Cirque de Tromperie

Zombie

Cranberries	34.2%	[ 13 ]
Rob	18.4%	[ 7 ]
Apocalypse	21.1%	[ 8 ]
White	5.3%	[ 2 ]
I don't understand any of this...	21.1%	[ 8 ]
Total Votes:			[ 38 ]

[Scrivener_Lost]

cynosural𝐓c𝐡y𝐞 n 𝐑o𝐢s𝐧u𝐠r𝐦a𝐚c𝐬c𝐭a𝐞t𝐫



Dark Discovery

There were voices now and Morgan's eyes shot to where they originated. Two voices. Morgan shot to his feet as two figures walked into the tent carrying on an oblivious conversation as they ambled through. When the pair noticed Morgan, the Ringmaster stood straight as they approached them. Matteo and Harold, two of the most respected stagehands of Morgan's troupe, and two men that Morgan could trust. Relief flushed through his system when they came close, both offering a morning greeting to the Ringmaster. Morgan, however, could not respond to their amiable words and Matteo's eyes immediately drifted up to the source of the Ringmaster's discontent. "My word..." He breathed as he came closer. Harold followed Matteo's gaze, his own eyes becoming wide as the two men gazed upon the terrific sight. "Morgan...what..what the hell happened?" Matteo asked as he drifted to the Ringmaster's side. Morgan frowned slightly, his expression perturbed as he let his gaze drift up to Mimi once again. "Matteo...Harold...what you see here can never leave this tent. This must stay between the three of us." The large black cat handler ran a hand over his mouth as he shook his head. "This...who would do something like that?" Morgan felt the anger bristling once again and he snarled. "I don't know...but I intend to find out..." he growled. He turned his eyes to the two men, giving them each a fierce look. Had they been anyone else, he would threaten their very lives in this instant. He would force them to cut their very tongues from their mouths. 

No one can know...not yet...they must focus on the performances as the mission...nothing can deter them... But the situation was not as simple as that. Mimi had never done anything to warrant this cruel of fate. Whoever had managed to do this had a reason. There could be no other explanation. No...not whoever...It had to be her! "There's more where that came from! Morgan turned his eyes away from Mimi as the dread surged through him once more. There's...more? What does she mean...could there...could there be others? Matteo looked to Morgan, watched the Ringmaster carefully for a moment before nodding.  "I don't know why you won't tell the others if they're in danger..." "No one is in danger!" Morgan snapped quickly. "Mmm...well we'll take care of her, Morgan.  And get this mess cleaned up.  Go find out what happened to the poor girl and make sure the rest of the troupe is safe."  Issuing an order to Morgan was a tricky proposition, but in this situation.... It was warranted.  "Harold, untie that rope.  Lets get her down from there.  And then find an empty crate.  She deserves at least a make-shift coffin until we can get her in the ground."  With that, Morgan was dismissed from the stagehand's mind as Matteo got to work making the Big-top presentable. 

The Ringmaster didn't need a second command to swiftly flee from the Big Top. No! She couldn't have possibly gotten to anyone else...surely I would know... A pang of guilt hit him as he shoved through the back entrance, hardly caring about this frazzled appearance now. He could trust Matteo and Harold. They would surely retrieve the girl and make it as so nothing had happened. But Morgan needed to make sure that -"Oh Captain!  I left you a present~"- there would be no other presents left for him or anyone to discover. As he stormed back to the train, he could hardly calm the tumultuous anger and panic that were clashing inside him, creating a tempest from which no one would be safe. He could hardly focus on anything else around him. Not the way the wind blew cold around him, not the way stagehands were slowly awakening and greeting him, and certainly not a single logical thread of thought that could possibly quell him to calm now. With long even strides, he practically leaped upon the train once again, standing in the second residential car, his chest rising and falling with each breath he pulled in. He cast his eyes down the length of the second car, his golden gaze falling on the doors closest to his own car. He could very well go from door to door, slamming his fists on each and awakening the residents from inside. He could call each of their names, forcing them from their beds early. Or...he could gaze upon their safety in a much more subtle way. 

Rushing down the length of the second corridor, he slowed his strides as he came upon Maiya and Ava's doors. He absently reached out and trailed his hand across Maiya's door, but his mind was focused on one primary person at this moment. Ava did not come home with me...she had run off...did she return last night at all? He wondered as he stood in front of her door. He raised a hand, about to knock when he thought better of it. If he was demanding Ava's attention, surely someone else would hear him and catch him in this state of foreboding. Lowering his hand, he drew it to his chest. There are other ways... he thought to himself as he closed his eyes. He could practically feel his heart thrumming against his ribcage through the tips of his fingers as he splayed his palm against his sternum and as he focused on this beating of his pulse, he let out a deep breath as he tried to still the rapid-fire pounding of his heart. He listened to the organ rattle under his ribs, feeling the lifeblood that coursed through his veins, listening to it as it surged through his body and crawled through his veins. He could feel the energy, the essence of him moving through each tiny vein and pulsing artery. But what he could not feel was the one of whom he shared his lifeblood with. Morgan's brows knit together tightly and he focused harder. He could feel his limbs, his fingers, his muscles; he could feel everything that was him. But where he should be able to feel her this close to her room...he could not. He could not feel her. Morgan's fierce eyes shot open and he glared spitefully at the door in front of him as if it were keeping him from the answer he so desperately needed. But that was not the barrier that was keeping him from knowing. As long as she was within his reach of influence, he was able to feel her. 

But not now.

She was gone.

"There's more where that came from! 

Ava! Morgan took a sharp step back and turned swiftly, the motion tossing his hair about in wild display. He rushed into his room, throwing the door open, caring little for the attention to his locks as he went straight for the heavy crimson curtain. Nearly tearing it from its anchored location, he tossed it aside and went to his desk. His eyes fell upon the bust of the golden angel and he quickly brushed his hand across its smooth surface before throwing an incantation at it haphazardly. The bust responded by opening its eyes, its empty sockets staring up at its master as Morgan pressed a finger to the angel's lips. It responded by opening wide, the metal shifting and moving as if it were made of skin itself. And deep inside of the maw of the angel was a collection of small glittering pearls. Morgan slipped his hand into the mouth of the angel and from it, pulled a handful of pearls. Each pearl, each small compressed soul, was different. Each had its own unique color and effervescence, some exuding a phosphorescence and others glittering with an ethereal light. Some even had unique and special markings or decor; for each soul was unique and different. Each soul was one of a kind. And for each of their appearance, he could easily decipher the condition of their soul. And as he continued to pull out each pearl until he held every single one in his palms, he quickly examined each one. 

Maiya, Pyrrhus, Taubryn, Paul, Kimber, Icarus, Aloise, Damuron, Puck, Flynn, August, Alaizabel, Rhythm...Ava.

Morgan did not need his eyes to find the soul he was looking for, for each soul had its own signature and wavelength. And as he held the pearls in his hand, he could see each one wrapped up in its own thread of fate. Quickly finding the pearl he desired, he gently placed the remainder onto his desk as he held Ava's pearl in his right hand. With eyes laced with worry, he tilted the pearl back and forth in his hand, his eyes hungry for the information he wanted, but damned at the same time. He was nearly at his limit with trepidation as he inspected the pearl, but when he could see no markings or damage, Morgan let out a wavering breath. She's alive... He slowly and carefully closed his fingers around the object before holding it up, his lips barely brushing against his knuckles as he focused on the pearl as relief washed over him. Ava's pearl was whole, pristine, and unscathed. He released a shaky breath as he realized that Ava, while not close by, was safe. Or at least, at the moment. He needed her to return to him. He needed to make sure she was safe. As with any of them...I can call you back in an instant...you are all tied to my will...Ava Moran, I command you to return to me. Morgan applied the slightest of pressure to the pearl and the command was sent. The girl would be forced to return to him, no matter what her location was. Morgan had used the same command numerous times and even though he did not personally know the feeling, he had been told of the rather unforgiving nature of the command. To think that he would have to ever use it on his own daughter truly spoke words to the heinous amount of anxiety that had filled the Ringmaster. 

With one last subtle squeeze, he held her pearl in his hand for just a moment longer before he released the spell on her. She would come back. She had no choice. The tension in his stomach was only relieved if only for a moment before his eyes traveled to the collection of pearls upon his desk. Hesitating only for a moment before reaching over, Morgan brushed his long fingers across the pearls gently, moving them from side to side until he found her pearl. Morgan let out a soft breath before he plucked her soul pearl from the group and held it up against the golden morning sunlight. His eyes traveled the diameter of the small round object, his thumb and index finger rolling over the item before he began to feel them. The cuts. He lowered the pearl and after he placed Ava's safely on the desk, he held Mimi's in the palm of his hands. The royal purple hue of the pearl was fading quickly as small divots formed, the slices actively growing as if someone were drawing an invisible knife across it at this very moment. But he knew...He knew that this was simply a reflection of what had happened to her. The muscles in Morgan's face began to tense with each new slice that appeared on the pearl as time wore on. Eventually, even the soft pink swirls that danced lively in the center of the round object faded and then, disappeared entirely as the soul quickly decomposed in his hands. Then, as each pearl did, it began to crumble. First, a small chip here. Then, several jagged pieces. And eventually, it would turn into dust. But before it could disintegrate completely, Morgan placed the pearls back into the angel bust for safe keeping before securing Mimi's in his right hand and once again, promptly fled his room. 

However, instead of panic, there was a sense of urgency in his steps as he stormed across the grounds to the Big Top once more. This is...this is all far too coincidental...no...this has to be a mistake....there's no way that she could...no way... Like a fierce wind, he blew through the grounds, rounding to the far side of the Big Top where he caught up with Harold just as he was placing a large wooden crate into the Cirque's wagon. As he stepped back to wipe his brow, Morgan joined his side. The assistant glanced at Morgan warily as the Ringmaster placed his left hand against the roughly constructed crate. "Wait...I need to see something..." Morgan announced quickly, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath. The large man gave him a curious glance before shrugging and pulling the crate from the wagon and gently placing it upon the ground. "Open it," Morgan commanded despite Harold already beginning to shove off the lid. Once she was visible, Morgan knelt next to the crate as the firmness of the pearl in his hand began to fade. His inquisitive eyes quickly scanned her body, noting several large and deep gashes and numerous signs of intense and painful torture. The level of brutality was not beyond Morgan; in his own lifespan, he had come across many disturbing scenes of terrible crimes, but what did bother him was the placement of the injuries and the eerie similarities. No...they are similar...but there is no way this could be related...not possible... 

