Riven Wight

Cirque du Sombre [Siaya Dragalorn & Summer]

Arla glanced to Rayth at the mirth in his response to the volunteer, a smirk on her lips. The expression wavered and she inhaled as she caught the tail end of his laugh. In that split second, she was positive she had seen fangs.
She paid closer attention as he continued. Though not as easy to spot with normal talk, he did, indeed, have elongated canines. Her hearts sped up for a couple beats and she took a small step away before she remembered where she was. The afterparty really was more like a Halloween party.
She exhaled and shook her head. She had the supernatural too heavily on the brain. She opened her mouth to compliment him on the combination of creatures for his act, but he spoke first.
She scowled at his question. One of the questions she’d expected the ringmistress to ask her… or a form of it, at least. She ran her tongue over her teeth, debating on whether or not she really needed to stick the lie she had originally intended on telling.
Deciding there was probably little harm in being more truthful, she shrugged stiffly. “Ye ol’ tale of controlling parents. They wanted to keep me in a tiny box ruled by their dictatorship. It was either stay there and die slowly, or leave and make my own adventure.”
Not exactly the truth, but ‘I ended up being hunted by bloodthirsty monsters while running away from home, and happened on a flier for your circus on the way,’ didn’t strike her as the best answer.
She swallowed at the thought. She took a deep breath and tried to shove her worry back to the far recesses of her mind.
“So.” She waved her hand and glanced upward, gesturing to the canopy above her. “Here I am.”
The quick motion of her head irked the lurking mental fog. The strange, faraway sensation of being in a dream made the world again swim in front of her. She tripped over her own feet on her next step. Instinctively, she reached out for Rayth’s arm to steady herself.
Scowling, Arla grit her teeth. “Sorry,” she muttered sourly, releasing him. “I…” She hesitated, not sure if admitting she thought she was allergic to the smoke was such a good idea. Not on a first day, at least. “I’m apparently not used to your guys’ incense. Never been around the stuff before.”
She set her gaze firmly on the fence gate, hoping that would help keep her grounded. She contemplated returning his question, but decided against it. She didn’t know much about circus etiquette, but didn’t want to risk prying where a newbie shouldn’t. Potentially getting on someone’s bad side could wait for day two.
“You probably get this often, but that’s a unique combination for your act,” she went with instead, offering a smile. “A vampire called the Reaper. Well. I’m assuming vampire. With the contacts and fangs. Right?”

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Oh, so, I edited Elayra’s dialogue from the last post. Just added two words, but the Forgen are the offspring of the Forsaken. I realized she didn’t directly make the connection in dialogue, so thought I’d add that, just in case. :-)

Hey, as it’s been said, the best way to cure writer’s block is to just sit down and force yourself to write!

TO THE TREADMILL!

No worries if you have asked before! It can be confusing, and I WAS capitalizing it at one point myself before my mistake dawned on me. Thing here, though, is that, with capitalization in fantasy—especially high-fantasy—stories, it’s, well…



To answer hopefully simply, though, yes, there are reasons, not just random decisions, mostly based on the typical rules of capitalization. I don’t capitalize shadowmire because it’s a common term for a race, like human or dog. But the Curse gets capitalized because it’s referring to the specifically titled Crimson Curse, making it a proper noun. Me still capitalizing it as the shortened form of “the Curse,” though, is more of a stylistic choice intended for clarity in a world where common curses are a thing. I intend it as a direct shortening of its full Crimson Curse (like a nickname) rather than a nonspecific form of what it is (a curse), and a tactic to set it apart from using just that common noun/verb/adjective usage of the word. The Curse is the curse that's affecting the entirety of Wonderland.
Same concept when I use “the Sorceress” with the Red Sorceress, or “the Queen” with the White Queen. But the correctness of that last is debatable. I haven’t reached an outcome to my own debate on whether or not it’s actually necessary or helpful to caps “the queen” with her. So that may change once I figure that out.

