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 ]

[sunriseparilla]

TA U B R Y N ↺ M E L E A C H L A I N N

"The Illusionist"

✱ ✱ xThe city looks so pretty, do you wanna burn it with me?
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Let's watch this city burn

xxxFrom the skylines on top of the world
'Til there's nothing left of her

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When the others stepped into the big top, he only hesitated for half a beat before he followed in after them. They had talked nothing of plans of attack or of what to do when they met the ones who had caused all this. They barely did any talking at all! Sure, Mouse had told them all to stay safe, but that was hardly anything worth of note. Save from Icarus and Damuron, he doubted any of them would really run into things with little thought. He paused, well, maybe he was giving the others (and himself) a little too much credit. Taubryn let out a breath and glanced down at the cotton balls that Nova had handed him before they all rushed to their inevitable deaths. He tucked it away in his pocket. Nothing was stopping him from just leaving, he reminded himself. He could very well just let the others take care of this themselves. He had no real interest in dying. Not yet at least. He shouldn’t care and this might not even be real anyway. Even with the overwhelming evidence against him, he still didn’t want to believe that such a happy time could turn round so quickly and at nearly break neck speed. But, a little part of his mind whispered, then why did he feel the need to keep telling himself this? Why not just go through with his own plans and leave? Turn around and head back to the train. Why did he let his legs do the walking for him.

His grip on the darts tightened. He knew why. He already did. Back at the train he had made a decision and he was going to go through with it. No matter what the more sensible part of his brain told him and no matter what other doubts reared their ugly heads. He tilted his head and snorted softly at the disbelief and mocking in Damuron’s words. Yes, well darts were better than nothing, dear heart. He wasn’t given much more time to dwell and think when utter chaos exploded. His eyes widened as various screams and movement scattered throughout the little area. He usually loved chaos and the upturning of everything normal, his love of pranks proved that but this was so out of his league it wasn’t even funny. This was violence, this was blood at his feet and scattered around the walls, this was him being helpless as he just watched his friends being taken and fighting. He could do nothing as Paul, Aloise, and August were wrapped up like little birthday presents and hauled up into the air. His stomach lurched as his brain so helpfully supplied the image of them in a butcher shop, hanging in display like pieces of meat. Pieces. Several pieces.

Flynn was down as well with Puck trying to help him, and while the man never considered them friends, he did. He took an unconscious step back. This was what he never wanted. This was every one of his deepest nightmares brought out into the open. This was his childhood before everything. Taubryn curled in a little into himself and placed one of his darts back into his holster. He was slowly but surely being pulled back into the past and he would be of even worse help and an easy target should he allow that. He was going to get out of this alive, he repeated. Alive and well and hopefully with a Ringmaster to punch square in the face and his friends (minus one). Raising a hand up he tried to create a different world. One where things were different enough so that they could at least have some advantage. A scene where his friends were more familiar with and could recognize.

The others had more experience to be sure and they would probably have gotten to know the big top and all its crevices so what better way than to rip them out of their comfort zones. He put all his effort into creating this world and his images should have been forming by now, at least a little bit, but...nothing happened. A ball of real fear formed in his chest, tightening with each passing second, so much so that it was getting hard to breathe. He tried again. Taubryn would have wailed pathetically had his fear not stolen his voice from him. Instead, he let his trembling hand fall. What was this? If they somehow managed to take his illusions from him, what else could they do? He looked around and dashed into an unoccupied area of the big top. Leaning against one of the wooden columns, he tried to conjure something else in his palm, something smaller. He couldn’t help the disbelieving and utterly broken laugh that escaped from his lips as Stir-Fry waddled up his arm.

He took a deep, steadying breath. Okay, so not all of his illusions were taken. Apparently just the ones that were larger and took up more space. He could still work with this. He swallowed the lump in his throat, at least in theory. Nova’s song echoed throughout the area, causing him to jump. Right. He quickly took the cotton balls and shoved them in his ear. When the song wasn’t as muffled as he would have liked it, he swore softly and put them back in his pocket. He peered out from behind the pillar and his breath nearly stopped. Currently, Damuron was in the middle of the fight bound and helpless. He swore at him, even though he knew he couldn’t hear him. Did he literally, not even a few minutes before, not just say not to do anything reckless?! If getting himself so easily captured wasn’t the very definition of reckless he didn’t know what was. He wanted to help him. He wanted to run over there and punch him in the face for being so god damn stupid and then let him out. But…he couldn’t. The things holding Damuron in place were solid metal. There was little he could do and it killed him inside. It physically hurt to see his dearest friend in such a situation and be able to do literally nothing. The only consolation he had was that the one who had bound him was leaving and that he wasn’t being targeted by anyone. Yet. That and Puck was nearby.

To top it all off and make everything that much worse, lava was hurtling down from the sky and adding even more problems. Pyrrhus and Alaizabel in the midst of it all. He had heard the woman scream for Pyr to use his flames to free the captives but this was ridiculous! Besides, Pyrrhus had flames not lava. His gaze landed on another man, laughing in delight at the sight. His eyes narrowed into slits. Was he…was he the source of that? Taubryn grabbed his darts again and ran forward. At least here there was something he could do, however little it was. He sent a silent apology to Damuron and prayed to whoever was listening that Puck would be able to get him out using his powers. He stopped a safe distance away from the laughing man and shouted, “Hey!” He grinned, “Fun little trick you've got there friend.” With little more preamble, he threw two of his darts at the man, but not before changing them to a cantaloupe and a tea cup respectively. Hopefully the man would become distracted enough so that the lava rain would stop or at least lessen so that the two could run out of the way.


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Let's watch this city burn the world
Let's watch this city burn the world
Let's watch this city burn the WORLD




〈 location 〉 ㄨbig topxxx 〈 company 〉 ㄨEveryonexxx 〈 ooc 〉 ㄨ let me know if I need to change anything OTL




xXx Fox Trot xXx


Cynotastic

[Scrivener_Lost]

Cannes

"Aloise! Hold on!" He struggled to pry the sticky threads from his face, yanking on ribbon wrapped around his neck and his arms. He flailed, struggling in vain to free himself of the dark stained fabric that the strange spider-like boy had wrapped him up in. He had swooped in so suddenly, August had no time to react. Ava's cry was still in his ears as the strange acrobat swept him into the rafters of the tent. But his attention was not focused on his own predicament. Instead, his eyes were focused on Aloise. The woman looked horrible. She was also wrapped up in the aerial ribbons that responded only to the young rival, but something was wrong. Terribly wrong.. She didn't look right. He clawed at the threads again, luck granting him the chance to be free for all of a few seconds as he tumbled in mid-air slightly only for his hands to find a secure hold on a thin wire. His heart pound against his chest as he gazed up at the metal wire before taking a deep breath, settling his mind as he pulled himself up upon the thin silver thread. With the balance that only an acrobat had, he carefully perched upon the wire before slowly making his way towards Aloise. "Just a little...bit...more...hold on, Aloise. I'm coming!" August muttered, his voice a precious squeak over the sounds of battle below. He cast his eyes about quickly, searching the tent for any signs of the strange spider boy. He caught a brief glimpse of violet meeting with Maiya in front of Morgan. He was occupied. "This is my chance," he whispered, daring to increase his speed as made his way to Aloise with swift agility. Carefully pulling himself to his feet, he struggled for only a few seconds to find his balance before he was perfectly balanced and reaching up for Aloise. The fair and beautiful woman was suspended nearly perfectly upside down, her head facing the ground, long soft pink tresses falling over her unnaturally pale face. Her eyes were shut, making August more nervous than he could barely stand. "Aloise...Aloise!" He reached up to pull on the ribbon, the thick silk wrapped tightly around the unconscious woman. A bead of sweat dripped down his brow as his hands shook, eyes darting nervously back and forth between the crazy young man yelling at Maiya and the still form of Aloise. Paul could see the terror on August's face. The young man was not meant for battle. None of them were. He struggled against the webs, the stringy and sticky substance making it near impossible for him to move without getting a limb irreversibly tangled. He huffed, his chest constricting painfully as a bead of sweat dripped from his nose. He could hardly believe this. From this position he could see as the strongwoman pummeled Flynn, leaving him in a bloodied pool as she turned on Puck. All the while the others were scrambling, trying to figure out what to do. Maiya was in front of Morgan now and for a second, there was a moment where Paul thought that just perhaps they might make it out alive. Then Pyrrhus shot a pillar of flame towards them, attempting to free them no doubt, but when his possible flames of salvation turned into hardened rocks of searing magma, Paul felt what meager hope he had simmer into a dull sense of apprehension. Alaizabel was trying her best, he knew it; she had shouted hopeful words up at him. But as the battle waged on, Paul's hope became fragile and frail. They were down three people already; Icarus was dead, Aloise was most certainly mortally wounded, and Flynn... He could hardly stand to look at the crimson that pooled around him. He had been flung about with reckless abandon. If he wasn't dead, he would be soon. They needed Morgan. This was turning into a slaughter and Morgan could have very well been the only one capable of stopping this brutal tirade.

Yes, only Morgan had the power to stop them, but Roland had seen to it to weaken the Ringmaster and put him out of commission. This fact was enough to infuriate the woman in front of him, her bright crimson eyes glaring at him with wicked spite. She was repulsive, she always had been. Even now, standing there as though she dare to challenge him; Cannes could hardly stomach the thought of knowing that his beloved Ringmaster cared for this woman. Through his tantrum to the minute that deplorable woman had mentioned a kiss, Cannes was simply filling with pure rage that needed to be directed. He wanted to punish her for sullying his dear Ringmaster. Morgan was perfect; demure, strong, demanding, and simply... he could hardly stand to see this woman striding forward demanding for all the world to cease so she could get her horrid hands on his prize. He hated her. Hated this entire troupe. For nearly three months he had watched as Morgan, in spite of all his mania, still doted on them as though they meant something. Nothing ever meant anything to Morgan. Nothing ever had and nothing ever would. There was something wrong. Morgan could not like these people. What did they have over him? I gave him everything! My adoration! I did everything he told me! And still...to treat me like that... He couldn't take it. His anger was venomous, just as his bite was, and he would make sure to make Maiya pay. She was dirty. She was repulsive. She would not have Morgan. And in his foolish all encompassing rage, he had nearly completely forgotten his main objective as he heard the chains rattle to the floor behind him. He whipped around as Morgan's body slumped against the fallen acrobat, the Ringmaster hardly uttering a word as he lay still against the acrobat's body. Cannes' eyes widened in shock. No! When did she...? For a moment, utter terror swept through him as his thoughts immediately turned to Roland. Bright violet irises scoured the area around him in a mad panic. Where is he? Did he see? He's going to crush it! He's going to kill me! I let her get to Morgan! This is bad, this is- "Now, for you," she hissed, drawing his attention. He whipped around to face her, staring into the furious maw of a she-wolf as she focused her sharp crimson eyes on him, "get out of my sight!" The acrobat's head snapped forward as a horrible pulling sensation tossed him violently into the rafters, his back connecting with metal tresses before a shooting pain struck his limbs, rendering him limp momentarily as his body flopped downward a few feet before coming in contact with the metal wire that August was precariously perched upon. The moment his body hit the taut support, instincts forced him to wrap his body around to to prevent falling. A moment of agony passed before his senses returned, orchid eyes snapping to August where he continued to struggle to free Aloise. Furious, Cannes gathered his senses, jumping upon the wire, perching perfectly with his arms spread out to his sides. With prim delicate movements, he swung his torso forward, easing into a flip, his hands gripping the metal wire with ease and strength. With another handstand, he was upon August. Without missing a beat, he reached towards the sky where a pair of ribbons trailed down into his grasp. August's eyes darted to the rival acrobat nervously, attempting to shift around on the wire that trembled with their weight now. "Its time for you to join your dear friends," Cannes announced before wrapping the ribbons tightly around August's neck, lifting a foot to place it in the small of August's back as he pulled tightly against the fabric. Constricted, the blue haired acrobat sputtered, clawing at the fabric around his neck. Cannes tipped his toes forward and August was pushed from the wire, tumbling without grace through the air as the ribbons wrapped around him mercilessly. The fall was dizzying and disorientating; Cannes knew full well what happened when you were caught in a dead-fall amongst a ribbon. A sneer crossed his lips as the ribbon snapped taught and the deceased acrobat's body began to swing back and forth. Below, there was a scream, a girl, Morgan's adopted daughter. But he was not concerned. Instead, he turned to the acrobat's target, the dead woman, as he walked along the wire before reaching her body. He gazed at his dear captured fly before reaching to her tangled mass and pulled a single knot, the woman's body dropping below where her body landed not more than a foot away from Damuron.

He had only a brief moment to enjoy his actions before Katarina's voice cut through the haze of his wicked blood lust. "Cannes, render her mute." He had hardly noticed the siren in the crow's nest; the moment his mind acknowledged her voice, he could feel the marked weakness in his limbs. His balanced faltered and his legs wobbled on the wire, but he was able to hold his balance if just barely. He released a huff of irritation, a pout crossing his face as he turned his attention to the new acrobat. Morgan had plucked this doll from the street just as quickly as Cannes had killed the old worn out harlequin. She was dangerous, a delightful little thing, but her voice was an annoyance. He spit into his hand, a wad of sticky white thread forming in his palm. Pinching small bits, he stuffed the small bunched into his ears before reaching down and smearing the thread against the wire, taking a leap backwards, taking with him a single silvery strand. Swinging low and wide, Cannes was able to swing just below the crow's nest, where he gripped onto the wooden platform just below the songstress. He was able to pull himself up and over the rim of the platform, his eyes adjusting quickly to the thickened shadows where he could see Nova attempting to shield herself from prying eyes. But he could see her. He could see her quite well. Giggling, he reached up and hefted himself slowly into the thick shadows. "So you like to sing...well so do I. The itsy bitsy spider..." he chuckled just before gathering a pool of thick saliva in his mouth, the gritty substance turning into sticky silvery threads just before he spit at her.

Interacted With↷

Quote:

Nova; attacking.
Paul; captured.
Aloise; killed.
August; killed.
Maiya; fought.



Roland

Everything was going as planned; Cirque de Tromperie was in chaos and it was beautiful and at the center of his impressive feat was the centerpiece: Morgan. He was rendered completely incapacitated, unable to move or heal. And it brought the madman a great sense of glee to know that he had been the one to do this. Of course, there was no doubt in his mind that it would have been him. He had sworn on his own flesh and blood that the man would see the day when he would suffer full recompense for his actions in the past. There had never been a doubt in his mind that he would make Morgan suffer. He had planned it all, everything was coming to fruition just as he had directed it. He was the mad composer of this bloody musical number and it was his finest work. Yes. It was the one thing Morgan would not be able to ruin. This was his own work, born of years and years of blood, sweat, and research. Every nuance and possible path had been delicately explored before he had sent his pawns to watch the train and study the troupe. He was not going to be made a fool again. He was done being the end of Morgan's jokes. He was done being the target of humility of the von Faustus family. He was done being second place to Morgan and him. Never again would he let the rotten soul of Morgan take from him which was most precious: his pride and name. He had worked for far too long and too hard to allow this pitiful existence wane on without recognition for his feats. Morgan was going to pay for every jape, every joke, every thieving moment which rent from him what should have been his. Recognition, fame, glory, money, and a place in history amongst the throng of world famous Alchemists. Crimson eyes filled with fiery hate glared at the Ringmaster as his throng became lost in the chaos that erupted in the tent was blood was shed and screams filled the air. It was beautiful and as he watched Cannes pluck victim after victim from the group, it became even more evident how wonderfully his plan was working. Soon, the tent would be awash in the blood of the foolish sinners that followed Morgan and the Ringmaster would be left with the empty souls of those whom he had trespassed against. Morgan would soon know the meaning of fear as Roland saw to it that one by one, his troupe would be slaughtered and left to empty their bodies of their life force as Morgan watched. For every ingredient you stole...for every recipe you took away...for every miserable little potion you ripped from my hands...I will make you pay thrice the pain of being forced to huddle in the shadow of your name. For every dark night he spent in his flat, the rain pounding against the windows as he thrashed in the mania of his mind, throwing the useless tomes and scrolls aside as he ripped the hair from his skull; the von Faustus name would not be able to haunt him for much longer. Always standing in the shadow of the shifty Ringmaster and his wretched cohort, Roland had never been able to crawl out of the muck of mediocrity thanks to them. But now, he would have his revenge. And starting with the petulant Ringmaster, he would gain a leeway in which he would use against him. They would fall together. He would make sure of it.

The grip on his weapon increased as the Ringmaster's whore managed to slip through Cannes and Katarina's defenses as she rushed towards him. A wicked grin eased across his lips as he slid his heel back, the cane sword to his side. Pitiful stupid woman... Roland's grin hardly faltered as she brandished her weapon, silver flashing in the bright spotlight that highlighted the area around Morgan like a morbid halo. He raised the sword to block her blade as she screamed at him, a she-wolf dressed in a woman's clothing. It was almost admirable. The woman clearly had no idea what kind of monster she was fighting for. But the knowledge he had preciously been granted told him that she was quite infatuated with the man. A knowing flicker swept over his expression as he tilted his head lightly. I do wonder...can you see this? Does this break your heart knowing that Morgan has chosen another? I wonder if this makes you squirm in your damnable darkness? No matter...soon, she will join you and the pair of you can fight over it in the shadow of the man who broke you all. "Don't you ever lay another hand on him!" He raised his sword in defense, but was pleasantly surprised when he did not feel the jarring connection. Rather, a young lithe form dropped in between him and the woman. "Ah, Cannes," Roland breathed, slowly lowering his blade. Relief washed over him, hidden by the cautious look he shot over his shoulder to the Ringmaster. He was still firmly in place and thanks to Cannes, Morgan would remain that way. "She's not the woman you should be worried over." The voice sent a chill up his spine, the electric reaction feeding the necessary speed to twist around just in time to dodge an anaconda as it struck out at him. He barely had enough time to recover when another strike came for him, massive jaws lined with thin sharp teeth aiming for his head. The speed of the beast was amazing and the accuracy was deadly, keeping the alchemist busy on his feet as he tried his best to dodge the whip-like action of the snake. But what was quicker than the snake was Roland's mind and it only took him a few seconds to judge the necessary speed and reaction time it would take to knock the snake off balance. The large anaconda hissed before lunging again. This time, however, Roland was prepared as the snake aimed for his midsection. He raised his blade and with the thin flat side, he brought it down against the skull of the reptile, sending it recoiling backwards as it screeched in pain, the sound coming out more effeminate as it slowly shifted back into the guise of Rylee. She was on her knees holding her head in pain as the alchemist slowly approached her, a maniacal grin on his face. "Sneaky, sneaky. I am impressed. I had nearly forgotten about you, serpent." Yes. Another one of Morgan's newest wards, the woman with the snake abilities. She was not unlike Cannes in that sense; both creatures having the ability of their pre-destined beast markers. He had not quite expected her to show. From what he had been told, the woman was not entirely fond of Morgan. "You know...you could join my group. You spite the Ringmaster, do you not?" The woman's eyes darted to the man hanging from the chain before focusing on him once more. "Hmm," she growled, "I don't care much for him, you're right. But I did care for those you have murdered in cold blood." Roland grinned at her, his sword swinging back to his side. "Come with me. The Ringmaster has brought all of this bloodshed upon you all. Let us teach him a lesson." "What lesson is there to learn in death? You're insane!" Rylee hissed before lunging at Roland again. The man clicked his tongue against his teeth as he shook his head, easily sidestepping the woman. She was no match for his quick movements. He raised his sword and brought the solid wooden handle of his cane to the back of her head, knocking the woman out as she sprawled on the dirt. He scowled at her as he shook his head. "Such a shame, really," he muttered. The sound of chains rattling against each other brought his attention back to Morgan where, to his horror, he could see several links slip and shift. "No!"

Morgan could not be freed just yet!


Interacted With↷

Quote:

Maiya; briefly.
Rylee; fighting.



