The carnival was a chaotic symphony of flashing neon, the scent of spun sugar and fried dough, and the cacophony of shrieking riders and blaring calliope music.
Ethan and Cassandra stood slightly apart from the crowd, a study in contrasts against the vibrant backdrop.
Ethan, in his usual dark jeans and band t-shirt, looked perpetually unimpressed, while Cassandra, draped in her customary black, her silver piercings catching the erratic carnival light, surveyed the scene with a mix of boredom and sharp observation.
They had just endured the excruciatingly awkward family gathering for Cassandra’s younger sister’s tenth birthday.
The chorus of “Happy Birthday,” sung slightly off-key by Cassandra’s boisterous relatives, still echoed faintly in Ethan’s ears.
He had attended purely out of loyalty to Cassandra, and perhaps to escape the stifling atmosphere of his own house for a few hours.
Seeking refuge from the familial chaos, they wandered towards the midway, the siren song of rigged games calling to them.
Ethan, feeling a rare burst of chivalry tried to knock over a stack of lead-weighted milk bottles.
He failed miserably, earning only a derisive snort from the carny running the booth.
To salvage his pride, he bought them both comically oversized ice cream cones, the kind that threatened to topple over with the slightest breeze.
They were walking towards the Ferris wheel, the ice cream already beginning to melt in the warm evening air, when Ethan saw it.
A clown.
His breath hitched in his throat, his eyes widening.
He stopped dead in his tracks, his body freezing in panic.
In his sudden, terror-induced halt, he collided hard with Cassandra.
The impact jolted her, sending her precarious tower of ice cream flying from her hand.
It landed with a sad, wet splat directly onto the toe of her combat boot.
Cassandra stared down at the colorful puddle of melting sugar, her dark eyes narrowing.
She slowly looked up at Ethan, her expression a mix of disbelief and profound annoyance.
“Oh come on, Ethan.”
Ethan, still eyeing the clown, who was thankfully moving away, stammered, his heart hammering against his ribs.
“My bad, let me go get you another one.” He reached for his wallet, his hands shaking slightly.
“Seriously, Ethan, what’s the matter with you?” Cassandra demanded, brushing a stray dollop of ice cream off her jeans, her voice tight with irritation.
She followed his gaze, noticing the retreating clown, making the connection to his sudden clumsiness.
“Listen, wide ride, he’s trying to do something nice for you, maybe you should take it easy.”
Ethan stepped forward, his fear momentarily eclipsed by anger.
“I’m sorry, did you just call her wide ride?”
The clown chuckled “I get it, you got to make a big show for your girl-”
He didn’t get to finish his sentence.
Ethan, fueled by a potent mix of adrenaline, residual fear, and protective instinct, shoved the clown hard in the chest.
The clown stumbled back, hitting the counter of his booth with a loud clatter.
“Now, you are going to get up and apologize-” Ethan started, his voice ringing with uncharacteristic authority.
The clown, however, recovered quickly.
His fake smile vanished, as he lunged forward, his oversized, floppy shoe connecting with Ethan’s shin, and before Ethan could react, the clown threw a surprisingly swift, hard punch that connected squarely with Ethan’s jaw.
Ethan reeled backward, the metallic taste of blood flooding his mouth.
He shook his head, clearing the stars from his vision, and charged back in.
The two began to box, a chaotic, uncoordinated brawl amidst the flashing lights and blaring music.
The clown, despite his ridiculous attire, was surprisingly agile, dodging Ethan’s wild swings and landing a few solid jabs to Ethan’s ribs.
Ethan managed to land a solid right hook to the clown’s painted nose, sending a spray of fake blood (or perhaps real, it was hard to tell) flying.
The crowd around them erupted in a mix of gasps and cheers, forming a ragged circle around the brawl.
The fight quickly devolved into a messy grapple, the clown trying to wrestle Ethan to the ground.
Just as Ethan felt himself losing his footing, another clown, this one on stilts, joined the fray, grabbing Ethan from behind.
Ethan was suddenly fighting a two-front war against painted assailants.
Seeing Ethan getting jumped, Cassandra didn’t hesitate.
With a fierce yell, she launched herself into the melee, her heavy combat boots connecting solidly with the stilted clown’s shins, sending him crashing to the asphalt in a tangle of long wooden poles and polka dots.