~ Prelude ~ In Which our Illustrious Performers leave the circus for the first time since a great tragedy befell them some weeks ago. The Performer Michael Sarrens' hometown has been overrun with Wurm Daemons after his death. His comrades go to clear the infestation and plant his remains atop the daemon's ruin. Michael's lover will soon be expelled from the Circus if they do not sign a Contract...
Next Relevant Plot Post: October 23rd, between noon and 5pm.
It's been as though you're walking in a dream. There is no other way for you to describe it. Your parents took you to a circus once. Long ago. Tired looking lions. Bears that did a few tricks. Clowns on motorcycles. Cotton candy that cost your whole allowance for the week. It was all a big ripoff, and you knew it back then when you were only a few years old.
This? This is something else.
The park in the center of town might be the size of a football field, and the iron fence rings the whole thing with one gate and entrance booth, but you've been walking for hours and haven't seen the same tent twice. This is absolutely maddening! The whole evening began with what could only be described as an ensemble of sensory overloads in the Grand Tent.
There you sat on the bleachers with hundreds, maybe thousands of others from your town, stacked like stadium seats going further and further down to a central ring. The air hummed with enthusiasm, the scent of popcorn, caramel, hot chocolate, and other small treats filling your nostrils.
It began with the trapeze act. Except it was not trapezes. Great curtains made of silk were unfurled into the air above the ring. Acrobats entangled themselves within and began twirling through the air, swinging into each others arms while torchlight replaced the crude electrical bulbs to illuminate them. The performance is sensual, passionate, but also filled with love. There are six acrobats swinging into each others' waiting arms. You get the feeling that each of them loves one another like husband, wife, and anything in between. It's a strange thought, but you can grasp the passion therein.
The act never really concludes so much as it is interrupted by the show beneath it. (You find out later on that the performance was called "Lovers' Embrace" and would continue for the rest of the night.)
"Ladies, gentlemen, boys, girls, and none-of-the-above." The figure takes the center ring. A tall, lanky man(?) in a great black suit- jacket, pants, bow tie, top hat, and a half cape of silk. Within his white gloves, he clutches an old cigarette holder, lit and trailing smoke. The look is stereotypical, but he stands and carries himself in a way that you can easily imagine him wearing clothing dyed in a rich Imperial Purple, or sensual scarlet.
"I want to welcome you to tonight's entertainment. We at Cirque des Chasseurs wish you all nothing but a night of the greatest tastes, the brightest lights, the most mystical sights, and the most pleasant sounds as you have ever or ever will, experience."
The Ringmaster pauses, inhales a breath from the cigarette holder. He exhales with a flourish, forming a cloud of smoke several times his own size. A trick of the lighting? Are they funneling smoke from the torches?
"As the manager of this entertainment venue, I wish to impart a few rules to you all. First, there shall be no smoking within the tents or on the premises."
The cloud above him twists and bends in the wind while the cigarette dissolves. Somewhere, a light flashes with the brightness of the sun. There is a crack, and then a roar. When your eyes adjust, there is no smoke in the tent. The torches remain lit, but even they will not give off any wisps. In the center of the ring, where the cloud of smoke once hovered, there stands an enormous lion. @Cherrywitch A golden haired woman stands beside the beast, dressed in scarlet and with a playful smile on her face- like someone who is about to play a trick on someone but they've no idea what is about to happen to them. She cracks a whip, but not to prod the animal- only as a signal. You think.
The lion begins pacing up the aisles, followed by the tamer. It stops halfway up the stairs near you, only for the tamer to tell the beast "I think now is fine." The beast pauses, straightens its spine, and the tamer stands perfectly on its back. Like a California surfer on their board, she rides it up the steps and out of the great tent's flaps, not once losing her balance.
"Reach out your right hand. Into the aisle," a voice beside you says. Another @Tenslashsix man, dressed in a suit and top hat, sits beside you. He nods quickly. You hesitate, but do so. With not a moment to spare your hand catches a piece of jewelry, a bracelet, fallen from one of the acrobats. Later, she will approach you for it and offer to show you around the Circus. Some of the things you will see, you will remember unto your deathbed.
"Another rule- please, no touching the performers!"
A woman @FancyHats struts into the ring beside the Ringmaster, standing from the front bench. It is hard to make out details other than the shape of her figure- after all, her dress is immediately wreathed in flame when she stands and burns as bright as a neon sign. Approaching on her left is a hugely muscled, mustachioed man with arms that could probably lift weights at an Olympic competition. He reaches out with one hand to touch the dress, only to suddenly and dramatically pull it away before running up the stairs to one of the tent's many exits. He curses in French the whole way. The woman extends one hand to the Ringleader, who accepts it and bows, the flames of her sleeves lick around the Ringleader's gloved hand but do not seem to catch.
"Unless of course, they invite you to do so!" The woman bows, then casually follows the strongman up the steps, her dress extinguishing itself to become a vibrant blue and cream color, though the sleeves seem to smolder like coals.
"Not a rule, but some advice. Please watch where you step! You may not know when an act comes to you instead of the other way around."
The sound of steel hitting wood jars you. Where your hand had extended a moment ago, a knife was embedded in the wooden step leading down the bleachers, vibrating from the speed of its impact. A dozen others are likewise embedded up and down your section. You crane your neck upward- to see a young man, @FourthKing barechested with an open vest, held at the ankles by an acrobat. He is swung from one performer to the next, and he plants the knives into the steps of each section from over a hundred feet in the air, slinging the blades with unerring accuracy, easily dodging guests who are still walking to and from their seats. When you turn to grab the closest knife to you, you find only a pile of smooth ocean sand.
"Please do not feel compelled to offer monetary tips to our performers. They are being... suitably compensated for their skills."