If you want a more in-depth explanation that, in typical me-fashion,<br>goes all over the place and gives you more info than you<br>wanted without actually answering your question, click this hider.

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Typically, the rule of thumb is proper nouns should always be capitalized. But if it isn’t a proper noun (a common noun: "the generic name for a person, place, or thing in a class or group"), it’s lowercase. While there are a lot of other rules out there for capitalization, that’s the main focus in this instance, so I'll do my best to reign myself in. And, of course, all bearing in mind that all of this is to the best of my understanding, so if you know or find out I'm wrong about something, please, let me know!

> As stated above, since shadowmire, human, etc. aren’t a proper noun, just a common noun, they aren’t capitalized. The only reason shadowmire would have need of being capitalized is if it was referring to a specific group of creatures or people that go by that name, rather than a common racial name.
However, things can get, well, wibbly-wabbly here.
Often, high-fantasy authors have the penchant of capitalizing every fantasy race name. Which, of course, usually excludes “human.” Grammatically, they aren’t supposed to unless we’re talking about High Elf Shevana or something—which is because it’s a proper title. But, for some strange reason, they do. In this case, since it’s often just accepted even though it’s not grammatically correct, it becomes a matter of consistency. In a lot of cases, it boils down to deciding on what you want and why you write it like that, and sticking with it. Stay consistent, and most people don’t seem to care and just accept it. Personally, doing that with all fantasy races without any semi-obvious reason or need annoys the crap out of me nowadays, but hey. To each their own. Anyway.
But doing that can serve a purpose. Kingdom Hearts, for example, does this, but I’d say there’s a good reason for that—a lot of the names for their Heartless and Nobodies use common words (in English, anyway). By capitalizing them, it sets them apart in written form and makes it easier to understand. Capitalized for the sake of clarity.
> Since I mention it above regarding the shadowmire not being a specific group name, figured it’d be applicable to touch on that. Apologies if it’s just repeated knowledge to you! The Jumpers here is an example of a group name: that isn’t their race, it’s a title for a specific group of people, who can be of any race so long as they can and do (or used to) world-jump. Same concept with Templars, I believe. A Templar is someone apart of the Knight’s Templar, which is the name of a specific group of knights.
Again going into Kingdom Hearts, you have the Heartless and Nobodies, which encompasses a wide range of a group of very different creatures with their own racial name. And, again, those are common words, so if they weren’t capitalized, it could be easily confused in written form. Characters have even called others out on being heartless before, I think, of course referring to the condition of being a heartless jerk rather than being one of the Heartless.
On the item front, the Holy Grail is the name of a specific object, whereas a holy grail would be a non-specific grail that someone considers holy. Brooklyn Bridge is specific, “the bridge” is a common noun (“He walked across the bridge,” vs. “He walked across the Brooklyn Bridge”). Which is where I get King’s Curative and Crimson Curse. Specific curative/curse name. Only, for the Curse, you have my stylistic/nickname choice of capitalizing “the Curse.” Though, I think I did that with the King's Curative for a couple posts without thinking about it.
Drust with his Black and White Knights also fall under this spiel. Lowercase black knight/white knight could be misunderstood as a common knight who’s one of those colors in some form. “A black knight stood guard at the door,” vs. “A Black Knight stood guard at the door.” One reads like it could be describing skin or armor color. The other indicates otherwise. They’re also sort of a mix of a race and specific group name. Hence the capitalization of Knight with them—similar vein as Templar or Heartless, and it sets them apart from a common human knight when in written form, adding that bit of clarity.
Random side note, too, going with my stylized reasoning for the shortened “the Curse,” you also have KH’s Organization XIII. When they refer specifically to that without the number, they always capitalize “Organization.” I always figured that was because it’s intended as a shortened, nickname-esque version of the whole thing rather than the common noun usage. It isn’t any ol’ organization, but THE Organization. Or, you know, maybe it’s just a prideful thing on the Organization’s part. They’re just so awesome and powerful that they can’t be associated with a common noun. But, again, it’s that wibbly-wabbly sector filled with what works for your writing’s needs, clarity, and intentions rather than what the rules of capitalization demand you to do.