As the pearl continued to fade in his hand, Morgan leaned heavily against the crate as he reached towards Mimi, his eyes now truly seeing her. They had spent so many years with animosity and spite between them, it had been hard for him to look beyond the drunken fights and searing looks. Laying here, barely in one piece, with her skin as pale as porcelain, Morgan couldn't help but feel the gut wrenching pang of guilt as he brushed his hand gently across her cold and bloodied cheek before whispering softly, "Es tut mir sehr leid." Harold shifted next to Morgan which drew the Ringmaster's attention from the Damsel. He let out a heavy breath before slowly standing. Morgan could feel Harold's gaze on him, but he could not bring himself to address the man as he waved his arm out dismissively. "Take her." As Harold closed up the crate once more and lifted it back into the wagon, Morgan watched him until the man had lead the horses attached beyond the tent and out of site. With his gaze falling back to his right hand, Morgan pulled his fingers apart just as the pearl lost its form and crumbled into pale dust. A breath of dawn blew over the grounds as Morgan raised his arm, the wind catching the dust and carrying it beyond and over the circus grounds. "And unto the next of kin...the debt yet remains unpaid..." The Ringmaster knew well enough the young woman had siblings of her father's bloodline and as such, the debt was still valid. The thread of fate would seek out her blood relatives and tightly wrap around them until the Ringmaster of the Soulless Circus would be able to find them and take upon their contracts, just as the cycle had been for hundreds of years.

As the last particles of her soul drifted out of sight, Morgan took in a deep breath through his nose and slowly released it before turning back to the belly of the Cirque. Soon, the rest of the troupe would be waking and the first day of performances would start. Approaching the middle of the circus grounds, Morgan peered around as he gazed upon his Cirque. In just a few hours, this place would be crowded with people, children running about screaming with delight. The townspeople would come and be entertained and the troupe would perform amazing feats and impossible acts. But there would only be three people who knew of the atrocity that had just taken place. Morgan, Harold, and Matteo would take this information to the grave with them. 

No...Four people knew...

Morgan, Harold, Matteo and...Mimi. 

And just as any family who had lost a dear member, they would mourn. The troupe would not know of her fate, they would simply understand she was gone. But the Cirque would mourn for now there was one less...soul that would laugh, cry, and smile amidst his family. 

"May you find peace Maria Renata Biancardi." 

And rest for me as I will seek out the one who did this to you until I draw my last breath... 

cynosural† 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Middle of Grounds cynosural† 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐲: None cynosural† 𝐎𝐨𝐂: ALL DEM FEELS


Layout Created by Cynosural Cataclysm

[thymeast22]

I believe it's time for me to become famous and out of place

I believe its time for me to move forward when I break through.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxȺѵᾳ ℳoɾᾳɳ, the ℒɪoɳ-Ⱦᾳмϵɾ

⌘ Location: Outside

⌘ Companions: Maiya, Morgan, Novalynn

Ava started to refuse, but she instead hesitated with 'no' on her lips. It was a long ways back to the train, and she was tired. Added to that, she didn't particularly want to deal with Morgan or any of the other performers tonight. Especially if they were drinking, the circus grounds would be loud and full of entertaining antics - unless you were trying to sleep. So she looked to Nova and nodded, smiling.

"I'm not taking your bed. Especially not when it might be one of your last nights in it since Morgan wants your contract. The couch is fine. I've slept in animal cages before. Please, don't go to any trouble. Not when I followed you home," she added with a grin as she followed Nova up the stairs and inside the orphanage.

Needless to say, Ava was stubborn enough to win this particular battle. Namely through sitting on Nova's couch and refusing to leave it. But they had settled in, talked a little while longer before finally drifting to sleep. She had no need for setting an alarm - if habit didn't have her rising early then the light through the window would wake her up early enough to return to the train for roll call. Besides, the worse that would happen to her would be a scolding from Morgan. Well, even that likely wouldn't come if he was still avoiding her. A glare, then.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


She snapped awake with a gasp, the lack of air the only reason she didn't cry out. The pain stole her breath, a vice crushing her ribs while an invisible hand curled fingers under her sternum and tried to rip the bone free from her body, trying to lead her like a dog on a leash. Hundreds of fishhooks threaded her skin and they pulled away from her body, trying to lead her to the door. Her heart pounded against her chest as blood vessels constricted, clenching to slow blood-flow and weaken her. To steal her strength so she couldn't fight the summons. Return to me. The words echoed in her mind, called from her blood and carved themselves in her bones. Her entire being was focused on those three little words. Return to me. "Nova," Ava just barely kept her voice calm, kept from screaming. But the pain was in her voice, in her posture as Ava pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. No. She wasn't a dog to come when called, to punish for spending one single night away from the train. She hadn't missed roll call. Morgan shouldn't even know she was gone yet.

The summons seemed to sense her refusal, and the pain intensified. Ava could feel the gaping hole in her chest, feel something inside that chasm. A beast, claws extended and fangs bared as it fought tooth and nail to escape her and find its master. Only it couldn't escape, could do no true harm to her. So it clawed against her, struggling and fighting and rending flesh from bone. But the confines of her chest were unyielding, trapping it within and leaving the beast yowling for freedom. For Ava to take it to the Ringmaster of Tromperie.

"Nova, I have to get back. Now." Pain tightened her voice, left her shaking as Ava fought against the command reverberating through her bones. Return to me. It ratcheted up a notch. Small fires were lighting in her muscles, searing flesh as long as she refused to move. She didn't cry, not yet. Tears welled in her eyes, her throat tightened. But she didn't let them fall and didn't move from Nova's couch.

The auburn-haired girl lasted four minutes before she gave into the command. She stumbled to the door, silently berating herself as she froze at the solid oak barrier with her hand on the knob. Be strong, be above him. Don't let Morgan win. I'm not a damn toy to play with only when its convenient!

Return to me.

The flames under her skin intensified, wrestled a choked sob from her throat. She had to go. Now. Ava fumbled the door open and left, stumbling out onto the street with little awareness of whether Nova was following. Maybe she could find a horse to help her. She didn't need to know where she was. All she had to do was let the fishhooks lead her in the correct direction.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
this time I'll make you proud to see me over, come on daylight
proud of who you raised up
you know that I will always be here 'til the end
I hope, I hope you smile when you look down on me
I hope that I make you proud
this is not what it is, only baby scars
I need your love like a boy needs his mother's side

secretshades

[Cynotastic]

tab 『ωɪтʜ: Myself. 』xxxxxxx 『ʟocaтɪoɴ: Maiya's Bedroom 』xxxxxxx 『ϻσσɗ: Hungover 』xxxxxxx『σuтғɪт: [x] ->[x] 』

Maiya laid down for a moment, admiring her trophy from the evening with the Ringmaster. Her arms holding the pillow close to her. While it wasn't quite the same as wrapping her arms against Morgan in a loving night of sleep, the fabric from his hair still had his scent mixed with her own. It was pleasant, and the closest she had to sleeping with the man currently. The smell from the ribbon also reminded her of the handkerchief she had pushed into her pocket prior to the hug. While she may have not remembered the moment amidst the romance, at least her body reacted in a way to keep the second trophy from the night.

However, it wasn't as important as the ribbon. As it was a part of the Ringmaster's attire, therefore it was something everyone who paid attention to the man should recognize. Before falling asleep, a curious thought flooded into her mind. 'What was he going to use to hold his hair back now?' Did he have another ribbon? Or perhaps something he still had from Ava's childhood prior to cutting her hair shorter? It wasn't important enough of a thought to keep her awake, as shaking her head to remove the concern from her head, she buried her face closer to the origin of Morgan's smell, then hastily fell asleep.
tab tab tab
The night was dreamless, as it often was when Maiya went to sleep after consuming alcohol. It flew by in a flash, and she awoke with a hazy memory of the evening. When her eyes flipped open, she felt a pounding headache forming at the front of her head. Her vision was greeted by the object she had removed from the Ringmaster's hair. While it made her awake with a smile, the knife thrower could not remember how in the world she had got it. She did remember the fact she had spent quite a bit of time with Morgan though.

At least, it seemed that way, she left the bar - started talking to him. Then, fell asleep? 'Then how did I get into the farm, alone...?' Until -- "How dare you walk away from me!" -- 'Ah yes, Morgan chased me into the cornfield.' "You do not get to decide your fate! That is my job. I offered you the chance to escape a long time ago and you denied it, very vehemently if I remember correctly. So where do you get off threatening me with leaving the Cirque. You can do nothing unless I grant you permission..." 'Where he inadvertently admitted he wanted me around and would miss me if I left.' She tried to think hard on the fuzzy spots before moving on. Maiya couldn't remember her own words, or why she had ended up running away from Morgan, but the hints from the Ringmaster's own statements lead her to believe she threatened to leave the Cirque...'But, I would never do that, that would ruin my chances... And Maiya Seilouen isn't one to just back out of a challenge!' She thought as she rolled onto her back, using the pillow to block out the rays of sunlight filling her room. They made her head pound even more.

Though, she did remember him coming after her, apologizing, and cleaning her face. She remembered it all at least up until she - herself - apologized. "You must trust me Maiya...you must trust me...that this is for the better. For your own good...for the good of the Cirque...I cannot be the man you are asking me to be..." As she stared at the pillow, she pondered this statement. It was strange, how could it be for her own good? Biting the inside of her lip, she thought. Had she said something offensive? Was she missing something? It was hard with so many blank spots in her memory. All she really was aware of was that there was a lot of interaction between her and Morgan. Though, it seemed like the blanks were mostly her own words. It was hard to know exactly what was going on when she didn't know what she said... Then....

Then...

The knife thrower felt like she had said she loved him, but she couldn't remember for certain. 'Maybe I just thought it?' She questioned before trying to finish retracing the steps of last night. Her mind then went to the most important part of the evening. Where he hugged her back, placing his head on her own head, then he stroked her cheek, and she grabbed his hand and gave it a peck. Then another black blur. Up until ending up in his arms again, admiring him against the moonlight. "Maybe I should drink more often." She stated chuckling, as she sat up. The headache reminding her why she didn't usually drink. Then the final memory of the evening struck her, the departure at the door. Where they offered their good nights and headed to sleep. Though, there was something she noticed this time that she hadn't noticed prior - the blush that crept onto the Ringmaster's features when she thanked him. Though the moments after were not as imbedded into her mind.

