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."