In conclusion, capitalization rules are like every other rule in writing; learn them, figure out how it’s supposed to be done and why for the sake of learning what does or doesn't work and is easiest to understand, then twist it all to fit what you need and your personal style to make things clear in a complicated story.



Just, you know, bear in mind that too much of a good thing gets old, fast, especially without even a vague idea of why it's there. I once red a book that capitalized every little term that had to do even slightly with magic, and I couldn't figure out why for the life of me. Some I understood, but most of it left me wishing I had a red pen. Its seeming pointlessness got on my nerves, fast. Though, I didn't finish the book for more pressing reasons on top of that to see if it ever explained it, so that could be on me.

Aaaand grammar rant concluded.
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Oh! Awesome. I'm glad you've been enjoyig Black Clover! I currently have that one on my "To Watch" list from your reviews.

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Elayra smirked at his comment about the zombies. “Good to know you have that sense!” She glanced to the treeline as a bush rustled. Her body tensed, ready to stand, and her hand went to her the hilt of her sword.
From the underbrush, she saw a trio of tiny chicken-like feet a second before they dashed away.
Content it wasn’t anything harmless—even bloodthirsty prey knew to run from a battle it couldn’t win—she relaxed slightly.
Ghent’s voice drew her attention back to him. She eyed him suspiciously at his thanks. She didn’t much care for the look in his eyes. She raised her brows, waiting for him to return her jibes, but instead, his words cut off, his face twisting in terror.
Heart pounding in her throat, Elayra drew her saber as she sprung to her feet before Ghent’s shout fully left his lips. If a shadowmire had found them, then so, too, had the Red Queen.
Inwardly cursing herself for not noticing approaching danger, she spun around and stepped from the tree. She searched frantically for the feline monsters or their telltale shadows, ready to fight or flee for their lives. Or both. If nothing else, she had to keep the Sorceress from getting Ghent. As much as she hated admitting it, his magic was their best chance at bringing the Crimson Rule to an end.
But she saw nothing out of place. Then, she heard Ghent’s laughter. Slowly, realization dawned on her. There was no danger.
A prank. He’d played a sick, twisted version of a prank.
Heat rose through Elayra’s chest. Her breaths hissed between grit teeth. Her hand tightened on her sword, the other clenching at her side.
Elayra spun back around and barreled into the still guffawing Ghent. Using her weight and momentum, she shoved his back to the ground with a hand at his chest, her sword pressing against his throat. She transferred her free hand to the grass behind him to keep from falling with him. She leaned over him, knees on either side of his body.
“You think that’s funny?” she growled through her teeth, the words coming out breathlessly in her rage. Her gray eyes burned with her fury. “You think our lives are something to joke around with?” She pressed the sharp edge of the blade harder against him, not caring whether or not it broke skin. It took every ounce of willpower to not put an end to him then and there.
Instead, she bent her arm so her face came within inches of his. “You’re a disgrace, you wretched, good-for-nothing—” Instead of finishing, she cut herself off with a heated shout. Gritting her teeth, she bent her head then pulled away before she could do something she’d regret.
She stepped away from him. Incapable of standing to look at him, she turned her back. She tried to take a few breaths to calm herself, but it did little to quell her anger. She glanced down to the sword in her hand.
“Unsheathe your staff,” she growled as she faced back toward Ghent.