Her head ached from how fast she went through those glasses of whiskey, and the best way to tame the pain was to bury her face in the palms of her hands. At least she seemed to remember the good parts. In the darkness that formed when she covered her eyes, instances of the night prior flashed through her head. His hand resting on the small of her back in their embrace, his head and her head stacked on top of one another, his hand sitting on her face, and the two of them holding hands while walking back to the train. Continuing to reflect, she could feel butterflies in her stomach, her heart rate increasing, and joy creeping through her bones.

She only wished she was sober when it occurred. Lifting her head slightly, she peered back over onto the pillow with the Ringmaster's ribbon. It was tempting to tie it around her neck again, parade around with her victory. 'But, Morgan might take it from me.' No, she could not have that. Since she had still been dressed from the night prior, sitting up had caused her to feel the lump of fabric in her pocket. Upon removing it, she discovered it was the handkerchief. Stuffing it beneath the ribbon on the pillow, she changed attire and decided to seek out Morgan - request some more information on their evening together.

With that, she excited her room, the housing car, and went straight for the Ringmaster - who was fairly easy to find as he was standing in the middle of the cirque grounds. Her crimson eyes focused on him as she neared the man. He seemed oddly regal, the way he stood there glancing around the area. As she neared, she rose a hand in the air with a slight wave. "Hey! Morgan!" Maiya hollered at the man as she closed the distance between them. "I don't remember much of last night... Care to enlighten me?" She asked as she tried to slide an arm onto his backside, aiming to rest it right above his butt. While her head ached, and being outside reminded her of that - she still tried to keep her face confident as she awaited an answer from the Ringmaster.

[sunriseparilla]

Rhythm finished the last of his macaron just in time to hear Paul say “to the Cirque” or something to that effect. He grunted something in response and just rested his arms on his thighs, watching as Paul slowly and steadily got drunk. It would have been amusing seeing this at any other time. He would have smiled as Paul even tried to toast Morgan, though the idea of their creepy Ringmaster being toasted in a way like this made him snort in disbelief. If anything, Morgan would be doing the toasting…in both meanings of the word. But not tonight. After more than 30 seconds of this, Rhythm was starting to grow very much impatient. He tapped his foot, he reached for another treat then didn’t, and most of all, he sighed. He knew the “rules” per say, he knew that Paul had to be at least a little drunk to be able to read the cards, but he always hated waiting for it. How hard could it have been? Why did the man have to be so inebriated to be able to do what was essentially his…gift? Curse? Talent? Whatever it was called, he shouldn’t have to use so much alcohol to use it. The other performers didn’t need anything, as far as he knew anyway, why should Paul need something for his, right?

Useless fluff and wasted time as far as he was concerned. He was grateful to him, he will be eternally grateful for the fact that he chose to help him with seeing his brother instead of just brushing him off. And he knew that he could never pay him back for all this, but patience when it came to Rory was never his strong suit. It was never even in the same ballpark. Rhythm was starting to get incredibly anxious and was about to get up to shake some of the energy off, when finally, finally Paul deemed himself ready. He reached out, quicker than he had been intending, and did as he was told. He sat there, all eyes and ears, as Paul suddenly fell into his coma-like state. It used to freak him out whenever he saw the deep black of his eyes, but now he had resigned himself to it being normal. Should Paul not have that then it meant something was wrong, or he wasn’t doing his job right. Or at least that’s what he’s told himself to make it a little less creepy.

For a moment, he wondered again what it must have been like to do something like this. It wasn’t a great pain to use or hurt him for a very long period of time, as far as he could see from their previous sessions, but then what was it like? Would it be like dreaming? Wandering around blurred places until they came into focus and he could see his surroundings? Or would it be just like this? As if it were everyday life and nothing felt different save for him seeing it through another person’s eyes. He really hoped Rory was all right. As often as he checked in with him, there was always that lingering doubt that one day he was going to hear something that would shatter his world. That one day Rory would just--He shook his head to free himself of that image. Rory was fine. He was okay and happy and Paul was going to tell him some great news. Maybe his brother got a puppy or something. Or he just had a delicious meal with all his favourite foods. Yeah…that was safer territory.

Once freed from his brief venture into ‘not going to think about that’ thoughts, he snatched up one last sweet from the bag. He didn’t really have a time on when Paul woke up and staring him down was starting to get boring. He sensed movement from his companion and was quite happy to see that Paul had returned to normal. Rhythm’s eyes fell to the ground at their feet, following Paul’s gaze, as he waited for him to compose himself. But quickly losing interest, he looked back up to his face instead. It was just some cards. They held no meaning for him other than being thin pieces of paper with some designs that Paul used. Unconsciously, he leaned forward to better hear the news. And the moment the words fell from Paul’s lips, he wished he didn’t. His shoulders sagged and he moved back a bit. Running a hand down his face, he looked up at the stars. Wasting illness huh? An image of his father’s young and smiling face was replaced with an old man delirious with sickness. Confined to a hospital bed, like Rory had been all those years ago. It was enough to make a hollow feeling settle in his stomach.

He looked back at Paul suddenly and gaped in surprise. M-married? What the hell? A flare of anger bloomed in his chest. Why was Rory considering marriage already?! How did this happen? Who was the girl? Was it Lacie? She had told them once that she liked them…what if…? What the hell! He was way way too young to even be thinking of girls much less—he paused. Oh. Realization dawned on him and the little flare extinguished. Right. They weren’t little boys anymore. Rory was older now, old enough to make his own decisions and start a family should he want it. Just because Rhythm stayed the same, didn’t mean that his brother did too. Not that Rory would ever know this. Not that Rory would ever know he even had a brother to compare to in the first place. He shook his head and smiled, a little sadly. He was happy for him though. Happy that he had found someone to share a life with. He just wished he could be there for their wedding.

And wished that he could meet the girl somehow. If she had captured Rory’s heart and picky tastes, she must have been something amazing. Knowing that he had asked way too much of Paul already and needing some time to let all the information sink in, Rhythm stood up and walked closer. He placed a hand on the man’s shoulder and murmured, “Thank you, Paul. It's good to hear that. I'm...I really…really appreciate it.” There were no words the amount of gratitude he had for him, but it was better than nothing. He squeezed once, then moved back and towards the train. A good night’s sleep and some time away from everyone else. He only hoped that he would make it to his room this time and not pass out in the middle of the hallway like he did so many times before.

ʟocaтɪoɴ: Firepit >> Trainxxxxxxxxx cσϻpaɴʏ: Paul >> Alone xxxxxxxxx σσc: :]


Orwells Eyes

[happydog911]

So long ago, I don't remember when.
That's when they say I lost my only friend.
Well they said she died easy of a broken heart disease,
As I listened through the cemetery trees

I seen the sun comin' up at the funeral at dawn, the long broken arm of human law.
Now it always seemed such a waste, she always had a pretty face.
So I wondered how she hung around this place.

August couldn't help but give up a weak smile as Alaiza reassured him. "I suppose you have a point," he sighed. Despite that, he couldn't help but feel bad about being only concerned for himself. Like she said, it was much easier said than done. Now that he thought about it, she hadn't said anything about her assessment. All the same, he decided not to press the issue further. Despite what he wanted to believe, there wasn't a happy story behind that inquiry, the mood of the entire troupe was less than pleased at role call. At this moment, her touch was appreciated, even though it was fleeting and rare from the escape artist.

August shook his head quickly at Alaiza's concern for his lack of conversation, "Oh, no, that's not it," he insisted. He mentally kicked himself a little for being so distant, especially when he didn't get to see Alaiza as often as he pleased. Different thoughts were constantly jumping around his head, refusing to settle. He couldn't quite grasp onto any particular thing at this current moment, each silly thought being replaced by the next one. When he finally did speak, he wasn't sure if he should regret it or not. Curling his fingers into his palms, he let his nails dig into his skin. This wasn't a topic that either of them took lightly, nor was it one that they enjoyed discussing. He could feel the tension that he created, but that didn't stifle his curiosity as to what her answer would be.

Alaiza's first words cut through the air, the feeling hitting him almost instantly. Dread, fear of the unknown, confusion. At one point in time, he might have agreed with her wholeheartedly. Love was a horrible thing that had awful consequences. His parents were one hell of a good example of that. Until now, August wasn't sure he could love anyone more than as a friend or family. There was a legend that those born under the effects of a love potion, they were most certainly heartless and incapable of empathy. Yet, most recently, August began to question the truth behind that belief.

Fidgeting a little, he let his eyes travel towards Alaiza as she continued to speak. Yet, she wasn't looking at him, her eyes were surveying the fire in the distance. At first August thought of it as a coincidence, a simple matter of her spacing out. Howbeit, there was something in the tone of her voice. Instead of simple speculation, it was a knowing tone. Yes, Gus knew her past, but this was personal, something she hadn't shared with him yet. Then, for the nth time that night, he let the moment slide, figuring it best not to become bothersome with his strange inquiries. He gave a weak nod as she trailed off. He did know the worst of it. He was a walking product of it, forever a reminder of the disgusting nature of people. Bitting his lip, he didn't really know what to say. He just continued listening, trying not to be upset or hurt. This was by no fault of Alaiza, just simply admitting anything to himself out loud took his emotions for a ride.

However what she said next, simply put, was a little enlightening. August couldn't help but smile a little. Perhaps it was what he had been looking for when he first asked. "Though you must take what I say with a grain of salt, August. I am, regretfully, exceptionally jaded as far as love is concerned." Tilting his head he answered, "I believe we are both, where our parents are concerned at the very least." He had to admit though, she was much more solid in her opinions. August, on the other hand, was struggling to come to one simple conclusion about his feelings. Were they real? Was love real? "I asked you for a reason, Alaiza. You're the one I trust the most, and the one who understands me the most," he reminded her. As much as he enjoyed the company of the others, no one could really come to give advice on the confusion that August was currently enduring.

August laughed quietly when Alaizabel caught herself in the act, "I don't believe in fairy tales, Bells" he said. He'd face a dragon over broken down love any day of week. He meant his words with no malice, he knew Alaiza took comfort in her books. He just simply couldn't get into stories, couldn't relate to the feelings that kissing someone you loved for the first time gave. It didn't make any sense to him, he wanted to feel those things in real time, to understand them fully without fault. As she lay down next to him, he was glad he had come to some sort of conclusion. "You might think you are of no help to me, but I'm glad I asked you," he said, offering a smile. She was playing with his hair now, which made him wish he had taken a little more effort to brush it properly. At least the ends would be fairly tangle-free.

