The air was thick with excitement, and cries of laughter edged with joy punctuated against the ears. The taste of cotton candy, boiled peanuts, and sweet treats lingered upon the edge of lips. Now after many hours, the sun was fading, pushing down lower against the distant horizon, but still did children try to ignore the fact, only to run about with their eyes full of sugar filled glee. They pointed their fingers towards the ferries wheel, and watched with amazement as trickery pulled cards from thin air as magicians took a bow. Clowns painted in broad whites and deep blacks seemed to dance upon their feet, and strike at each other with comically unfortunate swings. Only now as color of day faded to blood reds, oranges, and burnt yellows, Mothers and Fathers pushed the future generation along with the words Gee-Wiz all but printed across their young offspring's features.

With the wind finding a cooler tone, so too did attitude of the Carnival of Fools change. Instead of colors, bright and pure, the tents themselves seemed had all but been converted to the modesty of black and white. Ah yes, perhaps you would notice it at last, a fact that seemed to be hidden by the sunlight... and why should it not be so? With the glare of sun, now fading to the shadows that crept closer, could one see their painted faces in full at last. It was not evil smirks, or devilish smiles, but each and every of the carnival workers had a theme.

Each and everyone who called this place home...
Bone.
Skeletal painted.

This fact could be published in the papers, and talked about in the headlines. People thought it a theme, a paltry trick. A way of saying that soon comes the hours for adults. Hawkers would soon begin stand upon pedestal to invite those who would pay for shows... shows that younglings would dare not turn their gaze towards. Freaks, Monsters, Dancers, both clothed and naked, and while those hours would soon be at hand... they were not here yet. Yes, indeed, there was time left for one last show of his own. One last performance that could be made before the innocence of youth was shuffled away to the tired dreams of sunburnt cheeks that was brought on by carnival cheer.

One last chance of the day to hear those wonderful sighs of amazement.

Topper, like the rest of the crew in the Carnival of Fools, was dressed to the part. Wide, or at least for him, brim hat sat upon his brow, and makeshift suit kept neat upon his breast. Small brass buttons upon the edge of his limbs, and bright eyes sought through the thinning crowd. According to the theme, or rather his birthright, Topper was black and white as the rest of them. Though in his case no paint was required now was it? For you see Fellow Traveler, this was no actor upon stage or man trying to sell games. No my friend, this was but a cat with brass colored eyes and fur the color of the very hues the clowns themselves wore.

As the shadows further grew, blossoming like roses made of midnight, there among the others was a girl holding a balloon by its long stringed tail. If felines can smile, and I suspect they can while we do not watch them, surely it was Topper's turn to curl lips up against long whiskered cheeks.

A voice, not thunderous, vile, or cruel, brought the young girls eyes downward and away from the ferries wheel that turned so high that it seemed to scrape against the sky itself. Her wide blue gaze, grew all the wider still at the sight of an eight pound cat in fancy little suit beside her. Words from the creature were but a purr, a fabrication made to mimic the use of tongue and lips as humans did, but yet every syllable was clear as the day had been.

"I have something for you Rebecca."
The cat said in that voice that was gentle as falling into a snow drift. An elegant bow of his head, one which Topper would never admit that was practiced, allowed his hat come tumbling off to the dried trampled earth. Now sitting with that hole facing the sky, his small bare black and white face darted inside. What was the response of the girl? What more she do but stare at him in disbelief with mouth forming an almost perfect O of amazement? Oh, but careful now... her hand loosed dangerously close to letting the balloon seek the heights of heavens.

A sound of effort, a soft Hmph! as the feline pulled back. Paws scrambling against the dirt below at last managed to provide enough purchase, and with almost a cartoonish 'pop' of release (If cartoons had yet been made), a stuffed black and white version of himself came to sit beside Topper. It was not dressed in the manner that he was, but the resemblance? Well that Fellow Traveler was without a doubt uncanny.

"F...for...m...me?"
The girl managed in her stuttering voice, one that was not flawed out of amazement but rather defect to which the poor child did stammer. As if assuming a trick, a guise, or that she would be punished, at first her eyes flicked back and forth between the now nearly duplicated feline.

"For you."
Topper confirmed in that steady purr of a voice, and those words were enough for the child to retighten her grip upon that string, assuring that the balloon would not be set free.

"Mom! The k...k...kitty talked! And he kn...kn...knew my name!"
The child turned her blues towards the woman who was all but focused on her son as he drift higher in the Ferris wheel towards the heavens, in response to the summing call of attention from small girls words, the woman half glanced back to her daughter who stood there next to a stuffed cat with puzzlement on her brow.

"Pick up your toy 'Becca, don't get it dirty. When Jacob's done we're going home."

