((You are ClownPierce))

Parrot was sent sprawling across the cracked earth, his exotically coloured wings, flapping wild Lee to pull himself into a steady position, but with another kick to his chest, they stretched out and smashed against the hardened ground. He gasped sharply at the pain echoing up through his heart and zipping across his skin until it stung his wings, feathers curling instinctively. He’s scrambled to pull upwards and stand to escape, or at least shuffle backwards so another forceful punch or kick to any one of his numerous sensitive locations could be avoided.

That was, of course, before the sickly sweet scent of freshly honed metal wafted up into his nostrils, cold, biting steel prepping to silt the soft skin of his throat. His chin raised instinctively, a gulp wobbling precariously before slipping down the black side of his esophagus. A long, ornately-carved handle stretch away from the curved metal, slotting into the silken leather gloves of ClownPierce, Who stood not even a yard away, pressing close to Parrot’s dark with his costomary, scythe poised and ready.

A chilling chuckle escaped the man. “Oh, Parrot…” he sigh mockingly, a smirk clearly carrying notes of joy throughout his voice. Parrot’s feathers ruffled instinctively, Wings shuttered at the lack of free space. “You knew this would happen one day…”

He couldn’t even denied the truth of ClownPierce’s statement; he had just been hoping to escape the fate that laid in weight in every corner, snarling and chasing him away from situations and events, he would usually gleefully walk into. Clown’s scythe seems to sweep through every shadow, dragging Parrot’s eventual run-in confrontation nearer and nearer.

After all, his betrayal of Team Chaos to The Cleansers was a pretty big deal. Clown had lost a heart to it.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, a tremor passing through his spine. “I suppose,” came his monotone voice, desperate to play his anxiety off.