"Though I am abundantly curious why you ask, dear." The words made August want to hide, it was almost shameful. He had never come to the conclusion that she would actually ask about his inquiries. "Uh...I-I.." he stammered for a moment. The acrobat could feel his face heat up nearly instantly. Hiding his face in his hands, he let out a nervous laugh. He hadn't even really admitted it to himself, and now she was asking him to admit it to her. "This is really embarrassing..." he spoke through his fingers. "A-.... Ava..." he said. He was aware that Alaiza had a less than perfect relationship with the girl, but August refused to lie about this, "I think I'm in love with Ava.." he said again, this time more clearly in case Alaiza had not caught on the first time.


- TIME SKIP -

August hardly slept that night, his mind constantly turning back to his conversation with Alaiza, then the one he had with Ava. Then, the shower scene. He was still confused, but with a weight lifted off of his shoulders. He had finally admitted to it, despite being so cautious and gentle with his feelings. Turning over in his sheets, he checked the time. It was early, much earlier than he would have liked it to be. There wasn't anyone upstairs yet, the train was quiet. He could have sworn he heard someone walking outside the rooms, but his mind was too busy to concentrate on air currents. Sitting up, he decided there wasn't much of a point to forcing himself to stay in this cramped space. After dressing himself, he walked through the empty hallways to the stairs, then up into the kitchen. It was strange seeing the place empty, especially with the usual hustle and bustle of the troupe when it came to getting everyone fed.

Turning on the coffee pot, he let it brew. He was honestly crumby at cooking, but coffee was a staple in his diet that he had learned to make as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Taking a cup from the shelf, he set it down in anticipation of the hot, dark liquid. A nap was already in his plans for later, he just had to make sure he survived through the performances. After taking his mug and adding copious amount of sugars, he exited the train, deciding he would feel better if he got some fresh air. He had yet to make a plan of action, and what better way than during the quiet hours? Settling on a log placed by where the campfire had been, he kept a watchful eye for when others might appear. He saw Maiya already talking to Morgan. August was, frankly, surprised to see her awake so early after the two had stumbled home last night.

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With: Alaiza >> No one (Morgan and Maiya)
Location: Roof of Train >> Train >> Kitchen >> Campfire
Thoughts: What is love? (Baby don't hurt me)

Hey, come on try a little, nothing is forever.
There's got to be something better than in the middle.
But me & Cinderella, we put it all together.
We can drive it home, with one headlight.

[Lessing Wise]

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Paul Buford

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Paul's heart sank when Rhythm stood up. What was the larger man thinking? Did he blame Paul for his father? Was he upset that his brother was moving on without him? Paul couldn't tell. But in the dark, the Strongman certainly was intimidating. He flinched away slightly when Rhythm gently touched his shoulder, expecting something much worse. “Thank you, Paul. It's good to hear that. I'm...I really…really appreciate it.” Paul immediately felt guilty, thinking somebody as gentle as Rhythm would ever act violently or out of anger. He meant to say something more to the man. To try to comfort him or get him to stay a little while longer or something, but Paul couldn't find the words. Instead he watched Rhythm walk away, just hoping he'd be alright. Paul took a deep breath, turning his attention back to the fire. Part of him wanted to just fall asleep here. It'd be easy as anything, next to the fire. But...something was wrong. He felt an itch in the back of his skull. The same one he felt in Morgan's office.

Something wasn't done yet. The cards still had something else to say. Something important. With Rory being read, Paul thought he'd be done seeing for the night, that he could just sit back and enjoy the fire and the quiet, but apparently the cards had other plans. He felt himself being pulled towards the bottle of gin again. It didn't take much more. He was already fairly drunk. Only a moment later he felt like he had been shoved underwater again, able to breath but unable to find air. Without knowing it, his hands fumbled for the cards, knocking the deck over and grabbing one in particular.

The Moon. Night Journey. Paul sat outside a tavern, watching the performers funnel in. 'First card, must be in the past then.' A small rational voice said in the back of his mind. It was a typical night to be sure. It seemed oddly normal, though at this point Paul was too far gone into the bottle, he was having trouble actually recognizing anybody's faces. He started to walk towards the tavern, to get a better look, when he saw Mimi, or at least he thought it was Mimi, walk out of the tavern alone. Forgetting his situation, Paul tried to say something, but just as he began to speak, the world around him began to melt. Then he began to melt. Slowly, agonizingly, turning into a thick, red liquid.

Ten of Swords. Ruin. Paul couldn't see, the pain was so blinding It shot out from his neck, and his arms and legs, and his chest. He was in the present. Finally, air still being forced from his body, he gathered the courage to open his eyes. He hung from a noose at the top of the Big Top tent. Slightly, gently he swung, back and forth. Dying, but not yet dead. On his left hand, a woman, a performer, swung from another noose. She was clearly dead. On his right another performer hung from her ankle. She was still very much alive, thrashing about, tangled in the lines. Beneath them, a steady trail of blood poured off of himself and the other performers, forming a thick puddle of blood below. He wanted to leave, to be out of this and back at the fire. Everything was blurred, he was too far in now, he had no choice but to keep going. The cards demanded it. The rope around his neck snapped, sending him screaming hoarsely towards the ground. He hit the floor, expecting the pain of striking a solid surface but instead found himself falling into the blood puddle, like it had grown into a river.

The Tower. Crisis. ''Future.' It was worse then when he was just reading for Rory. Infinitely worse. And he was sinking. Opening his mouth to scream, blood poured in, filling his lungs and stomach, covering his eyes. He sunk deeper and deeper into the river of blood, slowly loosing visibility of anything above the surface. Just as he could almost see nothing at all, the performer above him, the one who was stuck by the ankle, fell towards Paul. Towards the ground. The rope must have snapped.

She screamed as she fell towards the ground. Towards Paul. Towards the blood. She hit all three with a sickening thud, the sound an egg makes if its dropped, her screams coming to an abrupt end.

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Paul was thrown back up through the surface again, slamming into it at full speed. As though this whole time he was attached to a fishing line and was just now being reeled in. Paul found himself sitting half-naked in the showers. His head was pounding. Somehow he must have made his way into the train. Feeling something wet, he looked down into the drain under him, half expecting there to be blood, he saw his cards soaking in water. 'And vomit.' He thought, realizing he had been sick at some point. The three cards that he had drawn haphazardly thrown out in front of the others, making an uneven ark in the water. "s**t!" He yelled, his voice still somehow hoarse, as though he had actually been screaming this whole time. Stumbling to his feet, he jumped forward to pull the cards out of the water, to try and save the precious things.

A few moments later, he had the shower off and the cards drying against the wall. He had used up all the hot water it looked like. It would take at least an hour to get them back up again. He sighed and rubbed his throbbing head. 'More work to do then.' And this time it was his own fault too. He looked back at his Tarot. The whole deck had been drenched, though somehow the images seemed undamaged. Despite all the trouble they seemed to cause him, the miserable tarot cards were the only thing he really had left from home. They were his aunt's, although just about everybody in the family had used them in some way or another. When he had left the ship, or rather, when he had been "volunteered" to take on the family's debt, they sent the cards off with him, maybe hoping they'd do him some good. 'Maybe that's why I got stuck with this useless god damned s**t.' He thought, slowly remembering the vision he had last night. Or was it just a dream? He may of just drank too much. And even if it was more than that, how was he supposed to do anything about it? Or even remember it? Who was that supposed to be, hanging from the Big Top? He shook it off. The present imagine, the supposed Ten of Swords, had never happened. Nobody had died yesterday, he would've heard about it certainly. No reason to worry about it.

'Still though.' Part of him thought, 'Might be a decent idea to let Morgan know.' Maybe he knew something Paul didn't. Could be helpful. 'Or it could just make the man stress out even more.' With everything that had happened yesterday, the performance tests and the parade not going well, the last thing Morgan needed was Paul running around, screaming that everybody was going to die.

While he went back in forth in his mind, he took off his pants and started to squeeze the water out of them. He had managed to get into the showers with them on last night it seemed. And just them, apparently.

'Where the hell did I leave my shirt now?'

Or any of the rest of his clothes for that matter. He shrugged it off. They'd show up eventually.

He gathered up his cards (which had eerily dried perfectly), put on his now only slightly wet pants, and left the showers. The unpleasantness of last night's reading was already fading, like it was just some alcohol induced dream.

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Ararelia

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With:Rhythm --& Alone
Where: Firepit ---& Showers ---& Hallway

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[Promise of Bliss]

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When Alaizabel woke, she was abruptly aware of two things: one, she had made the wisest decision in the world to shower prior to falling asleep (regardless of the number it would do on her hair), and two, she had made the most shortsighted decision of her life in fleeing to the lakeside yesterday. Even through the sluggish haze of sleepiness she could tell that she was going to regret every single movement of the day. She threw her blanket off of her and rolled to the wall, much too warm to be confined beneath it; it was odd for her to be too warm, and she in fact tended to thrive in warmth. That was her first indication that today would be an unforgiving onslaught of facades and clever mystique on her part. Performance day... it was everything to her. No way in hell would an imbecilic oversight the day prior ruin her fun today. A cough built in her chest, and she stifled it quickly in her pillow. These rooms were not exactly thick-walled, and the last person she needed monitoring her behavior just happened to live in a room near hers. Pyrrhus would never let me out of my room if he knew.... She forced herself up from her sitting position (pointedly ignoring how her head swam at the motion), leaning her head against the window and peering outside. The glass was cool and forgiving, and she momentarily relished in the relief it brought her. Her whole body was listless, sluggard, and she needed to find a way to liven herself. But for the moment, she was awake early, and would entertain herself introspectively rather than motivating herself to go and slip into the skimpy leotard she was expected to adorn herself in for performances. After all, there was a lot she needed to dwell on, which was precisely why she woke herself so early each morning- to read and to reflect.