You'd forgotten about the Ringleader with the stunts going on, and turn your head back in time to see him stepping onto a high wire above the central ring. Before him is a chestnut-haired woman, @VerusEbullio wearing her own flowing, fanciful coat and gown. While the Ringleader keeps his footing, he genuinely looks uncomfortable that high above the ground, using his walking stick to keep perfectly balance. The woman, meanwhile, cartwheels away from him on a cord that looks as thick as a fishing line. She gives an over the top gesture of exasperation to the assembled crowd.
'See what I have to work with?'
She removes a silk blindfold from her coat pocket, ties it around her face with both hands, pivots in place and then walks casually down the line, between soaring acrobats and above a hundred foot drop- with no net below it.
From within the central tent comes the sound of applause. Cheering. The torches within the cloth tent dim, shadows are cast in steep shapes like the silk curtains above, and the Ringleader is swallowed by the darkness along the tight rope. He does not reappear. Not inside the tent, anyway.
The crowd applauds. The crude, ancient light bulbs lining the exit flaps are lit once more. Many spectators begin exiting the grand tent to begin their night of revelry. Some remain to watch the Acrobatic act in the grand venue, one that will not stop all night. The Hollingsworth-Trinity-Lee family is an odd one. Polyamorous to the extreme. They made California Hippies look absolutely Puritanical when it came to after-show hijinks. But their combat skills were second to none in the field, and they put their flexibility to great family friendly use to entertain the guests. The Ringmaster smiles at remembering the signing of their contract. They treated it with all the reverence of a wedding just to get out of their star-crossed marriages. The group love came later. The whole lot of them were due for renewal in two years. Something told him it would not be difficult to get them to sign again.
They had been managing many of the more recent Hunts since the death of Michael. That would need to change, starting tonight.
Parael Magnus observes all of this from atop the central pole of his own personal tent, one of moderate size compared to many others. Once, when the Circus first began, he hosted shows with several dozen spectators within. He does so sparingly now. The Circus is of such a size that he has taken to managing it and corralling the guests full time- there is no time to invite guests inside his own domicile to regale them with parlor tricks except in those rare occasions they find no daemons to hunt within a city.
He misses it. But he is not on this Earth to impress doe-eyed peoples with Celestial magic.
Extending his cane, he whistles briefly on the wind. He hopes to summon a murder of crows to carry his messages.
He was answered by a flock of pigeons, all perching onto the well worked wood of his walking stick.
"This is sub-optimal," the Ringmaster said with a grimace.
The dozen pigeons coo in unison.
"Of course I appreciate you all. I just- ravens are more the style of the Circus. You know. Foreboding. Ghastly. Mysterious. Shiny black feathers. Messengers of the Gods."
Again with the cooing. The largest bird, easily the size of a raccoon, shits on his walking stick.
"Of course there will be popcorn! Do you take me for a complete monster? Pick a popcorn cart and they'll know to spill a bag for you. Just don't go to Jerry's stand. He has a thing about cleanliness near the food and I'm inclined to agree with him. Magic or no, daemons or monsters, nothing supernatural can banish a Federal Health Inspector. Nearly cost us the Brooklyn operation last year and he threatened to call the IRS as well! Nearly pissed myself, but don't you all go telling anyone that."
Silence.
"Right. Anyway, I need a message to be delivered to a handful of my performers. Their tents are all topped with a baby-blue flag- wait, can you see in color?"
Cooing.
"Really? Ultraviolet too? Shit! I'll need to remember that. Could be useful in the future. But yes- every tent with a baby blue flag. Tell them they are to finish up their current acts and close their tents for the night. That they are to rendezvous together and meet inside my tent. I have given them ample time to mourn. Tonight they bury Michael- and they cleanse his home."
The pigeons did not need a command to be given. With a flutter of wings and a cascade of feathers, the animal messengers took to the sky, leaving the ringmaster atop his tent- smothered in pigeon shit.
"It will be Ravens from now on, or I'll be my own messenger," he grumbled, vanishing into the darkness of night once more.
When the newest team arrived, they would find their Ringleader half dressed in a new suit, naked from the waist up, within his own tent's rear curtain. A kettle of Black Tea would be boiling over smoldering coals despite the loose hanging sheer silk curtains, the pillows draping the Persian rugs as seats, and the low lit candles...
Jessica Belle Adams Jezzabell, the Lion Tamer Interactions: The Ringleader @Aleranicus Location: Lion tamer tent —> The Ringleader’s tent
There seemed to be a chillier air tonight. Even the animals shifted in discomfort, voicing their complaints to the one human who spoke their language.
Jessica had already wrapped the elephants up in big blankets, had made the tigers comfortable, had undressed the two bears and sang them to sleep. Her night of performances and care taking was over, yet she still sat propped against her beloved Apollo, gently running a comb through the magnificent mane.
The beast lay still, almost as if he was fast asleep, the only thing clueing you otherwise was the occasional blink of his eyes or a husky purr emanating from his chest. Jessica gave a little smile, brushing her fingers along his outer ear. ”... Another one is gone, Apollo. Another performer lost his life.” The melancholy voice whispered, causing the lion to shift open his deep brown eyes in worry. ”... I know, I know. You told me before to not make myself so worried...”
The tamer absent mindedly began to twirl her blond locks around her index, a stressed expression creasing her brow. ”It just makes me wonder how many have died throughout the years... who they lost when they passed away. Was it even worth it? I’m not too sure why we’re fighting at times.” Apollo firmly lifted his head, staring directly at her with a flick of his tail. Jessica smiled, understanding just what he meant. ”Thank you, my beauty. That does make me feel much better.”
As Jessica began to lovingly scratch his ears— much to Apollo’s purring delight— she heard a small chirping voice. The blonde turned to a small little pidgeon, with iridescent gray feathers and wide curious eyes, to whom she held out her arm for it to perch. It’s message was sent much easier to her, who nodded easily with understanding of the clicks and coos. ”I see. Please tell the Ringleader I will be there soon.”