Liesel

She lifted the hammer slowly over head, bright green irises flashing with sick delight at the sight of Puck cowering over the still form of his partner. Her smile was near comical as the width of her grin reached jester's proportions, white teeth flashing in the pale light offered in the tent. She released a soft rolling chuckle, one that remained trapped in her chest like a wicked beast jesting over the fallen body in front of her. Her muscles flexed under her blouse as she gripped the handle of the jagged hammer with both hands, taking two steps so as to be perfectly positioned to bring down her weapon upon Flynn and Puck with no chance of missing. She was going to turn these men into pulp. With the shadow of impending death literally looming over Puck, those rolling deep chuckles grew into full open-mouthed laughter as she drew in a deep breath, preparing to release upon them a powerful blow. She could see the resignation in Puck's eyes, the cowardice and hopelessness and it delighted her. For years her dreams would be sustained by the images of Puck's face of acquiescence. He was ready to give up. Ready to surrender. He was going to die a pitiful man by the weight of her hammer and- "No he isn't!" She halted, the hammer coming to a stop just above her head as a second bellow shot through the air. "Let him alone!" She felt the pain before she saw the arrows, a thick wet warmness dripping down her wrist and into her sleeve. Looking up, she could see an arrow jutting out from her hand. The man had landed a hit. She dropped the hammer as a soft cry of, "Ahh! escaped her, the serrated weapon slamming into the ground with a terrible thud, its weight creating a small crater beneath it. The wooden shaft of the arrow was resting in the middle of her palm, the arrow head and fletching mirroring each other on either side of her hand. She stared at the injury for a moment before blinking slowly, the pain registering in her mind, but her body unable to produce the reaction she wanted. She reached to it with her free hand, gripping her wrist as she studied the injury for a moment before a flicker of anger crossed her features. Turning to the man whom had shot at her, the pitiful Doctor, she pulled back her lips in a scowl and took a threatening step towards him. Moments after, silver appeared and pinched the Doctor, rendering him helpless. "Liesel," the strongwoman paused, her head swiveling to her partner, "I've got the Doctor boy!" Turning back to the thin wisp of a man, she grinned. Katarina had this. The woman was far beyond capable and would fully teach this man a lesson.

She snapped the arrowhead from the shaft and took a firm grip of the opposite end before yanking the wood from her palm. She hardly flinched as she tossed the bloodied stick to the ground. Now that the meddlesome Doctor was dispatched, she could finish up her current task. Turning back to the juggler, she heard him mutter something of disdain, “What the - !” as he attempted to pull her dear weapon from the dirt. She allowed him to handle the hammer, giggling lightly as he attempted to heave it forward only for it to barely budge. "Silly little juggler," she chuckled. Once he had it in his hands, however, her gaze shifted from mocking to interest as she tilted her head to the side. She had easily forgotten which of Morgan's troupe was the strongman and which was the transmutator; both had been on her target list. As the jagged spines on the hammer grew and sharpened, she nodded in silent realization that she had the one who could modify things in front of her. All the same, she would demolish him with or without her weapon. “Dam, don’t you dare take on his injuries!” It was cute. The poor thing actually believed he was going to live long enough to see his friend slip into the afterlife...if he hadn't already. The juggler's eyes focused on her and she watched with bemused indifference as he swung at her, missing her completely. She giggled, bringing a hand to cover her coy smile with her bleeding hand. "How cute," she tittered as Puck heaved the weapon up again, his breath coming from him in agonizing gasps. Then -she could feel it- he meant to kill her as he swung the weapon for her head. She had a moment to admire the man's tenacity and ability to overcome his apparent emotion. But-! "Fool!" -she reached up as the blades aimed to lop her head off, her hand catching the sharpened weapon with her injured hand without so much as flinching. She held the weapon, her eyes sharpening on the juggler as she prevented the weapon from damaging her. "Poor little thing. You have been Morgan's pet for too long. You're weak. I feel sorry for you," she chuckled as she ripped the weapon from Puck's hands. It was like taking candy from a child. She grinned as she gazed at her weapon for a few seconds, measuring the adjusted weight in her hand before dropping it to the ground. "I don't need a weapon to squish your head like a grape!" She hissed as she lifted both hands and turned to Puck, a wicked glee spreading across her lips. She was going to rip him apart, piece by piece.

"Leave him alone.” The voice came from behind her and as she turned around, a fist flew through the air and connected with her face. The force to her cheek sent the woman flying through the air where she landed on her right shoulder and tumbled a few feet, coming to rest on her stomach. Standing where the woman had been moments ago was Rhythm, his typically impassive expression tainted with anger. It was a fierce look, daunting, and one that would unlikely be seen at the level of emotion as it was. Sputtering, the strongwoman pushed herself up from the dirt, her cheek throbbing as she managed to pull to her knees. Turning to glare at the man who had assaulted her, Liesel huffed loudly, the left sleeve of her blouse shredded and spattered with red and brown. Her hat was misplaced, knocked off and into the dirt from the power of Rhythm's blow, platinum blonde hair falling from the french braid in messy bunches. "You," she growled threateningly, "...will..." she pushed against her knees as she stood slowly. "Pay for that!" She rushed towards Rhythm, her powerful legs propelling her forward towards the strongman. Like two behemoths slamming into each other, their hands connected as they locked into battle, a shock wave washing over anyone near. The taller strongman glared down at the strongwoman, bright green irises meeting with fury-laced demon's eyes as Rhythm flashed his teeth. "No. You will pay.”


Interacted With↷

Quote:

Puck; fought.
Rhythm; fighting.


Color Key↷

██ - Cannes General ██ - Cannes Talking ██ - Cannes Thinking
██ - Roland General ██ - Roland Talking ██ - Roland Thinking
██ - Liesel General ██ - Liesel Talking ██ - Liesel Thinking

[Promise of Bliss]

xxx┣▇▇▇═─ Tʜaт ɴɪɢʜт ʜε caɢεd ʜεr
xBruised and broke her, he struggled closer.
tab tab tab tab tab tab tab xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxTHEN HE STOLE HER
xViolet wrists and then her ankles. I will hear their voices
xI'M A GLASS CHILD. x I'M A GLASS CHILD. xI'M A GLASS CHILD. x I'M A GLASS CHILD.x I'M A GLASS CHILD.
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The sound of the arrow sinking into flesh was not at all what Damuron had expected. He had only ever shot at trees, heard the deadpan thunk that came from motionless targets that could not bleed or squish quite so much as the woman's hand did. She let out a sort of shout as the arrow slid through her hand, and Damuron felt a smile cross his lips reflexively. Perhaps, as a doctor, he shouldn't have been proud of inflicting wounds on another person, but part of him was more proud of his shot than guilty at the idea of hurting someone who had literally been moments before pummeling his friend's face into the hard-packed dirt. It was a bit hard to have sympathy in the wake of such an attack. She dropped her hammer, and Damuron could not help but be surprised at the tremendous weight of the impact. And she was swinging that? It had been heavy enough to create an actual indent into the dirt on impact, and he had just witnessed her swinging it lithely around. Then again, she had picked up Flynn like he was a plaything; Flynn was by no means large, but he was assuredly not "lift you over my head with one arm" for anyone other than Rhythm... Still, being familiar with the abilities of someone with such insurmountable strength and being faced with them were two egregiously different circumstances. For a moment, he was rooted to the spot, both in wonder of his success and in turmoil over her response- her almost distracted acknowledgment of the injury, the way she turned to him with an almost inhuman fury. It was just a flicker, below the surface, but Damuron had seen, no, felt that sort of anger. He knew how to recognize it. Still, now was not the time to lull, and Damuron beat forward with renewed vigor. The juggler wasn't going to pick himself up, after all, and if the doctor had any say in it, Flynn would be back on his feet in no time.

A crash from behind him sounded, and he flinched a bit at the heat that was suddenly present. He turned to look over his shoulder, just in time to see a newly formed pool of-- was that lava? That was not something he had expected, much less from what appeared to have been Pyrrhus's abilities. His and Alaizabel's shocked expressions were enough to tell him that they had not expected it either. This was no good. The music, the lava, the woman he had turned his back now on-- He knocked another arrow, steeling himself as he turned with full preparation for her to be upon him. But the woman had not approached more than a step. Still, he took aim. Before he could let it fly, a shout to his side met his ears. "Leisel," The blond woman seemed to stop in acknowledgement of her partner. Leisel, was it? Taking a step away from the voice, Damuron planted his back leg, swiveling his body to face the voice and train his bow on her instead. Perfect--! Icarus's murder was striding toward him, her wicked grin stretched wide. Was she just handing herself to him? No, it was too easy, too perfect that she would single him out. "I've got the Doctor boy!" she called through a manic laugh. "Oh yeah? We'll see about that, b***h." He returned her smile, then let his arrow fly just as she released projectiles of her own. Knives? Oh please, Damuron was no Mimi, but he had posed as the Damsel before when Maiya had needed some practice. There was no doubt in his mind that he could dodge measly knives. That was not the case. All of the tension momentarily evacuated his body, surprise replacing it as the knives warped out of their original shape. His eyes widened. She was not a telekinetic, like their own knife thrower. It had been presumptuous, foolish of him to assume something like that. Metal manipulation? The newly formed bar synched around his chest, knocking the air out of him and throwing him backward into yet another awaiting pole. His quiver stabbed into his back, trapped between his body and the vice. His hand managed to just barely keep the grip on his bow, the other wrenched from the string by the force of the impact. This was all going to bruise... but injury was the least of his concern. They had been prepared to restrain him--! He coughed harshly, heaving a pant in an attempt to get the air back into his lungs. With a few grunts, Damuron struggled against the new bonds he found himself in. Surrounded by strong people, it was disappointing but not surprising to realize that he had been bestowed no such blessing. He was trapped, restrained much like Morgan before. They only had one reason to do that-- "Doctor boy" she had called him. They know-! Damn it all, Alaizabel had not been messing around when she said that they knew about them. He had underestimated their preparation. How much did they know, though? It was imperative that he found out, but not quite so pressing as being released was. Damuron grunted again, wriggling against the metal. He met eyes with the red-head, glaring before he spit, "Oh I get it, you have to tie up your combatant. Can't fight them head on because you know you've got no chops." A wicked grin of his own crossed his lips as he continued, "You're aiming for the low hanging fruit and still having to sneak around." Icarus... "C'mon, your knives have gotta be itching for some better action than holding back a child like me, right? Let me go, let's do this like big-kids." But his challenge was lost. The siren's song, soft and delicate yet impressively robust over the terrible sounds of the warring people below. Damuron stopped, looking up into the crow's nest to see the fragile blond singing. What was she thinking, making herself a target like that? For a moment, his mind fogged, and he shook his head in an attempt to clear it. The woman before him was no longer grinning. She shot her eyes up, announcing, "Cannes, render her mute." before turning away from Damuron to observe the carnage. His stomach dropped, and all earlier signs of his fury were replaced with barely contained concern. Up in the rafters, she continued her song, unknowing. She was in danger. She was-- "Nova! Nova, run!"

“Dam, don’t you dare take on his injuries!”

Damuron nearly barked a laugh at the juggler's comment, shouted as Puck stared down Liesel. Sure, perhaps he had not seen the predicament that Damuron was in, but the idea of him just shuffling over there to tend to Flynn was a bit past inconceivable at present. "Wouldn't dream of it, Puck," he shouted back, sarcasm lacing his words as he continued struggling with the metal bars. "But how about we keep that between you and me, huh? Wouldn't want Flynn thinking that I don't love him anymore or anything." That was not quite what he wanted to keep secret- his power, that was more important. Doctor or not, he could have a wide array of abilities, and there was no telling whether or not these rivals had any indication of what that may be. Now if that juggler could keep his daft mouth shut.... Perhaps he should have peddled back his quips, but he simply did not have the patience to put up with anyone's nonsense at present, nor did he have the mindfulness to be kindly. Nova was in danger, Cannes- that was what the fire-haired demon had called him?- swinging just above and toward her. He needed to get near to her, to warn her, to protect her. But Cannes was zeroing in quickly, though not before taking care of an apparent bit of business. Damuron looked up just in time for August's big finale, the long haired man falling through the air, and Ava's screaming reached his ears in near perfect alignment with the painful snap of the ribbon recoiling. "It's nothing too bad, Dam, but I figure better safe than sorry, right? Sorry to bother you and all..."] He knew exactly what that sort of taut ribbon meant. Kimber... August swayed listlessly in the air, and Damuron swallowed a deep breath before averting his eyes. Now you too...! All the more reason for Damuron to fight. But when was he ever going to be able to overcome metal? He turned his gaze back to the spider, glowering. "I'm gonna have to start writing your names down if I want to keep track of all the a** kicking I have to do!" he shouted, though Cannes's back was to him, his focus on some other suspended figure... Aloise. With a quick jerk, the ribbons holding her unknotted, and he watched as Aloise tumbled, for once completely gracelessly, through the air. He wanted it to be in slow motion. Every time Damuron heard about some horrible circumstance, he always heard people say that it felt like it was "in slow motion". But it was all happening too quickly, as if everything around him had accelerated and jettisoned him toward the inevitable impact that the lithe acrobat was fated for. With a sickening thump, Aloise came to rest impressively close to where the doctor was held. She did not move.

His breath stopped in his throat as he stared. She wasn't moving. As long as she wasn't moving, he was certain that his heart would stay just as still. She needed to move, right? To recuperate from spill she had just taken. People had survived greater falls- hell, she had made it out of a similar scrape with just a sprained ankle, which he had relieved her of quickly. But her landing had been so much more careful before, more controlled despite the unpreparedness for the impact. Now, though, she was motionless where she laid, her head cocked painfully to the side, her arms splayed out to her side. She would be furious about the state of her hair when she woke up, Damuron acknowledged, looking at the way that it messedly hung over her face. Her face... it was so pale, as though she had been carved from an almost ashen marble. Her eyes, closed though the were, seemed almost sunken into their sockets, the bruising around them tossing the doctor's stomach. Her lips, motionless as breath refused to pass them, were twinged with a nearly blue hue. All of the signs were there, each and every one, and it felt almost painfully ironic that his breath hitched even faster in his chest at the sight of her. "Ma mie...?" He choked the words out, feeling himself trembling as he reached one unrestrained foot out to her. He couldn't touch her, he couldn't reach her. She wasn't moving. He couldn't get to her when she needed him. The world around him seemed to quiet, as if he and Aloise were momentarily suspending in their own precious vacuum away from the madness (had he not been so distracted, he would have likely noticed that it was not so, that it was instead Nova being silenced; some distant part of his psyche was concerned for her safety, but...) He huffed a breath, straining his leg as far as he could. A mirthless smile crossed his lips. "A-Aloise, you'll be alright, okay?" he strained, and he could feel himself start to tremble. He just needed to reach a little further, try a little harder. If he could just get to her, he could take it right? Take it all away- all the pain, all of the damage, whatever ailed her. He could do it. He could give himself away, as long as she would be-- "It's fine- don't worry, I've got you, ma mie. Just... a little further..." He had nothing more to give. Restrained as he was, he couldn't reach the extra few small inches to make the contact he needed. Frustration mounted, tears forming in his eyes. He gave everything he could, he always did. Aloise had all of him. And she had yet to leave him so tremendously in the lurch. But she wasn't moving, not even her chest rose. A panicked half-laugh bubbled from his throat as he struggled. His breathes were coming faster, his vision almost stating to darken from hyperventilation. He needed her to be okay. He needed her to move. He needed her... he needed... "I- I can't quite reach you... But-but it's okay! It's okay, Aloise, it'll be fine just... Here, just-- just reach out your hand, alright? Please, I can almost reach you, but just put out your hand and I'll help you, okay? You'll be fine, Aloise, you'll be just fine, just... help me, okay? Please, please, ma mie, please--" He wasn't even making sense anymore. But it was a simple thing he was asking for right? Surly she was able to reach out. It was just a few inches, a minuscule, almost unbearably cruel distance between them. He was fighting for her, reaching for her, but she was not moving. She was not responding, not moving. She was not breathing, not responding, not moving, not breathing, not breathing, not-- "Aloise---"

His heart could no longer deny what his mind was resisting. She had suffocated, hadn't she? All of the warning signs were there. He knew. He had known ever since she had hit the ground that there was nothing left, nothing he could do. That was it. Aloise was dead. Dead. A harsh choke of a sob escaped him as he finally retracted his leg in defeat. It wouldn't matter if he could have reached her. It wouldn't matter if he had been completely free and able to maneuver. Aloise was dead. His entire body felt like it was filled with shattered glass, as though the grief that overwhelmed him all at once had sharpened his love, his happiest memories into blades that now wreaked havoc upon his still pounding heart. The hot tears flowed now without restraint; it someone wanted to kill him where he leaned against his bonds, so be it. What did it really matter? The bondage was all that was really holding him up anymore as he shook, his breath gasping from him. Aloise was dead, and he had done nothing to protect her, nothing to make things right for her. Even your own lover, Boy. What a Wonder Doc we've got here. Damuron did not try to abate the voice this time. His father was right. He should have taken the shot, he should have knocked Cannes out of the air as soon as Aloise had been abducted. But would his shot have even sailed true? With how shocked he was about Liesel's hit, he hardly imagined he'd have been able to hit someone flying through the air without endangering the one he was carrying. No.. he... he couldn't have done anything. The realization of his worthlessness was not particularly soothing. Had he been stronger, more capable, blessed with a power more appropriate--! But he wasn't. No, he was not a superhuman. Despite all of the carnage around him, no matter how much he wanted to save the world, he was just one man. One small, weak man who could not operate outside of his means. The blame was not his to bear. No, there were a great many more deserving of his wrath than himself. His malachite eyes shot open, his breath hitching, and as malachite tended to do when doused in water, he felt a familiar toxin run through his veins. The shaking intensified, but it was of a different variety. He hadn't been able to save her, to save Aloise, August, Icarus, Kimber, any of them. But there was something he could do. Grief could come later. Now, though, he was angry, and now--

"No. You will pay.”

That was the ticket. Sniffing, Damuron turned to the direction of the strongman's voice, almost surprised to hear Rhythm speaking at all. He was facing down Liesel, Puck flanking her as she stood between them. Excellent- if there was anyone capable of taking down a strongwaomn, with was a strongman, right? He watched as Rhythm snarled at her, his threat administered, his body tense and prepared for the fallout. But that wasn't all Rhythm could do. "That's it, Aloise," he spoke, convincing himself that he was talking to her for just a precious moment longer. "If I can just get him over here, I can get out of this." He looked over to her, his eyes full of an apology that she would never see. "I'm sorry, ma mie, but you'll see. I'll make this right." He tore his eyes away from her, looking around for the object of his fury, for the spider, for Cannes. All thoughts of the metal-manipulator were old news. He had a new target, and he would be sure to see it through. "I'll make sure you don't go unavenged."


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✂⋯ ʟocaтɪoɴ: Big Top ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ϻσσɗ: Vengeful, grief-stricken, enraged ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ωɪтʜ: Troupe (Anti-Troupe) ⋯

[Promise of Bliss]

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Dude, Magmar calm down I said flamethrower not lava pit


It was mercifully simple to communicate with Pyrrhus. He did not ask questions, or attempt to adjust anything she said to suit some other plan. No, he took her words and simply implemented them to the greatest of his abilities. There were a multitude of reasons that Alaizabel was so fond of the dear fire-breather. His quickness to oblige her instructions and curiosities was one of them. If there was someone in the Cirque she could rely on, truly, it was him. Sucking in a deep breath, Pyrrhus directed his onslaught skyward, exhaling brilliant flames. They licked viciously, beautifully at the air, spiraling with obvious purpose toward their restrained allies. Blessed be the flames that would be her salvation. She smiled, watching them twist and weave through the air. This was easy. Now they just needed to collect their friends, collect their Ringmaster, and-- address the complete and utter failure of a plan that had just been working so magnificently only moments before. The blessed flames warped before her very eyes, solidifying suddenly before plummeting all at once to the ground just behind where Damuron stood across the tent. It splashed up, and Alaizabel felt Pyrrhus move in tandem with her a few steps away from the sudden flash heat that resulted. She lifted her unarmed arm to defend her eyes from the sudden glare, but the magma cooled and steamed soon after impact. With a sarcastic lilt, she shot to the fire-breather, "You think that was maybe a touch of overkill, Pyrrhus?!" She had never seen him use his abilities in such a manner, and it seemed hardly the time to test his magma-chops when people's lives were in the balance. But Pyrrhus glared over his shoulder, cool gaze leveled with hers. "That wasn't me." he shot back, turning his piercing gaze past her. Her eyes followed his, coming to rest on a man who looked entirely too tickled by what had transpired. The dark haired man chuckled heartily to himself, looking directly at them with mirth in his eyes. Her eyes narrowed, and she scowled unabashedly. So this was his doing then? Another fire-breather? No, it's more than that... heat-manipulation. Yes, that must have been it. That was the only thing that could explain not only the flames, but morphing it to something stronger. She couldn't imagine Pyrrhus conducting lava... Would she have to deal with him, too? Her list of enemies kept mounting, but she was only one person... But her woes for fighting seemed misplaced as Taubryn took up the mantle for her. She could not tell precisely what he was saying, the crackling of the molten lava and the general noisiness of the tent blocking his dialogue from her, but it seemed he had every intention of engaging the man in combat. Did Taubryn even know how to fight? He had been in the Cirque significantly longer than she had, so she supposed he was entitled to his secrets. But she had never seen him take up arms in any instance. However, any trust she had on his abilities were dispelled the moment she saw-- surely he wasn't actually throwing a cantaloupe and a teacup at the man...? She focused, staring at the implements; sure enough, she dispelled his illusion (in her eyes at least), seeing the darts mischeviously woven into the fabric of his arts. She smirked. It was a good call, even if he seemed a bit daft to be challenging someone so obviously above his station. Alaizabel would simply have to trust that he could manage. She lightly elbowed Pyrrhus. "New plan," she said, ocher eyes flitting around the tent rapidly. It was as if she thought a new strategy would leap from the wreckage and into her mind. Still, she continued, "Take care, and I will go evacuate Morgan. Try to garner assistance in releasing those trapped, and I will return to aid you as soon as I can." The man gave a low hum of agreement, and that was all she needed to trust him with the task.

