Dream Friends!

Turn it down!

When heavily focusing on things, Taranza had one simple rule- no loud noises.
People were usually good at following this rule, despite the mayhem that often plagued the household, but this time it seemed that a certain someone was going to disregard such rule.

Marx cranked up the volume on the stereo lying on his bed, and giggled to himself- the same, distorted, high pitched laugh heard when the jester was up to no good.
He opened the top of the stereo and inserted a CD with the words "MARX JAMS (BASS BOOSTED CARNIVAL MUSIC)" scrawled on in messy handwriting- and hit play. 
Music- if you could even call it that- erupted from the machine, as the clowns small giggles turned into roaring laughter, still keeping that same distorted and high tone as his giggles.

Downstairs from the jester, Taranza jumped in his chair, startled by the sudden noise, nearly falling off-
And spilled tea all over his book.
Taranza ALWAYS took care of his books.

Taranza glared down at the mess, the simple glare soon shifting into a scowl- the scowl, however, was not directed at the mess, no- it was for the clown that lay upstairs.

"MARX!" The Floralian yelled, anger submerging his usual calm voice.

Marx's laughs stopped. Fast. The only time Taranza yelled like that was when he was REALLY angry. As in, yelling cuss words at you, angry. Taranza never swore, if he could help it- which he often could.
"WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL." He called, shoulders risen, arms tightly clenched by his sides, hands balled into fists.

Marx' eyes dashed across the room, looking for a suitable place to hide from his enraged housemates wrath, slinking into his closet, eyes widened in fear.
The sound of footsteps echoed ever closer, stomping rythmatically-- an angry rythm, like if one was sat down at a piano and told, "play it like you want to kill somebody."

Someone help him.
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A/N: press F to pay respects for Marx