The pidgeon fluttered off with an awkward flapping of glee, Jessica rising to her feet and Apollo following suit. The tamer turned to her feline companion with a small grin, bowing down to lightly peck his forehead with her lips. ”I’m afraid the invitation wasn’t extended to you, my dear. I will be back soon.” Apollo laid back down with an unamused huff, watching with sharp eyes as Jessica left the tent, lightly tapping her hip where the golden whip sat out of a force of habit.
The curtains of the tent were lightly brushed aside, accompanied by a quiet ”Mr. Magnus..?” Jessica stepped in lightly, folding her hands in front of her and gazing curiously at the ringleader. ”You sent for me and the other performers, yes? ...May I ask why you chose a pidgeon? It’s not really your style.”
The oddest thing, a pigeon dancing, that is. To be specific this one is dancing around Octus' s collection of Scandinavian forks. Something about the forks almost reminds him of something. Many such items are in his collection almost like a hoard of near memories. Octus stares at the pigeon contemplating it's demise. One must not after all dance on a mans' Scandinavian forks.
Octus has been waiting for a winged messenger for weeks, years, maybe centuries he can't be sure. Did Magnus always send pigeons? Surely not. Definitely a nefarious attempt of humor at Octus's expense. Drawing his 1911 pistol ever so slowly as not to give warning... The bird explodes in multiple directions each a ghostly trail of possibilities. Damnable flying devil rat is too unpredictable to shoot. A child's laughter filters into the tent and it's familiar...
Octus goes harrowing out of the ramshackle dwelling and spots the small grime smeared urchin who laughed. Just like that the chase is on. The child bolts at the sight of Octus and runs, howling gleefully, through the circus grounds. The circus is in full swing and the agile youngling is weaving across the crowds with ease. If not for his gift there would be no chance to catch up. Taking a deep breath Octus focuses on the path ahead and begins to weave his tapestry of movement. Gracefully spinning past a pair of young lovers kissing, bounding over the burrito cart, and tripping a pick pocket who spills his ill-gotten gains he pursues the child.
The foot race is inexorably leading him towards the ringleaders tent but no such thought occurs to Octus. He is gaining ground no amount of speed can out maneuver the implacable future. Reaching out his fingertips touch the collar of the youths raggedy shirt when... He cannot remember why he is doing this. Abrupt stop, directly behind the ringleaders tent, mayhap his old friend Magnus can tell him why?
The cheering and silent moments of the Grand tent started to make Rel's head spin. One would think that after hundreds of years doing her tightrope act would have desensitized her to the crowds and the waves of emotions that overcame the audience as she preformed. Something was off tonight, as she knew what it was. It wasn't the crowd getting in her head tonight, it was Micheal.
The young woman reached down to her wire as a couple from the "Lover's Embrace" act came flying over head. They had come slightly to close as their cloths came swinging back and to get out of the way Rel somersaulted. Those with their eyes glued to Aura La Luna roared and applauded with excitement. The tightrope walker skipped the rest of the way to her platform, before the lights around her went out.
Rel released to low caliber gravity field she kept on the wire and jumped down the ladder, only padding a single every fourth step or so before reaching the bottom and running into the center stage light to take an over exaggerated bow and skipping out the tent.
"It's not the same without you Micheal" Rel said to herself remembering the acrobat they lost in the last hunt. She was letting the death get to her and she shouldn't. It wasn't like he was the first one to die or leave the circus since she joined. 1758 was a long time ago, and other then the Ringleader himself she was the oldest member.
It was her fault somehow. This was the conclusion she came to, and this is why is was hurting so bad. However, with guests still on the grounds she would not be able to express her sadness and anger until she was at her own tent. Rel wouldn't never get there as a pigeon landed on her shoulder. Reflex told her to swat the disgusting avian creature, but it took off into the air and began gliding towards the Ringleaders tent. [color=stateblue]"That time again is it?"[/color] Rel began to say pushing Micheal from her mind and prepared herself for the hunt to come. The rest of her sentence lost in the back of her mind.
"Octus, why come around the back way?" Rel giggled as she caught a glimpse of the man and went over. "Their is no entrance that way unless you want to pop out of Magus' personal quarters." She gave a soft giggled to herself and hooked her arm under his. "Shall we dare friend?" Rel said smiling and taking a step to the side, around the tent.
"It's hard to find some peace of mind when I'm not the only one in my head." (Belial's text) (Gara's text)
You know she isn't actually interested in you, right? She's interested in Gara the Enlightened, not boring, schizophrenic, Gara Kashani.
Belial's condescending voice echoed in Gara's mind, causing an almost unnoticeable tic to spasm his left eye. The young man was currently leaning against an unattended popcorn machine in a less congested area of the circus. In Gara's field of vision stood a woman who looked to be in her early twenties. The girl had approached him after his latest performance and machine-gun fired questions until Gara's brain hurt. Not only was he becoming bored with the interaction, but it was becoming harder and harder to dodge the more difficult inquiries.
"So how long have you been working here?"
18 years. "Long enough to know what I'm doing."
"And what is it that you do exactly? I've never seen a performance like that before."
Gara scoffed and looked away, she was a persistent one.
You swindle consumers out of their money by entertaining them with the powers I gave you. "It wouldn't be magical if I told you my tricks."
The woman puffed her bottom lip out, resembling a child who didn't get the toy they wanted. Gara shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest to show the subject was off limits. Why was it always like this? People were never satisfied. Why couldn't people just come to the circus, have their minds' blown and then leave? Gone were the days of mystery, everything needed an answer in this day and age.
Gara have I every told you how smooth you are with women?
Gara sighed, Belial had a way with making a good day turn bad. And it was obvious this girl wasn't going to let up, he had to do something. Making up his mind, Gara decided to give the girl what she wanted.
"Fine. Give me your hand." He exasperated, holding out his palm. The woman hesitated, then hesitantly took a step closer, slipping her hand into his. Gara closed his eyes and focused, calling upon the power welled deep inside his soul, or what was left of it. Slowly, Gara began to levitate, taking the woman along with him, a small gasp escaping her lips. Once they were a couple feet off the ground, the girl looked down and instantly reached out completely and clung to Kashani as if the fall would drop her into the pits of hell.