Rebecca, Becca, or to her Father 'Reebs', turned back towards Topper.. or rather where the feline had been. Now by itself, the stuffed version of the feline only sat still awaiting Rebecca's claiming touch. With her free hand, the girl did exactly that and took hold of it. Once or twice she did look around with puzzlement, but a new toy? Well, that was always more interesting wasn't it?

The stuffed animal of course would be abandoned within a year, and this event would merely be cast off as a sugar fueled day dream. Yet, for now? Well for now... Topper smiled from beneath the edge of a nearby tent as the girl offered a stammering 'T..t..thank y...you..' as she buried her sticky face into her new friends fake fur.

---

A man, six foot and two inches tall, stood before a mirror that reflected a pure image of himself back. Black hair messed and tumbled like strands of soft ink, and he was suited in clothing to match. Paint, or what one could assume as such, turned those handsome features into something else, and from that mirror no longer could Vincent see himself. No, what stood there before that silvered glass was the Prince of the Fools. What stood there before the mirror, dressed in all his finery, was no man at all. Every detail marked, colored, and draped almost in a ritual of action, motion, and mask.

The air in here was warm, a day of heated pressure of sun above seeing to that fact, but it did not smell as one would expect. Rather it smelled of roses, of blooms, of fresh growth. The scent came not from the hard packed earth below his shined shoes, nor did it come from the breeze that pushed in and caused the flaps of his personal tent to whisper against each other quietly. No Dear Friend, it seemed to come from him, and how perfect that statement was if one only knew the truth.

Eyes, not golden, but bronzed as the buttons upon Topper's limbs, looked at the figure in the mirror in return unflinching. A smile spread across its black lined lips and pushed up against the white cheeks beside them. In the distance there was a 'clack', and sudden vibratory hum of generators coming to life. In the distance the glow of bulbs starting to glow to life.

It was nearly time...
It was nearly time for real show to begin.

The Prince of Fools did not dawn a crown, nor golden marks of station. Rather a wide brimmed top hat marked with black hearts and diamonds found its place upon that black ink hair. Everything was in place. Everything was in order. Everything was as it should be.

For there was joy.
For there was laughter.
For there was innocence.

And soon now? Soon now it was time to balance the scales.
For you see, that is what Magic really is. Balance.
And the Prince loved this part. His part.

He turned from that reflection, abandoning it to that otherworld to which so many people swore that mirrors lead to, and moved towards the entranceway of his tent. That fake smile, one that was built upon years of showmanship, painted just as the makeup upon his features, and those bronze eyes shown like gold at last.

[To be continued when the story has a dance partner.]

All creature at times become deaf or blind in their distractions. It is how hawks dive from the clouds with bent wings to seize their prey. It is what allows a fox to sneak up on a rabbit in the brush. Humanity is no different in the end, not really. Though often they tell themself otherwise, the worse of it still is to be stated. In their ignorance of the truth, they fill their lives with such numbing distractions. They bury their eyes into the screens of their phones, and fill their ears with the constant hum of noises produced by earbuds. Though they claim their birth right to be of the masters of this world, they are no different then mouse or hair. They are simply prey, telling themselves that they pull every last string like a puppet master.

Perhaps, ignorance is bliss after all.

The pencil slid across the page in steady even strokes, and Mal's ears took note of the scratching sound of it as at last the edgings was finished. It was hard to say the man was satisfied with his own work, and if pressed would merely call them doodles, but in the least it was somewhat pleasing. No, that which he had drawn wasn't the place to which he sat, or even had seen. It was somewhere that someday he would like to find. A place of dark deep woods, of babbling water, and peace enough to drift upon such a thing as that vessel which line by line his imagination had structured.

The man found his lips moving, softly singing under his own breath before he could silence them.

"Pencil glides with steady grace
Draws a dream
A far-off place
Woods so deep
Water so clear
A peace that whispers in my ear."

And for a moment, only that moment, Mal let his soul drift upon that song which had risen up inside of him unbidden and new. He could hear the river. He could taste the woods upon the air, and he could feel the peace settling over mind and muscle.

Fool
The harsh edge of his own thoughts all but growled at him in retort for such stupidity. Hand, which felt almost claw like in this angry moment, tore away the page with a noise of ripping paper and senseless dreams. No, he should not be distracted. No, he shouldn't think about anything other then the word -now-. No, he should not act like prey, despite the fact that he was indeed hunted. So, dark brown eyes set below oak colored hair turned themselves to the city of glass to which he inhabited. Sitting upon the steps of some old red brick domicile, the man let it all come rushing in to replace the senses muted by senseless dreaming.