Reading, however, was off the table. Her thoughts, instead, drifted to August. Winsome, jejune, byzantine August. Getting himself tangled up. With love, the abominable, wretched thing. Her brows knitted. And with Ava, no less.... Her scowl grew more severe. It was nothing against Ava, no. She didn't have any feeling truly against Ava, only that she seemed to always find trouble when around her. Ava as a person was nothing less than pleasant and entertaining. They just.... being around Ava was like being around Taubryn- troublesome at best. As such, she tended to avoid her with a ferocity and urgency that she could understand being misconstrued. But Ava was delightful in herself, Alaizabel had noticed. No, it wasn't her that the blond had a problem with. It was the concept as a whole. August... in love? Preposterous. August was a person about as close to Alaizabel's heart as she could dare to imagine. She supposed some deep, hoggish part of herself did not want to consider the idea of having to share the poor boy with another, though that wasn't truly their dynamic whatsoever. She dismissed the thought. No... the idea of.... Someone might hurt him... she concluded, and her heart felt as though it were being squeezed. Her aversion was less of a selfish variety, she concluded. He must be so scared... to be in love is, after all, to be the most vulnerable you can be... to give yourself over to someone else... She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them shakily. She'd never really thought too deeply on the subject, and had been flabberghasted when August had broached the subject last night. When she considered love, she always imagined the role of the Vincent (the name still warranted a snarl even after so many years)- self-interested, narrow-minded, obsessive, controlling, dangerous..... but what about the Melanie? What about being on the receiving end? For some reason, this had never come to mind before until she realized with horror that it could happen to him. In no realm did she ever think that Ava would do anything so abhorrent as what her father had done, but the idea that she could actually hurt him had never really reached her realization. She had always imagined that the act of love itself was the problem- but it was the people. Who could you actually trust? Her mother had clearly never anticipated that man ever becoming the beastly thing that he had; asked previously, Melanie would have sworn up and down that he would never have hurt her. But then... people change. People do outrageous, hideous things when pushed to their limits. And if anything brought out the worst in people, it was love... She gripped her elbows tighter, and moved her face away from the wall and onto her knees. Why....? Her heart was racing just at the thought of all of this. She didn't want August to become that, in either respect. She couldn't imagine him sinking so low as to become her father, but the idea of him assuming Melanie's role... the idea that there was a spectrum outside of the black and white she had categorized didn't even occur to her. There was one or the other, and it was only a matter of time before you became one... or the other.

This was too much. She rent herself from the thoughts as quickly as she could, physically pushing her legs down and uncurling from the fetal ball she had adopted. Her breaths were shaky as she recovered, and she looked around the room for some sort of distraction. Well, if nothing else, she had succeeded in distracting herself from how physically awful she felt, and was feeling properly motivated to escape this room as quickly as she could. It wasn't common that she sought interaction, but she probably would have been grateful to Aloise if she tore through the door at that moment... She vaulted herself off the bed and rapidly changed her clothes from her sleeping attire into her costume. it had thankfully dried overnight and was shiny and ready to go. The tassles were always a hassle to untangle, but it was a merciful distraction, and she took the time to meticulously pull each strand apart. It was the first day of performances, after all, and she needed to portray herself in her best light. After she deemed she was suitable for public viewing (despite her regretful lack of covering, which she compensated for by slipping a sheer blouse over her shoulders) she moved toward her mirror. And here was where the magic needed to happen... she seemed to look about as wonderful as she felt. She scowled at her own reflection, grateful now that she had invested in some actual makeup rather than just hoping she could non-artificially adapt her expression to one of health and wellbeing. She spent some time dolling herself up, though reasonable and tastefully so. She had agreed to wearing the slop, but there was no way she was going to "paint it an inch thick", as she'd heard it said. Next she tore a brush through her long tresses, complaining idly to herself about how dumb it had been to bed with her hair wet, and how her hair would be outrageously wavy. It was, as it were, but manageable no less. She tucked her hair into the two side bows, purposefully yet again tying one slightly looser in the hopes that the water would pull it out of her hair. She took a step back and assessed herself. Her body still felt heavy, her chest occasionally burned with a suppressed cough, and her throat felt gravelly and hoarse even without speech, but she looked as well as she could anticipate looking for a performance.

With a sigh, she moved toward the door. Food. Food and something to pep her up would be good. Maybe she could even manage to take a nap between performances if she was lucky, and hopefully that would make her feel better. Without paying much attention to her surrounding, she opened the door and stepped out into the hall, pulling a knot out of the end of her hair. "I spent long enough on you, now cooperate..." she muttered to herself before turning to mosey toward the dining car.

The sensation of running into someone was enough of a shock to her for her to let out a small yelp of surprise. She drew herself away from the person, her eyes snapping open and her mouth opening to apologize quickly. "Oh, I am so terribly so.....so....ahhhhh...."

Paul. It was Paul standing before her. Dammit all, why did it have to be him!?... why the hell does it matter....? That in itself, under any normal circumstance that is, would not have been enough to so visibly derail her mid sentence. Under normal circumstances, however, the man would be clothed. Her mind went surprisingly blank, numb, as she observed the man before her. There he was, shirtless and clearly having just left the nearby showers. In his hands were his beloved Tarot cards, but she only distantly even recognized those. It was a few moments until she caught that she was, in fact, staring at him, a mixture of confusion, shock, and (unfortunately) intrigue coloring her face. As soon as she realized it, however, embarrassment was the only thing that colored her face. She was already feeling warm, but there was no doubt in her mind that the flood of heat on her face was now a violent blush rather than a thinly veiled fever. She dropped her gaze, her shoulders hunching awkwardly. "Paul!" She took a step back, furthering the distance between the two of them and looking at her door handle. She'd been so eager to launch herself from her room and now all she wanted to do was dash inside and wrap herself in her blanket never to be seen again. "Oh, Paul, I am so very sorry-! Here, hold on-" She pulled her door open and ducked inside, searching through her clothes. Somewhere... somewhere there must be- "Ah-ha!" She smiled, then jumped back out in the hallway and held the shirt out to him. It wasn't his, but she had a few men's shirts in her collection. They were less formfitting and restrictive than women's shirts, and she found it actually quite delightful to adorn herself in them while she sat in her room reading. At least one of them was probably Pyrrhus's that she had stolen, but hopefully this was one of her collection. It was just a simple white button up, and hopefully it would fit, but anything would be better than having him be so... so distracting...

She mentally berated herself. Why would he have such an effect? It wasn't like she'd never seen a man shirtless before....

Alaizabel bit her lip nervously, then forced a sort of smile. She looked up and met his gaze. Hopefully the blush she'd been suffering from had vanished and she could present herself as the lady that she desperately needed him to see her as. She had no idea why, but for some reason it was incredibly important to her that Paul see her in a positive light.... Her gaze flitted to his hands then back to him, and she recalled how she'd seen him last night. "How was your reading last night? Oh, unless that is unbecoming of me to ask... I simply saw you and Rhythm by the fire pit last night and was curious... you do not have to answer I suppose... Um.... and how are you feeling?" He always felt terrible following his readings, and she could completely understand why, considering what he had to do so that he could read the cards. She quirked a brow, inquirious. She was genuinely curious, but considering how foreignly off-her-footing Paul made her feel, the task of actually asking, and not seeming outright awkward or terribly unfortunately distant was a hell of an obstacle for her. She simply hoped now that she seemed like her usual self and that he wouldn't be offended or otherwise affronted by her previous behavior....She was typically so poised, so refined and in control of herself... she couldn't stand the idea that she was portraying herself so foolishly and unbecoming... While she, for whatever reason, craved talking to this man, it was always so frustrating to do so... like hitting her head against a bricked wall. Answers to why she felt that way were just beyond the wall, she could tell, but... but it would take some serious driving force to take it down.



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✿ ʟocaтɪoɴ: Her room --& Hallwayxxxxxxxx❀ ϻσσɗ: Swooooon- wait, what? xxxxxxxx✿ ωɪтʜ:Alone --& Paul xxxxxxxx❀ σσc:
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Orwells Eyes

[Scrivener_Lost]

cynosural𝐓c𝐡y𝐞 n 𝐑o𝐢s𝐧u𝐠r𝐦a𝐚c𝐬c𝐭a𝐞t𝐫



There was a stillness in the air, a pressure almost that leaned heavily against him as he stood in the middle of the grounds, his gaze drifting over the Cirque but not truly looking at anything. His thoughts were frazzled and his physical appearance reflected it as such; his hair hung in loose and wavy locks that fell in front of his face and his chest was very clearly visible as he had not attended to the buttons on the blouse since flying from his room a second time. His arms were slack at his side and it almost looked as if his very head were too heavy for his neck to support as he stood with his head bowed slightly. His boots were now speckled with mud, the earthen paste having been mixed with Mimi's blood from the tent and having since coagulated into a thick muck that soiled the black leather. Standing there like a spook, the Ringmaster let his eyes and ears go blind and deaf as his mind blazed with a thousand thoughts that all clashed into each other and muddied up the clarity he had finally acheived with the few hours of rest he had been able to wrench from the night. But now, now it felt as if it had been days since he had rested. Any sort of reprieve he might have gotten was now shattered, obliterated really, as he struggled to focus on what needed to be done now. Harold had taken Mimi's body and Matteo had gotten the Big Top cleaned up and any evidence of what had occurred was removed. I must focus on the show...the performance and the job...that's what I must focus on... But truly, who was he kidding? A performer had just died and with her death, it brought memories. Memories and thoughts had long since had to deal with. It had been twenty-one years since he had to bury a performer. The last had been Ava's father... Because after Ava, things had changed.

Things and Morgan had changed.

The Ringmaster clenched his hands tightly once again, his nails digging into the tender spots he had formed earlier. Death was no stranger to the Ringmaster and it was certainly no stranger to the troupe. But it had been years since the troupe had to collectively deal with the mourning of a family member. But this...they cannot know about Mimi...they cannot know that someone had been brutally murdered so close to home...No one can know...No one can know...that I failed to protect one of my own... Morgan felt the self-depreciating thoughts begin to swarm his mind, sowing the seeds of doubt that would ultimately blood into ...failure...failure to keep them safe...to keep them alive as they worked on their debts...just like I pro--"Hey! Morgan!"-mised... The Ringmaster did not hear Maiya as she rushed up to the thin and lean man. He didn't even sense her as she approached and managed to lace her arm around the small of his back. "I don't remember much of last night... Care to enlighten me?" It were as if the Ringmaster were in a trance when spoke to the man, especially concerning the lack of movement from him as she managed physical contact with him. It was another minute until she felt any sort of sign of his consciousness when he took a deep breath and his mind raced back to the present. He flinched now, as if suddenly remembering that he did not like being handled without him initiating the contact. But he did not pull away from the woman. Instead, his head slowly turned to her and his golden eyes gazed at her with a long look. He blinked slowly before turning to her and the muscles in his jaw working as his mind struggled to catch up. Mimi was murdered last night... He wanted to tell her. He wanted to share with her. After all...Maiya could have been the one being carted away in pieces now. Or Paul. Or Alaizabel. Or any of them for that matter...and it made him sick to think that he could have possibly staved off the attack.