Alaizabel turned her attention now to their idiot Ringmaster. Maiya was of course right on point for releasing him, completely and totally devoted to the singular task of freeing her lover. The chains released, their snare upon his relinquished, and he toppled immediately to the ground atop Icarus. Her stomach was performing acrobats within her at the sight. He... he didn't even try to catch himself... More like he couldn't, and that in itself was terrifying. He had just fallen, graceless and instant. The display was painful, unnatural, lifeless. Maiya engulfed him in seconds, pulling him up and into her arms with a few whispered words that Alaizabel would never be privy to. Still, her words were not what mattered. Morgan was freed. Now was her chance. "Be safe, Pyrrhus. I will return soon!" Effortlessly, Alaizabel twisted her parrying dagger in her hand, making it so that it was safe to run, and then kicked off the ground viciously. Faster, anything and everything needed to be faster than it was at present. Time was of the essence. If she drew too much attention, there was no telling what would impede her progress. Faster... she needed to reach Morgan before the enemy spotted her, attempted to intervene. It was nothing short of divine intervention that she was able to spur herself on with such agility. Alaizabel was hardly one for running, but apparently short distance sprinting was not out of her grasp. It was as if by God's own hand, though, that nothing stopped her between her start and her destination, and soon she was sliding to a stop in the dirt beside Maiya and Morgan. Maiya's tears streamed freely, and while Alaizabel wanted to take the moment now to console her, it seemed hardly worth the wasted breath and time to do so. She could address the man's injuries from the safety of the train in no time. It was a happy accident that she had discovered her ability to teleport someone who was in contact with another person, and now she intended to fully utilize that loophole. It was as if she was given a free pass by providence to work outside of her capabilities, as if the extra baggage was a treat. So if she sent Maiya to the train... Panting from her mad dash, Alaizabel latched a hand onto Maiya's shoulder, looking her in the eyes as she implored, "Whatever you do, hold on to him. Do you understand?" Of course she did. Maiya had been the one privy to her accidental experiment, so surely she knew what Alaizabel's intentions were. But her ocher eyes did not leave Maiya's crimson one. She would not look at Morgan. She could not look at him. She had seen quite enough previously, and his visage was more than the Devil's sick of sin, something that she, at present, did not have the fortitude to observe and keep herself in tact. She could always see him later, after Damuron patched him up; after Damuron patched everyone up, after they made it back to the train and all of this madness was behind them. Everything would be fine as soon as she got him out of there. She closed her eyes, focusing on the vacant tightness in the base of her gut-- could she teleport others without teleporting herself? She supposed it was a matter of time before she found out, but it was worth a shot. The others still needed her, and she would hardly abandon her rag-tag troops in war time for the sake of the injured. Not when other could just as easily attend to them. Alaizabel focused intently, attempting to manifest the tightness within her indicative of her teleportation. But nothing came. That was fine, and Alaizabel shook her head. So the answer was no, plain and simple. So she needed to go with them. It would tire her out enough to be a concern, but if that was necessary, she would just pop there and then pop back. No major set back. She readjusted her seat, then took a deep breath to concentrate again. A familiar swirling emptiness, followed by a sharp tug-- that was it--

Nothing.

Alaizabel's eyes snapped open, as if she doubted what her ears were telling her. The assault still swelled violently around her, the sound of shouts and impacts, of cries and desperation still reaching her; she could still smell the dirt and sweat, the sharp stench of iron rust overwhelming her with the close proximity she had to such an unsettling amount of it. Why... why now, when everything was set up so splendidly, when everything was telling here that it would work, that they would be safe, that they would succeed... why now did her powers abandon her? Frustrated tears rolled down her cheeks as she stared vacantly past Maiya, only half-seeing Damuron reach with excruciating effort toward the horribly still form of Aloise with his foot. His face was twisted, desperately pleading with the woman for something that Alaizabel could only begin to imagine, what with his expression. This was too much, worse than she could have conceived. Was this... what Paul saw...? Why couldn't she do anything? Why was she still turning out useless, even when charged with something so absolutely important as the lives of her fellow troupe members? How many had already been lost? She needed to solve it. The power she had so spurned as a 'cheap cop-out' for her act and a 'merciful wonder' for her leisure was now undeniably paramount in her plans for success. Without them, she was dead in the water. "S-s**t." She muttered, her hands shaking where it grasped Maiya. "I-it is not working. It isn't working why--" It had never left her before. She had never been without in the past so that meant... eliminate the impossible... 'There must be a catalyst," Alaizabel breathed, looking to Maiya again as though the woman had imparted some sort of wisdom on her. "Keep still, keep him safe, and I will solve this. I promise, I will get him out of here." Her eyes flared with a fiery, undeniable will, and she released her hold on Maiya to sweep her eyes over the field of battle. Something to hold her back, something that would intercept mystical and incomprehensible powers. That sounded like some incredible magic, something that these lesser peons would be incapable of. She did not need to worry with the underlings. Morgan's opposite...

Now he sounded like someone with magic to spare.

She saw Rylee's collapse out of the corner of her eye, looking just in time to see Roland's cane whap her soundly over the head. Alaizabel tensed as he looked over her, an almost amused scowl on his lips as he looked down on her. A rolling fury had awakened in Alaizabel long ago, but it seemed to expand to her entire body at that moment. She was marked by the divine, by Ra himself as her fury blazed at the sight of him. Roland... the name was a poison even on the tongue of her mind's voice. Him. It had to be him. What were his words? she seethed, an almost amused snarl slipping over her face. Cut the head from the snake... The allegory worked both ways, as he would soon discover. Alaizabel was not nearly so aged as he appeared, and had natural ability with a blade. It would be his undoing to underestimate her, and she would see to it that he did. With light feet, she slipped out of his sight, feinting to the side so that he missed her as his eyes landed on Morgan and Maiya. Yes, a distraction. She hated to use her friends as such an idle taunt, but as long as his eyes were on them, they were not on her, and that was what mattered in her eyes. She slipped soundlessly through the tent, coming up behind him. It was important that he think her actions folly. It was absoultely mandatory that he see through her first strike. It was only with her "clumsiness" that she would gain the upper hand. And there was nothing more reckless than announcing your presence when you had the element of surprise on your hand. "Look alive, Mister Roland!" She growled, and she slipped under his impressively low guard to let fly a seemingly formless slash. It was surprising to her that it actually landed, the blade of her dagger digging seamlessly into the flesh of his wielded arm. But there was no time for celebration. There was a reason that this maneuver had been so important to her in her sparring matches with Mimi, it would seem. And now was the time to put it into practice. Her ambidextrous nature was a weapon in itself, and if she could catch an enemy off foot with it, she could never be defeated. It had driven Mimi crazy. Let us see how you enjoy my surprise, Alaizabel stooped low, digging her foot in the dirt to stop her forward momentum as she came to rest in a half crouch before Roland. She bore her eyes into his, the sickening hue of vermillion only spurring her on as she deftly tossed her parrying dagger out of her distanced hand and into the closer left one. The longer her reach, the more pain her rapier would inflict as it sunk into the soft, quivering underbelly of the beast before her. The sharp grinding sound of the sword leaving its sheath was music to her ears as she pulled it into her right hand. With lightning speed, she kicked off the ground, lunging with a cry toward Roland with her rapier aimed. Her parrying dagger was appropriately positioned for defense, her torso guarded just in case he was quicker on draw with his blunt-force cane than she anticipated. Alaizabel would not be caught off guard, and Roland would not escape. There was no more time for games. If she could not kill him quickly, rending his abdomen would assuredly incapacitate him quite nicely.




Aiolios

Cynotastic

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✿ ʟocaтɪoɴ: Big Top xxxxxxxx❀ ϻσσɗ: Furious, vengeful, out for blood xxxxxxxx✿ ωɪтʜ: Roland... xxxxxxxx❀ σσc: LET'S ******** HIM UUUUUUUUUP

[secretshades]

◆ ʟocaтɪoɴ:Big Top xxxxxxxx◇ ϻσσɗ:RAGExxxxxxxx◆ cσϻpaɴʏ:Tunnel Vision scoped in on Cannes

Everything in the tent was loud and vibrant. Spouts of flame and lava erupted from Pyrrhus and his rival, the heavy earth squelching the flames before they could since the webs in the loft. Blood soaked into the earth in puddles, and everywhere below them, people screamed and ran about. Nova had only barely made it to the crows nest in time to see August’s body penny-drop to the earth, no net below to save him. The ribbons snatched him the same way they had Kimber, leaving his tall form swinging from the center of the room. Nova gulped, and opened her mouth to sing. If she could get just a moment, just enough for things to quiet for an instant, she could get Aloise and Paul, and change the tides.


Ava screamed below as Nova began to sing, bringing tears to the acrobat’s eyes. She didn’t like seeing people hurt. Flynn laid below in a puddle of his own blood, unable to move. From where she stood, Damuron was now trapped, wrapped up and arguing with their knife-thrower. She couldn’t hear words, but voiced echoed through the tent, cries of anguish and anger. She tried not to quiver or shake, but she could feel her strength of will disappearing. The song wouldn’t be as effective if she didn’t hold her ground though, and solidify her resolves. Her heart jumped into her throat when Damuron got pushed back, sinking almost immediately when his panicked voice called up to the loft; ”Nova! Nova, run!”

She didn’t have time to make it to the edge of the platform before the eeriest of their enemies disappeared from her view. If she tired to jump for the trapeze, she’d surely falter her song. She couldn’t keep up the volume if she were actively trying to swing away….and of course, with the other bar unmoving, she would only be able to get to the first swing. She could try to climb up the wires….but she’d be leaving herself with no defenses, out on a narrow perch. Instead, Nova dropped into the shadowed part of the platform, sinking into a crouch and watching above. Their spider-like friend was more likely to attack from above, yes? To descend and pull her to the rafters as he had her entire team. She paused in her singing to gaze up into the rafters, spying movement amid the lumps of spider-silk.


Before she could utter another word, a shadow fell past the nest once more. In the fleet of the fall, Nova caught a glimpse of Aloise’s perfect dusty-rose tresses just as her body fell out of reach. Had she been closer to the edge, she could have reached out for her friend, caught her perhaps, or even dove out to protect her from the fall. She had already been hurt, and here was her cohort, cowering in the shadows. Guilt turned the small woman’s stomach, twisting it into knots as she forced out more words in a language she didn’t understand. Over the edge of the platform she saw the dust from the dirt where Aloise had impacted, puffing up mere feet from the doctor. [********. I was supposed to save her….for him. I was supposed to be there for her…. Without Icarus, Aloise, and August, Nova was the last of the Tromperie Flyers standing among their comrades. She inhaled a shaky breath to fuel her song, standing back to her full height once more. ”I will not be a coward and let their suffering be in vain…”

All sides were exposed up here, and with the dark roof of the tent shrouding the platform, she was left with many weak points. There was no telling where the verminous flyer would attack from, giving him even more advantage. Carefully and methodically, Nova slowed her racing heart with deep breaths, singing ever still.


In an instant, red hot panic flooded her vision. With a shallow breath came the sensation of choking, her mouth suddenly covered over and filled with sticky web. Even the screams that heaved themselves in her chest couldn’t escape. Immediately, the repulsive threads made her eyes water, her body shaking and attempting to wretch the sticky solution from her mouth and throat. Breathing became laborious suddenly, and the air that passed through her nose struggled against the smell of the silk. She hadn’t even processed his words before his attack landed, foolishly turning to face him when he spoke. Her fingers touched the silvery mass spread over her lips, her hand withdrawing, sticky and strung together. He was cocky, laughing in her face, perched on the edge of the crows nest like a foolish sailor. He was no large target, that was for certain. Even someone as meek and small as Nova could probably push him off the platform. ”If I merely push him, he’ll call to the ribbons, or cast his own line. He’s an acrobat, surely…”


There was no time left to deliberate. He was responsible. She had to take action, too. He had killed Kimber, he had maimed Aloise and hanged August. Enough was enough, certainly.


Nova leapt from her spot, wrapping her arms around her assailant and pushing him backwards from the loft. In her line of work, she had become quiet wary of falling, especially from heights like these. She twisted her body as they tipped off the edge to position her attacker beneath her, rushing toward the ground below with her eyes jammed shut, silently screaming all the way down. Impact with the packed dirt of the floor was as unforgiving as she could have imagined. Dust clouded up around them, and the air forced it’s way out of her lungs, flattening her chest cavity down on top of the spider. The forced exhalation loosened some of the silken gag he had placed on her, and she tore it away from her mouth, removing some of the skin of her lips, blood filling the tears and dripping off her lips and chin. She pinned him down at the center, her knee pressed firmly into his solar plexus as she pushed herself up, her wrists and arms throbbing. She had embraced him as the fell, both of their body weight crushing her hands into the dirt beneath them. Painfully and awkwardly, she knelt over him, blood and tears dripping from her face. She spat once against his cheek, putting all her weight onto the knee she pressed into his stomach. Her whole body shook, her ribs fluttering when she inhaled, probably broken or fractured here and there, and her ankles were almost too weak to support the slight pressures she put on them as she poised herself above the boy.


”You took her from me. She was so kind. And she was to be free, you know. She had paid in sweat and blood. She wasn’t yours to take!” Beginning in a whisper, soon, loud, sharp shouts erupted from Nova. Much like her singing, the words burned further, boiling her blood, shaking her busted bones furiously. ”Kimber was to teach me how to find joy in everything, just as she had. She brought so much light to these people, and she gave so much for me. And you killed her. You left me with this big empty space to fill, and you left everyone else here…..you stole from us. You stole life. And you can only pay for that one way.” Blood dripped from the splits in her lips onto his shirt, and as she leaned further over and spoke, onto his face and hair. Tears dripped off her nose and lips, stinging the cuts and cutting lines through the dirt on her skin. She grabbed his face in her hands, her wild eyes searching his face for any remorse or guilt. Her hands tightened, squeezing against the pain of her swelling wrists and fingers. All she could do was stare him down, her aqua eyes burning white hot as embers, gripping his head like a vice.


”You took from me the only people who welcomed me here from the beginning . The only people who could teach me, who valued my skills. You took Aloise, you took August, and Icarus. I am going to crush you, vermin.” A painful punch clashed with his face, immense pain flooding through her fingers, stinging up to her shoulders and back. She swung again with her left, the same sensation burning up her muscles. Repeatedly she struck out at the beast beneath her, alternating left and right, letting out loud, choked sobs with each connection of fists and flesh. ”I…..hate…..spiders.” She halted her swings, wiping her lips with the back of her hands, smears of sticky crimson trailing along her swelling skin She could feel him breathing, living under the pressure of her battered body. His visage was unimpressive, but she was no picture either. She was certain it was her own blood smeared on both of their faces, drying unevenly in the dirt and dim light. ”I’ll end you." She began quietly, a twitch of a smile tugging the corner of her cracked crimson lips. ”I hate you. I’ll..... I'll kill you.”






" Aiolios"






◇ σσc Subject to change! I'll put a big red EDIT at the top if anything gets switched up!!

[Scrivener_Lost]

cynosural𝐓c𝐡y𝐞 n 𝐑o𝐢s𝐧u𝐠r𝐦a𝐚c𝐬c𝐭a𝐞t𝐫



The confrontation between Maiya and Cannes happened in odd faded images and dreams; visions and deliriums brought on by the pain and weakness that assaulted his body with every aching beat of his heart. Stupid...foolish...beautiful Maiya. She was not supposed to be here. None of them were. Not poor innocent Icarus laying at his feet, not Paul strung up in the rafters, and certainly not his daughter as she ran through the chaos towards him. He could just barely make out her form as his consciousness had begun to fade as Maiya and Cannes shouted at each other, flinging words of assault and hatred. He was not, could not, be aware of the chains as they slowly shifted around his form as he felt the all encompassing weakness slowly rob him of every last notion of sense. Everything felt so far away. Thoughts, logic, everything that made him strong was well beyond his reach as his was left with nothing but defeat and weakness. It was heavy, incredibly so, forcing him to drop his head once again. Had he been more aware, he might have felt embarrassed how utterly foolish and prostrate he appeared; his head bobbing against his chest as he strained to hold onto whatever frail semblance of consciousness he had. But he was tired. So tired. He wanted to sleep, to fall into that comforting bliss of ignorance. To slip into the pleasant darkness devoid of pain, agony, and delirium. There was still yet something in him calling to fight it however. Something deep and primal, calling out to him from a far away place that he could not discern. A voice, once familiar, now a stranger's call, pushing him on and trying to coax him into fighting. He did not want to fight any longer. He only wanted to put an ending to this. To all of this. He did not need to be conscious to feel the jarring effects of souls being snuffed out. Just as they were tied to him, he could feel them. He could feel the souls as they cried out for help. Help me. Help me. I am in pain. I am dying. They were crying out to him and his own soul tried desperately to react. He could feel them. He could feel each crack and splinter of their souls as the bodies of his troupe members were broken and shattered. He could feel the cold void of a soul slipping through his fingers as he was unable to grab on and prevent it from leaving. He could feel them dying. Trapped within his own frame, the soul manipulator of Tromperie could feel each bleeding wound that was rent upon the bodies of their keepers. And for each time a soul flickered out of existence, he could only mourn within himself, unable to produce even a whisper of apology as those who once trusted him with their souls left them to wander the plane of the dead unescorted and in fear. He could do nothing to help. He was nothing but a prize for the survivors to proclaim, a husk of flesh now. He was not their Ringmaster. No. That man would have been able to fight the binds that prevented him from saving them. He was nothing now, just as Roland meant for it to be, as he felt soul after soul being snuffed out of the realm of the living. First, it was Icarus. Then, Flynn. He felt as Aloise faded, her soul slowly succumbing to the bitter embrace of death. August, tiny frail August; he was the last that Morgan felt as his soul was snapped out of the realm of life. Each was like a pin-p***k picking at the back of his mind, amplified only by the inability to do anything to save these poor wretched souls. But who was he kidding? He couldn't even save himself.