Cirque du Sombre [Siaya Dragalorn & Summer]

She returned the strap of her camera around her neck. Tucking one thumb in a pocket of her jeans, and the other beneath one of her backpack’s straps, Arla eagerly moved to follow after Rayth. She paused, remembering the ringmistress. Not wanting to come off as rude on a first meeting, she turned to say a quick farewell, but the woman had gone.
She’s more ninja than a cat. With an inward shrug at the now empty seat, she took a couple hurried steps to catch up with Rayth.
She looked to the fence they walked near. She hadn’t realized there were train tracks so close by. But that would explain how she had found such a quiet area to sneak in at.
Creating a back wall to the black canopy, colored lights draped from even the fence. She scanned it, and her eyes settled on a back exit. She picked out the outline of a gate, a latch for a padlock on one side its largest giveaway.
Figuring that was where they were headed, Arla tried to pick up the pace. She frowned and slowed again quickly when the extra speed triggered another bout of wooziness. She wobbled, but managed to maintain her balance. Though she knew it wouldn’t do any good, she swatted irritably at some of the tinted smoke as it floated in front of her face, holding her breath.
Rayth’s question brought her attention away from the smoke.
She looked to him, confused, her brows raised at the strange question. She eyed him for a moment, before misunderstood realization dawned on her.
“Well. Frieda didn’t assign anything to me yet. And I didn’t come with an act up my sleeve—pun not intended. So, I suppose I’m the resident photographer for now.” She tapped the camera at her chest.
Part of her still couldn't quite believe she was actually apart of a circus now. Or would be, officially, once she signed what she needed to.
“Even got a shot of your ‘volunteer.’” She smirked at the memory. “The look on his face was priceless!”

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Man, we're getting replies up pretty quick this page! We're only two posts away from starting on page 15!

My gosh, yep, stupid-crazy. *Cries at the thought.*

RIght?! Imagine how travelers without horses felt way back when. Yeash. But, like I said, that time at least also includes breaks.

Well, unless you've delved into medieval clothing, it's not too surprising! I don't think I've ever actually seen anyone wearing a modern version of one. Just saw that they exist when looking for a reference picture. Ha! True that!


Eh, I wouldn't worry too much. Chances are, you'd know. If that's how it was often used on the sites you used, too, I imagine the people there would understand what you meant! Especially in context. :-)

Been meaning to ask: what's your GIF from?

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

“Very funny.”
Elayra shrugged, a bit disappointed at his lack of reaction. Though, it did look like he was about ready to just collapse where he stood. The trek had clearly done quite a toll on him. Even her legs had started to tire, and she was accustomed to traveling the world on foot.
“Uh huh, sure you do.” She smirked and took a swig from her waterskin. “That’s what we call beginner’s luck.”
Taking advantage of Ghent’s momentary silence, she listened to the familiar sounds of the forest. Listening for any disturbances. Any sudden silences in the melancholy cries of birds. Trees of various shapes and sizes grew proudly all the way to the stream. Many of their roots reached into the water. The bushes and weeds below growing tall, making for perfect hiding places.
Anything could be lurking anywhere.
She looked to Ghent as the boy pulled out his water bottle. She eyed it curiously, then her brows raised as she read the frilly, pink text on it. A mocking grin spread over her lips. Elayra’s smile only widened when Ghent’s eyes narrowed at her.
She gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Whatever makes you feel better.”
Her expression fell slowly as Ghent switched the topic to Gardale. She snorted and looked to the river with a shake of her head. “Trust me. No one would notice enough to remember there.” Her brows rose at his question. “It’s populated by living zombies. What do you think its like?”
She sighed; may as well tell him as much as she could to save Drust the time when he returned. She adjusted her scabbard for comfort’s sake, then leaned back into the rough bark of the tree.
“I only know the place by name. But if it’s like all the others, then it’s purgatory. Remember what I told you about the Forsaken?” She looked to Ghent. “They’re the ones infected with the Curse when it first hit,” she reminded, not giving him the chance to answer. “They function on instinct, nothing more. With their own, they’re usually fairly docile, but if an Omitten walks into their midst, the Curse in them senses it. Something about their numbers giving it that ability. Sends them into attack mode.
“But it’s the Forgen you really need to watch out for.” She paused, taking another drink of her water. “The Forsaken are blundering idiots most of the time. They make even you look like a genius!” Her lips quirked upward, but she continued quickly. “Forsaken are easy to trip up or outrun. But their offspring—the Forgen—are a different story. They’re still dumb as rabid animals, but they’re more observant and nimble. If it looks even remotely like it’s under fourteen, don’t go near it.”

