Fainaru Circus -- Chapter Two

I'm just walking into town as the Street Tenders light the final street lamps. The light smell of smoke that drifts from the elevated oil lamps burns my nose, but at the same time smells pleasant in a strange way. I smile at anyone I pass by; a few kids, several late-night-strollers, and a couple or two. Many don't smile back, except for the kids. Shoot, they wave, jump around, and come up to me to ask when the first show will start. I guess my get-up makes it pretty obvious where I'm from.

I have painted symbols on my face that Cara--one of our few female magicians and artists--helped me draw. I'm wearing pale blue and black checkered pants, baggy as 'ell, even though I'm a girl, so that's another red flag right there. I also took an old black corset and tied it with some red ribbon over a tight blue shirt. I look like I just sucked the color from the sea before dancing in a burning strawberry field--shoot, that was kind of morbid, but whatever--before calling what was left 'clothes'. I like the style, though, so I'll probably stick with it for a while.

I tell the kids that the shows will start tomorrow, and send them off. I really don't want a bunch of pip-squeaks running around me, asking stupid questions. I mean, I ain't that far off from a kid myself; 14 is kind of that spot between 'kiddie' and 'grown-up', sort of like a growth spurt that makes your pants either too long or too short. 

As I walk through the town, I look around at the type of people I see. You can pretty much tell who you'll see at the circus when you look at them. I can be wrong sometimes, but most of the time I can pick 'em out real quick. Upper-class people with puny kids--any tot under the age of 5, 6, or even 7 in some sensitive cases--won't likely come, but the middle-class people with kids of any age likely will. Upper-class folks with kids older than 7 or so are considered 'ready to see the strangeness that is the circus' and might be taken to see the shows. The poor almost never come, bless them, because they just don't have the funds to waste on some pretty lights and music, dancing and displays. As for the curious... those are the hard ones. It's hard to tell who is curious about us if they don't show it outright; they might stare at you, look at a flyer for too long, maybe even ask you when the show times are.

I pull a thin, cheap nail from my shirt pocket, hold it between my teeth, pull a small hammer from my belt, and slam the nail through the paper. I stand back and look at my handiwork, the colorful piece of paper fluttering in the wind from its position on a brick wall. It's easy to nail papers to brick if you can get the metal to go smoothly through a crack in the mortar; I learned that a while ago. 

Suddenly, I feel eyes on the back of my head. I shift my ankles, turn my head, and peek over my shoulder. My vision is sort of blurred 'cause of my bangs, but I think I see a woman watching me. What catches my gaze is her eyes; I swear to the heavens above, they were red. I'm intrigued, so I go against Joker's firm advice--he always tells me not to look regular people in the eye, or face them outright. It makes them nervous, like cattle or something. I don't get it--and turn to face her head-on. She startles when she sees my face, and I swear I've seen her before. Long, dark hair is pinned back loosely with a red ribbon, two soft wisps of hair cupping her face in each side. I was right; she has dull red eyes that stare at me with an inhuman interest. I think I see a hint of recognition on her face, as if she thinks she's seen me before, too. 

She smiles, and lifts a hand to wave. The motion is slow and elegant, and I'm reminded of Joker when he plays the violin. I don't know why I connect her to him, but it happens. I see her turn, her movements dragged down somehow--almost like she was moving through water, especially with how her hair keeps flitting about even though there really ain't no breeze. As she's leaving, I realize that her clothes are... off. Her tight black dress hugs her body till her mid-thigh, where it fans out in folding waves of red and black fabric. The neckline is queer, exposing her shoulders in a triangle as the fabric reaches up her neck, secured by a metal ring a couple of inches below her chin. She wear earrings, which is real strange for a high-society-looking lady like her, and I see the pentagrams adorned in rubies glint in the lamp light as she walks away.

Red. Thick, dripping red.

I jolt, my body frozen by an unexplained fear rising up in my gut. Joker. I need to get Joker.

I've felt this feeling before, but not as strong. Before really bad storms, before thieves attack, before someone in the group has an accident... Joker says I have a knack for knowing when something is about to happen, and it's usually bad. He's always told me to trust my gut, so I run. I run as fast as I can, stuffing the rest of the flyers down the front of my shirt so I can dig my heels into a full-blown sprint.

My feet hit the cobblestone streets with uneven thuds, my breath coming out in curls of white steam. The cold fades as sweat pours down my face, my panic absolute. It's kind of like when you suddenly get ridiculously scared for no reason, and bolt; we humans were originally prey-creatures, after all. It's only natural to have a flight response built into our brains. But this response... isn't like being hunted. It's like being watched, warned, then soaked with an unnatural foreboding till it--whatever it is--attacks. I'm not sure why I'm so scared of that woman, but I know we'll see her again. And I know there'll be trouble when we do.

