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First, the Fool daubs the thick white makeup typical of her craft onto her face, slathering herself with it until every inch of skin is coated and she can hack and spit the portion that made itself past her lips into a rag.
Then, canvas prepared, it is time for art.
She dips a brush in black pigment and stares into the mirror as she draws upon her face. Fake teardrops, bags under the eyes, decorated with points above and below; color the nose, the lips; add lines to exaggerate her frown. Her cacophonous outfit juxtaposed with depressing monochrome.
The Fool then begins her leisurely stroll to the court, jingling with every step, until by coincidence or astute hearing the Queen and her bodyguard intercept and join her.
"Good morning, joy of my days." The Queen greets her, and the Knight gives her a curt nod of acknowledgement. "Your face paint looks wonderful, as always."
The fool mumbles out a greeting in turn, because she still has yet to come up with a witty retort to a beautiful girl calling her things like joy of her days with seeming complete sincerity.
"Could it be?" The Knight asks, eyes wide. "Are we finally free of her terrible squawking?"
"Oh, I hope not." Says the Queen, as the Fool makes a rude gesture. "Things would be ever so dull here without the two of you to make me laugh."
The Knight huffs and crosses her arms as a slight blush crosses her face, and the Fool silently thanks her layers of greasepaint for hiding that same tinge coloring her cheeks.