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Quick note of small, unimportant detail: Ghent wouldn't have been capable of seeing the clearing from the outside in Hollow Forest. That's one of the things that make it a Safe Zone. I think that got mentioned before, but that would have been at least a page ago, if not two. So, you know, last year. Don't you just love life's unending obstacles?

Needless to say, nope! It was great as-is to lead into the time skip. For a future thought suggestion, maybe think about leading into a time skip like ending a chapter. Usually how it is in my head. Yay for an eleven-ish hour hike! It's a big forest. They would have rested along the way, of course, for as long as Ghent and/or Elayra would have needed each time. And they've been out of Hollow Forest and in your typical woods for between one and two hours at this point, following the stream.

Looks good! Hooded cowels are a medieva/renaissance piece of garb. That have actually been adapted in different forms into the modern day, from what I can tell... And yeah, huh? Makes it that much neater now! I like the way you see things.

Not sure about that, but he'd appreciate the thought!

:-D

Yep, yep! Gotta love when terms get other, opposite uses in different places. If you look up fluff writing, the negative term is what you'll get more of than another way to say light-hearted writing. And I know you did. :-)

I kinda can't wait to see how him snapping plays out.

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

The soft gurgle of a stream filled the air with its gentle whispers. It ran alongside Ghent, Elayra, and Drust as they trudged onward, just far enough from its banks to not sink into the soft, damp ground.
It had been a long, grueling march, but, at long last, they had made it out of Hollow Forest, leaving the forsaken place far behind. Thankfully without any further incident.
Here, the evening sun shone through the thick canopy above, long since replacing the chill and fog of Hollow Forest. Leaves and bushes rustled from small animals fleeing from the unexpected newcomers. Though the Wonderlanders remained on edge, ever ready to ward off an enemy or Curse-ridden animal, after the dampened silence of the spirit-infested wood, they were welcomed sounds.
Drust stopped a few paces ahead of Elayra. The Knight seemed in better spirits—or, at least, he had stopped twitching every couple minutes. He glanced around, his gaze lingering on what rubble remained of a bridge a good twenty yards downstream.
Elayra stopped a step behind him, her hand instinctively going to the hilt of her sword.
“What’s up?” she whispered, moving to flank Drust and see what had made him stop.
He glanced to her, then turned to face his charges. His gaze settled on Ghent for an extra moment before turning back to Elayra.
“We’re close. Town’s not more than a mile from here.” He took his backpack from his shoulders. “You two to wait here.” He sat his pack on the thick grass at his feet.
Elayra cringed inwardly at being stuck alone with Ghent again. She eyed Drust, checking to be sure the lines at the corners of his eyes had returned to normal. “Why? Where are you going?”
Drust’s eyes narrowed slightly. “He,” he nodded to Ghent, “needs different supplies. The Forsaken will recognize him as an outsider in an instant.” Drust’s gaze lingered on the boy’s backpack with its skull pattern. “They aren't the smartest. But they're not stupid.”
Elayra followed his gaze and scowled. She opened her mouth to offer to go with him, but Drust cut her off.
“It’ll be quicker and safer if I go alone.” Drust stepped closer to Ghent. He looked to the boy’s staff, its double blades concealed by their sheaths. “In the meantime, focus on that.” He nodded to the weapon, then met Ghent’s blue gaze. “The sooner you can connect with it and properly use it, the better.”
He looked back to Elayra as he dug the OmniChrono out of his pouch. He tossed it to her. “If I’m not back in an hour, get to that Rabbit Hole.”
Elayra clutched the Chrono tightly. Her shoulders stiffened and she looked up at him, her expression hard. “I’m not leaving without you.”
Drust scowled. His chin tilted down, the Knight’s fierce gaze meeting hers. “That wasn’t a request. If it comes to it, yes. You will, girl. Our mission comes first.”
Elayra’s free hand clenched into a fist. The mission could hang itself; she wouldn’t leave him behind.
Giving neither of the teens the time to object, Drust turned on his heels and headed away from the stream. He paused between a couple trees long enough to glance back.
“One hour.” With that, he hurried into the forest.
Elayra growled out a sigh and ran a hand down her face. She popped the Chrono open to check the time. If he wasn’t back in an hour, they were going after him.
Sparing Ghent scarcely a glance, she grabbed Drust’s pack and stepped closer to the stream. Choosing a skinny tree near its edge, she sat the Knight’s backpack down, and shrugged out of her own. With her cloak since abandoned in the warmth outside Hollow Forest, it fell from her shoulders easily.
“Rest up, Featherhead.” She sat on the tall weeds and grass at the tree’s partially exposed roots. “You’ll need what few wits you have running at their best in the town.” She cast him a smirk as she reached into her pack and pulled out her recently refilled waterskin.