But instead, he had been with Maiya, trying to figure out just where her emotions had stemmed from. She had ensnared him with a strange and erratic display that he still did not understand. But that was neither here nor there now...it was simply the alcohol talking... "And.. I... love you..." Morgan felt his nerves bunch up once more, though he could not honestly decide if it was from the grim images he had walked upon earlier or from her words. Either way, his pale face was drawn and taut as he took in her waiting gaze. Taking in a breath, he pulled out of her hold and he put a small length of distance between them. Mimi's death was a terrible and horrible reminder of why Morgan had not continued to make conducive relationships with the performers.
It had been so much easier when everyone hated me and I them... Then Mimi's death would not be making him feel so guilty and terrible now. Even if she died cursing my breath...it does not save me the idea that I could...have... Morgan blinked again and realized that Maiya was still waiting for an answer from him. "Ah...last night-"-Mimi was brutally tortured and died naked, afraid, and alone-"And.. I... love you...""-you had been drinking-"Probably with Mimi right before..."-you were not feeling well..not in your right mind..." Morgan's face paled a fraction as he raised a hand to his face and rubbed his forehead before sliding his palm down the length of his visage before dropping it and letting out a breath. "You drank heavily and I walked you back to your room." Morgan spat out quickly before his mind would catch his tongue again.

"I...ah...should probably get dressed. Have you seen Ava this morning? I can't seem to find her."

cynosural† 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Middle of Grounds cynosural† 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐲: Maiya cynosural† 𝐎𝐨𝐂: ITS A BABY POST~! LOOK HOW CUTE AND SMALL IT IS heart


Layout Created by Cynosural Cataclysm

[Cynotastic]

tab 『ωɪтʜ: Morgan 』xxxxxxx 『ʟocaтɪoɴ: Middle of Grounds 』xxxxxxx 『ϻσσɗ: Concerned 』xxxxxxx『σuтғɪт: [x] 』


Standing there waiting for a reaction from the man, her hand curled into itself, all save for her pointer finger, in which she began to draw circles on the small of the Ringmasters' back. He was frozen. It was bizarre. "...Morgan?" She muttered as she waited for the man to show some sign of life other than standing there frozen. When he flinched, a small smirk crept to her lips; at least he's still alive. Her eyebrows raised as she noticed he was acting rather stiff. His motions were all rigid and rough and not fluid and smooth like normal. It was like he was on end, and appeared to be super frazzled. However, her gaze met his, and her hand began to move up his back to find a more comfortable place to settle as she took in his unkempt appearance.

Then he put some distance between her and himself, and her arm fell to her side. Her lips tightened on the right side of her face as her gaze drifted towards the ground. Standing idly, still waiting for an answer, her arms crossed and her expression shifted to a puzzled one. He definitely didn't seem himself. While he had pulled his hair back with a different ribbon. Something just didn't seem right..

Blinking, an image of lightning flashed to the front of her memory as she recalled the last time she saw him so untamed, so wild. The night that the job hadn't gone as planned... The night that happened ages ago when Morgan was acting more like a monster. "You are a waste! A useless bag of flesh! How dare you interfere with business that is not your own. You are a foolish woman. Blind. Stupid --"

"Ah...last night you had been drinking-" She was snapped out of her flashback by the Ringmaster speaking again. 'No, he's not the same. If he were the same...' "You can do nothing unless I grant you permission..." The image of her gazing into his golden eyes under the moonlit sky echoed in her mind. 'Last night wouldn't have happened if he were the same.' "-you were not feeling well..not in your right mind...You drank heavily and I walked you back to your room." Looking up into his gaze, she scratched at her head. "I feel like a bit more happened..." She responded and was caught off guard by how hastily he stated the final sentence of the nightly recap.

Her eyes fully took in his figure instead of just his hair, taking in the complete sight of lack of proper grooming. Then Morgan spoke of needing to get dressed and wanting to find Ava. He seemed oddly absent minded, like his mind was elsewhere. Especially since his sentences usually were so fluid, and much like his motions were choppy and broken up. Raising an eyebrow with concern, she placed a hand on her hip. "I haven't seen her since the bar last night... Before the mixture of blurs and romantic moments." She said with a pause.

"Is something the matter? You seem... lost."

[Scrivener_Lost]

cynosural𝐓c𝐡y𝐞 n 𝐑o𝐢s𝐧u𝐠r𝐦a𝐚c𝐬c𝐭a𝐞t𝐫



"I haven't seen her since the bar last night... Before the mixture of blurs and romantic moments." Those were words that he did not want to hear. He didn't even catch the innuendo and falsity of her answer. Instead, he was trying not to show his panic. He had called her and he knew she would return soon, but it did not quell the deep throbbing dread that filled him. And even with the image of her whole and healthy pearl fresh in his mind, it still did nothing to help calm his nerves. And he found himself quite unable to hold Maiya's gaze as she stared at him, observing him. Judging him. "There's more where that came from! He simply could not get her words out of his head. Not the lack of trying either, but rather, with Ava missing and roll call having yet to be taken; Morgan did not like the odds of any of his other performers having gone missing. If that was the case...why not just obliterate the entire train with all of us on it? That would be much more simple than to pick us off one by one...unless of course...this is some sort of trap or sick game... The Ringmaster flicked his eyes to Maiya once and noticed her lips were still moving. She was still looking at him and her eyes were tinged with curious concern and perhaps, even a little wary? Of course, what did he know. He was probably frightening the poor woman in the pathetic state he was in. He absently cleared his throat and he passed a look over his attire and cringed. He was terribly ill-fit to be in anyone's presence, let alone standing in the middle of his Cirque grounds. Even now as more stagehands began to stir and walk about the grounds, Morgan was beginning to feel extremely uncomfortable being so naked. He reached up and grabbed at his shirt, closing it so that his chest were no longer visible. ...the scars hidden... And pale eyes moved back to Maiya once again.

"Is something the matter? You seem... lost." Was he truly being so transparent? His brows drew close together as he peered at her with a tired gaze before his fingers began to mess with the buttons on his blouse, slowly fastening the shirt close. Raising his arms, he tightened the cufflinks at his wrists. "I'm fine." He huffed as he tucked his shirt into his pants before trying to flush out the wrinkles from the distressed shirt. Then he ran his hands through his hair several times in attempt to subdue the wild curls and moody waves that threatened to create terrible knots that would force Isabella to practically had to tear his hair out with the damned brushes he used. He did not like that idea. He had experienced her brushing methods too many times to count and each time, he could swear that she was going to scalp him. "I'm fine," he said without truly realizing that he had repeated it. Passing a cursory peek at Maiya, he quickly calculated the odds of him pulling on the "cruel Ringmaster" mask and if it would come off as a passable farce to the true nature of his panicked being, or if she would see right through it. After last night, however, he feared she might just see through the facade as she had done many times before. There wasn't much about Morgan's rough words and cold exterior that Maiya didn't know, rather, it appeared to be his brain that caught her off guard. If he attempted to be harsh and cruel now to put space between them again, he feared that she would attempt to dig deeper into the apparently disturbed air he was giving off. If she can read me this easily...there will be others who can do so as well... Morgan thought to himself. He would have to switch up tactics if he was going to get through this day without cracking underneath the pressure.

With a careful and deep breath, he reached out and gently grabbed her left bicep before offering her a genuine smile. "I apologize, Maiya. I had a bit of a rough sleep...I'm afraid I was unable to dream of you as you requested," he replied lightly. "It appears that you'll have to make some slight adjustments to your performance today. Unfortunately, Mimi will be unavailable. I'll explain everything during roll call. Its nothing to concern yourself over." He hoped she would take the bait. He had broken the physical contact barrier and had carried it even further by playing to her fantasies, regardless if they were inebriated ones or not. But the touch served more purposes than to simply give Maiya a taste of what she desired. It also grounded Morgan to the reality that she was here, alive, whole and well; but also, it was a secure sense of control for Morgan where he had felt wildly absent in the control of his troupe. Short of commanding each one of them with his cold voice and actions, but simply showing that he was in control by a soft touch would help to reaffirm that yes, the Ringmaster was still in control. Control of them, at least...control of my own mind? Well...that's another story... Dropping his arm, he stepped around Maiya as if to make his way towards the train before turning to her slightly. "Are you ready for a grand day of the impossible and the fantastic?" He gave her a coy smile.

cynosural† 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Middle of Grounds cynosural† 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐲: Maiya cynosural† 𝐎𝐨𝐂:


Layout Created by Cynosural Cataclysm



Cynosural Cataclysm

[Cynotastic]

tab 『ωɪтʜ: Morgan 』xxxxxxx 『ʟocaтɪoɴ: Morgan's Side 』xxxxxxx 『ϻσσɗ: Swooning internally 』xxxxxxx『σuтғɪт: [x] 』

"I'm fine." 'You don't seem fine...' Maiya continued to watch the man. His hands traveling through his hair, moving amongst his clothes trying to shape himself up. While it seemed more like Morgan trying to uphold his usual appearance - well groomed, pressed uniform, and his normal state. His trying to correct the wrinkles in his fabric was done in such a rushed motion. Almost as though his core was exposed and hung out to dry. While she had seen his scars and him in a state of undress more so than his current state. He still seemed so panicked -- but, why?

"I'm fine." "You already said that... Almost seems like you're reassuring yourself - I am sure Ava is fine. No need to panic." She said taking a small step closer towards him. "I'm certain she'll return, it's not like her to be away from the Cirque for too long...Maybe she found a boy? Is that why you hurried out here so out of sorts...?" The knife-thrower asked as she raised an eyebrow and grabbed a hold of her right elbow as to make herself not seem so clingy to the man. She wanted to inch closer, put her arm around him and tell him it would be okay - but the man had put distance between them, that meant he was turning away her offers.