"B-ut, how?"
"Not everything has an answer." Was Gara's only elaboration as he stopped the little parlor trick and slowly dragged them back to the ground. "Have a wonderful night... I never got your name..." The woman, for the first time in their conversation, smiled.
"Jenna."
Well played Kashani.
Gara nodded, before dipping his head and sauntering away to his tent. He needed some rest, his act was over for the night and he could just relax for once. At least, that was the plan until the fattest pigeon Gara had ever seen in his life, bombed a steaming bird shit onto his shoes.
I take that back, even karma doesn't like you. Gara threw his hands up in distress, a choked sound escaped his lip as he shook his foot. "Well fuck me sideways..."
Not wanting to kill the damned thing, Gara instead chose to glare death into it's dumb, beady eyes. The pigeon cocked its head before flapping off in the... Direction of the Ringleader's tent. "Only Magnus would recruit pigeons to play messenger... I'm gonna need to change my shoes."Looks like your night just got longer. Gara shrugged to himself once again, and trotted off towards his leader's tent. He could already feel the adrenaline beginning to flood his body, he always got like this before an assignment. Every hunt felt like his first, still being relatively new. He still hadn't decided if what they were doing was worthwhile. Of course, in small areas it helped immediately, but overall? Who knew? If there were always daemons, and only a finite amount of hunters, then there would always be death, he would always be on the losing side.
Stop overthinking. Belial sure was snappy tonight, Gara often wondered what it was like for her inside his head, if he was in her position he'd probably act the same. Taking her advice, Gara brought himself back to the present moment, just in time to open to the tent flap for Aurelia and Octus.
"Looking good Octus, you too Rel." He grinned and motioned for them to enter the tent with him as caboose. Gara wondered if Octus even remembered him tonight, most days it was a hit or miss. Which is why Gara did his best to say something nice to him every time they crossed paths, hoping his face would begin to stick.
"It's exhilarating to dodge axes, but do I really have to roll the ball back and forth myself?" Luciel said, pushing her giant prop back to her tent after-show. Things were tense between the carnies, after a sudden loss in one of their hunts. One of the acrobats, bit in half.
The inside of Luciel's tent gave off a calming atmosphere, with lanterns lit with a blue flame, darkly colored luggage, and a small water trough with lily pads, lotuses, and a small waterfall. Someone could hear one or two frogs insit the trough. The things that were different from the room were a vanity complete with makeup and jewelry boxes on the sides, and a small cot, where the jester slept.
Luciel walked inside her tent after pushing her ball prop to the left outside. She sat down at her vanity and washed her makeup off. Not that she wore much anyways, her simple appearance looked like face paint anyways. She looked into her vanity mirror and smiled, before it faded away. "Ugh.." She emitted, before faceplanting onto the surface.
It was normal for other carnies to pass away, but everytime it was by a daemon, it always made herself sick. The daemon side of the jester's bloodline always made her feel disgusted about herself.
Before she could go to bed however, a small pidgeon flew inside and landed on her head. Luciel giggled, and let it perch on her arm instead. "Pretty bird..guess Mr. Magnus needs us, huh?" She asked, the bird nodding in reply. "Well, lead the way." The jester petted the bird, before it flew back to the ringleader, her following behind.
"Honestly, I would've expected ravens."
Apparently, Luciel wasnt the first to arrive. Jessica, Octus, Aurelia, and Gara had gathered up outside Parael's tent. "Erm," She cleared her throat. "Hi everyone.." she said, lightly waving.
She could feel everything, yet nothing. Euphoria rang true through her body, and for once- for once in so many decades, nothing else mattered. Perhaps it was short lived, but for just one moment, there was only bliss. But then? There was only blackness. Nothing. Juliet fluttered her eyes open. A slight tired haze ate away at her vision, though as she rubbed her eyes, things started to become clear. Juliet laid splayed across some pavement. The dancing lights and familiar humdrum chatter of the circus gave her a sense of grounding. She was in a familiar spot- something that was uncommon for Juliet as she never found herself in the same place too often. Her abilities turned her home terrain, a place so many of her fellow performers had known like the back of their hand, into a constantly shifting labyrinth. It felt that way at least. Alas, this place was one she knew well, and her location gave way to a slew of memories answering her next question... What happened?
As Juliet sat up, she met the gaze of her nemesis- the man who had so put her into this eldritch coma: The Cotton Candy man... This happened all too often. Juliet must have been gotten sick and forgotten to perform today. She had a habit of performing away from the mainstage show lest Parry made her put on something big. It was all the better that she tended to perform in the weirdest places around the circus. Maybe no one would notice? Never the matter. There was still plenty of time left if she felt up to it.
After a long bout of just laying their in misery, Juliet finally forced herself to rise. Perhaps she would see what else is going on. Perhaps she would eat more cotton candy. Juliet started off along the circus's path. There was a world of possibilities. At least, there was until a pigeon nearly slammed straight into her face, a mess of feathers and hair tangling all together sending Juliet prone once again. No doubt it had found her by complete accident. That was usually how the Ringmaster's messages got to her. Juliet wasn't an easy one to find. Slightly dazed, Juliet groaned aloud. Well that was something to do at least.
Another long moment was spent recollecting herself, but soon after, Juliet started off towards where she guessed the Ringmaster's abode was. Still, it all blurred together. In the end, Juliet would eventually find her way there. It could only be so long before she scoured the entire circus. Determination was all she required, and determination she did have! That was it. Those were Mister Magnus's colors. Juliet spared not a moment darting forwards. As was common, though, she took some completely convoluted route, ending up on the side of the tent. She imagined all would be well. Her troupe had to be used to her consistent tardiness by this point. She just hoped she hadn't missed anything important. Even despite, she had no time to waste. As the group began to gather within Parael's abode, the outline of the Little Mystic slipped out from under one of the walls and Juliet came sliding in. She had no time for petty doors and entrances.