Cirque du Sombre [Siaya Dragalorn & Summer]

Eh, I still felt better asking. :-)

--Is currently curious about what aspect Freida feeds on as a fae.--

Sorry if we already discussed this in PM and I forgot/overlooked it, but would the cirque have any kind of magic-based defense to it to keep out unwanted parties, or would its protection—if it ever needed it—stem more from the creatures willingness to defend it, as well as Freida herself? Arla got in, so if there was some kind of ward, I suppose it'd have had to have been taken down for a short time.

And I went back through our PMs to remind myself more of what we’d decided on. Since it’s been so long (sorry again about that :-/). Gonna lay it out here since it takes a lot of sifting otherwise. Sorry, I know I did a sort of recap via PM as well. I just like having my ducks in a row, and having the little background details straight. Plus this is in more detail. xD Let me know if all of this sounds right!

Basically, we’ve got three different major groups, and then the cirque:
1. Pro-human-life supernaturals. They believe that humans are good for more than food, and strive to keep their victims alive. Though, exactly why they want things to stay the same varies--from wanting to simply keep them freerange to actually valuing the lives of humans--they're united in the cause of protecting them and their way of living. Think they’d want to keep things generally as they are, then, with human/supernatural relations? Keeping the humans in the dark and allowing them to feed unhindered. No bodies, means no suspicion. No suspicion, means humans won’t try to hunt them or otherwise retaliate/control them. Alas, they’re in the minority, so often work quietly for their own safety.
2. Anti-human-life supernaturals. Those who find humans don’t really have any value besides being annoying and being their food. Needless to say, they don't care whether or not they kill when they feed. Humans are stupid, anyway, and always find something else to blame it on. When hunters themselves don't cover it up. Again, their reasons for that would vary, from perhaps thinking that one day supernatural creatures should rule the humans instead of skulking in the shadows, to simply not seeing the point of having to restrain themselves from killing when their hunger demands sacrifice. But they're proactively on the hunt, and aren't afraid to confront any who they deem idiotic enough to think humans deserve to be more than livestock.
3. Hunters. Currently just with the typical trope behind them. Humans who know about the truth of supernatural beings. They train to identify, hunt, and kill supernatural creatures and protect humans. They want to keep the supernaturals in the shadows, if not completely eradicate them, and prevent humans from discovering the existence from creatures of myth to prevent an all-out World War the likes of which no one has ever seen before. Maybe they sometimes work with the pro-life supernaturals? Or at least some of them do, depending on how averse the individual is to supernatural creatures existing. And in the rare case the supernatural was actually willing to help their common foe.
4. Cirque du Sombre. The cirque is, from an outside point of view, a gray area between the supernatural factions. Here, they those in charge don't care about monster breed purity or what the monsters’ core values are as long as they agree to not kill when feeding. And, of course, respect that not everyone is a full-blooded supernatural breed and has different beliefs... or, at least, not openly attack each other over it where they could be spotted or deal damage to the cirque or its reputation. Keeps them off the radar, and lets them feed in peace while more-or-less avoiding the drama of the factions and hunters. I imagine the cirque would be fairly well known among other supernaturals, yes? If so, maybe they look on it with mixed views, a majority simply respecting it since it's that gray area that doesn't directly help or hinder any views besides the need for survival, with a minority who think it's an abomination? Then, what about among hunters? Would hunters still be in the dark about it? Or would it kinda be on their radar, but because it isn’t actually harming anyone—besides leaving blank memories—they don’t usually bother it?

