Tristan paced around, trying to plan with Allison. Darren watched on with an uncharacteristically distraught expression. Vitus sunk into a chair, and slowly closed his eyes.
      "Jack say it's the clown man. The Minchin guy, remember?" Tristan said, his thoughts racing.
      "I guess.. I really don't know shit about that." Allison said.
      "I wish I knew! I don't remember. I wish I knew someone who--"
He stopped mid-stride, holding a finger in the air as his tired eyes turned in thought.
      "I remember something. We're at bad party with Darren... Jack talks to little man who talks about killers, he talks about Minchin! Jack tells me..."
Tristan ran over to the power outlet-- Jack's phone was still charging.
      "I call him! He comes over here."
      "How you gonna convince him to come over?"
      "I dunno, maybe I say come hang out with us, and he thinks he comes over to have sex."
Darren was too weary to even look properly shocked.

---

Phone call made, they tried to clean the place up, but quickly gave up at the sight of the horrors that lurked under weeks old dirty laundry. Allison and Darren quickly changed into new clothing, Darren too exhausted to notice he wasn't even wearing his own shirt.
      "Just remember," Tristan said desperately, "Don't be scary! Everyone, try to look nice and happy! Happy!"
      "Oh this is gonna be fun.." Allison said.

Chris backed slowly towards the door.
     "Oh come on, we just wanna talk about a common interest!" the bald girl leered ghoulishly, her girlish voice lilting but not making her seem any less threatening.
     "I--Uh-- Isn't it a little early in the morning for uh-- clowns?" Chris practically chattered out.
     "I wasn't aware there was a time limit for FUN," The girl kept smiling.
     "Yeah man, we just wanna know some trivia," the blonde guy in the ridiculous goth-y shirt said. Man, that guy looked kinda familiar...
     "What? This... But it's like, you-- wake me up and get me... in a taxi and I thought Jack-- Like... what's going on? I mean you don't have to tell me if it's a secret but-- I just! If it's a secret, I don't need to be here for it either...?!" Chris found his voice steadily raising up the scale until he was practically squeaking.
     "Chill man, seriously. Minchin. What's the deal?" the purple shirt guy said again. The other blond sitting in the chair-- oh was that Jack's heroin addict friend from the horror convention? That guy just stared with weird eyelash-y eyes, like yellow sea urchins glued to his face.
     "Uh?! I dunno, what's the deal with Charles Lee Lautham? Or Steven Earl Plotz? He was a psycho, some people think that's interesting... and there's probably something wrong with us! But seriously just-- I just? Have an appointment? An appointment."
     "Soo how would you like, find a Minchin? Or kill it?" the hot foreign guy said, leaning forward with a barely restrained urgency. Oh! Purple shirt guy! Duhh!
     "Aren't you the lead singer of the Belfries?!"
     "Don't bring up that shit man..."