"Am I on time?" Whether or not Juliet knew the answer herself, she felt it pertinent to speak up. "I apologize, Mister Magnus. There were complications en route courtesy of an evil pigeon..."
Like several of his fellow performers, Sigmund had made a prompt beeline for his tent after the performance, weaving past the prying gazes of some of the circus’ more...enthusiastic fans, and into the prying gazes of the little guests he happened to share his makeshift home with. As one would likely expect from the so-called “Spider King”, the corners of his tent were line with dozens of arachnids of varying species. Sigmund frowned a little upon seeing one of his examination tables covered with a batch of crab spiders, and let out a whistle, watching as they immediately scampered off and out of sight at the command.
“Alright,” he said, quickly changing out the table’s paper covering before giving it a pat. “You can come in, now.”
With clear hesitance, a young woman stepped through the tent’s curtains, flinching a bit as a tarantula ran past her foot and dove beneath a chair. She was one of the newcomers to the circus- a diver, maybe- and still not quite used to the...state of the local infirmary, to say the least. Sigmund didn’t blame her. It had taken him a while to get used to all the legs himself, after all.
Once she was properly seated on the examination table, he pulled on a pair of gloves, gesturing to her side. “Lift that for me, please.”
“Oh- oh, right. Sorry.” The girl, Lisa, cast one last wary glance to the corners of the tent before pulling up her shirt to just below her ribcage. A long, vicious wound was clearly visible against her skin, lined with neat stitches. Giving her a nod of thanks, Sigmund leaned in, gently laying his fingers just below the wound.
“It’s a bit swollen,” he murmured, “but the wound itself seems to be healing fine. Have you noticed any discharge? Anything abnormal?”
“I don’t...think so, no.”
“Have you been dressing it like I showed you?”
The response to that particular question was silence. Straightening up, Sigmund shook his head and had opened his mouth to speak again when he was cut off by the ruffle of feathers and an alarmed bird cry. Squawking furiously, a pigeon bat its way into the tent, spiders dripping from its feathers like water.
Well.
That didn’t bode well.
Sigmund quickly rushed to the shelf, and, scanning it, plucked a bottle and thrust it into Lisa’s hand. “Take two of these per day, start dressing your wound. The last thing you want is an infection and sepsis. You can go now.”
He gave his best attempt at a smile for the poor girl before whistling again, freeing the poor bird of its assailants. It was strange, Sigmund thought. He would have thought that a pigeon lacked the requisite facial muscles to look infuriated, but it was openly glaring at him as it ruffled its feathers and slipped back out of the tent. Stripping his hands of gloves, Sigmund followed, allowing it to lead him. It was usually ravens that served as a guide around the circus, but a pigeon wasn’t too large of a shift to warrant surprise.
It had been some time since he had been called on a hunt, though. Perhaps it was a means of precaution after the circus’ recent, unfortunate loss, perhaps not. That was up to the ringleader himself to determine.
Approaching the tent of the man in question, Sigmund was greeted by the sight of several of his fellow performers lingering around the entrance, or, in some cases, inside with Parry.
“Evening,” he said simply, fishing a spider out from his hair and relocating it into his pocket.
“Should I ask why Mr. Magnus is waiting for us without a shirt on?”
Petals.
Everywhere, there were petals. Stuck in her hair, clinging to her coat, somehow lodged in her shoe. Dawn paused in her way to her tent to shake some of them loose from her hat before continuing on her way, pleasantly greeting a few visitors who had decided to linger after the performance had ended. As the population of the world boomed, so did the crowds that the circus drew in, fattening them up with curious eyes and skeptical frowns. It was a good thing. The larger the crowd, the more kept out and safely away from the path of a Hunt. And besides- even in her age, performing still managed to stir a certain warmth in her chest. It brought back memories of a younger self.
Although, given how long it had taken for her to gather up all the anemone blossoms, and how large of a mess it left behind, it would likely be for the best to change some of the methods that her younger self had devised.
Bringing herself out of her little reverie, Dawn slipped into the privacy of her tent, putting a pot of coffee to boil and settling down among the cushions to wait, some gushy, ham-fisted novel appearing in her lap. She opened it, reading without reading. It was going to be a long night.
It had been several weeks now since the death of Michael. She had known the young man distantly, had greeted him when they crossed paths, given information when requested. Hunted with him once or twice. Death was not an uncommon occurrence within the circus- not with so many among their numbers, and not with the neverending threat that daemons posed- but it was sobering nonetheless. No matter how long they had lived, no matter their power, they all were still very much mortal. The only thing they could do was prepare the best they could, put all they had into the fight, and hope for the best.
Dawn stood, book still in one hand, and went to pour herself a cup of coffee from the whining machine. She had begun to take deep swigs of the stuff, musing on whether she should try and use the hours to rework her performance or arrange her armory, when a gentle coo from outside caught her ear. Blinking owlishly, Dawn crossed the tent, and peeled them back to reveal a lone pigeon. Strange. As soon as it seemed satisfied that it had caught her attention, it took flight, heading off in the direction of the ringmaster’s tent.
It was like that, then. Finishing off the last of her coffee (and mercilessly burning her throat in the process), she put the emptied mug down, shut off the lights, and snatched her hat from the ground, restoring it to its rightful place as she strode into the dark.
A large group of her coworkers had gathered in and around the tent, and Dawn gave them an amiable smile as she approached, bowing her head in greeting. “Hello, everyone.” The hints of an accent dripped off her words, giving her voice an odd sort of cadence. “It’s nice to see you all again.” Some among the group she hadn’t grown to know too well. Others, she did. The sentiment stood regardless.
Dawn stepped inside the tent after the others, although she found herself pausing a moment upon seeing that Magnus was stark naked from the waist up within. Her brow rose in silent bewilderment, but she gave no comment, quickly regaining her composure. With one pale hand, she swept her hat off, pressing it against her chest. “Good evening, Mr. Magnus.”