Engines, drinking oil and gasoline, spewed foul odor and smoke. Music, laughter, and people caring nothing but for their own entertainment filled the air, only to be punctuated by screens on crowded streets barking out advertisements. Street performers were dotted on corners, only to argue with homeless begging for change. This was no New York, nor was it Chicago, but it was close to these crowded places. Body odor, perfumes, colognes, cigarette, e-vapes, and marijuana smoke where sharp tastes behind it all, though Mal could be said to have a sensitive nose compared to most.

One would think, a man dressed in a finery such as he, would not stoop so low as to sit on a... well stoop... but there he was with that drawing pad of his placed neatly upon his legs. The pencil left in crease of torn away page, forgotten about as attention moved through the herd of humanity.

Sunlight, bright for even this hour of noon, danced off reflective walls of towering giant buildings which stood to reach towards God itself upon its throne in heaven. Concrete bones held the structures solid, and steel muscles promised a thousand upon thousand years before collapse. Yet, they called it a city, but for him, Malcom, there could be no other word but cage that was brought to mind. A cage made to contain people. To force feed them information through digital veins and propaganda. Yes, it may sound like he was a conspiracy theorist, but there was little theory about it these days. People lied, they always will, always have. There was no theory about it anymore, and with the internet being the largest resource of information there ever was, people could simply educate themselves... yet per usual they merely wanted to repeat what they heard.

Mal didn't like thinking like this. Wanted to push such thoughts to the back of his mind. Dig a hole, bury them, and let humanity crumble far faster then this city ever would. A lift of his chest raised ribs outward, before the man (who was not really a man) gave off a heavy sigh. Hand drifted in habit to the side of his bearded jaw, ran his fingers to smooth over those chestnut strands of hair, and shook his head as Mal once more brought himself to a standing position. Book tucked safely within the confines of his jacket pocket, pencil secured in the little elastic loop, Mal in his stance of six foot even moved into the throng of motion that filled the streets.

Maybe it was his own animalistic tendencies, to either protect himself, or the innocents around him but the man was on high alert. Maybe it was still not used to being in places like this, or maybe he would never be in truth fully used to it at all. He was not from here, and his place of birth was much different. Yet, like a wolf in a businessman's clothing, Mal could move among them all the same. All of this was simply explain what happened next, and why he was aware of it.

If you're paying attention...
If you attune yourself...
... and listen to that inner voice....

You can almost -hear- it when someone is looking at you in a crowd. You can feel the pressure against your ears of someone saying your name from across a building. Even humanity could taste the aggression of a predator in a crowd such as this. It was instinctual. It natural. Well, that was as long as you weren't blinded by your phone, or deafened by those little rubber plugs that fed music into ears.

And Mal? Well Mal could feel, taste, hear, something wasn't right.
What was high alert, instantly became code red.

The crowd to which he was apart of was standing at a curb, a red hand on the other side of the street glowing upon the crosswalk sign paused their movements. Cars whipped by most likely faster then they should be traveling in congested areas, but still.. the hairs on the back of his neck were standing upon end.

So, concerned with his own safety, his own life, Mal didn't register the gasp at first. Didn't realize what had happened until he saw the woman tumbling out into the street. Someone had pushed a woman hard enough to all but throw her. Off balance, she tumbled right off the curb and into the road. Like a fox about to scoop up a hare, painted of red car came barreling forward, and like the song unbidden before... the man's body moved before he could stop it.

Arms, strong as the oak trees that his hair was colored after, wrapped about the female. Thick trunk of body was turned to shield her from the impact, the crumpling of metal, the crack of skull against windshield. This unknown woman, victim, was not immune to bruises, nor was she umbrellaed from the splash of blood which flew. They together were thrown to the hard embrace of the asphalt that lined the roads, and the screams that came after from within the crowd.

Though dazed, perhaps concussed, no major damage would have been done to the female... though the man? The man didn't look so good, even as those dark eyes looked at her from beside the littered remains of headlights. His gaze sought out hers, and perhaps as she would come to find out later... it was that blood... that blood that let her hear him. It wasn't his voice. It wasn't an escape from his lungs. It was something deeper. His thoughts. His mind. His wolf song in his very soul.

She is alive...

Right arm twisted in a way that humans were not made for, the limb lay limp at his side, as once more Mal tried to rise to his full height of six feet. The first attempt failed, tumbling, falling, impacting, driving his already swollen and damaged left side of face back to the hot pavement.

Fuck me... move damnit. MOVE

That song inside of him torrented like a crescendo. Using still undamaged arm, placing his palm against broken glass, heated asphalt and...
[To be continued when a dance partner for this story is found]

All 'music' has been produced, edited, and made through frustration.
All rights are mine.
I never claimed any of it was good.
All 'music' is free to use, you are welcome to contact me if you're crazy enough to want a copy.
Tools used - ACID Sony Suite, Suntra Modules, Alcohol, Tobacco, and Stupidity.
Special thanks to Lynn and her adorable wife LadyBug for their voices.