The Laughing Plague

Chapter VI

The relentless sun beat down on the Laughing Plague as they rode across the vast plains. The air shimmered with heat, blurring the horizon into a hazy mirage. Jester's chilling confession hung heavy in the air, a macabre counterpoint to the chirping of unseen birds and the rhythmic clip-clop of hooves.

Suddenly, Jester, as if sensing the somber mood, raised a hand, halting the group. "Hold on, friends," he declared, his voice uncharacteristically subdued. "Looks like we could all use a little respite from this infernal sun."

He gestured towards a cluster of gnarled oak trees that offered a sliver of shade in the distance. Killjoy, ever practical, nodded her agreement. "A good idea, Jester," she said, her voice gruff but her emerald eyes reflecting a flicker of relief.

The group dismounted, their movements sluggish with fatigue. They led their horses towards the shade of the oaks, their thirsty animals eagerly lapping up the water from the canteens offered to them.

Jester, with a surprising burst of energy, set about gathering kindling. He scoured the dusty ground, his movements swift and practiced, his manic smile returning, albeit slightly less unnerving this time.

Killjoy, ever vigilant, scanned the surrounding area, ensuring their temporary haven was free from any immediate threats. Razor and Twitch, their faces etched with weariness, slumped down against the rough bark of the trees, their eyes closed in a semblance of rest.

Soon, a small fire crackled to life, sending a plume of smoke curling towards the cloudless sky. Jester, his face illuminated by the dancing flames, produced a deck of well-worn cards from his pocket.

"Who's up for a game of Liar's Dice?" he cackled, a hint of his usual showmanship returning.

Razor, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his lips, shook his head. "Not me, Jester. My head's pounding like a war drum."

Twitch, on the other hand, seemed intrigued. "Liar's Dice, eh?" he rasped, his nervous energy seemingly channeled into a flicker of excitement. "I haven't played that in years."

Killjoy, ever watchful, shot Jester a questioning glance. "Are you sure this is wise, Jester? We should remain alert."

Jester chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Relax, Killjoy. A little fun won't hurt. Besides, who knows what dangers lurk around the next bend? We might as well face them with a belly full of laughter – or at least a healthy dose of frustration from losing a game."

Killjoy, unable to resist a hint of amusement at his logic, conceded with a sigh. "Fine," she said, her lips curving into a faint smile. "But I warn you, I'm a terrible liar."

And so, as the fire crackled merrily and the sun dipped towards the horizon, casting long shadows across the plains, the Laughing Plague found themselves engaged in a game of chance and deceit. Laughter filled the air, albeit laced with a hint of tension. For amidst the camaraderie, the ever-present awareness of their precarious situation simmered just beneath the surface.

This brief respite, a stolen moment of normalcy in their chaotic existence, served as a reminder of the fragile bond that held them together. They were outcasts, yes, but they were outcasts who shared a dark past and an uncertain future. As the flames danced higher, casting flickering shadows on their faces, the Laughing Plague found a strange sense of belonging in this desolate landscape, a twisted family forged in violence and bound by the cruel laughter echoing under the vast, indifferent sky.

The dying embers of the campfire cast a warm, flickering glow on Killjoy and Molly as they stood a short distance away from the sleeping forms of Razor, Twitch, and Jester.  The stolen bags of gold and jewels lay at their feet, ready to be hidden for the night.