Then he grabbed her bicep. It was something she had grown accustomed to when Morgan was handling her. Usually he did such to get her attention - pull her in close so he could tell her something. From moments in the past it was usually demeaning; "You are either entirely too brave...or stupid for your own good,". Or from the time that the two had first met, that train wreck of an evening, when he grabbed her in the same spot and snarled: "You have a debt to pay.". Then there was the instance from last night, where he chased after her - grabbed that same area and shouted at her: "HOW DARE YOU WALK AWAY FROM ME!" This time, however, seemed different. The words the man spoke were not anger filled, nor were they demeaning. No, this time they were of apology.

"I apologize, Maiya." 'Wait, what?' "I had a bit of a rough sleep...I'm afraid I was unable to dream of you as you requested," A smile slipped onto her face, and even a tint of pink slipped onto her cheeks. They were not quite the words that she was expecting to hear from the Ringmaster. Especially when he grabbed her bicep and pulled her so close. The Knife-thrower was more expecting him to utter a dark secret into her ear, give her some sort of reason to understand why he was acting so bizarre. However, perhaps that their romantic evening made him act a bit differently? Had he finally been wooed by the voluptuous Maiya that he actually wanted to dream of her? She felt her heartbeat increase, and the fluttering of butterflies in her chest. "I-I-I..." She stuttered out, being caught so off guard made it hard for her to respond in her usual flirty ways. It was almost as though he broke the confident knife-thrower. Then, the Ringmaster continued, "It appears that you'll have to make some slight adjustments to your performance today. Unfortunately, Mimi will be unavailable. I'll explain everything during roll call. Its nothing to concern yourself over."

However, while she wanted to say something about how she'd help make it easier for him to dream of her, Maiya's attention got refocused onto something else he had mentioned. "Mimi will be unavailable." 'What did he mean by that?' Then the next thought that came to mind was concerning her at the bar. While the Knife-thrower remembered that she had brought the Damsel to the bar, she never remembered seeing her leave. So, perhaps she was also suffering from a hangover? But, Morgan wouldn't let a person skip out of work because of a hangover. So, that couldn't be it.

Feeling her arm fall back to it's side, she focused from her thoughts and looked back towards the Ringmaster as he turned towards the train. "Are you ready for a grand day of the impossible and the fantastic?" Her eyes fell on the coy smile on his lips, and she narrowed her eyes back onto the man. "Wait just a minute!" She said as she closed the small gab between them and walked up to his side. Her eyes narrowed on the man. Her heart began to flutter as she recalled what he had just said, and the hue was still sitting on her face. But, that wasn't where she was focused on at the moment.

No, she was focused on the other bizarre thing Morgan did this morning. While the concern for his adoptive daughter was something to be expected, and his subtle shift in persona that lead Maiya to believe that he was actually falling for her was somewhat unexpected, but welcomed. The act of letting a performer sit out of their duties... That, that was peculiar. Therefore she needed to get to the bottom of it. "What's happened with Mimi?" She pressed. "You usually don't let people skip out because of a mere hangover. Did she break something?"


『σσc: Contemplating adding more because: "Aio: ITS SO TINY AND BABY AND CUTE". Your posts aren't tiny damn it! D< 』

[queenie-ohqueenie]

◞ AND I SAIDxxI'LL TAKE HEED TOMORROW

ｉｆ ｉ ｄｏｎ'ｔ ｗａｋｅ ｕｐ ｄｅａｄ

██████████ █████████ ███████ ███████████ ████ ███ ██ █▐ ♛

ＬＥＴＳ ＢＥ ＡＬＯＮＥ ＴＯＧＥＴＨＥＲ ＷＥ ＣＯＵＬＤ ＳＴＡＹ ＹＯＵＮＧ ＦＯＲＥＶＥＲxxＳＣＲＥＡＭ ＩＴ ＦＲＯＭ ＴＨＥ ＴＯＰ ＯＦ ＹＯＵＲ ＬＵＮＧＳ
ＬＥＴＳ ＢＥ ＡＬＯＮＥ ＴＯＧＥＴＨＥＲ ＷＥ ＣＯＵＬＤ ＳＴＡＹ ＹＯＵＮＧ ＦＯＲＥＶＥＲxxＳＣＲＥＡＭ ＩＴ ＦＲＯＭ ＴＨＥ ＴＯＰ ＯＦ ＹＯＵＲ ＬＵＮＧＳ

INFO
ｌｏｃａｔｉｏｎ: kitchen
ｃｏｍｐａｎｙ: no one
ｏｏｃ: Sort of just a character post? TL;DR: Breakfast is on! Love Puck.


Puck awoke easily the next morning. He hadn’t drank enough to be hungover, thank god. A little general queasiness, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed with a cup of coffee and a little meal. He sat up in bed, let out a yawn as he luxuriously stretched, and got up to his feet. He was still in the clothes from the night before - very comfortable, very loose. He felt good today, better than he’d felt in quite some time. ’Performances are going to go great. Morgan’s going to love it. The villagers are going to hoot and holler and throw us flowers. It’ll be just like the movies.’ It was almost a little out of character for Puck to be this positive.

He stepped out of his room, barefoot. The rest of the train was still pretty silent - it seemed that most people were still lounging around in bed. ”Plenty of time before roll call…but it means I get first pick at food today!”

He made his way to the kitchen, excited for the day to come. It was these cycles he always fell into: complete joy for performing, maybe a little nervous anticipation for a job, if he was working it, then the seeping lethargy and apathy came back during the travels. It was painful to be cooped up for so long - probably Puck’s least favorite part of being with the circus. However, knowing that that delicious adrenaline high was coming soon, he could get through it. ”And today, it’s finally here!”

His thoughts drifted back to Flynn. They’d kissed yesterday. Actually kissed. Lips pressed to one another’s, hands in hair, body on body under the falling confetti and balloons. It was…almost magic. And as someone who actually was a little bit magical himself, he didn’t use the word lightly. But standing there with Flynn…it made him feel something, and he still wasn’t entirely sure how to move on from here. He didn’t really like discussing his feelings - too touchy-feely and emotional and unstable for his liking - but something in the pit of his stomach told him that a conversation was coming. ”For now, breakfast. Worry about it later.”

The kitchen was empty, but there was already an almost-full pot of coffee sitting on the warmer. ”Fine by me…” he muttered, filling up a cup for himself and adding a little bit of cream. He took a cautious sip but discovered that it had already cooled enough to be drinkable - still warm, but not tongue-scalding. ”Absolutely…perfect.” he sighed as the cup left his lips. He then went to work getting food ready, actually considering his fellow troupe members as he pulled out enough ingredients to feed them all. He absently sang to himself as he worked, low and soft so as to not disturb anyone that was still dozing off. Soon, his voice was drowned out by the sizzling of bacon and hash browns in their skillets and the sliding of his spatula as he scrambled up a pan of eggs. ”They all better love me for doing this.” he stated aloud to no one. ”That’s more like it.”


ＬＡＹＯＵＴ ＣＲＥＤＩＴ : ＣＯＦＦＵ-ＫＩＮＳ

[Scrivener_Lost]

cynosural𝐓c𝐡y𝐞 n 𝐑o𝐢s𝐧u𝐠r𝐦a𝐚c𝐬c𝐭a𝐞t𝐫



If there was one thing to be said for Maiya and Morgan's relationship it had been that it was tumultuous at best, though not always in the negative sense. She had been a consistent presence in his life for the better part of one hundred years now and each day was never the same between the two. It had been a game, much like Morgan viewed nearly all of his relationships with women as of late. With Ava, it was a game of mulish nerves and manipulation. With Alaizabel, it had been a game of wit and wisdom. With Maiya...well, her game had changed several times in the past. At first, it was simply an unyielding woman's curiosity that strove to uncover the sensitive secrets and hidden agendas of the Ringmaster. But then it shifted and her objectives changed, though Morgan was quite unable to keep up with her ultimate goal as it appeared that changed as well. For some time, he thought he knew just how to deal with her. He had figured he knew women enough to be able to combine them into one lump sum that he could treat the same and get conclusive results from. Though, that was no longer the case and Morgan had since come to the revelation that all women were strange and complicated in their own various ways and forms; it still had not pandered to the idea that Maiya was any different than any other creature he had come across. She was a woman, her emotions easily manipulated and formed to the way he desired. And that was the stance he had taken against her for many years. For decades he had simply viewed her like any other person that would eventually be broken to his every whim and will. He tried his usual tactics; brute force, harsh words, the cold shoulder, and he had even plain out ignored her for the better part of five years, only addressing her existence when she were to be reprimanded and punished. But she never broke. Like a wild stallion, she was untamed and relentless. He had chalked it up to being stupid and stubborn, a layabout who only worked when she set her eyes on something she wanted.

But that had not been the case. And even when he tried to dismiss her from the Cirque, she adamantly refused and that was when he became incredibly flustered. He had spent nearly all of their time yelling at her, abusing her, and shoving her aside. But she still did not leave. For whatever reason, she refused to leave the Cirque and even if Morgan had his suspicions of the reasons, he had long since forgotten them. Standing next to him now, he gazed at her face and for a flicker of an instant, he could feel a calming and warm sensation pull over him like a blanket. She was clearly concerned and even if he had tossed aside her advances before, there was a part of him that missed that old and fractional moment they shared in the past. For a forgotten whisper of time, he could see himself sitting by the fire pit, her face illuminated by the soft glow of the embers, and his fingers brushing against hers, leaning in...Morgan winced and raised his hand to his chest absently as his fingers moved between the soft cream-colored ruffles of the blouse, fingertips running over a raised and unsightly scar. "Oh Captain! I left you a present~" Morgan's insides turned to ice as the words burned through him like dry ice, burning and freezing him at the same time. He could have sworn the scar ached just then. It renewed the sense of urgency now, dashing away the soft and subtle comfort that Maiya's presence had just been offering him. He had stopped moving however and as he lifted his head to gaze at the train, his brows were tightly knit together in a look of internal panic. Had it been anyone else, he would have quickly cast aside his worries and settled easily into the terrifying Ringmaster of Tromperie once again. But Maiya continued to dig into his worry, her lips moving over words that dragged Morgan back to this sense of unyielding thoughts and panic. But perhaps what worried him the most about this whole situation was that if anyone were to ask him the questions...he would not be able to give the answer. He did not know why Mimi was dead. He did not know who the woman was. And he did not know what lay in the future for his troupe.