And what at last, he felt his own being slowly slipping the surly bonds of awareness, he could only watch as his world suddenly dipped in front of him, the ground rushing up to meet him as his body finally began to leave this mortal realm and enter Hell. He was going to meet with Lucifer himself, the dirt welcoming him only for a second before it would open up to the jaws of Tartarus. As his body collided with the hard-packed dirt, he felt something warm under him and in one last desperate attempt to prevent himself from falling into Lucifer's lap, he grabbed onto it with all of the frail determination he had left. His fingers intertwined into Icarus' shirt as the last pathetic remnants of consciousness left him, the world around him fading into nothing with only the dull pink hues of the acrobat gazing at him with a comforting gaze. "It will be okay, Morgan. Just rest for now..." "M-Morgan!?" The Ringmaster jolted awake. No. He was not in Hell as he had suspected. Had his plan worked? Had grabbing onto Icarus prevented him from seeing Tartarus succeeded? He tried to flex his fingers, to feel the physical grounding of his body to something stable. He knew something was wrong, his body was not in the same position it had been a few minutes ago. Had Roland come along to string him up again? He could not tell if he was hanging or laying on the ground, the two notions meaning nothing to him as he struggled to find a root of consciousness in which to grab. But it was hard. So difficult. His fingers trembled, or really, his entire body shook as he felt a growing coldness begin to envelop him. While he could not feel his limbs, he could feel the bitter empty shadow that was aiming to envelope him completely. Even with...well, he wasn't entirely sure what was holding onto him now. He could just barely make out the soft musical notes that graced his ears as a pressure built up underneath his head. Someone was touching him, holding him, but he could not quite tell as his senses dulled rapidly. It took the second string of words to hit him for the Ringmaster to acknowledge that yes, someone was in fact trying to speak to him. "M-Morgan!? Please be okay. Please answer me!" Maiya... She sounded so far away. And scared... Why was she scared? Why did she sound so frightened? He needed to know. He wanted to comfort her. But instead, she was trying to comfort him as a hand was pressed against his face, the feeling dull and lacking in warmth. He wanted to feel its soft presence, but his body refused to acknowledge it. The woman sounded as though she were speaking through layers of cloth and he wanted to rip it away. He desired to hear that voice that was so full of life. He wanted those annoying innuendos and that tinkling laugh. He wanted them and felt foolish; for how long had he fought against them and denied them only for him to want to hear nothing more than that now? He tried to look at her, his vision cloudy, as she pulled him closer, her arms tightening around his body as another presence rushed in. "Keep still, keep him safe, and I will solve this. I promise, I will get him out of here." Alaizabel's voice drifted in and out, his fuzzy mind only able to pick up vague impressions of words, though nothing truly made sense. She was commanding Maiya, her cool demeanor lacing through the words as she drew close. He realized, now, that he had heard her voice earlier. Alaizabel, his copied soul, the woman whom walked a mirror to him, appeared so confident and yet, there was only a vague worry hidden deep within those docent notes. Perhaps he was truly bad off. But if so, he thought, how could he not feel pain? Surely the contact against his ripped skin and aching body would be sending a flame across him as Maiya cradled him. But he could not feel a thing. It was pleasant. It was welcomed. His lungs that were burning with the lack of air, his throat which was clogged with blood and bile, his arms and fingers; he could not feel them. Thank the heavens... Maiya lowered her forehead against his, the gentle pressure hardly noticeable as her hair cascaded around them, showering him with the smell of strawberries. Strawberries...Maiya... Yes. He loved that scent. He loved her scent, her aura, her presence. She was here with him, holding him and cradling him. She was scared, but she was here with him. Wet drops hit his face and rolled down his cheek. She is crying... "P-Please Morgan... Please be okay..."

Yes. He could remember this. Laying in her arms as he recovered from his wounds. She had thought he was going to die back then too. But he knew his body. He had been near mortally wounded, yes, but he would not die. He had to convince her that he was well; she had been so worried back then. He had to remind her. No mattered what happened, she would not be alone. Maiya, his strong and fearless Knife-Thrower, was scared. He had to assure her. "I was told once...that if you can see that star...you'd never be truly lost. Not just because of its fixed position, but also...that no matter where you go...you know that someone else can see that star. If I were a hundred miles away or in another country and you looked up at that same star...we'd both be looking at it. Kind of a silly notion...don't you think? Humans get attached to the oddest ideas some times...but I suppose, it could be comforting in a sense...I guess what I mean to say...that if you ever feel lost or afraid...you should gaze at Polaris and remember that somewhere out there...another person is looking up at the same star. You're not technically alone if both of you are staring at the same thing..." Yes. The stars. He wanted to see them. He wanted his troupe to see them. If they could just gaze at them, then they would be assured. They were not alone, even when they walked the Valley of Death. If they could see the stars and he could view them as well, they would not be alone. Maiya would not be alone. He wanted to remind her, to ease her worries, and by some stroke of luck that God had granted him, he found one last string of energy as he drew his shaking hand to Maiya's face, his ice cold fingers finding foundation against her cheek. His golden eyes focused on her, sharpening for just a minute so he could see her beautiful visage. Even with her makeup running and her face marred with dirt and the marks of battle, she still looked so wonderful. His fingers shook, only able to drag his dirty nails down the length of her face before his hand fell back to his chest. Ich liebe dich, Maiya... He stared at her hoping to convey his message since he could not speak it. He had spent so much time ignoring this woman and preventing himself from speaking to her and now that he wished to finally do so...he could not. I was a fool...I hope you can forgive me... The bright hue of his eyes faded as any remaining tension eased into her arms. "Morgan! Morgan!" Ava nearly crashed into Maiya as she screamed her father's name, her legs folding underneath her as she knelt by his side, opposite of Maiya. Her hair was mussed, her dress torn and soiled from the crusade to the tent. Tears were streaming down her face as her eyes gazed at Maiya in wild panic as she held Morgan. "Maiya! Maiya, is he alive? Morgan!" Ava grabbed for his hand only to drop it moments later, a terrified gasp escaping her. "He's so cold...Oh, Morgan...please...answer me..." Ava crooned, wide mocha eyes glistening with tears as her hands hovered awkwardly above his chest. She wanted to hug him, to feel his heart beating, to feel his arms around her. She needed him to respond to her, to tell her everything was okay. Sobs racked her chest and for the first time since she was a child, she openly wept. Morgan had instructed her to be strong and confident, to never show weakness. He had also taught her to never to give him the title which she adored greatly. Never call him... "Daddy...please...get up..."

"Morgan. Why are you sitting out here by yourself?” A voice as sweet as honey and as soft as a flower's whisper broke him from his trance on the strange locket in his hands. He looked up from the necklace in his hand to the figure that spoke to him and his eyes widened. Standing at the gate to the garden was a girl with the most beautiful golden straw-colored hair and wide curious cerulean eyes. She tilted her head to the right slightly, a loose curl draping down the side of her face as she continued to gaze at him curiously. Her long white dress adorned with pearls at the cuffs lined with ruffled lace spoke to her upper class breeding and her soft sweet words alluded to her schooling. She was the one. There was no doubt in the man's mind that this was the girl that was to be wed to him. As she unlatched the gate and welcomed herself into the garden, she approached the man with a soft smile on her peach hued lips. A soft gasp sounded out and it took him a minute to figure out it had come from him. He released the locket as he turned to the woman, the afternoon sun reflecting almost too brightly in those golden locks. "Its...you..." The woman giggled softly, but the amiable smile was short lived as her eyes grew sad. He followed her gaze to the locket on the cobblestones below his boots. "You did not answer me, mein Freunde.” He was at a loss for words, unsure of what the woman was alluding to even as she slowly leaned down to pluck the golden locket from the ground. "Why are you sitting out here by yourself?” He ignored her question as he reached forward to take her hand to help her stand. His fingers went through her palm instead of wrapping around them and even as she stood, they trailed through her arm and abdomen before a jagged gasp escaped his throat and he pulled back, taking a few steps away from her. "But...I do not understand," he muttered. She simply smiled at him sadly before she held out her hands, the locket sitting in her left palm. "You have not changed, have you?” It sounded far more accusatory than curious and Morgan's brows pinched together. "I...I am sorry," he whispered, as his eyes fell to her hands. "It is not I that you should be apologizing too,” she replied softly as the gentle smile returned, glimmering blue eyes moving to his. She slowly reached forward towards him and for a second, he could feel her soft fingertips brush against a gently curled lock of obsidian hair. He could tell she registered the sensation as well as her touch faltered, a soft twitch of her brow telling all. "Why do you hide here in the honeysuckle garden, Morgan?” Again with the obscure and cryptic words, but it did beg to question, why was he here? His eyes drifted to his left where labyrinthine walls were shrouded in invasive honeysuckle, the cream and yellow flowers covering nearly every inch of what used to be stone quarters. It was familiar and the scent was welcoming. But with it came a sense of dread. It was miniscule and nothing compared to the relief and wonderment of seeing her here and now, standing in front of him. His eyes swept back to her only to notice that she was now gazing at the locket. "They are beautiful, Morgan,” she said with airy regard, eyes glittering with a warmth and affection he had ached to see in eons. But, he was curious. Who was she staring at? With cautious approach, he rounded to her side where he followed her gaze to the locket he had previously been holding and when he gazed upon the two images trapped inside, he froze. "Maiya...Ava..." So it had to be then. He was dead.



Translations-
mein Freunde :: " My (possessive) friend. "


cynosural† 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: The Big Top -> A honeysuckle garden? cynosural† 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐲: ...? cynosural† 𝐎𝐨𝐂:


Quote:



Layout Created by Cynosural Cataclysm

[Cynotastic]

tab 『ωɪтʜ: Morgan and Ava 』xxxxxxx 『ʟocaтɪoɴ: Big Top 』xxxxxxx 『ϻσσɗ: Devastated 』
"Talking"'Thought'

Her hands fastened to Morgan as she waited for some sort of sign that he still lived. There was the light breeze she could feel by his nose and mouth. It shuffled around the stray strands of hair that cascaded onto his face. The tears continued to steadily crawl from her lids onto his body. This scenario felt all too familiar to the first evening in which she was so close to a kiss, only to have it stolen by Katarina's sister - Katherine. And, just as that night had been absolutely blissful and wonderful up until the evening was ruined, this night was very similar. However, in contrast to the memory where Morgan spoke of stars and he admitted and used his alchemy, this was his fault. Before, it was the red-haired she-devil that had ruined an absolutely wonderful evening. Swallowing saliva, she coughed and sputtered as she tried to avoid the sound of blatant tears. Her hands loosened her grip as her hands traveled down his body. Maiya discovered the wound on his side; she pushed her body away from his as her eyebrows pinched together in worry and despair. Her lips sat crookedly on her face as she looked at his pale, misty eyes. Her injured right hand released his body and his tattered clothes. Her hand moved up and brushed a few stray locks out of his face as she stared at his life-less expression. He felt so cold. Was his life truly draining? A lump of nerves gathered in her throat as a few more water droplets rolled down her cheeks. Her right hand sat on the back of his head as her crimson eyes stared down into the dulled golden orbs. A wavered breath escaped her mouth as her lashes dipped down to her cheeks. And, just as she felt her heart shattering into a million pieces, there was life that crept into his gaze.

Her expression lit up with excitement - he wasn't dead! His hand extended up towards her. Though she was glad that he was able to move, she felt internally conflicted. Should she tell him to save his strength? Should she grab onto his hand? Should she say anything to him? Her mouth dropped open, but the rock of emotions twisted in her throat and no noise was able to escape her. Outside of a breathless gasp as she felt a small smile pull upon her lips. Morgan! Morgan! You're alive! Thank god... But, as the thought passed her mind, his hand traveled down her face. His fingers were cold, and she could tell he was feeling weak. Instead of being firm, his fingers just barely slid across her face. Instead of being steady, his hand wavered. It was clear that he was not alright. Though, it would be foolish to assume he was. He had been injured all across his body. One of his hands had two broken fingers, he had a wound in his side, and words carved into his chest and arms. His lips were sewn shut. But, he's lived through worse! What about that wound that night under the stars? That was right into his heart... This... He can heal through this, right?! And almost to state how horrendously wrong she was, his limb fell back to his side. His golden eyes that had been looking into her own crimson orbs drifted off of her face and past her into the top of the tent. And, just as she had seen the souls of the others be ripped out, she watched the life slowly drain from his gaze. His pupils shrunk, and it seemed no light traveled through them. The golden hue had dulled, and he no longer was. Her jaw slowly fell open as she wrapped her arms around him, she pulled his torso up to her chest and his body seemed to completely abide to her desires. There was no fighting, it was just entirely limp. Her hands tightened around his body as she squeezed with despair. "Morgan! No, please... Please, come back!" She spoke into his shoulder as she felt water flood her lids and pour onto him. Her voice was saturated with panic and sadness. His hair that was matted with blood and sweat now had her tears combining with it, causing the solid parts to slowly break apart onto her face. She could still smell the strong sent of metal and cedarwood. "I... I love you." Maiya said with her voice barely above a whisper.

Her hands trembled as she squeezed him tightly. But, still there was no reaction. Her arms wrapped around him tightly as she buried her face into his shoulder and neck. He was still, so, so cold... The Knife thrower hated this... A familiar voice rang into her ears. "Whatever you do, hold on to him. Do you understand?" Not that Maiya had planned to let go of the man anyway. After all, he seemed so lifeless. But. Nothing happened. The brunette couldn't find it in herself to react at all. Though, it was clear Alaiza was frustrated, it was evident in the way her hand held onto Maiya's thigh, and the cures that escaped her lips. But. the Knife Thrower couldn't help any. If she couldn't even have saved Morgan, why would she be able to help her. With a few more comments from the Escape Artist, she left, and Maiya tried to have a few moments to herself.

Repositioning him, she laid him onto her legs. Her crimson eyes remained glued to the Ringmaster. She was wishing for some sort of life. Something, anything. But, the only sign of life was from his daughter as she nearly crashed into the Knife thrower with the same fear that rattled herself. "Morgan! Morgan!" Crimson eyes continued to bore at the golden lifeless eyes. Maiya did not respond to Ava as she crashed into the ground opposite of her. "Maiya! Maiya, is he alive? Morgan!" Shaking her head slightly, the Knife Thrower still didn't respond. Even if she wanted to state that she believed he may have passed, her voice wasn't willing to admit that. No. It couldn't be true! She didn't want it to be true. She hated it. Her heart felt hallow. The brunette watched as the Lion tamer grabbed Morgan's hand before quickly dropping it. "He's so cold...Oh, Morgan...please...answer me..." It seemed like Ava was just as shaken up as Maiya felt. Her crimson eyes watched as tears continued to ball in the corner of her eyes and fall onto the man. Then, the Lion tamer began to weep. Heavy and loud sobs escaped from the young woman. It made the Knife Thrower continue to feel miserable at the situation. If the troupe had arrived earlier, before collecting the troupe... Could they have saved him? If she had followed him when he left the party car, she could have prevented it. She knew that was the case. She could have stopped it. The hand that sat on top of his onyx and silver locks.

Maiya swallowed, though the rock in her throat made it challenging. Words echoed through her mind as she stared into the dull plain eyes. Various quotes continued to flood into her mind. "Why, Maiya...why do you continue to torment me with your eternal damning devotion...I will never understand it." "I cannot win against you..." "The darkness...the shadows in my mind...they have killed Mimi and most likely Kimber...I fear who they will target next...I am trying to keep the train safe! But I am met with anger and hatred! Ava defies me and the troupe is about to fall into anarchy! Maiya...I need your help" I can't help, I couldn't help... "...I don't know what to do...I can't let these phantoms do any more damage! But I can't stop them. If I am truly crazy...and this is all in my head...then its something I cannot fight alone. I must protect everyone...I must protect you..." But... I failed to protect you... "Will you listen to a selfish man's request? Stay by my side tonight." "You did very well putting this together, Maiya. It would appear as though everyone is here and is enjoying themselves, I do not say this enough, but this circus would be a very bleak and broken thing without you. And for that, I thank you from the bottom of my heart." "Ich liebe dich. You can remember that, right Maiya?" ”Ich liebe dich. It means... I love you.” ”Ich liebe dich, Maiya Seilouen.” "You are truly one of a kind, Maiya. I have something, a surprise for you in thanks for your hard work. I must go retrieve it. If you would excuse me for just a moment, I will return promptly." -- "I suppose...this makes me a liar..."

"I suppose...this makes me a liar..." "I suppose...this makes me a liar..."
tab tab tab "A liar...I am...a liar...heh..."
"A liar...I am...a liar...heh..."
"A liar...I am...a liar...heh..."

"You should just add that...to the list of reasons why you should hate me. I'm a liar..." "Morgan... No, I don't think I can hate you... No, Morgan... I... I..." She swallowed as she felt a vice tighten around her neck. Just as she had suggested before, she would suggest now. It was the only way. It was the only way to make the world okay. She had to. "Morgan... I dunno if you can hear me... But... But..." Her voice wavered as she ran her hand down his face and she pushed his eyelids closed so she couldn't stare at those lifeless eyes. "I want to extend my contract." She whispered as she let her eyes slip close. Maiya needed to remember the words she had spoken to get her powers back in her youth. It was hard for her to recall though, the information being well over a hundred years ago. "I wish to give away the remainder of my life, my time, my soul, anything -- to bring this man, Morgan von Faustus to life..." She sniffled, her nose beginning to run as she was overwhelmed with the emotions. The Knife thrower stopped caring that Ava was around. After all, Maiya had already decided she wanted to remain with Morgan for the rest of her life, so giving away more time wasn't going to change her life any. "I cannot live without this man. Please... By whoever grants these wishes... Bring him back." She sniffled as she leaned back down onto the Ringmaster, her head pressing against his chest as she let the tears continue to flow before coughing. "I love him... I can't do it without him..."


『σσc: D:!!! 』
Aiolios

[Cynotastic]

Rei
After the little stunt with creating magma rain, Rei was surprised that he had not gotten more flak for the act. Hell, even Kat didn't seem to care. And, he had done the show particularly for her. Regardless, his little stunt seemed to have gotten a reaction from the blonde haired woman in a green dress that had asked their fire manipulator to cease what he was doing. It just made the situation even funnier to him though. After all, who was stupid enough to think that with the chance of burning their friend free they would decide to screw around last second. Really though, it wasn't his deal. He was just having fun! His laugh continued to roll out of his chest. Then, his attention bounced over to Kat where he gave her a nod of approval. He lifted his hand and began to pop his knuckles as he watched people move around the tent. It seemed there was a congregation of people collected in the middle of the tent. He grunted with each of the pops that escaped his hand then swapped over to the other one. There was something he was supposed to be doing... But, he couldn't remember what it was. Though, his time spent trying to discover what that was, was cut short.

“Hey!” His head turned and landed on the blue haired bandage boy as he called for his attention. "Whatchu want boy?" Rei asked as he cocked his head to the side. “Fun little trick you've got there friend.” "Thanks," he spoke back with a small smile. Though, he found it a bit strange that the "enemy" was complimenting him. But, he took it with a shrug. Before the Ex-Fire Breather really perceived what was going on, he was confused when a tea cup began to fly towards his face. He looked at the object with complete and utter confusion. Why in the world would someone bring a tea-cup to a fight? It made no sense, and though neither did the compliment, this was definitely more confusing. His eyebrows lowered apprehensively as he took a step to the left. The cup flew past his head before crashing into the tent wall. "HAH!" Rei yelled mockingly, but, due to the intense focus on the cup, he was confused when it hit the tent and transformed back into a dart. "Whoa!" He said as he eyeballed the object. Then, something else collided with him. His brown eyes transitioned onto the object as he watched the cantaloupe melt away and become a second dart. It had pierced him right in his bicep. He groaned as he grabbed the item and pulled it out of his arm. A small trail of blood trickled out of the wound as he threw the item back towards the offending enemy. "Right back at you blue boy!" He called with a large smile. Bending over, he began to collect up the chunks of Magma that had fallen from the sky. Then, he began to throw them back towards the Illusionist. While he did not have the magic of disguising items, he had more to throw!


Interacted With↷

Ararelia

Taubryn -> Threw stuff back at him



Katarina
Just as the sound of chains falling to the sound had distracted the Alchemist, it pulled her attention to it as well. Ruby eyes watched as Morgan toppled to the ground, where Maiya had quickly collected him. At least she wasn't going to be a pain anymore. After all, she was certain if Morgan was not already dead, he would be soon. And that was their main target. Her eyes began to take in the rest of the scene to see how they were doing. Two of the three people who had been wrapped up by Cannes had their lives snuffed out form their eyes. Cannes was going for the Siren. Liesel was sparing with the other Strongman, and Doctor was left to watch. One of the jugglers had been destroyed. It seemed most of the people had been killed, or rendered useless. It seemed everything was going according to plan. Katarina sneered as her ruby eyes bounced around looking for someone out of place. There was that stupid transmutator, which she had assumed that Liesel would have managed. But, that was where the large oaf had come in to terrorize her instead. Her grip tightened around her dagger as she took a few steps and picked up the blade that had been discarded from Cannes. Though, it was shortly after that Roland's tone hit her ears. He was sparing with the snake lady, but he seemed to have a handle on the situation. Though, Kat didn't care. After all, she wasn't the alchemist's protector. No, she was here for revenge. She took a few steps away from Roland as she intended to go and prevent the second Juggler from being a pain, after all, there was no reason for her to continue staying by Roland or Morgan's side. That part of their plan had fallen through.

