shawn shuffled the cards clumsily, but managed to do so without spilling them all over the floor.

"Whatever you say bub!" Mr. Clayton said in agreement

"Remember, I'm just a Dummy. I am nothing. The Dummy is a trifle. Yucka! Yucka!"

He waited for Shawn to finish arranging the cards, eyes just as wide and blank as if he had been taken out of his case and was waiting to be animated by Shawn's hand.

"I put on some makeup to paint my face white,
like creatures that only come out in the night.
My fingernails, too, are all pointed and red.
I look like I’m recently back from the dead.."

"What am I talking about Shawn?

Shawn wasn't great at riddles, even if this one was more of a poem. "I don't know, a costume?" Face paint, painted nails, looking like creatures, that made sense, right?

Shawn managed to arrange the cards, even managed a clumsy shuffle, but he could tell it wasn't working. The card trick needed a certain smoothness, a sense of confidence in the movements to work, and that wasn't happening here. Maybe he could pull it off if he practice a whole bunch, but he knew Mr. Clayton wouldn't like him spending so much time on non-ventriloquist things. "I don't think the card trick's gonna work. Are you sure you don't know something like it we could do together? I just want people to like us. That's the point of the show, right?"

"A costume!" Mr. Clayton agreed. "For Halloween." He added, almost as a reminder to Shawn that Halloween was coming.

"Hmmmmmm" Mr. Clayton observed, looking over Shawn's sorry attempt at shuffling. The cards were sloppy, a few poking out of the deck.

"If you don't want to do the card trick, let's do this instead: Why don't you pick out two friends on the block and then we can do a show for them. Maybe that will make the kids happy and we can also practice being a ventriloquist. Practicing ventriloquism is the most important thing. Everything that we want will come from that."

Shawn considered Mr. Clayton’s suggestion. “We could do that- it’ll be like a dress rehearsal or a critic screening. But I’ve been too busy practicing ventriloquism to do stuff with friends, I dunno who we could even invite.” Shawn’s memories had been a little blurry lately, but he tried to think of who might come if he invited them to a show.

"Well, that's because you don't have any friends." Mr. Clayton stated with the bluntness of hammer falling onto an anvil. "But that will change. You just need to dedicate more time to practicing ventriloquism and you'll see the change." He promised.

Shawn tried not to show how much Mr. Clayton's insult hurt. But he seized on the offered light at the end of the tunnel anyway. "I told you I'm gonna keep practicing no matter what - but how do I turn that into friends? I won't really have time to make them."

"You don't do anything. You just need to practice. And then, let Greater Ventriloquism do the rest." Mr. Clayton said.

Shawn found himself again wondering when this Greater Ventriloquism stuff would actually happen and whether it would be worth it...and this time, he stopped himself. It was like Mr. Clayton said, he couldn't focus on the presents under the tree. He just had to keep practicing for its own sake, not for rewards... He took a deep breath. "All right, let's do some more alphabet practice." He just had to stop thinking about it, and trust that it would work.

And with that, they started a long session of practice. It would be a practice that Shawn would get lost in. Like the feeling of slipping into and out of the beginnings of sleep when irrational thoughts begin to seem real.

OOC: Shawn joins thread

Shawn: The First Audience Member?