He was a friendly, if not somewhat eccentric man. Also very likely not human, but still. Friendly nonetheless. She stepped off to the side of the tent’s wall, allowing anyone still outside to enter without obstacle, and waited for their ringleader to speak.
The Ringmaster does not have time for a shower before the group arrives. He wishes he did. But all things considered, some members of this merry gathering have seen him covered in substantially worse substances than pigeon droppings- all in pursuit of the defeat of daemonkind, of course.
"Good evening one and all," he says as more and more of the group approach his own tent. He steps out of the silken curtains at the rear of his tent. "Come inside. Take tea. And Jezzabell, @Cherrywitch you should know that while I'm capable of many stupendous feats in this world, control over which flocks of birds are closest is not something I have. Hence the Canada Goose attacks of '85. Spent damn near a whole night clearing the grounds when all I wanted was for the brutes to spread the word we were having a rain night!"
Without pausing to wait for the others, the Ringmaster raises his tea kettle and begins pouring into one cup after another. He raises his voice, practically shouting. "Octus, @Tenslashsix just the man this gang would need tonight! Come inside. Bring Aurelia @VerusEbullio with you, please?" To himself, the Ringmaster almost grumbles beneath his breath, "Lucky one that you are. It's long since time you remembered what happened to Michael..."
As he says it, the Ringmaster reaches beneath the tea table and removes a small, pearl-colored object the size of a Faberge egg. He sets it gingerly into the lone empty tea cup.
"Juliet, @OppositionJ please do not apologize. If I require an apology for anything, I will tell you so. You are actually quite early by my reckoning of time. Now do come and take tea. Biscotti is where I left it last time if you are hungry. Don't drop any crumbs if you can help it. That evil pigeon may know its way back here.
"Gara @FourthKing and Luciel @Majoras End on the other hand, you are both on time. 'To be early is to be on time. To be on time is to be late.' But I will not hold that against either you."
For a half moment, the Ringmaster pauses in place. Looking at Gara. Truly looking.
I stomach your games because I find you tolerable to deal with, and because you came part-in-parcel with Gara's own Contract. If the Powers-that-Be did not demand otherwise, you would not exist. Tonight's task is a solemn one. If you cannot restrain yourself long enough to see it done, I may feel compelled to break faith with the Powers to banish you. I hope we have an understanding.
"Sigmund, please deposit the eight-legged friends outside, if you will." He reaches into his pants pocket, and like a common magician, begins to pull a lengthy piece of scarlet fabric from within. It cuts off in short order and the Ringmaster lifts it over his head, shimmying inside a fresh silk shirt. @EchoicChamber "My nature compels me to have a care for living creatures. I do not have to love them. And here is Dawn, last of the lovely gathering. I will say it one last time- GET INSIDE! It's time for tea!"
================================================
The Ringmaster takes his tea with two lumps of sugar, seated on a large ottoman silk cushion. He observes the human niceties of polite company, sitting and drinking after all others have been given the opportunity to do so. With that done, he reverts to business.
"Welcome to Princeton, West Virginia, everyone. A population of roughly 7,000 human souls. Give or take a few. And tonight, we deal with one who was taken."
The teacup comes to his lips again. He drinks so formally as to appear robotic for a moment.
"Michael Sarrens was a good performer. His contract signed in 1989. His lover survives with the circus, working within the house of mirrors. I have given them ample time to remain with the Circus, but unless they sign a Contract, they will be removed from the premises shortly. But that is neither here nor there. We have a debt to pay."
The Ringmaster nods at the Faberge egg on the tea cart.
"There lies all that remains of Michael Sarrens. You brought his remains to me after the events of London. Now I return them to you- without blame for what happened. You all were there. You all no doubt remember how he was bit in twain. And you all no doubt have played the scene over and over again in your minds. You will see them buried in the number 27 mine shaft north of town. But first and foremost, you will enter that mine and you will exterminate the nest of Wurm Daemons that have taken root there. Tunnelers. They've burrowed into the earth beneath the town and are eating at the residents' from beneath their feet."
He places half-full tea cup onto its saucer and looks at all those assembled.
"I will not Compel you to do this thing if you are not prepared to, however. The last thing I want is another dead Hunter to be buried after this mission. If you do not feel prepared to do this, then go to your tent, perform a night's act, and I will take your place. And any who says an unkind word about you will be asked to clean Apollo's litter box for Jezzabelle for a good month. Those of you who are ready, a few Lyfts will be waiting for you at the gates to the park. They will take you to the mines. If you've any questions, you may ask them now."
Jessica Belle Adams Jezzabell, the Lion Tamer Interactions: Everyone Location: The Ringleader’s tent
Jessica had mostly expected this. In the back of her mind, she had told herself this was what it was about, but she still couldn’t steel her heart from cracking in pain over the loss of another. Jessica wasn’t the friendliest to her peers, in fact she barely knew most of them even after three years of working here. Michael wasn’t someone she was too familiar with, but she had remembered that when she was sobbing over James he had been the one to put his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. He had a good soul.
By now it was fairly known that Jessica couldn’t bear to bury anyone, so she felt she did not have to remind her fellows of it. She would fight the daemons silently as usual, and leave the burial process to the others.
You would think I would get used to this. The tamer bit her lip, running a thumb along the edge of her cold, untouched cup of tea. Not even the Ringleader’s little humorous threat could seem to even get a twitch of a smile out of her.
”I’ll be going, then.” She barely murmured, setting the cold cup down and exiting the tent briskly, heading out towards the gates with utmost care to avoid any circus-goers. Jessica held her whip tightly, eyes staring at the ground expressionlessly, waiting for the others who were coming along.