"I'm certain she'll return, it's not like her to be away from the Cirque for too long...Maybe she found a boy? Is that why you hurried out here so out of sorts...?" Oh yes, that's just the sort of thing I need to worry about right now... Morgan thought bitterly. Even suggesting that Ava was with a boy made a fresh wave of frustration flow through him and his thoughts moved briefly to the array of fools who had attempted to have any sort of relationship with his adoptive daughter and the prompt ways he had gotten rid of their presence. To think that Ava was with a man right now made him want to storm to back to his room and summon her from the pearl once again despite knowing that the summons was fool proof and she would be returning any moment. Though...would you rather she be safe with some boy rather than the alternative...? And it had appeared his shift in tactics was working against the woman and her suspicions for the most part as he watched her expression shift from curious and concerned to elated and dare he say...embarrassed? Morgan was caught off-guard by how cute she looked trying to save face and stuttering. Knowing that perhaps for the first time a long time he had been the one to make her flustered instead of the other way around would have made him grin with victory and a childish glee. To catch the very goddess of flirting and seduction with her own act would have been far more amusing if the back of his thoughts were not scattered and tossed about with panic and dread. But it did serve him as reminder of how he could be if things were different. Though, the victory was short lived when Maiya caught onto something and she stopped him. "Wait just a minute! What's happened with Mimi? You usually don't let people skip out because of a mere hangover. Did she break something?"

Damn it, Maiya! She had seen through the facade or at least, she had taken it and applied it to something else. Any sense of positive feelings that had filled him in the last few minutes were dashed away with panic and distress. His golden eyes drifted to the space between the two ancient troupe members and instead of pushed together in worry, Morgan's brows curled downward as they creased his features as the soft gold hue of his iris growing darker as his face resigned the soft glow of his subtle flirting to the hardened expression of the Ringmaster that everyone knew well enough. His lips were pulled tight at the corners of his mouth as he slowly turned his sharpened glare back up to Maiya now. That damned stubborn inquisitive mule could not simply take him for word's value and leave it at that. No. She had to push him when he clearly did not want to be shoved. Maiya... He hissed in warning before opened his mouth to speak to her. "Yes. After drinking for several hours last night, she fell and broke several bones. And the last thing I need is that fool Damuron absorbing her stupid mistake and making himself even more useless. So I sent her off to be taken care of. So, adjust your performance as you need. Ava or Alaizabel should be able to pick up the slack. Maybe now...you'll see how lucky you were that I managed to drag you back to the train." He took a step back, adding more distance between the two of them as he glared at her, his fingers still lingering against his chest. "Enough questions...you should get ready for the show..."

It was far too easy to slip back into that terrible mask...

cynosural† 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Middle of Grounds cynosural† 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐲: Maiya cynosural† 𝐎𝐨𝐂: Damn it....


Layout Created by Cynosural Cataclysm

[Cynotastic]

tab 『ωɪтʜ: Morgan -> Her Knives 』xxxxxxx 『ʟocaтɪoɴ: Small Tent 』xxxxxxx 『ϻσσɗ: Dwelling 』xxxxxxx『σuтғɪт: [x] 』

When the Ringmaster winced, it caused Maiya's eyebrows to raise. It seemed as though his hand was subconsciously wandering somewhere on his body. Where his hand had traveled too had a sense of familiarity, but the woman couldn't piece as to why. The Knife-thrower was aware the man's body was riddled with scars - she had seen them before. Was there a particular one that had importance? 'I mean, there was that time long ago..' She took another stroll down memory lane, when that other woman had stumbled upon them and tried to mortally wound the Ringmaster. However, that scar had to have long since healed? And if it had not, it wouldn't be something that she thought Morgan would hold close to himself. At least, Maiya believed so. No, back then he was more focused on that other woman. That night had simply been a fluke. Regardless of how much she wished it wasn't, despite how much last night echoed how close they were that night. There was someone else - someone he viewed as more important. So, she discarded the thought that he held what could have been a reminder close.

Then the smooth voice of Morgan's began to pour from his mouth. It was an answer to her question. "Yes. After drinking for several hours last night, she fell and broke several bones. And the last thing I need is that fool Damuron absorbing her stupid mistake and making himself even more useless. So I sent her off to be taken care of. So, adjust your performance as you need. Ava or Alaizabel should be able to pick up the slack. Maybe now...you'll see how lucky you were that I managed to drag you back to the train." Her eyebrows rose, and her head fell. She felt a bit guilty for the injuries the damsel had received, after all - if she hadn't played a trick on her during practice, if she hadn't left her at the bar --. No. Even if Maiya was feeling guilty about the fact that she inadvertently set Mimi up for broken bones. She wouldn't trade what she recalled of last night. Especially not a woman who she was far from on good terms with. "Oh. Alright." She stated, it was a sign that it was time for her to stop bothering him. His answers seemed to get increasingly agitated. The Knife-thrower had delved just enough to finally get some black lash out of the man. Her red-stained eyes looked back to the man, paying attention to his face.

"Enough questions...you should get ready for the show..." "Well, if you see her. Let her know I'm sorry for leaving her at the bar. In that case, I'll see you after evening roll call." She paused, words from moments prior filtered into her mind. "I had a bit of a rough sleep...I'm afraid I was unable to dream of you as you requested." The red hue spread to her lips as she turned away from Morgan. Taking a step to put a bit more distance between them, she paused again. Her crimson eyes moving back to meet his. "I'm afraid I was unable to dream of you as you requested." A smirk came to her lips. "Maybe after the evening is done. I can come to your office and make it a bit easier for you to sleep and dream of me." With that, and a wink - she was off to the small tent. The first task of her day - aside from bothering Morgan - was to check to make sure all her knives and tools were in place. Then, she'd have to seek out Alaiza or Ava and explain to them what happened with Mimi, figure out who would want to take her place in the mean time.

When she arrived into the tent she went into the backstage area where she had a chest that contained her knives. After unlocking the simple lock that had been put on the chest from when Ava was a youngster, she pulled out her thin lives and began to inspect them. Her thumb ran across the sharp edge to unsure it was capable of slicing through flesh or fabric simply. While she didn't want to actually wound whomever would act as her Damsel for the evening, if the knives weren't sharp they wouldn't pierce the wood and would fall to the ground.

It wouldn't appear as risky. As her finger glided across the blade, a phrase from Morgan flipped into her mind once more. Back when the two were not on good terms. "What about you, Maiya? Where would you put your blade? Here in my neck? Between my shoulder blades? She shook her head. "That trip still confuses me." The Knife-thrower said to herself as she shook her head. Then her finger glanced at her thumb to ensure it left a thin small slice on it. Letting out a sigh, she moved onto the next blade, doing the same routine check up on it.

"No. I don't think he really understood what I wanted at that time... Not until that instance by the fire..." Her eyes glared at the blade as she continued to shuffle through the memories she had with Morgan. Their lips were so close to touching...

Then that b***h ruined it.

That violent little red head.

Moving onto the next knife, she tossed it in the air, watching it spin before catching it.

"I still think he should have crushed her pearl right then."

[fangbanger18]

✦ ʟocaтɪoɴ: Room ➟ Halls ➟ Kitchen tab tab ✦ cσϻpaɴʏ: Alone ➟ Alaiza & Paul ➟ Puck tab tab ✦ ωεaʀɪɴɢ x Outfit tab tab ✦ ғεεʟɪɴɢs: Refreshed/ "Performance day finally."
tab ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
tab tab - - - ╰♛╮ - - - ╰♛╮- - - ╰♛╮- - - ╰♛╮- - - ╰♛╮- - - ╰♛╮- - -

♚♚➟ Long blush rose locks were the only visible thing in the mess of black. A soft moan slowly made it's way passed her lips, in a pleasurable satisfying tone. The silk black sheets caressed slender legs as they stretched into the air, her toes pointed to perfection, the first thing to reveal itself from under the covers. Still rather sluggish and slow the acrobat finally was able to push her body to sit up, rolling her shoulders some bones giving a light crack. Running her slim fingers through her locks she tried to recall the events of the previous night. A soft night compared to most, especially since Taubryn had stolen her fun by taking her doctor. Though Aloise enjoyed to be drinking out and about like most, she always took it easy before a performance day. Leaving the bar surprisingly early to tend to her beauty sleep was well, not surprising.

In a swift moment she swung her legs over the side, just the tip of her toes touching the ground. A low grumbled growl emerged from her stomach, so loud she would have been embarrassed if there was any witness to the unladylike noise. Leaning forward her locks shadowed her face, one of the straps of her bra slipping off her shoulder. On a usual day it would be bath first then food, but since she was awake fairly early she decided some tea and breakfast was what her body was aching for at the moment.
♚♚➟ Still in a undergarments she did not bother to change, grabbing a silk black robe that rested on her bed and throwing it over her shoulders. An assortment of ribbons rested on her drawer, and a black one seemed to do perfectly as she reached back to pull her locks into a messy ponytail. The small vanity held a mirror, where her reflection was staring back at her, "Perfection..." she whispered, even in a simple night gown and with no make she found herself to be flawless. Not bothering to grab shoes the acrobat slipped from her door and out into the empty hall. With a soft hum she began her walk, having to cross to the first car to get to the kitchen. Voices caught her ears when she reached to first hall, one very familiar. Paul's voice was easy to recognize, though oddly Aloise could recognize any of the boys from afar. Just as she had thought a few short steps she laid eyes on Paul, a lovely sight compared to the one beside him. The acrobat did not even acknowledge the escape artist, a loving smile spreading across her lips as her gaze met with his. A teasing wink and a delicate finger tracing along his chest was all she shared, not speaking a word as she passed them and continued toward the kitchen.

♚♚➟ Even still a few steps from the kitchen the heavenly smell of food graced her nostrils. If there was something she loved more than cooking was when someone else cooked for her. Waltzing into the kitchen her eyes rested upon Puck's figure working his way around the skillet. As she came closer she was a bit more silent, using her powers to give soundless weightless steps. Tiptoeing to peer over his shoulder her eyes slipped closed and she inhaled the lovely scent. "Aw darling can you be more amazing." The acrobat said softly praising the man for having made breakfast. Turning from him she moved to find a teapot, coffee not being her preferred morning drink. Moving around him careful not to disturb him she prepared to boil some water, before speaking again. "How was your evening love? Anything interesting occur?"



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✦ σσc: Hope it is okay :3




Queenie Queerie

xXx Fox Trot xXx

Orwells Eyes




Amazing Layout but the Amazing One and Only - Cynosural Cataclysm ! <3