A Burning Hunger (II/III AU)

Rain, Rain Go Away.

Cheesy eyed out his window, watching the raindrops race down the square. Each dribble of rain pounded on the fogged glass as the comedian tapped his dull finger on the windowpane's mantelpiece. He sat in silence, the smile running away from his face as his eyes drooped with contentment. It had never been so quiet, so much silence lingering in the resort; not even his shows were gaining a single smirk. Maybe he should've done commercials, he was starting to think Microphone was right.

The murky grass sagged under the overwhelming bullets of rain that poured over each blade, trees wailing as they wobbled and swayed from the wind that shook its leaves to the point of them snapping off.

Yet another Friday with no show to host, a day filled to find where Tissues had gone. OJ had even promised a cash prize for an extra kick of motivation.

Trophies and sports metals shimmered in the pale slivers of light that protruded from the window, catching Cheesy's attention in his peripheral vision. The gold was so polished that it was a mirror, illustrating Cheesy's face almost perfectly.

Since Tissues wasn't there to fill the occupation of Trophy's roommate, Cheesy had been selected to take his place until he got back. Paper had requested every resident to find a roommate if they hadn't previously been assigned one for the sake of safety. The rule existed for the sole purpose of knowing where people are and would be; just in case of an emergency.

The comedian slouched down on his new bed, fingers tangled in his curls. Once was a horrid storm, now placid background noise to ease the scatterbrained thoughts of his.

Was he growing unfunny? That thought can change one's self-image. The lingering taste of your dry humor gnawing at your tongue, succumbing your mind to a different view. A second view.

How repetitive can one be? The puns and jokes you speak turn another's idle face into a scowl of disapproval, most typically followed along by a growl and a flip of a finger.

And so he read on how to improve. Cheesy opened his suitcase, grabbed his joke book, and read where he left off. Each page radiates with one-liners and puns; he thinks they're funny, so why shouldn't others? He'd read an entire novel on humor for just a giggle at his banters, it made his day. Most times his entire week. That's why he loved the Cherries so much, they understood his childish sense of comedy. As long as they're happy, he's happy.

Pages turned, the clock ticked, and rain poured. Bangs on the door abruptly ruined the mood. "Cheesy open the door, I forgot my card." The comedian got up, tossing the book under his pillow. Trophy stood at the door, sopping wet. The Jock's golden blonde hair lay dribbling drops of water on his jacket. "Did the rain catch you? You look like a wet cat!" Cheesy snickered, stepping aside for Trophy. The jock entered the room, welcomed by the crisp breeze. He shuddered, slipping off his drenched sports jacket and folding it. "Knife and I went to Test Tubes' lab, we got a bit lost on the way there." Cheesy hummed, "It's surprising to hear that you and sharp guy actually did something together for once!"

"It wasn't by choice, twerp." ooh, yikes. Bad joke, now he's angry. Cheesy awkwardly laughed, swallowing a lump in his throat before speaking. "Anyway, I heard you're helping to find Tissues. How's that been treating ya'?" Cheesy asked, taking a seat on his bed.

"We believe Yang or Soap did something to cause his disappearance. Pickle is going to interview them later." Trophy replied, his tone lessening with annoyance. The comedian raised a brow, "Why Soap? She wouldn't hurt anyone, at least not intentionally." The rain was now picking back up, hammering itself against the fogged window. The downpour had a calming effect on them, easing the two roommates out of their uneasy tide of an interaction. "I had the same thought," The jock paused, luring his eye contact to the floor, furrowing his brows. "but Paintbrush didn't."