Then you have our guys. Who are apart of a prophesy stating their powers together could become strong enough to potentially bring some sort of peace between supernaturals and humans/hunters, or bring about the downfall of one side of that or the other... or, even, neither, depending on what fate befalls them. Together, they have great potential, their powers and abilities growing the more time they spend together, but growing weaker when apart. Those who know about and believe this prophesy will be after our guys for whatever selfish reasons have you, and the prophesy would have been yet another reason for war between factions over the years if rumors of them both finally being alive ever sprouted up. Some would want to use them, others would want them dead, others just want the madness to stop.

Cirque du Sombre [Siaya Dragalorn & Summer]

Arla nodded and smiled her thanks to Frieda. She let out a slow, steady exhale. With her goal accomplished, she finally let herself relax. She wouldn’t be leaving. Even if those… things were still after her, she’d be hidden amidst a crowd. And hopefully, even if they did get close, the smells of this place would put their senses on overload. They’d never be capable of telling she’d actually left with the circus.
She looked to her lap, a faint smile on her lips at her victory. A victory against both them and her parents. She ran her hands through her hair, knocking loose some dust and bits of rubble she’d missed before.
She scowled. Next order of business: find a shower.
She looked back up to the ringmistress, trying to think of something to say to fill the short silence, to express her gratitude. But Frieda’s gaze had shifted behind her. Panic threatened at her chest for a split second before the woman smiled. Though the expression wasn’t aimed at her, Arla still felt a sense of reassuring calm from it.
Frieda was commanding, yes, but something about her seemed unusually kind. She had, after all, welcomed a girl who probably looked more like a hobo than anything. She’d offered sanctuary without even asking why Arla needed it.
Before she could turn to see who had grabbed the woman’s attention, a teenage boy stepped in front of her.
She blinked as she recognized the boy Frieda had summoned. The knife thrower. And possibly one of the only people in the acts who had looked even remotely around her age.
“The Reaper,” she confirmed at the ringmistress’ introduction. A grin pulled at her lips at the concept of him being her guide for the night. Taking Frieda’s lead, Arla got to her feet. She swayed slightly, her mind a half step behind her actions, but managed to keep her balance.
Geeze, allergies suck.
Taking the opportunity at being closer to him than she had been as an audience member, she looked Rayth over. Like the others in the afterparty, he hadn’t changed out of his performance outfit. If you could really call black pants a full-on outfit. Her gaze traced the lines of the tribal tattoo covering half of his bare, tan torso, wondering if it was real or temporary. He even still wore his contacts. His red eyes caught in the lighting, their vibrancy distorted by the colored lights.
Despite his youth, something about him felt… older. Whether it was how he held himself or something in his gaze, she couldn’t say, but the aura about him hinted that he had seen and experienced more than what his appearance let on.
She glanced to Frieda when the woman introduced her. “Hey,” Arla offered Rayth with a quick, two-fingered wave, realizing the boy had been looking her over as she had him.
She shrugged at Rayth’s raised eyebrows, then returned his smile in kind. At least he seemed more than happy to help her out, as the ringmistress had.
Her expression widened at the excitement betrayed in his voice. It was rather contagious.
“Train? Like an actual railroad train?” Her face lit up at the thought. She’d only ever ridden a train once, in grade school. Sadly, she could barely remember it. The memory hung on in little more than disjointed images blurred from time.
“I didn’t know circuses still used trains,” she finished as she bent to pick up her backpack. “Lead the way!” She shouldered her bag, eager to get away from the incense, and hopefully find a shower.
At this point, she’d be content with just a hose as long as it spouted water.