Aurelia bowed her head slightly as Gara displaced the tent flap for Octus and herself. She made brief eye contact with Gara, giving a smile as she entered the Ringleader's tent. Once inside she was greeted by Jessica, and a half-dressed Magus, Rel let a smile grin of amusement show a crossed her face at the sight of the Ringleader before gathering her composure. "Magus" The woman greeted with a slight bow before letting go of Octus and taking her place in the tent.
Soon Luciel, Juliet, Sigmund, and Dawn, joined the party. Rel watched the Ringleader pour tea and she took her cup. She didn't know whether to drink or wait. She took her tea with one lump of sugar and decided after looking at everyone else, that she would take a sip. The liquid ran warm down her throat. The familiar action relaxed her for what was about to come.
Hearing Micheal's name, and seeing his remains on the tea chart brought that night to the forefront of Rel's mind. He had had her back in the difficult battle, but she hadn't had his and was rewarded with watching him die. She gripped her cup before taking a deep gulp of tea. Burning all the way down, the tea caused her eyes to tear but she didn't say a word. Letting Magus finish his instructions, Rel already knew that she was going to the hunt tonight.
"We will be ready, Magus" Rel said with a sad smile towards the man. She assumed some would stay behind, and others would go fight. Jessica was already gone. The woman wouldn't call those who would be joining the hunt out, that would be out of place. But she would reassure herself, and any other, that they wouldn't be alone. Rel place her cup down, stood from her seat and took a look at everyone still there, unsure if she should take her leave or stay and know who was hunting with her and Jessica.
The sorrow that Octus feels is not because of Michael. To him the man was more of a passing acquaintance than a long time friend. Another decade or two might have changed that. Never know now. He is saddened because the other performers, who are close friends, feel the loss keenly. He will go on the hunt of course. It is one of the few things that captures his attention and usually does not leave him uncertain. If that were not enough the circus is home. No one trifles with a mans home without suffering the consequences.
Octus flings open the tent and sprints away towards the transportation muttering the whole way. "North of town mine shaft 27, North of town mine shaft 27, North of town mine shaft 27..." He arrives at his lyft and jumps in practically barking at the driver to get there as quickly as possible. "If you make haste there will be a bonus in this for you. Hurry before everything is forgotten."
Continuing his litany of purpose Octus begins to breathe evenly and prepare his mind for the onslaught of foresight. Eight seconds does not seem like so long a time. Try seeing all the outcomes of everything in existence for those eight seconds. Once that happens change a small detail and hold on as the world blurs and reality warps to near breaking. He can never focus on the entire web for long without starting to lose grip on his own being. No matter, even if it drives him insane, Octus will not let anyone else fall to the daemon.
Reaching into his inner coat pocket he retrieves an old silver coin and begins flipping it. Flip. Spin. The eye of the storm that coin. Flip. Spin. The result does not matter because Octus does not have to glance down to see it. Flip. Spin. As long as there is an anchor returning to normal is a simple concern. Flip. Spin. Just wait Daemon. The inevitable hands of fate are coming. Flip. Spin....
"Uh..sorry Mr. Magnus.." Luciel apologized to Parael, twisting the end of her sleave as she laughed nervously. She then notices that Juliet, Sigmund, and Dawn had arrived later (or more on time) than her.
The jester loved peacock spiders, but havent asked the spider king if he had one yet. But Juliet..Luciel has a hard time trying to befriend her, and doesnt know why. Is it cause of her bloodline? Did she do something wrong? Or does she remind the mystic of someone? "Oh, Hi Sigmund, Dawn. Juliet..." she said to the three either way.
Getting her own cup of tea, she sat down next to Aurelia and Octus quietly. She only took a sip from her cup before she forgot about it, listening to what the ringleader was saying. Michael's lover having to leave if not signing a contract, showing the acrobat's remains inside a jeweled egg, and the latest objective.
Wurm daemons, disgusting creatures, had made theirselves at home underground. And the carnies have to take them out from the mines. Jessica, Rel, and Octus had already chosen to go, with Octus making a hasty exit, earing a small yelp from the jester.
"...." Luciel wasn't paying atention to who decided to stay or go, she was instead lost in thought. She looked down at her cup of tea, with a concerned look on her face as she tried to decide on skipping out on fighting wurms, or not.
Haha! It was so easy. Juliet had become adept at the art of getting snacks from the Ringmaster. He really was a caring man. Above all else, he reminded Juliet of another man once in her life. Alas, not everyone was cursed with the strange longevity of those that held contracts. Even with a contract, the most recent combative mission left the carnies with the tough realization that they weren't as immortal as they thought. Juliet shook her head to the Ringmaster's offer, though it was more so that she just needed to get those thoughts out of her mind. This was no time regrets, sadness, worries. They had a job to do. A typical expression of stoicism fell over the Little Mystic's face.
Princeton, West Virginia... Juliet was at a complete loss for what Mister Magnus said after that. For the moment, she zoned out, her head filled with one confusing abstraction. Why was West Virginia so... East? The entire time the Ringmaster briefed the hunters on the scenario of their task, Juliet was all too busy trying to come up with excuses. She never did know much of the eastern lands. The whole time she spent with her father was out roaming the frontier, and after that she just followed the Ringmaster's guidance and never really paid much attention to the geography of where she was going. Perhaps one day she could finally sit down and learn the things these new century folks were learning in a school... Was she ever going to leave the Ringmaster's side? Juliet couldn't fathom the thought.
As her gaze rose back up to the conversing group, Juliet's eyes fell upon the rather ornate egg placed centered on Mister Magnus's teacart. Michael... He and Juliet were close- or at least closer than Juliet usually got with her fellow performers. It made it all the more difficult that when her brother in arms finally fell, there was nothing Juliet could do. She was supposed to be a guardian, yet when the time came it all seemed to be for nothing. The memories of the bloody battle flashed momentarily before the Little Mystic's eyes. She was pulled kicking and screaming from the battlefield, intent on not leaving Michael behind. The thoughts haunted her more than she realized, but Juliet had become quite adept at hiding her feelings- hiding the pain.