Swinging the two daggers around idly in her hands she glared at Rei who seemed to be dodging miscellaneous items that had been tossed at him. It was a waste of time and energy. After all, with his magma manipulation, he could have simply burned the objects, couldn't he? She scoffed. Whatever. Kat noted with a twitch of her eyebrow. Then there was the sound of bodies smacking together and landing in the ground. There was screams and shouts escaping from Cannes. Turning on her heal, she approached the battle. It seemed that the girl who Katarina had requested he silent was besting him. She had wrestled him to the ground and was giving him a damn good beat down. The petite girl was vocal as she assaulted the spider boy. There was blood splotches all over the panicked boy and Katarina was unsure as to whose blood it was. Regardless, she was pummeling the boy down, with numerous blows to his face, but she continued assaulting him, with more words spewing from her lips. Kat's ruby eyes looked at Cannes and his face showed fear and panic. And though the man was nearly entirely useless, he had done a splendid job today. He had captured who he was supposed to and been a general nuisance to Morgan's troupe. Therefore, it only made sense for her to repay the favor. Though, it wasn't going to be a big one.

Running up to Nova, she gave the acrobat a strong kick to her side knocking the woman off of the purple haired boy. Moving a dagger she pointed it towards the fallen girl for a moment, but the heavy sobs from the Lion tamer by Morgan hit her ears. "Obnoxious c**t." Kat muttered before shooting a glare at both Cannes and the woman he was fighting before traveling back over to the middle of the tent. Her eyes landed on Ava as she contemplated slitting the brat's throat. At the very least it would make the terrible sobbing stop. But, instead, something else caught her eye. Something had happened to the deceased man.


Interacted With↷

SecretShades

Kicked Nova

Aiolios

Helped Cannes.



Abagail & Apostle
Abagail had been hiding behind the same box. However, she was getting anxious. She had been mostly hidden; none of the others had really approached her. Her teeth pulled flesh off of her bottom lip as she poked her head back over the crate. There was a desire to relocate. Ocean blue eyes scanned the area as she took in the sight. It was certainly not what she had imagined seeing. There were bodies scattered amongst the tent, blood in various places as well. Then, in the center of the tent, no longer hung Morgan. No, now there was the dead body beneath what was once there, and then Morgan was in Maiya's arms. Her lips fulled into a frown. It was devastating. And, had they really killed Morgan? It certainly seemed such from how the Knife Thrower held onto the Ringmaster. Maybe I... I should have saved him... Abagail noted as she turned her head to the side slightly. No, you're better with your father fool. She shook her head in distaste at the suggestion the voice provided. No, he beat her, he was more a monster than anything Morgan had put her through. Her eyebrows pinched together as she watched another woman approach Maiya and Morgan. This girl was blonde, and she seemed to be doing something, but it did not work. Blinking a few times, her gaze lingered on the blonde as she recalled the bits of information that had been collected by both Katarina and Cannes - she was the Escape artist, capable of teleportation. That meant that Apostle was rendering her power ineffective. Then, she turned on her heel and instead began to go for her own father.

But, the Spirit Manipulator's attention was more focused on Maiya and Morgan. Another person had come upon them and approached the pair. Despite the chaos that had been erupting through the tent, Abagail had been able to pick up a few key words that had been stated from the girl. "Maiya! Maiya, is he alive? Morgan!" Abagail's frown grew as she recalled the brief conversation between herself and the Ringmaster. ""I have a daughter...her name is Ava..." Her gaze fell from the trio. It was tragic. She wanted to help, she really did. But, she was petrified to move. Besides, at this point could she even do anything? No, because you're useless~! Apostle's voice rang in her ears as she stood to her full height. Her back was pressed against the edge of the big top as she stared at the three. Muttering beneath her breath, Abagail moved her eyes to the tent wall before traveling across it. She still needed to move. Now, she was slowly creeping towards the entrance of the tent. Swallowing harshly, she kept one arm on the cloth of the tent and she continued to move along the side. After a few more steps, she found herself next to another crate. This one was much taller than the first one. So, she simply pressed her back to the side of it as she continued to let her gaze bounce around the area.


Interacted With↷

Shuffled around the tent.


Color Key↷

██ - Rei General ██ - Rei Talking ██ - Rei Thinking
██ -Katarina General ██ - Katarina Talking ██ - Katarina Thinking
██ - Abagail and Apostle General ██ - Abagail Talking ██ - Abagail Thinking ██ - Apostle Talking ██ - Apostle Thinking

[Scrivener_Lost]

Cannes
He hardly had enough time to celebrate his excellent aim as the webbing hit Nova square in the mouth with a wet splat, sending her into a panic as she clawed at the sticky substance. He giggled as he managed to clamber onto the platform, his grip unmatched by anyone as he pulled himself into the crows nest. Up here, amongst the wires, ropes, and metal; this was his world and it was foolish for the siren to have placed herself in such a prone place. She was a pest, small and insignificant, but a pest still and she had to be silenced. Forever. Bright eyes gleamed in the shadows as he prepared to take the girl out. Suddenly, deep sapphire eyes turned to him and he froze. W-whats with that look! An electric shiver of fear jolted through his spine as she turned to him, wide eyes saturated with fury, hatred, and loathing. He had seen the same look many times in Roland's eyes as he spoke of Morgan. It was the look of a mad-man, someone who wanted to kill. It was a lust for pain and blood and he knew exactly whom she had picked for her target. His breath became trapped in his chest and before he could react, the woman had lunged at him. The security of the platform disappeared and he could feel as gravity pulled on him. The apex of the tent pulled away from him, denying him the comfort of the wires and the safety of his webbing as he pried open his mouth to scream. Naught but a whisper eked out from his throat as the air rushed past him before - impact. The ground had come up to meet him much too quickly. Too quickly. His body slammed into the ground, the extra force of the woman on top of him adding several blocks of force onto his chest, his skull cracking against the hard packed dirt. His world was not his own. Colors and light burst in his vision in blinding fashion as his ears rang with a piercing shriek while his body was racked with spasms under hers. He could not think. He could not breathe. He could not hear anything as he lay with his legs and arms sprawled out to the sides. Before long, his arms twitched and moved of their own accord, moving in towards his torso as though he meant to claw Nova's back open. His knees bent as well, drawing his legs close to his body as his body attempted to recover from the fatal fall. He was hardly aware of Nova's quicker recovery as she pulled the webbing from her mouth, taking with it bits of flesh from her lips as her knee speared into his chest, adding suffocating weight to his ribs which already felt as though they had been snapped into hundreds of tiny pieces as his lungs attempted to take in air. Small nearly imperceptible squeaks came from him as he desperately tried to suck in air, silvery tears gathering in the corners of his eyes as he began to slowly regain sense as Nova spoke. Her words were muddled, fuzzy in his ears as his vision slowly cleared (if not the image distorted due to tears), his eyes widening as they gazed up at the girl. S-she pushed me...we fell... But the concern was quickly abandoned as she continued to speak with deep rich tones filled with utter hatred. The tones were so similar. He had heard them before. T-that day! Yes. Annoyance. Hatred. Disgust. He had heard it before. "How dare you touch me! Be gone with you, boy!" Morgan had that same tone. Demeaning. Full of hate. She was just like Morgan! There was a painful flutter in his heart as panic filled his body as she leaned down and took his face in her hands.

”...You left me with this big empty space to fill, and you left everyone else here…..you stole from us. You stole life. And you can only pay for that one way.” Tears bubbled over his lids as he remained pinned and frozen under the cerulean gaze of the demoness on top of him. He could feel as the blood from her lips pelted him in the face, his pupils dilating to pin pricks as his entire field of vision was nothing but her face, laden with hatred and manic anger, blood dripping down her face like some sort of monster prepared to consume him entirely. All sense of cocky strength and courage was dashed like glass upon stone as he froze in utter terror as her fingers dug into the skin of his temple. He needed help. She was going to kill him! Nooo! No! Someone...help me...help! No no no no! Please! His eyes darted away for a second, desperately searching for anyone. Roland. Rei. Katarina. Liesel. Anyone! M-Morgan! He didn't care who it was! As long as someone dragged this crazy woman off of him! ”-I am going to crush you, vermin.” Her words brought his gaze back to her as the tears continue to stream down his face, his mouth open wide with a silent scream as the pressure from her hands continued to build, his hands frozen in place just a few inches from her. He could have shoved her off. Could have pushed her face away. Could have done something other than lay there an cry. But the fear was suffocating. He couldn't breathe and as he continued to sob, he lay there immobile as she pulled back her arm. He knew what was coming and yet, he did nothing to block it. He could do nothing to block it. And when her first blow connected with his face, his world exploded in a new kaleidoscope of pain as the nerves in his face sent an searing spasm through his whole body as her knuckles ripped open his lip. It was on that first attack that he found his voice as he barely sucked in enough breath underneath the pressure of her knee to release an brain splitting screech. He kicked his legs out, attempting to dislodge her from his body but when the second blow came, it smashed against his nose, effectively breaking it. The pain was unreal. He seized for a second, unable to move as his brain registered the horrendous pain. Was this how Morgan felt when they were swarming him? Was this the type of terror and horror the Ringmaster felt as they ripped into his skin with the knife?

A choked cry dislodged from his chest, but it was only stifled as another blow came for his face. He raised his arms, attempting to claw at her face, but it was short lived when he dropped them to attempt to cover his face. And when she pulled back her arm again, he tried to shove her off. He didn't know what he was doing anymore as he brain switched back and forth between the options of fighting her off and trying to defend himself, doing a poor job at each as he continued to scream as loudly as he could. "Kaaaaat! Ro...KAT! HELP! STOP!! Ahhgh! S-stop!" His pleas were unheard as she released one last paired barrage, each connection she made swept through his body with a painful jerk as blood filled his mouth and poured from his nose. ”I…..hate…..spiders.” By some sort of grace of God, she ceased her relentless attack as he lay still, eyes gazing blearily at her as he wheezed, his face splattered with blood though it was unsure of how much was his and how much was hers as it continued to drip down upon his body like some sort of demented fountain. ”I’ll end you." The tears continued silently as his battered and bruised face remained still, fearful that should he attempt to move, it would force her to continue her murderous rage. His brows arched high on his head in a silent plea to let him go. But with the next eerie words that dripped from her lips, it became obvious that he was not going to be able to escape. ”I hate you. I’ll..... I'll kill you.” His chest hitched and jumped beneath her weight as he lay prostate, claw marks from his heels and fingers etched into the ground around him. Then, without warning, a flag of crimson appeared as Nova was momentarily knocked from him as a dagger was aimed at her. Katarina had come to assist him. He remained on the ground for a moment, unable to pull himself together as tears and blood dripped down his face. It was the icy glare from the Knife-Thrower that managed to instill some sort of energy as he slowly rolled to his hands and knees, his entire body shaking with the mere effort of his movements as blood poured in a healthy stream down his face. The tears continued as a sob racked his chest. He was in too much pain. So much pain. He couldn't even think! He was merely moving on instinct as he stumbled to his feet, his fingers trembling as he tenderly brought them to his mouth.

-Paul-
He was so close! Just a few more webs and he would be freed. Sweat dripped off of his brow as he worked breathlessly, the wrench his hand nearly slipping out of his grip for the fourth time. It was blunt, archaic, and nearly useless as he pried the sticky webbing from his body. He had been working for nearly four minutes straight on this damned spider web and he had just barely managed to free himself. The wrench was near useless in cutting the web and it brought to question how a human could produce such a thing. The silk was perhaps more pliable and resistant than rubber. It was impressive and sickening all the same to Paul as he pulled on the white mess around his ankles. His back and abdomen were burning with the effort of pulling himself up in this position as he continued to work on freeing himself. It had been an ordeal to get his hands free and though he would rather die than to admit that he had to chew through something another person produced in their mouth, it had been the only option he had at freeing himself. He could no longer remain hanging there, waiting pathetically for someone to help him. He had been forced to watch as August and Aloise were murdered right below him, two innocent souls snuffed out so easily. Flynn was down, Icarus gone, and Rylee was just barely able to recover from her brief stint with Roland. His visions were coming true. The cards had not lied to him. They never had. And yet, for this one time, he wish they had. It was like being forced to watch some horrid play being produced just for him as Maiya was able to get to the Ringmaster. Paul had not seen him flop lifelessly into her arms as the moment Alaizabel had challenged Roland, the mechanic found a new fire in the midst of the despair and heartache as he continued to struggle to the pull the threads from his body. No way was he about to let Alaizabel be murdered right in front him as he was forced to hang here uselessly. He jammed the wrench underneath the webbing as close to his ankle as possible before prying it from his leg. He worked with it for a few minutes, the sound of fire crackling below him and blade falls creating a symphony which only Hell would produce as he tried desperately to block out the sound of cries and desperate pleas. He could not listen to them. Not now. If he stopped to listen to the pain and despair of his family then he himself would fall into it with them. No. No one was paying attention to him and this was his chance. He had to get free.

"One...more..." His teeth ground together as sweat pooled into his eyes mercilessly. He blinked furiously as his muscles screamed while working the wrench, thinning out the web and stretching it just enough that he could pull his leg free. His right leg was free and now all he had was the left. He knew what would happen once he was free. He knew it and yet, he would still risk it. The fall would likely be fatal. But there was no other choice. He had to try something. He could not die without trying. Even so, dying instantly on his own terms was far more appealing than sitting here waiting for death. He gasped through pinched breaths as he worked the threads, sweat beading and dripping down his face relentlessly as the last thread snapped. Then, the ground was rushing up to meet him. It was only a split second between the gut wrenching drop and the jarring impact of the dirt meeting with his legs. Thankfully he his body had managed to drop legs first. Unfortunately, the same manuever that would save him from snapping his spine in half or cracking his head against the dirt also sent a biting pain up his right leg as it collapsed beneath him. He sprawled in the dirt, the force of his fall knocking the air from his lungs as he lay on the ground. He was free, but the pain shooting up his hip told him that despite his best effort, he was still injured. Hissing with agony, he pulled himself into a sitting position as his hands moved to his shin. The pain was hot and agonizing. He didn't need Damuron to examine him for the gypsy to know that he had broken a bone. That was evident enough. "Damn it..." He curled over his knee for a moment, placing his forehead on the knee that trembled with pain. He took the chance to breath in several times before lifting his head. His eyes quickly found Alaizabel a few yards to his right, her rapier clashing with the Rival leader's sword. He watched in brief awe as she moved smoothly with her weapon, a goddess of class and skill before jamming the weapon into the side of the man. He smiled with a nod. That's my girl. He could only offer her a moment of attention as it swept the tent. Rhythm and the strongwoman were locked in battle with Puck precariously dodging the pair as they tussled. Taubryn and Pyr were facing down the Rival fire breather and the petite acrobat was waging battle with the spider cretin above in the rafters leaving Maiya, Ava, and Morgan in the middle of the tent. He had to get them out of here. He barely managed to get to his good leg without nearly passing out from the pain. But he had experienced worse before. He could handle it. Getting to Morgan and Maiya would be the true task as he hobbled towards them, trying to prevent putting any weight on the broken leg. But that was easier said than done as he stumbled, falling to his knees several times as he pulled himself agonizingly slow to them. "Maiya! Ava! Let's get Morgan out of here!"


Interacted With↷

Quote:

Nova; getting his a** kicked
Katarina; saved his a**




Roland
Cannes was expelled from Maiya, flung like some sort of rag doll into the shadow of the constructs and wires above as Morgan flopped from his chain prison onto the body of his dead acrobat. A searing bitter fury washed over his face as he gripped the cane sword in his hand tightly. Though they had managed to take the upper hand on the troupe early on, things were beginning to shift. And for reasons he could not understand. There were only a mere handful of Morgan's cretins that could even defend themselves let alone fight back, so how they were capable of gaining this favor brought a seething anger that bubbled up from his belly and spread over his body like a blaring wildfire. "Noo! This cannot be happening!" He bellowed. He was losing control of the situation very quickly. I cannot let this happen. I have worked too hard and for far too long for this plan to fail! Morgan will pay, even if it is the last thing that I shall accomplish while breathing on this Earth! He watched as the Knife Thrower rushed forward and took Morgan into her arms. Her...that power; she is the one who freed him! Roland's lips pulled back in a look of beastly hatred as he strode forward. The woman had placed herself between him and Morgan, her back turned to him like a fool. He would make her pay. She would die and Morgan would watch as the eyes of his lover faded and her blood pooled around him. Yes. It would be a beautiful ending for a disgusting woman. She did not deserve such a wonderful death, but Roland was a generous and kind soul when it came to the tender and weaker gender. He would grant it for her and become known as the generous one. I will not allow you to ruin my plans! Roland sneered as he approached Maiya from behind, raising his sword arm above his head. "M-Morgan!? Please be okay. Please answer me!" Her anguish was like sweet nectar to his ears, ringing with pain and despair as she begged the Ringmaster for any signs of life. Life that I will have robbed, tainted, and eventually extinguish once my plans are complete. Yes. Yes. Wallow in the despair of your destroyed Ringmaster. Every note, every decibel heard of your bitter angst, every begging word will reach him and with it, announce my sweet victory over this monster. White teeth glimmered in the pale light as his features were shadowed, bright vermillion eyes shining in the drab light cast by the spotlight above. His hand shook with anticipation as he drew it high and ready to bring it down upon the woman cradling the Ringmaster. A nice clean cut through the back of the neck would suffice. It would be painless, splitting the spinal cord instantly, granting the woman a perfect death. It would not be sloppy like Liesel's brutish form nor would it be slow and painful like Cannes' poison. "Let me free you from your-" "-look alive, Mister Roland!" His assault on Maiya instantly turned into a defensive action as he quickly pulled his weapon back while turning sharply on his heel. What!? When did she-!! He could see the blade coming for him and instantly his shock shifted into some twisted sense of a mocking smile. Sloppy. Her swordsmanship was nothing like his or Morgan's. It was imperfect and easily deciphered. Pathetic! His manic grin widened as she came in for him. She was quick, he had to give her that, and despite his own agility, it was not enough to deter her silver from his flesh completely. As she managed to charge him, he was mildly surprised to see a dagger coming for him and his face was instantly bright with amusement. So not only is she a poor swordsman, but she also fights with a dagger. His musings were both poorly timed and ill-advised, if not completely observatory as he hissed when the blunt short silver weapon ripped through his wielding arm. A mistake. Careless and sloppy. It was enough to jar his arm so that he felt the effects in his shoulders, bright red dancing across the top of his wrist as the dagger sliced through the fabric of his cuffs, skin splitting as blood bubbled forth. It was nothing compared to the brute strength of the Ringmaster during their earlier match, but he had not expected to find another so skilled with a weapon.

It was new information. Something he didn't know. A variable. A variation in the equation and one he had not planned for. No matter! She is no where skilled as Morgan's. Her attacks are poorly timed with meager strength behind the slash and poor foot- He watched as she came to a sharp halt, dropping her body low to the dirt. His eyes widened as she seamlessly shifted the dagger from her current weapon hand to the resting one and reached over her waist to retrieve a rapier. Roland's eyes flashed with a mix of smitten awe and unabashed shock; he had never seen a woman handle a weapon so deftly and had certainly never sparred with someone so uniquely talented. Yes, Morgan was his greatest adversary and what Morgan had on him was skill and brute strength. Roland was smaller, quicker, but his technique had always been lacking. This woman moved with ease and though she lacked the sheer strength that the Ringmaster possessed behind his blows, her technique was certainly something to be praised! "Clever witch!" He hissed as his jester's grin grew wide with panic as she lunged with the slender blade aiming for his belly. There was no time to recover from the slight of hand. He brought the cane sword forward to protect himself, but she was already far too close, his own weapon doing very little to deflect the rapier as it glanced off of the thicker blade. The sound of Roland's breathless exclamation was the only notice of the blade jabbing into his flesh as the raper breathlessly bit deep into his left flank just above the hip. Like a thread going through the eye of the needle, the tip of her blade exited from beneath the skin as the space between them became minute. Looking down at the woman, his grin never faltered as he sneered at her. "I see you, woman, and the lies your Ringmaster have fed you," Roland ground out, his voice heavy and thick with obvious pain. He reached down with his left hand and gripped the rapier before jerking it out of his side. He swung the cane sword to the left, arcing downwards to trap the tip of Alaizabel's blade to the dirt. "Obscured by the veil of endless dreams and tortures," he hissed as he leaped back a few inches, his left hand cradling the wound as crimson seeped into the dark fabric around it. His eyes never left hers as his gaze sharpened on the woman, his pale hair cascading about his face in messy tresses. "You do not belong here. You will only fall into ruin," he spat as he reached to his waist. He was wasting time prattling on with this woman. Every minute he spent away from Morgan was more time allotted to the woman who held him and her goal to assuredly escape with him. He had to prevent her from leaving the tent. Within this poorly lit arena was his world. He controlled it. Already Morgan's troupe had suffered miserably and he was within seconds of obliterating those who would stand in his way. He could not let them win. He could not let Morgan escape. He pushed back the fabric of his vest and pulled from his belt a small glass sphere. He held it up against the light where a bright green shimmer glinted from the smooth surface. His smirk remained as he took his eyes away from Alaizabel to glance at the apple-sized item. "Let me free you from this world of lies and deceit that your Ringmaster has created," he pulled back his arm as his grin eased into a demonic smile, eyes flashing before he threw the sphere. "War is coming!" The moment the potion was released, he followed after it. He cared little for decorum or manners. He was here to win, not to play fairly and if that meant erasing half of this woman with acid, then so be it. But he would make sure she was dead before the night was over. He raced towards her and swung down with a sweeping arc, the blade splitting the air as he aimed to cleave the woman in twine.


