Chapter Text
Cooper glanced at Byck nervously, biting his lip to make an uwu face. There was no way he could beat Sammy. He was too weak. He wasn’t strong like Leon- who didn’t love him. Tears welled up in his eyes. He didn’t want to go he really didn’t want to go. But this was his one last chance to stay. He walked to the ring, nervously glancing over at his anarchist comrades, before hopping into it.
Byck gave the nervous eighteen year old a smile. He was gonna win but he would go easy on the kid.
“”OUR FINAL FINAL FIGHT!! COOPER ST JOHN AGAINST SAAAAAAAM
BYCK!!!” The Proprietor cheered, rolling with the unplanned turn of events. “FFIIIIGGGHHTTT!!!” He milked the words.
Cooper threw a weak punch, only to be felled by Byck, who punched him once in the face, and then pinned him with a knee to his neck. “This is racist!!” Cooper tried to gasp out. Cooper this is presidential assassin purgatory. There are no cops here. And you are white. WTF
The Proprietor slowly counted down, trying to give Cooper a chance to get up and have a less pathetic fight.
But Cooper was a disappointment as usual. And Sam kept him down.
“Well- Byck is our winner.” The Proprietor said, not very enthusiastically. “You four, get out.”
He pointed at the Maines, who hurried out of the tent flap, disappearing, at Cooper, who was being helped up by Byck, and at Goldman, who was speaking with Leon. The woman shook the other anarchist’s hand before walking over to cooper. But at the sight of the tent flap, Cooper began to cry pitiful tears. “Please please I don’t want to go with he Hamilton ocs!” He begged.
Props just shook his head. “Oh. No. Cooper, I am sending you to a place much, much worse. The Farmhouse. But there are no Hamilton ocs there. I’m not that much of a monster.”
Props pushed Cooper towards the tent, but he took a detour to hug Leon, before running through after Goldman.
The Proprietor and The Balladeer surveyed the carnival, a small smile on the second man’s face. “Thanks for being nice to him. That really was fun.” The cowboy muttered to the clown.
“If you liked it that much, we can do it again.” The Proprietor shrugged, holding out a hand for his foil to shake.
The Balladeer did, only to get shot twice in the stomach, the clown wheezing with laughter as the cowboy winced, before rolling his eyes. “Very mature, pardner.”