Without hesitation or exchanged words, Juliet turned from the Ringmaster's abode. She moved at a hasty pace towards the gates, allowing herself to enter one of the waiting vehicles. "It won't happen again." Juliet finally spoke up, though speaking to no one in particular. "I'll make sure of it..."
Five spoonfuls of honey, four cubes of sugar. A bit over-excessive, yes, but Sigmund had never been much of a man for tea, and turning the offering down seemed out of taste. So he chugged down the sugary mix as he listened to the ringmaster talk, and the faint skitter of his little spider collection against the tent’s walls. Despite being relatively mindless, he could swear that the creatures had some sort of separation anxiety or what-have-you. He took another gulp.
Sigmund hardly considered himself close to Michael. There were those that mourned him- friends, a lover. The death of one of their own rarely went without pain, and even the less loved elicited thoughts of mortality across the circus. Reminded people what, exactly, they had signed up for. He sympathized with them. Death was the grim inevitability, and something Sigmund had come to realize even when his soul was still in its rightful place.
Wiping his sleeve across his face, Sigmund placed his empty teacup upon its saucer and looked up. “If it’s all the same to you, Mr. Marcus, I think I’ll be staying. I’ve never been one for active combat.”
Then, to the performers that remained, “I’ve taken the liberty of scheduling you all for a checkup later this week. I expect for all of you to be there. I won’t be happy if you aren’t.”
With that, he rose, nodded to those assembled, and took his leave out of the tent. Before he could get too far, however, Sigmund quickly poked his head back into the tent.
“Thank you for the tea.”
The spiders took little hesitation in scaling his body as soon as he was out, finding their homes in his clothes and elsewhere. He grimaced a little at the feeling before returning to his tent, readying himself to welcome any circus-goers or patients that might drop by.
And so it went.
Dawn’s had given the Devil’s Jester a warm “Hello, Luciel,” upon slipping in, settling upon the cushions at the ringmaster’s bidding, although her lips had arranged themselves into a grim line as Marcus detailed the purpose of their Hunt. Purge Michael’s hometown of the Wurms, and lay his remains to rest. It was the final kindness they would be able to do for him, aside from consoling his lover to the best of their ability. And even that might no longer be an option, if they denied a contract.
She finished her tea, hands stealing what little remained of its heat. For all the years that some of them had lived, the pain of loss never seemed to lose its impact. She could see it in the tightening of Rel’s hands, the stiffness in Jessie’s shoulders, the haunted look in the young Juliet’s eyes. It sent a certain pang through Dawn’s chest as she set her cup down, eyes shutting for a few moments. She would seek them out after all was said and done. Even if they were brought together for differing reasons, they still shared circumstances. A little companionship was something they all desperately needed- especially in a time like this.
For now, however, Dawn’s focus was on keeping the teammates who were heading to battle alive. That was something she gripped and held onto, digging in deep. She would make sure that they would live to see another day, and that Michael got the proper burial that he had earned.
She rose, once again covering her head as she stood. “None on this end, I think. Questions, I mean.” Dawn cast a glance down at Luciel and Rel, then back up at Marcus, nodding. “Thank you. And, ah. The tea was lovely, by the way.” With that, she took her leave, climbing swiftly into her cab and quietly reaffirming the directions to her driver.
Her fingers curled into her skirt, enough so to draw blood from the flesh beneath.
"It's hard to find some peace of mind when I'm not the only one in my head." (Belial's text) (Gara's text)
“Should I ask why Mr. Magnus is waiting for us without a shirt on?”
Gara had to laugh at that one, "I've learned to not ask those types of questions my friend, he's a magician. He's as cryptic as I am psychic." He commented as he swiped an empty mug. While going through the meditative process of making the perfect cup of tea, Gara's eyes flitted around the tent, which was swiftly being filled. Familiar faces entered the quarters, some more familiar than others. He offered his trademark grin to any who laid eyes upon him, as he dunked a tea bag into his steaming mug. Seeing a particularly alluring rug, Gara placed himself upon it, crisscross style, and sipped his hot flavorful water.
Tea is bad for your skin, you know.
Gara quirked an eyebrow, a habit of his. I'm one-hundred percent sure that isn't true... Where do you even come up with this stuff? When engaging with Belial's mindspeak, Gara's eyes always glazed over, an easily recognizable trait once you got to know him. Luckily, Magnus intervened before the snappy replies could burst into a full blown argument.
I stomach your games because I find you tolerable to deal with, and because you came part-in-parcel with Gara's own Contract. If the Powers-that-Be did not demand otherwise, you would not exist. Tonight's task is a solemn one. If you cannot restrain yourself long enough to see it done, I may feel compelled to break faith with the Powers to banish you. I hope we have an understanding.
Gara could literally here a sigh of contempt coming from Belial, but she shut up for a while afterwards, thank the gods. Perfect timing too, because Magnus was getting straight to business. Gara could feel the grief over Michael, he could practically grasp it from the air. It was a shame, truly, whenever a performer died. This was the second he'd seen pass during his stay here at the circus. The only solace he could latch onto was that he didn't know Mike very well. Juggling (see what I did there) his act and daemon hunting made it rare to foster friendships, though he tried his best to be pleasant to all the circus workers.
Speaking of daemons, looks like they were being sent to hunt Wurm Daemons. Gara had never seen one in person, but he could imagine them, either way, he was confident in his abilities. As the meeting drew to a close, Gara shifted to his feet, taking one final sip of tea, as people began to file out. To no one he lifted his mug to a toast.
This one's for you Michael. Oh fuck off.
Some things never change. As Gara exited the tent, he let his grip slip from the mug, and it floated back to it's respective place, the tea bag separating and depositing itself into the nearest trash can. In his Lyft, Gara immediately began relishing in the attention being placed upon him. Being dressed as he was, was a great conversation starter, and once they learned he was a performer it usually took off from there. Nothing like a few parlor tricks to occupy the mind before one takes care of a daemon problem.