Interacted With↷

Quote:

Alaizabel; fight me!



Liesel

He wanted to make her feel pain. He wanted to let her know how much she had pissed him off. He wanted her to fear everything that would be him. But it would take too much effort to speak it. Instead, he would show with his fists. He had been complacent for far too long. Perhaps if he had moved earlier, Flynn would be still alive. She was going to pay. Rhythm was going to crush her. He glared at the woman, her eyes flashing with anger and anticipation. Yes. Liesel was ready to fight. She could feel his energy and he could feel her. They were two clashing titans ready to rend each other apart. A wicked knowing smile crossed her lips as she tilted her chin to her chest. She would be the victor. She knew she would. They had all trained and practiced with Roland for too long to let this battle tip in the favor of the troupe. The strongman in front of her was not a fighter. But she was. Roland had taken them, given them a second chance, the ability to get back at Morgan for his wicked actions. She would never forgive the man for taking her away from her beloved. She would never forgive him for her fiance's death. She would never forgive him. And she would not let his troupe live without understanding the vehement wickedness of his soul. He was truly a demon. The spawn of Satan himself. And he was going to pay tonight. She was going to make sure Roland's vision came true so that all would know of Morgan's folly. He would be ridiculed for all time and once they had snuffed the existence of Morgan's name from the world, then and only then would she be free of the endless nights of tears. Her dear future husband had killed himself and she would make sure Morgan would feel the same helpless and endless pain as he had felt. No one would stand in her way, especially some two-bit strongman that could barely lift a cow. She grinned back at the man as their hands trembled with the impressive force trapped between the two of them, their heels and toes digging into the dirt deep enough to churn up wet soil. The sound of their bodies pushing against each other was like leather being compressed as they remained lock in a show of power. He was strong, but was he strong enough to take her out? "You're a fool! You should hate Morgan. You should spite him for taking you away from your family. Why do you fight?" She asked through her teeth. She couldn't afford to distract herself from her task, but hopefully the words would distract him. But he remained as focused as she as his expression remained deadpan with the occasional twitch of a muscle in his jaw. He did not reply for a great length of time, almost as though forming the words took far too much energy. "Hating someone takes too much effort,” he replied at length. Liesel's eyes flashed with anger as she shoved forward, Rhythm's feet pushing back a few inches. "You dare to mock me? When you are taken from the one thing you love most in this world, then perhaps would feel differently!" She screamed. She wrenched his arms to the left and the pair remained locked together as they fought for the lost soil between them. Rhythm merely remained focused, his eyes thoughtfully judging each move. "Morgan is a fool! He needs to be punished! Why don't you see this?" She bellowed desperately. "He is a fool,” Rhythm agreed and he gained a few inches against Liesel as the statement surprised her, her body being pushed back as they righted themselves. She shook her head. "Then why defend him?!" The taller man shrugged nearly imperceptibly. "He has heart.” Liesel's eyes widened with fury before she released a terrible bellow. Suddenly, she released Rhythm, allowing her body to be pushed back. Before he could knock her over, however, she skirted to the side before releasing a powerful blow to Rhythm's face. The punch connected, snapping the strongman's face to the side. "How dare you...how dare you!" She was upon him before he could move, bringing down her elbow to the base of his skull. The attack forced Rythym to his knees, his hands punching craters in the dirt. She pulled back her leg and aimed a powerful kick to his face. A connection was made, but to her disappointment, it was not to his head. Rather, he had stopped the attack with his hand as he gripped her shin securely in his hand before turning his head to glare at her, blood trailing down from the side of his mouth.

"I'm tired,” he grumbled before standing, wrenching her leg up from underneath her and tossing her to the side. The woman was flung a few feet in the air before crashing into the remains of a few bleachers, splinting the wood and tossing debris into the air. The strongman stood there, his chest rising and falling evenly as Liesel slowly pulled herself from the wreckage. He raised his fists as she stumbled out of the wood, kicking it aside as a new creek of crimson flowed down from her temple. She glared evenly at Rhythm, the pair of them facing off once again like two lions preparing to duel. With a battle cry, she rushed forward, covering ground quickly as she raised her fist and threw a punch at the man's face. He was able to dodge easily, returning with an attack aimed for her ribs. With a simple block by her palm, she deflected it before grabbing his arm, attempting to snap it. The larger man simply wrapped the arm around her chest like a vice and pulled tight. Liesel gasped, feeling her ribs shift underneath his impressive strength. She raised her free arm and grabbed the back of his neck, where he simply wrapped his left arm under her pit and pinned her. The woman shrieked and kicked her legs out, her heel catching his knee cap. She heard him breath a select curse word into his ear as he stumbled forward, but did not release the woman. Instead, he simply tightened the vice around her chest. He was going to snap her in half. The woman squirmed in his grasp for a moment before dropping her head back. Without warning, she snapped it back, her skull bashing into Rhythm's chin. The attack had come as a surprise, so much so that he released her as his hands rushed to his face. She chuckled lightly as she stumbled forward before twisting on her heel, her roundhouse kick connecting with his ribs. The powerful blow sent the man rocketing to the ground, a streak of fresh dirt churning below him as he skid a few feet before coming to rest on his back. With a wicked cackle, she strode forward, her clothing in tatters and ripped in various places as her hair slowly unraveled from its braid. She lifted her leg before pressing it against Rhythm's chest and applying pressure, leaning into her brutal attack as the strongman reached up to claw at her leg. "Fool. You will not win," she growled. The strongman writhed under her foot for a moment, looking for all matters as though he were being crushed. However, as confident and cocky chuckles began to slip from the woman, he swung out with his arm, knocking her leg from underneath her. As she fell forward, he pulled back his legs and kicked out, his foot connecting with her ribs. He felt a satisfying jarring sensation crawl up his legs that accompanied a loud crack before the woman was sent careening violently into a support pole where she hit with tremendous force before sliding down the bent metal framing and collapsing into the dirt. The strongman took a minute to catch his breath before he rolled into his stomach. His eyes swept across Damuron, the poor doctor entirely encased in a metal prison. From there, his eyes drifted down to Aloise just out of reach of the poor man. For a second, his heart went out to the Doctor. How long as he been forced to sit there and stare at her?

He painstakingly got to his knees before finding his feet as he walked over to Dam with lumbering and limping steps. He would free him. Bending down, he brushed his knuckles against Damuron's shoulder to alert him to his presence. "I'll free you,” he breathed wearily as he tested the tensile strength of the metal between his fingers for a few seconds. The metal was tight, constricting, and strong. He was surprised Damuron hadn't been crushed by the metal. He glanced at the pole for a minute, debating which would be the easiest method to free his friend with less risk posed to the Doctor. But the more time he spent debating it was time lost to the enemy. So as carefully and gently as he could, he began to pry the metal apart. It cried with resistance as he first removed the band around Damuron's chest so the poor man could breathe. Then he removed the remaining metal as the last bits fell to the dirt. Rhythm gave the man a once over before he nodded plainly. "You're free. Help the o-,” before he could finish his words, a powerful force slammed on either side of his head, trapping him in a powerful vice as Liesel clamped her hands over his ears from behind. Her face was smeared with blood, her eyes wide with madness as she ground her teeth together. "I WON'T LET YOU WIN!" She applied tremendous force, digging her nails into his skin where tiny rivulets of blood began to seep down from his head as he reached up to pry her hands away. As his nails tore at her skin, she simply laughed as his Rythm's mouth dropped open in a silent scream, his eyes rolling up into his skull as foam gathered in the corner of his mouth. His arms dropped slowly, his fingers trembling as he reached out to Damuron. Liesel's arms shook with the impressive amount of force as the skin peeled around Rhythm's hair before his body seized, jerking unnaturally as he released a ghastly sigh. The woman chuckled lightly as she released the man, the strongman dropping to the dirt as his arms and legs continued to twitch, foam and bile dripping from his mouth as it leaked between his lips before his body slowly ceased to move. Standing over the man, the strongman took a long rattling gasp, her chest heaving before her eyes moved to the Doctor. Her grin remained as her eyes fixated on him. "Now, little doctor man...where were we?"


Interacted With↷

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Rhythm; killed



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██ - Cannes General ██ - Cannes Talking ██ - Cannes Thinking
██ - Roland General ██ - Roland Talking ██ - Roland Thinking
██ - Liesel General ██ - Liesel Talking ██ - Liesel Thinking

[Promise of Bliss]

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Thinking about it now, her instructor would have been furious to see such a maneuver. It was so outside of proper Italian fencing, so outside of form, and yet she had never been steered wrong using it before. As long as she called upon her actually training, incorporating the full extent of her knowledge into the unusual surprise strike, she knew that it would accomplish her intended effect. And from the look on the assaulted's face, it seemed he knew it as well. Acknowledgement was clear in his expression, but there was something still more, something beyond the shock that she had expected; there was a nearly infatuated appreciation, a twisted delight just behind his eyes as the rapier slid seamlessly from her sheath. "Clever witch!" As she lunged, she shot back. "You slight me by assuming this is magic--!" She guided her loyal blade true, still managing to land her stab despite his attempt to parry. The larger blade was clunky, so unartful when compared to the fine foil at her disposal, and she felt an almost sick delight at the sensation of his flesh consuming the metal of her sword. It was not as catastrophic as a blow as she had hoped for. But it was sufficient to bring the mirror of Roland's grin to her lips, which twisted manically at the corners with satisfaction. It was a detrimental blow. She was one puncture wound closer to bringing him to his ultimate reward. And for the crimes that he and his brood had committed- for Morgan, for the acrobats that were swung to the tent-top, for Flynn in a pool of his own blood, for her dearest Paul (the fear, the cry as he was lifted away from her and into the depths of the darkness above, for daring to attempt to rend her happiness... for that, nothing but his life would provide ample compensation. Now that her blade had sunk into him, she was close enough to smell him, the acetic tang unlaid with something almost unexpectedly pleasant and floral- lavender, that was it. To think that something so beautiful could be emitted from such arid, acrid soil. And his eyes, his bright blood-drenched irises were still boring into her own. It was almost unsettling, almost unnerving enough to cause her to waver. But no, she would not give him the satisfaction. Her eyes- Morgan's mirror- would stare proud back into his own. She would not be moved.

"I see you, woman," he breathed, his voice husky as he fought with the blade in his side. I am directly in front of you... her mind quipped, entirely too amused by the circumstances. "-and the lies your Ringmaster have fed you," Her upper lip curved into a returned sneer, her brow cocked. "I do not understand the purpose of your emphasis. He would lie to anyone, woman or otherwise," Of course that was not what he had meant, but if he was going to attempt to initiate dialogue, the least she could do was offer some polite return. What sort of aristocrat would she be if she could not keep toe with those around her? The condescension was palpable, unabashed as she looked to him. She flicked her wrist, twisting the blade where it was in his belly. It seemed he was none too pleased. With his bare hand, he reached for her sword, ripping it harshly out as he flipped his cane to catch the weak tip of her blade; he pinned it to the dirt with almost ease. For a moment, she humored him, allowing him to believe that he had succeeded in trapping her as he almost leaned in. It was not like she could not switch her stance to free herself of his grasp, could not bring her dagger up in an instant to liberate his larynx from his vile throat. Let him believe he had the upper hand and he would let down his guard. Her smirk did not waver as he breathed his words to her. "Obscured by the veil of endless dreams and tortures," They were both moving at once, Roland skittering backward as Alaizabel reached toward his blade, flicking it off of her own and spinning to reassume her stance. Her right leg lead once again as she twisted on her left, and her parrying dagger was diagonally held aloft before her breast, prepared for defense; her rapier leveled with the ground, pointed toward her target in preparation to strike. Her tawny hair flipped around her, braids wrapping around her neck momentarily before settling again against her shoulders. With an almost demure chuckle, she riposted, "I know not what you think he has promised me, but I assure you there is no veil of dreams that is inhibiting my vision," Her gaze hardened, though her countenance did not betray her tone as it shifted. "He did not need to obfuscate my sight to make me see you as the serpent you are." Carefully, Alaizabel rocked back to stand on her back leg. She needed to be prepared for him to charge; he was, after all, armed. If he was willing to take up a blade, he clearly knew how to at least swing it with some accuracy. Otherwise, what business did he have daring to take up arms against her? No, she had to be certain not to underestimate the man who had reduced her hellishly sanctimonious superior to veritable tatters. There had to be something more to him, something more than his nearly fragile frame and unwavering gaze. Those eyes. He was still staring, and she could let him. The emotional ingenuity, the stalemate of their countenances was truly incredible, invigorating even. She felt a spike of almost fear in her heart at the realization that, somehow, she was enjoying this. The thrill of the hunt, she supposed. A sick, rolling pleasure welled in her chest at the sight of spreading crimson at his side, at the way he cradled the injury delicately despite the poised refinement of his expression. His self-possession was like hers: unprecedented, enduring, immaculate. What an intriguing man... Her infatuation with his intrigue would have to be cut short, regrettably; after all, he was slated to die.

His voice was harsh, spiteful as he spoke again. "You do not belong here. You will only fall into ruin," She snickered. If repartee was what he was seeking, she would meet his challenge without hesitation. He reached casually to his vest pocket as she gave her rejoinder. "Oh assuredly. Dare say we already have," Her brow arched playfully as she continued to prod him. "Pray tell, where do I belong then? I am all ears, Roland, dear." It was not an actual advantage, but having his name without divulging her own had a certain charm to it that she could not help but revel in, if only for a moment. She watched as he plucked the unassuming vial from his breast, holding the strange candy-apple liquid to the light. For a moment, he admired it, and she waited in almost suspended curiosity for her ignorance to be quelled. Whatever the concoction, with such an ominous hue, there was no reason to believe the vile was a friendly gesture. "Let me free you from this world of lies and deceit that your Ringmaster has created," His croon was ample warning of his nefarious intent. A projectile-!? As quickly as the thought reached her, Roland reared back his arm, an almost demonic mania splaying across his features as he shouted, "War is coming!" As if they could not tell that--! She shifted her stance to pull up her parrying dagger- if she cut the vial in midair at the correct angle, the majority of the spray would be directed away from her, sparing her whatever ill effect that the man intended upon her. She could protect herself by directing the liquid away from her and toward empty space--

Which was inhabited not by open air, but Maiya, but Ava, but Morgan. Paul. The world stopped spinning. He was safe. He was alive. He was free. There was a certain degree of agony to his expression, something telling in the way he clutched at his right knee as he spoke to the crowd amid the combat. But by all that was good in the world, he was freed and safe. And now... she was going to send a splash of unknowable liquid toward him if she continued the way she was. Would she hurt him? Kill him? What if it was a poison? It was worrisome enough that Maiya and Ava and Morgan were there, but they would have likely been spared due to the angle of the strike. But Paul was... he could be--

Alaizabel could not-- would not risk him.

With an adroit twist of her wrist, she flipped the dagger. If she was going to potentially sacrifice herself to whatever ails he had designed, she would at least help Roland to a serving of his own foul misgivings. With a grunt, she sliced through the delicate glass of the vial with her left, bringing her rapier up simultaneously to defend from his downward cleave. His angle was fortunate for her- her dagger slipped seamlessly into the mix as well, acting as further cushion between her and his blade as she slipped the flat of her dagger beneath the base of his sword; her rapier pressed against the middle. The vile's liquid was expelled in the same instant of impact. It spread with relative evenness between the two of them, much to her delight, and the brunt of her portion spread greedily over the exposed part of her forearms that were above her head in defense. A small splash slapped against her collarbone, ricochetting up to flick her cheek in a few small places. The burn was delayed on her arms as the acid-- oh good heavens, it was acid-- ate viciously through the fabric of her sleeves. On her exposed flesh though, the white-hot anguish was instantaneous. As though she had been exposed to an uncooled poker, the acid boiled against her skin, eating away at it in an instant. It was by sheer will-power and fortitude that she did not physically flinch away from the agony, instead utilizing her suddenly peaked adrenaline to force the man's blade up and away from her with a shrill, obviously agonized cry of pain and effort. The gesture would assuredly leave him wide open-- it would be a perfect time to attack-- she could kill him in one blow-- but her eyes were dotted with black, her arms numbing from the flames of acid. She couldn't feel her grip, her arms, the shaking of her hands against the blades unknown to her physically; but she could see it, she could tell she was wavering. Alaizabel could not risk it- not when she was so close. Her body was trying to go into shock, and she could not let it. Regroup, breathe, and prepare her strike. That was the best tactical response.

With lithe jaunts, Alaizabel hopped back from Roland, her breath coming in sharp gasps as she wrestled with her body's biological rebellion. She was trembling, the trauma scathing. There was no more time for playful banter or condescending mirth. "You petty swine! Can you not even muster the slightest bit of integrity in combat? What deplorable trickery must you resort to. Are you so inept that you cannot muster the courage to face me head on?" What sort of loathsome cockroach carried acid? What was more, what did that sort of individual hold contemptuously against Morgan? Such an ill-reputable character could only come from a seedy and unsavory place... there was too much mystery to Morgan, she now realized. She'd followed him blindly for so long, content to remain in the dark because it honestly would have never occurred to her that something could be so relevant, much less like this. She had been complacent to his history, as he had been blessedly to hers, and as she was to practically everyone's. The one time that it bit her in the rear, though, it had to be on such a grand scale... Her voice did not waver like her limbs, and she dripped venom from her every word. "I know not of what your petty dispute is with the dear Ringmaster, so I cannot speak to whether or not your drastic action is vindicated, but need you drag so many innocent lives into the mix? That is deplorable, barbaric! ...and I simply cannot forgive it." There were her fingers, tingly and searing against her blade. The nerve damage would likely be irreversible, devastating, but there was nothing she could do about it now. Perhaps Damuron had some sort of trick to treat such burns; at present, she needed to act. Alaizabel took a deep, steeling breath as she sunk once again into her prepare, ignoring the lingering numbness in her limbs as she lifted her weapons as shields, as implements of her vengeance. Her wit told her to continue was ill-advised, that the smart thing to do was to retreat and return when her injuries were managed. Retreat was not an option, however, and cowardice held no place in the heart of a lioness. She would act. "Cut the head off the snake, Roland. Your words. A savage grin cut across her face. "Now, I will make you understand them intimately." Her steps were deft as she darted forward; a rapier was designed for poking, sinking head on into the quivering underbelly of her foe. It was good for elegant flitting motions that would distract and pierce. A dagger was no such beast. It was for slicing, for rending skin from bones with precision and detrimental injury. She would need both as she took to blows with the man. He needed to parry her rapier, which she lunged toward him with at present. She needed him to deflect it. When that was done, she could twist in, twist in and sink her dagger into the vulnerable meat of his throat. It bore such a lovely ascot, but lavender did not suit him. No, a stain of scarlet would suit it much finer...



