Psywar Stories

A wrecked circus tent. Two clowns; one oafish, burly; his counterpart cunningly sneering, a man around which one keeps their hard-earned doubloons tight to their person. A single pair of serpentine eyes, a whispered word, a commotion and a charmer. Racked by tempest, the mummers stand atop the ruins of their chequy tent to discuss the night's affairs.