*****

I finish folding the last coat and sigh, smiling as I sit down on the crate beside the table. That'll help Joker out; he always cuts out of his practice time to keep things neat and tidy, so maybe having his clothing organized and folded will leave him with more time to practice and help out. Maybe the dark rings that had formed under his eyes will fade away... but I seriously doubt it. Joker always finds something to do.

I glance over at his mirror and frown. I have dark rings around my eyes, too; they make my pale green eyes stand out starkly. I don't like the scared look it gives me, and my frown deepens. 

I hear voices. More importantly, I hear Joker's voice. They're coming this way, and I panic. Frantically, I look around, searching for somewhere to hide. It's too late to leave the tent. I shouldn't have been here in the first place, curse it to Hell.

I see the big cooper-lined chest that Joker keeps at the end of his bed and sigh, frustrated. I know he keeps it mostly empty, but mercy... the chest is in a place so obvious, it will be impossible to leave until Joker does. Please say he isn't going to bed... I'd die of embarrassment, I swear it.

I hop in, closing the lid just as the tent flap rustles and Joker comes in. I listen harder--I don't care how unladylike it is. I'm here, so I'm eavesdropping--and instantly recognize Lith's voice. Stupid witch; she knows she's beautiful, and flaunts it whenever she can. I can almost see her with her hand on Joker's shoulder, lips curved in a smile as she flirts with every type of body language available. I have a few names for her and her ilk, but they aren't nice.

Suddenly, the fact that Lith is in Joker's tent makes my face start to burn. I want nothing more than to seep down into the darkness of the chest and disappear. I steady my breathing, muffling each breath with my hands that clasp over my mouth like silencers. "...hard to teach Charm how to play like you do, Joker," I hear Lith purr, and can almost feel the frown he gives her. I smirk, despite my fear. Joker cares for Charm like he would his own child; you put her abilities down and he'll tear you apart.

"She learns quickly; she can already play quite a few pieces I haven't taught her. I think she can listen to the music and copy the notes without reading them, like I can. Just one more way we're alike." He says quietly, and I hear his hammock whine as he sits on it. The hammock creaks again, and I grit my teeth. I think of blowing Lith's head off again and again, and feel happier. If I ever get the opportunity and reason to kill her, I swear I will do it without hesitation.

Lith sighs, and I roll my eyes at the sound. "Why must you always wear this?"

My ears perk. Wear what? Now I almost want to see her touching all over him, just so I know what they're talking about. I hate listening to a conversation and not being sure of the topic. "Because it was a gift from a friend."

"From a woman?"

"Yes."

"And yet you still wear it, even though she is no longer here beside you?" I hear the pout in Lith's voice, and my interest is ignited further. What freakin' woman?!

"Yes."

"You shouldn't dwell on the past." Lith whispers, and I think I might break my jaw from clenching so hard. "You have me now, you know,"

"No one shall ever replace her, for she is the only one I will ever love," I hear Joker say, and my stomach drops. He said it with a coldness so harsh and emotionless, I'm too scared to even attempt to imagine his facial expression. Sweet mercy... why don't I remember Joker ever being close to anyone? Maybe it was before seven years ago, when I joined his circus?

"The only?" Lith rasps, and I feel bad for her, a rare occasion indeed. She sounds so shocked and hurt; I hear her voice tremble, as if she might cry. I gather up the courage to imagine Joker's face contorted in hatred and anger, and come up with a blank. That scares me all the more, and I feel for Lith. In the seven years I've known him, he's never flashed an angry expression. Is this woman they speak of so precious to him that he would expose a face never seen by anyone?

I hear him stand, and go to leave the tent. "The only, and that is final. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to head to the shrine. I'm sure that, after so many years, it's in dire need of repair."

"Joker." Lith says it with such a forcefulness as she stands, I'm shocked twice over. "No one worships Death. You should follow their example."

"Those who worship follow mindlessly, bound by the law of a being with whom they may never speak, never meet, never know. My relationship with Death is that of love and respect, not an empty vow of faith to a being I will never know."

"You never knew her."

"And yet the memory of her still sends warmth through my soul,"

I hear Lith growl. Gods, this is an all-out argument! What have I gotten myself into... "She'll be the death of you."

"Fate shall kill those who tread the wrong Path; Death shall make them pure; Life shall give them a new body so that they may live again. Reincarnation." I hear a thud, and Lith chokes, gasping for air. My eyes bulge, and I can't take it. I peek an eye through a crack in the wood, and nearly faint. Joker, a man I respect for being overly-gentlemanly to anyone he meets, wraps a hand around Lith's neck as he pins her against a stack of crates. She claws at his arm, her mouth gaping as she fights for breath. "Do not speak of her again, or I shall personally send you down a very, very short Path." He hisses, and I pull away from the crack as he releases her and storms from the tent. She falls to the ground, spitting and coughing, sobs keeping her from taking full breaths. 

I've seen what Joker can do. But... for what? Death itself?