Fainaru Circus -- Chapter One

Sweat poured down my face and into my eyes, making me tear up. I heard Vical snort behind me as I wiped my forehead with my dirt-covered arm, knowing I had left a dirt streak because of it. "You look--and smell--like a man,"

I grit my teeth, snatch at the thick rope that dangles above my hand, and yank it down as far as I can with my strength. The rope--one end of which is attached to a metal ring embedded in a large piece of water-resistant fabric--is tightened, pulling the fabric into place over the wooden poles that jut out from the ground. Tying the rope to a wooden stake by my feet, I glare at her. "There's nothin' wrong with workin' hard, ya' lazy worm."

"There is if you can't do it like a lady," she smirks, striking a pose with her hands on her hips and her head titled to the side so that her chin faced slightly upward. Crossing her legs so that the right foot was on the left, the left foot on the right, I had to admit that she was a lot cleaner--and more balanced--than I was. As soon as the thought left me, I tripped over the stake in the ground, slamming into her as I fell.

I can't decide if I should curse for tripping or laugh because I totally just tangled her up like a pretzel. I do both, simply because I can. 

"You little--" she gives me a slap on the cheek, then stops short and starts guffawing. Talk about un-ladylike... I feel the mud from her hand on my face, in the perfect shape of five fingers and a palm. Great. Now I have a mud tattoo. Add to the grime, will you?

I happen to glance up as I climb up off of her, brushing off my shirt and pants. I catch the dark leather boots and faded navy blue pants and freeze. That smell... sort of like cinnamon... I swallow hard. Joker. 

"You ladies seem to be getting along, for once," the cool voice slips over us like syrup. I know I should laugh and agree--or, Hells, disagree--but instead I feel afraid. Afraid to speak, or even to move. I don't know if Joker's mood has changed since we started setting up here, just a mile from Chilbane, a rather large town. I mean, he was fine the day before yesterday, but I ain't talked to him much since. Actually, I ain't seen much of him, either.

Vical, to her own credit, shoots up like a beanstalk, brushing herself off and... red. Her face is turning red. She looks... like a...

I bite my lower lip to keep from giggling. She looks like a freakin' beet. Or maybe an apple. The insides of a watermelon? Perhaps... Clown's red nose. That big, ridiculous red nose. 

I try and stop thinking about it because I can't blow up in front of Joker. He might blow up in a far more negative fashion. "Joker... We were just finishing with this tent." Vical smiles. Too brightly and bubbly, I'd say. I don't get it. Why's she acting all funny?

Joker smiles softly, arms crossed loosely over his chest with his hip cocked. Joker is one of the few men I've ever seen that can stand sort of like a woman would and not look silly. Maybe because he don't have any muscle; he's just a thin, weak-looking fellow and a scary-as-Hell temper. I shudder. "It looks done," he says quietly, observing both of us. Namely me. I'm getting the nervous butterflies in my gut...

"It is," I squeak. I sound like a puny mouse, and feel ashamed. He just laughs. Either that, or he's choking on a bug. I couldn't tell with that one.

"Well," he turns on his heel, dropping his arms to wave a hand in the air. "Start unpacking the crates and get the hammocks set up. Our first show will be tomorrow night so Vical needs to practice, and Charm..." he turns his head to look at me, and I freeze up. "Help out where you're needed. After you set up tonight, if you feel like you can still work, go scout the town and set up flyers. If you're tired, then head on to bed and do the job before dawn breaks. Understood?"

I realize he seems like he's in a good, humorous mood, and I relax. I stomp my foot and put my hand to my forehead--a little too hard, actually... I almost knocked myself out--in a salute. "Yes sir!" I shout, grinning. Vical just nods, eyes on the ground, her left hand rubbing her right arm absently. Joker nods in turn, and moves on to check on other members. As soon as he's out of sight I turn on Vical.

"What the 'ell?! You certainly changed faces right quick, didn't you? He was in a good mood, you know." I grumble. I really don't like it when Vical gets so... gloomy. And shy. It ain't like her. 

She just hisses and, baring her teeth at me, goes into the tent to start getting the hammocks. "I've got this; you just scout the town."

Her voice is so cold, I feel a little hurt. We were laughing a minute ago... why did she start hating me again? "Alright," I follow her into the tent, kick open a small crate, and pull out a small stack of papers. The whole box is full of flyers, but I only need a few. "Be careful with the crates; they can get a little heavy." I whisper at the tent flap, not really wanting to leave her tiny, frail body to do all the lifting and adjusting.

"I know!" She snaps, her nails digging into the wood panels of the first crate. I frown, and leave. Because she won't accept my help even if I forced it on her. I swear, they should really have called this the Moody Circus.

*****

Dragging the bow across the strings, Joker's face remains emotionless as the peircing, beautiful note drifts into the night. Lith tilts her head, watching him play as she lounges on her hammock. Long, curly black hair is splayed perfectly about her, pale skin contrasting with black tones to make an angelic scene. We watch her, and we know that she knows she is beautiful.

"Your music sings," she whispers, drawing a slight breath of smoke from his pipe. She lets the smoke fly after a few moments, watching as the tendrils climb through the air on an invisible wall. We consider this, but Joker speaks before we can.

"Music is emotion, and emotion always rages," he says quietly, and with a nod, we agree. He glances at us, sitting on this iron-rimmed barrel, as he lures another note from the depths of the violin. The note dances, making Lith sigh as we lean back against the wall of the tent and listen harder. The Joker speaks with music, and tells a story he is forbidden to speak.

"What is the story, Joker?" We ask, as we have many times before, but he only laughs.

Letting his head fall back as the music becomes more intricate; an elegant symphony of embracing vibrations as they circulate around us. "The story is our Life, as meaningless to Death as a piece of dust is to us." He smiles at this, and we wonder.

Lith turns her head to us, exhaling another puff of smoke. "What is the dance of Life and Death to a child?"

We know she sees us as one; as a small boy with pale features, and it amuses us. "It is never so much the dance as it is the Finale, you might say," we rasp, and she nods. As Joker's music echoes into the night, we think of the notes, and how far a journey they must make till they may rest in the back of our minds. 

We look at the blood red rose on Joker's top hat and think of red. Pretty, pretty red.