"Some wasps found a home in the big top again." The jester gave the warden a sidelong glance. When there was no response he added, "It'll be bad for business, you know."
Refusing to make eye contact, the warden remained slouched back on some crates, cap shielding his eyes from the daylight. A huff was the only form of acknowledgement.
Not to be deterred, the cheery-faced counterpart continued to deny the other his rest.
"When your break is ov-"
"Hell NO. The prison doesn't run itself."
"But you know-"
The jester was cut short by the cocking of a Colt Python aimed squarely at his forehead. A narrowed crimson eye daring him to say anything more.
Having weighed the cost, the jester placed his hands up in surrender.
Some things were worth dying for.
And some things weren't...