Aiolios

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✿ ʟocaтɪoɴ: Big Top xxxxxxxx❀ ϻσσɗ: Furious, murderous, agonized xxxxxxxx✿ ωɪтʜ: Roland xxxxxxxx❀ σσc: FIGHT ME b***h

[Promise of Bliss]

xxx┣▇▇▇═─ Tʜaт ɴɪɢʜт ʜε caɢεd ʜεr
xBruised and broke her, he struggled closer.
tab tab tab tab tab tab tab xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxTHEN HE STOLE HER
xViolet wrists and then her ankles. I will hear their voices
xI'M A GLASS CHILD. x I'M A GLASS CHILD. xI'M A GLASS CHILD. x I'M A GLASS CHILD.x I'M A GLASS CHILD.
x▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇x▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇x▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇


It was somehow suiting to a spider to be elusive. The tent was hardly what Damuron would consider amply lit, and the cretin had apparently taken to hiding himself up and out of his sight. With a growl, the doctor heaved against the metal. It was doing him absolutely no good; if anything, it was just going to make the inevitable bruising on his torso and biceps all the worse. There wasn't exactly a lot of wiggle room. That unsavory t**t of a metal manipulator had certainly done her job in keeping him nicely pinned down. Slipping either up or down was impossible, and wriggling back and forth was painful at best. He liked to think of himself as a relatively strong individual, but bending solid steel was best left to the professionals- the two tussling heatedly to his side. Damuron cast his eyes from the ceiling then to the two super-humans, his malachite eyes bright with worry. Rhythm was strong- obviously, had it really been so long since the man had one-arm lifted Damuron and jested about 'practicing'?-, but it was abundantly clear that Liesel (What a shitty name...) was similarly talented. Against the average layman, Rhythm would absolutely trounce any opponent he was faced with. But now? Toe and toe, neck and neck, whatever idiom he could think of to mean 'even odds' applied to this situation. Every swing, every kick, every attempt to gain ground was met with an immediate riposte, an instant return of the same level of enthusiasm and ill intent. It was magnificent to watch, impressive, but absolutely horrifying all the same. Were that he was free, Damuron could have contributed; he could be snapping arrows back with ease, distracting the strong woman at the least with his bow. He was lithe on his feet- running away from her and shooting would have been fine as long as Rhythm was there to back him up. It was not the most courageous of plans, but it would do the trick. But alas, that was not the case, and the strongman was left to fend for himself. The two of them hurled words as often as blows, though for Damuron it felt a bit more one-sided than anything. Rhythm, gentle in all respects, was so soft-spoken that he could hardly catch a word that he said. The low timber of his voice certainly did nothing to help his words carry. Instead, he was left with only half of the dialogue, and the shrill, venomous half at that. Liesel was an enigma that Damuron had no interest in solving. Grudges were something that Damuron could sympathize with (hell, that man had been dead for sixteen years, and the sound of his name still soured his tongue), but these lengths were inexcusable. So many bystanders, so many innocent people being not only involved, but lost, decimated, and for what? Something as petty as spite? There were other ways to accomplish revenge that did not involve mass homicide, especially of innocents. Besides, what did they have against Morgan? Sure, he was a bit flaky, distant to a fault, sometimes hot-headed and militant. But was he really that bad? Enough to warrant such an overblown response...? Damuron had never considered that he was such a loathed character. In fact, he'd erred toward liking the bull-headed man in most instances. Rough around the edges, with plenty of baggage... enough barding to ward off plentiful emotional daggers. But worthy of this? He could hardly imagine it. Morgan, in his soul, seemed kind, genuine, with an almost fragility to his care toward others. He was damaged; Damuron could hardly blame him for that. But could these people? Or was there something more that he was not seeing? It was true that the doctor was not the most observant of men, commonly seeing and comprehending only what he wanted to. He was wrong often enough...

A flitting motion caught his eyes, distracting him momentarily from the warring strong-people. Careening through the sky was Nova, her arms wrapped tightly around that vile, contemptible vermin as they flew toward the ground. His stomach dropped as he watched helplessly. This looked so purposeful, Nova's oceanic eyes hard set as she tumbled with her prey in hand. Had she-- had she jumped? From the crow's nest?! The two of them crashed into the ground in a puff of dirt, and Damuron redoubled his efforts for escape. "Nova! Nova, what were you thinking!? Are you alright? NOVA." He lifted his legs, kicking them as if the jarring motion would somehow startle the bonds off of him or something. He was sick of being bound; he was sick of being useless! His friends were throwing themselves to their deaths and he could not but sit idly by and let it happen? "B-bulllshit!" he panted. Damuron thrashed against the metal, ignoring the pulsing tenderness where the metal was biting in. "This is bullshit! Nova--!" Desperation clear in his tone, he looked back to her with wide, horrified eyes. His terror ebbed, though, as he took in the vision. She was whispering, then shouting, her fists flying with enough viciousness that Damuron was almost willing to renege his own vengeance and allow her to settle matters for him. "I hate you. I'll... I'll kill you." Even from this distance, her words came through loud and clear, the twisted start of a smile on her lips somehow bringing a grin to his own. He didn't want this for Nova; she was a sweet, tender girl not suited to battle or revenge. But a common enemy between them and the trappings he was fixed within meant that he did not have the luxury of sparing her the soul-tainting that came with such acts. Besides, it would be hypocritical for him to deny anyone their indulgence. He was, after all, practically a slave to his own longing to get even. And where Cannes was concerned, he did not care much how he suffered, how he was ended, so long as it was absolute. And with the acrobat soundly beating the mortal hell out of him, Damuron could be pleased. "That-a girl! Hit 'im harder, Nova!" It was almost a laugh, as if he were watching her do a particularly entertaining acrobatic maneuver rather than thrashing a man half to death. There was a sick delight in it, an unmistakable mania. He had hurt Aloise. He had hurt Aloise. He had killed Aloise, and expected nothing to come back to him for it? Cannes cried, "Kaaaaat! Ro...KAT! HELP! STOP!! Ahhgh! S-stop!" The panic in his voice was almost euphoric, as alluring as the dulcet melody of Nova's siren song. But it was cut short all too quickly. Her name was Kat, was it? Whether that was the case or not, the fiery-haired woman had swooped in, landing a powerful kick to Nova's abdomen. A part of him was worried for Nova- that impact looked harsh, and she rolled off of Cannes and cradled her stomach as a result, he needed to get to her, he needed to help her-, but the prevailing part of his mind was focused soundly. There were so many people that he needed to bleed dry before the night was done. "Ahh, and to the rescue, our cowardly, quivering little p***y.... Kat, right?" A smug grin flared on his lips as he looked to the metal manipulator, daring her to come closer. His word play was likely lost, but the insult assuredly couldn't be. Just come over here, he begged, glowering intensely. Just get the ******** over here and let me deal with you proper. I dare you to cut me. C'mon b***h, I dare you-- But she held no vested interest, turning and navigating back toward the center of the tent. What was she, a watch dog? Either way, her flippant ignoring of his dialogue only served to further infuriate him. He growled a curse, shimmying again against his bonds. [******** this!" What could he do? People were dying, people were in danger and he was just lounging! He needed to do something, anything---

Aloise. She was still lying there, so still, so soundly. He knew consciously that she couldn't hear him, that worrying about her hearing the gracelessness of his tongue was not reasonable, but still, even in her current state she seemed to have a placating effect on him. He needed to contain himself. Hurting himself against the metal would not do anyone any good, and hyping himself up needlessly meant mistakes later. "You're right," he breathed, offering the corpse a grateful smile. "Just keep my head, right? Nova is a rock, she can withstand anything. And Rhythm is not just physically inclined. He's got this." Damuron gave a soft laugh. "Right, no need to worry, ma mie.... No.. need." Still, there was no way to quell the rolling nerves in his stomach as he looked back to the even combat. In the time his eyes had been away, the both of them had become bloodied, and yet still there was no less vigor in their efforts. Faith. It was something Damuron did not have a terrible amount of in himself, but in those around him, he was a depthless well of it. Rhythm would get the upper hand. He had to. He wasn't sure how, but Rhythm would have to be blessed with some of Alaizabel's ingenuity or something. Optimism was hardly what he would consider it, but faith, yes faith, was what he had. His friends- those left, anyway- would be fine. They had to be-- And the strongman did not disappoint. He knocked the supporting leg out from beneath Liesel and, with a mighty sweep of his own leg, soundly knocked her through the air and into the metal framing of the tent. The immense crack was almost as satisfying as Nova wailing on Cannes, and Damuron watched with unfettered glee as she crumpled to the ground. With a bright grin, Damuron let out a loud, "Alright!", followed by a short wolf whistle. He'd done it! Still beaming, he looked back to Aloise. "See? You were right, Aloise! Nothing to worry about! Rhythm handled her just fine--!"

There was a ghost of a touch on his shoulder, and Damuron stiffened as he turned his head with apprehension to see who was approaching. It was a tenderness unexpected of someone so powerful, but it was none other than Rhythm (who he had been expecting, Damuron was unsure). "Rhythm!" It was practically a sigh of his name. The doctor grinned up at him as the man spoke. "I'll free you,” His voice was gentle, weak in a way that unsettled him to hear. Rhythm, while lethargic always and entirely uninvested in conversation, never sounded weak. The low tambour of his voice always held a certain regal strength to it. To speak so softy meant that he was truly feeling the effects of the fight that had just concluded. With his brow knit, Damuron shook his head vigorously. "If it's too much, don't. I'll manage," That was not true at all. Damuron was positively desperate for escape, and the idea that he was so close made him almost ache for it. But Rhythm was injured, clearly not at his best. If he hurt himself further attempting to free Damuron-- "Here, give me your hand. I'll help." It was what he was good for- a human pincushion, in a way. He waggled his hand awkwardly from where it was pinned. Whatever relief he could offer, he was happy to. He could alleviate the pains of the battle and reinvigorate a man that as worth at least twelve of Damuron himself. That seemed like, tactically, a sound option. But still, Rhythm seemed to take extreme lengths to avoid touching the doctor as he pried it away from his chest. As soon as the bond was free, Damuron stumbled forward, heaving in a grateful breath. It must have been adrenaline powering him to not notice how very starved he had been for breath. Now that he was free, his body was quivering weakly, his vision swimming a bit as he struggled to replenish his dangerously low supply of oxygen. Surely his flailing had not helped his situation. Where the band had been tightest pulsed with a deep set ache now, a promise that he would feel it come the morning. If we even make it that long.. That's right. Probably won't hurt much longer-- Damuron turned back to Rhythm with a small smile, a cough, and offered, "Thank you. Here, let me help." He reached out a hand, but Rhythm simply looked him over quickly and then nodded. He seemed to have no interest in being healed, it would seem, as he started to speak.

"You're free. Help the o-,”

Motion- from behind him--a flitting figure of blond fury-- slamming into him--

"RHYTHM!"

His warning was too late, and Damuron physically back-stepped in horror as the demonic woman clung to either side of Rhythm's head with a maddened vice. "I WON'T LET YOU WIN!" she screamed. Her nails dug into Rhythm's skin, ripping it like the skin from a grape as she pressed with lethal force on Rhythm's skull. There was nothing Damuron could do. Perhaps it was an unconscious realization that there was no winning method of intervention that could help Rhythm that kept him rooted, wide-eyed and horror stricken, to his spot. Perhaps it was sheer cowardice. Perhaps it was just shock, a numbed surreal feeling overtaking him as Rhythm bled from the punctures of her nails, seized violently in her grasp, reached forward, his lips parting in a silent plea for his help-- Rhythm- Rhythm no please not you too-- why can't I move-- why can't I help you-- Rhythm please-- Rhythm help me-- help me help you-- Rhythm, no--! With a shaking hand, Damuron reached out as well. Maybe- if he just took his hand- could he reverse what she was doing? Even taking it on himself, would that help to fix anything? Would it-- could he---? Before he coudl even find out, his arms dropped, his body heaving unnaturally beneath the shaking force Liesel was pressing against him. With a low laugh, she released him at last, and the man collapsed instantly with a haunting expulsion of his final breath. Damuron followed his descent with his eyes, stricken as Rhythm gave a few minuscule twitches before finally growing still. He was still. So still. Almost as still as-- he took a step back from the body of his fallen friend, his stomach lurching in his abdomen as he fought the urge to be sick. He'd just watched. Merciless, he had sat there and watched. His leg caught something rigid and he stumbled to catch himself, looking back down. So still. She was, too, wasn't she? His dear friend, his lover, his comrades-- still as corkwood on the floor, littering the tent as casually as popcorn holders after a performance. Crushed, suffocated, burned to a crisp, hanged, mangled, stabbed-- they were all dying--

"Now, little doctor man...where were we?"

Her voice seemed to have jarred him from his shock; it was almost as if the crooning taunt were magnetic, and his head swiveled at break-neck speed to meet her eyes. Twinkling jade met malachite as she grinned, heaving breaths as she stared him down maliciously. This woman... had just sailed to the top of his list. He would bleed her dry. He had to. Rhythm... revenge means nothing now, but... A snarl of a grin, he shifted his stance to bend over. ... but we will have it no less. The fury on his face was undeniable, his expression morphed into something that was likely neigh unrecognizable to those who had known him among the train. This was an almost blind anger, something that darkened the corners of his vision so that all he could see was green- the pale, intoxicatingly vile green of his victim's eyes. He finally relinquished his hold on his bow, which clattered against the dirt. "We're finally getting to the part... where I [******** kill you." With practice swiftness, Damuron grabbed at the hilt of his knife from where it had been hiding in his boot. Not many knew that he even carried it- in fact, Taubryn was likely the only one he could recall having ever been privy to it (and not in the most fun of ways). Other than that night in the alleyway, he had never needed to use it. However, in a fight or flight situation, Damuron knew exactly where he erred to and, as such, the knife was always kept deliciously sharpened for ease of use. His blade drawn, the doctor flipped it in his grasp to hold the blade down his forearm, crouching to prepare speed. Other than the pain in his chest, he was not terribly injured. She, however, looked particularly damaged from her earlier run with Rhythm. If he could be quick, he could take her. He was not going to let her escape. She had taken someone precious, so precious, and her kind had taken the woman he loved from him. If this sniveling b***h Liesel was a willing instrument of his revenge, if she insisted on it so, he would be more than happy to oblige. With a cry, he leapt forward, propelling himself with the force of his back leg and he swung out to slice at her. It was artless and without any training, but he would keep the blade in his hand due to his proper grip at the least. All he wanted was a cut, something in the gut preferably. He knew vital areas, and it was always difficult to operate with, or recover from, stomach wounds. Sepsis, infection, hallucinations, hemorrhaging-- so many delightful options with which to end her. Slowly? Goodness yes. But the pain needed to be there. That was the important part. Agony.


Aiolios

Arrow Count: IRRELEVANT BECAUSE THIS MEWLING WHORE NEEDS TO DIE





✂⋯ ʟocaтɪoɴ: Big Top ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ϻσσɗ: Error; error; cannot compute anything but blind ******** rage ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ωɪтʜ: Leisel ⋯

[sunriseparilla]

TA U B R Y N ↺ M E L E A C H L A I N N

"The Illusionist"

✱ ✱ xThe city looks so pretty, do you wanna burn it with me?
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Let's watch this city burn

xxxFrom the skylines on top of the world
'Til there's nothing left of her

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He took a chance, a very stupid chance, taking his eyes away from the enemy and focusing instead on Pyrrhus and Alaizabel. He was relieved to see that Alaizabel had somehow escaped that madness and headed straight for…his eyes widened in disbelief. What was she doing?! Brave, stupid, foolish, admirable Mouse. He watched with not a little bit of fascination as she raised her sword to him. What did she think to accomplish taking on the leader of the group? She didn’t even know what his abilities were! He had to have been powerful to be able to control this group. Or at least skilled in some way, shape or form. That fact continued to make itself known in his mind and yet. He wanted to call out to her, tell her to watch herself and how much of a fool she was. Though how grateful he was to have someone so strong by their side. She never showed this side of her normally, but then again there was nothing normal about their situation. He took a step forward, but was stopped by a cry of surprise.

Swearing softly to himself, he turned back to the unknown fire breather. He just barely managed to side step the dart he threw back at him. He chastised himself for being so careless and turning his back on the enemy for too long. He had his own problems at hand so he had no time to think about the others. Besides they could all handle themselves. Taubryn smiled softly at the small wound on the other man’s arm. Even if it was small, he was glad to at least have scratched his defenses. Blue boy? He made a face. He was no boy, at least not anymore. He hadn’t been a boy in a very long time. He supposed his face couldn’t give away his real age and it would cause quite a bit of problems if it did, but still. It wasn’t as if he was all that young looking either. The way he spoke…he treated him like he was so young. He looked at him like he was an annoying child just wanting to play. How old were these people? For how long…?

He looked up and managed to catch a glimpse of red hot rocks being thrown at him. He dodged a few, thanking his quick reflexes and so much time practicing but gasped in pain as one caught on his leg, searing a hole into his pants. He swatted at it before the fire could spread up his leg. He glared at the man, “Those were my favourite pants!” he said. Tears threatened to sting at his eyes as he bent slowly to touch the burn, hissing when his fingers made contact. Damn. He was glad to have spent so much time with Pyrrhus to not be bothered too much by the heat but god damn! That hurt. He waved his hand and made some of the rocks disappear before they could come near him. The fire breather wouldn’t be able to see where his precious magma rocks were now. He continued to dodge them edging a little farther back so that he was slightly out of reach. The man’s aim was good but he doubted his strength was that great. He looked up at the man and couldn’t help blurting out, “Is this your idea of fun?” He knew it wasn’t, but he doubted he’d get a straight answer if he just asked.

A scream suddenly made his blood freeze in his veins. Ava. Oh no. No no no. How could he have let her out of his sight?! His most beloved sister. His eyes wildly scanned the area and landed on her. She was calling for Morgan. Morgan who was laying so still in Maiya’s arms. He swallowed the lump in his throat then shook his head. He was fine. Morgan was all right. He wasn’t moving but that didn’t mean anything. He was probably so tired from everything he had gone through. All he had gone through. It was amazing he was still alive. His traitorous brain whispered, ‘he is still alive isn’t he?’ Taubryn gritted his teeth. Of course he was! Morgan was stronger than any of them, he stubbornly reminded himself. Something like this wouldn’t take him down. Anyone who thought otherwise was a damned fool. ‘Is it not that you’re purposefully deluding yourself?’ a voice echoed in his ear. It sounded suspiciously like her. He pushed the voices back and refused to register the scene in front of him. Maiya, Ava, Morgan, and Paul who was slowly limping towards them.

In his haste to look away, his eyes rested on another figure. Even worse than he had ever imagined. Rhythm…no…he wasn’t….he wasn’t…Taubryn cried out again when another piece of rock hit him in the side. This time it was a larger hole and it nearly caught his entire vest on fire had he not quickly shrugged it off and threw it to the side. His mind was slowly cracking. Unable to fully grasp what he had just seen. Rhythm…he couldn’t have fallen like that. He was okay. He was still okay! His hands had begun to tremble slightly. Rhythm was there when he needed him, when he had begun to fall apart at the seams after Kimber’s death. When he needed someone silent and strong to hang on to like the weakling he was. Who didn’t care what he looked like and didn’t care if he was slowly breaking but fixed it in his own way. Rhythm knew loss. He knew how to handle it. With his kind eyes and gentle smile. He was so kind. He had been so kind. He couldn’t be d…dea…he couldn’t be.

His vision blurred once again but he shook his head furiously. Taubryn slowly faced the fire breather again, “Is this your idea of fun?” he repeated, this time softly, this voice slightly wavering. His eyes sharpened with hatred and anger, “Is this your idea of fun!” he screamed. He swung his arm in a sweeping motion around the tent and focused on the wound on the other man’s arm. He made it grow, made the wound look much worse than it really was, made blood flow freely down his arm. He wasn’t sure if he could make him think it would hurt, seeing as how his powers were so limited but he would sure as hell try. He had nothing else. Then he set his sights on the rocks at the man’s feet as well, making them into poisonous snakes and running up his legs. He grinned, sharp and breaking, “Do you like them friend? They certainly like you.” The snakes hissed and bit into any place they could, some crawling up his arms. Taubryn waved his arm again and created various ribbons of colour to appear in front of the man’s face, twisting and turning and making the world spin dangerously.



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Let's watch this city burn the world
Let's watch this city burn the world
Let's watch this city burn the WORLD




〈 location 〉 ㄨbig topxxx 〈 company 〉 ㄨEveryonexxx 〈 ooc 〉 ㄨ let me know if I need to change anything ono




Cynotastic

[Scrivener_Lost]

cynosural𝐓c𝐡y𝐞 n 𝐑o𝐢s𝐧u𝐠r𝐦a𝐚c𝐬c𝐭a𝐞t𝐫


"You are not dead.” Golden eyes drifted from the locket in the woman's palms to her perfect peach hued face, dark crowned orbs gazing at her with a sort of revered admiration. He could hardly believe what he was seeing. Though, who was he to deny her in this moment? It had been an incredibly long time since he had last laid eyes upon this woman; this ghostly creature which haunted his sweetest dreams and lingered forever in the dark recesses of his mind. She was the idol in which drove him, inspired him, tortured him while at the same time, reminding him time and time again of how he did not belong in his era, but was nothing other than a relic of a time long since passed. He had dreamed of the day when he would see this woman again and now that he stood within the very same courtyard that he had first met her, he found himself beyond logic's grasp. He knew that he should question the conditions in which he was seeing this woman under, a voice in the back of his mind calling to him, begging him to return. Return to where, he cared not, for when this woman moved and her dress whispered along the cobblestones, he found that he could block out all else. Her words did bring mind to question; if this was not death, then what else could it possibly be? He knew that this woman was beyond him in any normal circumstance; to see her now was surely the power of some wicked spell or horrid nightmare. "You are not dead,” she repeated, her voice sounding much heavier and hesitant upon the second announcement. Morgan tilted his head slightly, his eyes still locked on the woman as she continued to gaze at the locket. "If I am not dead, then this is surely a dream," he replied softly. A faint smile hesitated in the corner of her mouth and he found that his gaze lingered on the pale lips. "You know as well as I that this is no dream,” she spoke softly now, the cheery notes disappearing as she turned to him slightly. "You are dangerously close to the edge of death.” Her voice was heavy as her dazzling sapphire eyes drifted up to meet his, golden irises leveling with her fathomless blue jewels. He could see silvery tears gathering on her lids, dancing precariously against the blonde lashes that curled ever so gently. His expression grew pained as he felt his chest constrict. "What is it that causes you pain?" he asked. The woman slowly drew a breath, her chest rising and falling beneath the plaited folds of her cream colored dress. She curled her hands to her bosom, encompassing the locket as she held it tightly to her chest, her brows pinching tightly as despair saturated her expression. "Morgan, why do you hide in the honeysuckle garden?” The Ringmaster froze as he stared at her in a agonized haze of confusion. He shook his head slightly, dark charcoal ringlets stained with silver dancing around his face with the motion. "I do not understand." Why did she keep asking about the damned garden? His eyes darted to the grounds, seeing the walls of pale flowers surrounding him. He noticed, however, behind them a large shadow grew, slowly forming steeples and towers. Tall and complicated, a building formed from the darkness and slowly came into light as though the first rays of dawn were painting the stone surface. There was a twinge of pained remembrance. It had been a long time since he had seen the manor. It was slowly making sense; this was more of a memory than a dream. Or perhaps a delusion tainted with images of the past. It mattered little in the end. What did matter was the significance behind the location and that was perhaps what spurned on this strange string of question that she kept repeating.

"Why do you hide in the honeysuckle garden?”

He was growing annoyed and it showed in his face when he turned back to the woman. She continued to gaze at him with wretched sadness on her face. "I do not see why this is important." She gave him a sympathetic smile before slowly shaking her head and uncurled her hands, the chain from the locket slipping between her fingers as she held it out to him. "You have changed so much, mein lieber freund, though I am not sure it is for the better.” He hesitated before reaching out to her. His fingers trembled slightly as they hovered just above her open palms. He had simply moved through her before and he did not wish to feel that emptiness again. But he had waited for so long to touch and feel this woman again; being unable to do so now was one of the worst tortures he had yet to endure today. He wanted dearly to feel that soft supple skin that he remembered so fondly, to run his fingers along those thin and elegant fingers, and to touch that beautiful face. Slowly, he dare to touch her hand and though it was met with mild resistance, he still found that he could not entirely hold her. He dropped his hand to his side with an agitated sigh before annoyance creased his features with anger and frustration. "I have wanted nothing more than to see you again," he grumbled. In the distance, he could hear the faint sound of voices coming from the dreary manor behind him. "And so you have. But it is not your time, Morgan. You know this as well as I,” she replied softly as she closed the distance between the two. She smiled up at the Ringmaster with a bitter and sad grin. She raised one hand and Morgan responded with lifting both of his, palms ready to receive the locket as she gently placed it in the middle of his hand. Then she wrapped her fingers around his hand, her fingers growing dense as time wore on. And though he would be elated to feel that soft solid grip once more, in the back of his mind, he knew he were to dread it. Something was not right. This was not right. But his heart controlled him now as she stood so close. "Why do you hide in the honeysuckle garden?” Her voice was hardly audible as she whispered it. He wanted to pull away and berate her for asking that silly question over and over again. Yet, he could not summon the bitter anger to inspire the movement. He sighed wearily and dropped his head. "Your riddle vexes me. I do not know how you wish for me to respond." "Respond from the heart, dear one. Try to recall the day we met here. You were hiding back then as well,” she informed him gently as she gazed up at him. "You remember, yes? Why were you hiding in the honeysuckle garden?” He exhaled sharply and turned his head away. He did not know why the answer would not come to him. Or rather, why he denied the answer. He knew it. He could recall the reason as clear as day. But he did not want to say it. He made to pull away, but found that her fingers had grown much more solid and when he turned his gaze to her hands, so did she and when her eyes turned to him, he could see tears dripping down her cheeks. Why was it so important to answer? He did not care. All he wanted was to stay here by her side. It was what had driven his entire purpose for eons and now that he was granted this chance, why would he ever dream of returning to a life without her.

But she was begging him. He could see it in her bright cerulean eyes. She wanted an answer. He sighed as he closed his eyes and lowered his head. "I hid...because I was afraid," he muttered. Her eyes brightened slightly and she nodded as to goad him on further. "Yes.” What else did she wish for him to say? Was that not enough? To explain further would to reveal weakness and that was not something he wished to show her. No. She needed to know how devoted he was to her. He had done everything for her. "Ich liebe dich, Maiya Seilouen." His heart beat rapidly in his chest for a moment and he winced with the throbbing pressure that had built up. Maiya... He opened his eyes and slowly lifted his gaze, suddenly unsure if he should look at her or not. But her smile remained and there was a strange sense of knowing in her gaze. He swallowed before speaking, "I...I was afraid..." He paused, his gaze dropping to the stones. The voices in the manor were becoming louder with each minute and he could have sworn he heard several familiar tones. "I was afraid that I was...going to be left alone. That I would have no one once...once..." The words became lodged in his throat and her fingers tightened over his. "But you are not alone. You hide in the garden, blocking everyone else from you, afraid to let others close; but if only you would come out and let others show you that you will never be alone if you just open the gates and allow others in. Morgan, you have changed...and I fear it is not for the better.” He had a feeling he knew now what she was saying and he felt a bitter spite well up inside of him. A heavy breath left him and he listened to the voices in the distance. Just now...did I hear...? He tore his eyes from her and looked to the manor. There were most certainly people in there. It sounded as though a gala were being held. It was odd, but not so much so that it drew concern. "The voices..." He felt a soft tug on his hands and he slowly turned his attention to her. She pried open his hands with hers, the locket sitting open in his palms. "Morgan, you can come out of the garden. You can stop hiding.” His eyes widened and his breath caught in his chest. "I..." Her smile widened. "The honeysuckle will only suffocate you. This garden is not meant for you. For so long you have hidden in this maze, allowing these vines to completely enshroud the stone walls, blocking all from sight. This is no way to live, Morgan.” His brows pushed together and he bared his teeth as he felt frustration build. "I am safe here. I do not wish to leave!" "You have a family that needs you,” she insisted, lifting his hands so that the pictures in the locket became clear. Morgan's eyes fell upon Ava and Maiya, his heart throbbing painfully in his chest. He wrenched his eyes shut and shook his head. "No...I..." "You cannot remain in this garden. You will never be happy," she whispered. "I want to be happy! I want-," "My time has come and gone. But you still live and you are only withering. You are a brilliant man with endless passion. Do not waste it on something that will never be. Please, Morgan. You are hiding from them. You are hiding from her,” she plead softly as she pressed Morgan's hands to his chest, the locket solidly biting into his flesh. She smiled brightly as tears continued to spill over her lids in copious amounts. "You have fought for so long. You have suffered for too many years. Please, Morgan, I cannot bear to witness as you disappear under your own grief and fear. Allow them to help you. Allow them to guide you from the garden. I only wish you see you happy once again,” she sobbed, reaching up to cup his face. Her fingers were soft and her touch gentle. He grasped the locket in his right hand as he reached up to take the hand that graced his face into his left. "Your hand..." She smiled sadly. "You must return, Morgan. You cannot linger here.”

He pulled back as he shook his head. "No...but I...the voices...you..." She tilted her head to the right with a soft smile. "Do not worry. Everyone here will be waiting for when you return.” She reached forward again and took his hand. Morgan's brows furrowed as he closed his eyes tightly. The voices from the party in the manor were loud. Laughter. Singing. There was most definitely a party occurring in the manor. He wanted to know who was there and yet, deep inside, he knew. "Rhythm! Lift me up!" A soft tinkling laugh. "You are such a child, Icarus." More laughter. "I bet we could make a pyramid on him!" Morgan gazed at the manor just beyond the garden, his mind's eyes conjuring the images of his troupe as they gallivanted in the large parlor room. They sounded happy. Free. He wanted so badly to approach them. He knew well enough what their presence meant. And he would carry the mark of this day on his soul for eternity. Never again would he hear Icarus' bright chipper laugh or would his shoulders feel the soft expression of Aloise as she played seductively with his hair. "They are..." "Happy, yes. Souls frozen in time will be reunited with families lost and though their mortal forms have disappeared, they will live eternally in a land without pain or fear.” Morgan felt the bitter twinge of guilt fill him. "I have...made a grave and terrible mistake..." He muttered, his eyes lingering on the manor. "To err is human, Morgan,” she assured him, a hand coming to rest on his shoulder. "So many lives...lost because I was a fool..." He muttered, dropping his head. "And that is why you must live! Live for them, Morgan. Live for these souls you have forsaken. Live for them and grow from this.” He was about to deny her words, cast them aside, and trample upon them. The troupe would never forgive him. These souls would hate him for eternity and for good reason. They should hate him. He had cost them their lives all due to childish mistakes of the past. However, a far off sound, not one that came from the manor, but one that appeared to originate from beyond filled the air around him. "Morgan... I dunno if you can hear me... But... But..." The Ringmaster paused as a soft gasp brushed past his lips. "Maiya." Like some sort of ethereal dialogue spoken both around and through him; he could practically feel the agony and despair the woman was feeling. He gazed up at the blue sky, his eyes searching for the woman. "I want to extend my contract." His eyes widened. "Maiya, no!" "She loves you, Morgan. She wants to devote her life to you.” This was not a fact he needed to be reminded of. He knew very well how Maiya felt. It was he who was the fool, not the Knife-Thrower. He had been fighting her for so long, in some demented sense, he supposed he had given up. Simply given in to her whims. He glanced at the golden haired maiden that smiled at him. He had been so concrete on his desires and promises for so long and though he had felt nothing but mind rending guilt at Maiya's touch, in this moment, facing this woman whom he had desired for so long...he could not remove Maiya from his mind. She was embedded in it. Her round face, bright crimson eyes, vibrant spirit, and undying devotion had all managed to saturate him. She had stood with him in his darkest hours, pulling him from the labyrinth of his diseased mind. He faced the golden haired maiden, his expression desperate. If Maiya was begging for his life, then something was seriously wrong. Was she in danger as well? Was that why she was with him? The voices coming from the manor; he knew they had died. Died for him. But Maiya's voice was not one coming from the building, but rather, it was ambient. Coming from the tent still? The woman smiled sadly at him before placing her hands on his lapels. She shook her head gently. "Go to her, Morgan. Show this woman the love you have been hiding from you. Leave this honeysuckle garden,” she instructed gently. "I do not wish to leave you behind," he whispered, tilting his head down to place his forehead upon her golden crown. "You are not leaving me behind, Morgan. I only wish to see you happy and I know you have found that in this woman. In this child,” her fingers tapped against the locket he held to his breast, "In this life. Go, Morgan. Go to them." "I wish to give away the remainder of my life, my time, my soul, anything -- to bring this man, Morgan von Faustus to life..." His features tightened with pained conflict and he could feel his heart pounding against his ribs. There was a soft tug on his spine and he could see as the corners of his vision began to fade. "I am...weak...I cannot..." He winced as another tug pulled on him and he reacted by grabbing her hands tightly. "I cannot do this alone." She chuckled softly and shook her head. "Leave the honeysuckle garden and you will never be alone again.” The Ringmaster turned to gaze to the gate leading into the garden. Maiya...Ava...my troupe...they need me...

"Open your heart to her, Morgan. She will give you the love I was unable to,” she whispered gently before taking several steps back. Her long cream dress whispered with her movements as the vision around her continued to fade. The voices of the dead, the manor, the garden, her; they were all slowly fading now and Morgan could feel his heart beating painfully against his chest. "I cannot live without this man. Please... By whoever grants these wishes... Bring him back." With each prayed word, Morgan could feel himself slipping. He turned towards the gate. It was the way out. The way out...from the honeysuckle garden...to freedom. To love. To companionship. To Maiya. He took a step forward, the heels of his boot clicking against the cobblestones. She wants me to be happy. That is her desire. But what is my true happiness? He paused as he turned to glance over his shoulder. The maiden remained still with her hands clasped in her lap, tears streaming down her face as she smiled brightly. Is it with a forgotten relic of my past? The anchor which keeps me grounded and yet...ensnares me? It is for her that I suffered my walls of solitude. But if I leave this garden, he turned towards the iron wrought gate, his hand hovering over the black metal momentarily. Can I truly feel happiness? "I love him... I can't do it without him..." Maiya...you are willing to give your life for me...and I have selfishly cast you aside. What I said was not a lie...I love you, Maiya. "You are ready to leave the garden, Morgan. Leave this place...do not look back.” Morgan placed his hand on the metal and pushed it slightly. There was a gentle creak as the gate swung open and he winced once again as a his chest was assaulted by a painful beat. He reached up to grab his chest, the locket still pressed in his palm. He swallowed harshly before pulling the necklace away, gazing down at it. The images of Maiya and Ava stared back up at him, sending a pleasant warm sensation that washed over his chest. Yes...this is where my happiness resides...I have never felt such love until these two came into my life...this...this is where I need to return to. Another wretched stab of pain in his chest. He gasped out as he leaned against the gate. He turned to gaze at the woman once more. "I will always be here for you, Morgan. Be gone now, dear one. Go to them.” Morgan stared at her for a minute longer before he nodded slowly. "Thank you, Victoria." He pushed the gate open and walked through, the honeysuckle garden, the tall proud manor, and Victoria disappearing in a haze of obscurity as another painful throb robbed Morgan of all sense as everything faded...

"Maiya..." Ava whispered in shock, her hands drawn to her mouth as she watched the Knife-Thrower place her head on Morgan's chest. Out of all of the members of the troupe, Maiya had been there the longest. Not only that, but she had also completed her contract and now she was extending it. For Morgan. Ava felt hot tears drip down her face as she stared at the two people whom had raised her as thier own. For all anyone was concerned, she was their daughter. She was the daughter of the Ringmaster and the woman who loved him. She simply could not believe that Maiya would- no, that was not true. She could believe that Maiya would do something so dramatic to help Morgan. She had always loved him, long before Ava could even remember, they had been together. It was Morgan's own folly that prevented him from growing truly intimate with the woman and she had felt for Maiya. The Knife-Thrower's unyielding love would prompt her to create such a contract; it made sense and yet, Ava could not possibly express how positively impossible this all was. August was dead. Morgan very nearly on the edge of death and now, Maiya was extending her contract. It was too much to believe. So much death and so much sadness, and now, this woman whom inspired her was now extending her soulless contract. She reached up with shaking hands to wipe at the tears that spilled down her lids. She was sobbing as she knelt by Morgan's side, her whole body racked with effort of trying to contain her emotions. She was scared. She could hardly form an intelligent action and as her father lay here dying, she wouldn't dare move from his side. "Morgan...please...don't give up," she whispered, reaching out to the Ringmaster. Her fingers brushed across his dirty blood-caked wrist. He was still so cold. He was perfectly still without a breath to move beneath his breast. She could not believe that she had lost one father already and now she was so close to losing another. She slowly wrapped her fingers around his wrist, the tips of her fingers brushing across old scars as she squeezed gently. Maiya had made the contract, right? So why was it taking so long? Surely she hadn't been too late, had she? "Father...Morgan...please answer me..." She bellowed, her tears falling onto Maiya's hair as she sobbed openly. He was so cold. So ashen. There wasn't a single flicker of life in him until...until...wait. Surely he had just moved his fingers? Ava pulled away, mocha eyes darting across Morgan's body. Yes. Yes! It had worked! She could hardly believe what she was seeing. Slowly the terrible markings in his arms were healing. The skin around the wounds was stitching and coming back together, bright red angry indications to the words remaining behind on pale flesh as the injuries healed. The Beat Tamer watched with bated breath as the color slowly began to return to his skin. Even the deep wound in his side was slowly mending, though as time wore on, it appeared though it would take some time for it to seal properly. Ava only knew the basics of the deals made with Morgan and could only assume that though he was healing, it was only to the extent that it would prevent his true death. "Maiya, look!" Ava gasped as his fingers twitched, ribs expanding under thin skin as the Ringmaster slowly attempted to draw in breath. A horrid gagging noise suddenly rattled the Ringmaster, his chest jumping with the attempt to expel something. Ava realized his mouth was still sewn shut and she gasped lightly. "He's breathing!!"



Translations-
Mein lieber Freund :: " My dear friend. "


cynosural† 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: The Big Top -> A honeysuckle garden? cynosural† 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐲: ...? cynosural† 𝐎𝐨𝐂:


Cynotastic



Layout Created by Cynosural Cataclysm

[secretshades]

◆ ʟocaтɪoɴ:Big Top xxxxxxxx◇ ϻσσɗ:Pain and Angerxxxxxxxx◆ cσϻpaɴʏ:Cannes

There was no sound around her anymore. The shrieks and screams of the cirque and their assailants faded out as Nova perched above her quarry. The body beneath her twitched and writhed, each strike causing his fingers to scratch the earth, or his knees to jerk up. She could feel her fingers popping, the bones moving against each connection. Blood leaked from his nostrils and mouth, filling in the lines on the flesh of her hands. No words came from his slightly parted lips. Weak were the breaths he pulled carefully into his lungs, shaking under the weight of her own body. Each tiny quiver or shake of the enemy acrobat jostled Nova slightly enough to remind her of the fall she had pushed them to. The pain meant nothing to her anymore. The fire burning within her small body overcame any injuries she had sustained. The broken fingers barely curled into fists as she swung, the cracked ribs fluttered as she sucked down silent sobs. Cannes' wild screeching only fueled her farther; the sick start of a grin once more curling her cracked lips. There was no pity within her to spare the pathetic creature beneath her. The gross, sobbing mess of a man deserved what was coming to him. He deserved to perish here in the dirt like a common insect.


The thought of taking this to an extreme was the only thing that pulled Nova back. Never had she dreamed herself capable of violence like this, let alone murder. A thick fog had settled over her mind, though, blinding her to all of this. His suffering was deserved. Aloise had never slighted him, nor August. The mere thought of Icarus harming anything was inconceivable. They had been killed without reason, and that gave Nova her reason, right? Everything was justifiable. She certainly didn’t put her life on the line like this for the ringmaster, no. She had done it for them. And they had suffered because of this cretin. They had died here. And now, he would die here…


Her mind cleared with Damuron's panicked shouts. She didn’t have the time to answer him, but he’d see soon. She’d make it up to him, letting him down like that. She’d find a way to pry him out of those bonds, and they’d….they’d get Aloise somewhere safer….Nova couldn’t imagine even looking at the doctor now. She opted instead for staring down the tear-streaked mess of the man’s face beneath her. He tried to stop her violent barrage many times covering his face, attempting to push her, but all of Nova’s weight rested in her knee, grounding him firmly into the earth below. The shouts for help were like honey to the girl, sugar sweet, and rewarding. ”No one can help you now. You’ve made your deal with the wrong devil.” She wiped her hands on the beaded bodice of her dress, blood streaking the front as she prepared once more to strike out at him. IN a flash of red, though, Nova’s world was upended, and her body screamed out in pain. She gritted her teeth against the impact, resisting the urge to yell out. The stripes of the tent spun with her as she rolled across the ground a few feet, landing on her left side. Instinct pulled limbs in towards her trunk, shaking as she coughed and sputtered from the impact. The fog cleared from her mind, and the panic set in once more. Her body objected to the pain she was in, letting out a loud cry from where she landed, her eyes welling up and running over their lids. Without grace or movement, Nova spat against the earth in front of her, observing the frothy red liquid. Bright red in color, and full of air bubbles… [******** hell…” Her arms were too weak to push herself up, but she tried anyway, rolling her body onto her knees, attempting to rise from there. Every movement shook her whole form with effort. She was helpless again, in the middle of the tent, bleeding into her own body cavity.


With a struggle, she found her feet, turning to stare down the spider beside her. ”What crime could possibly warrant all of this, hm? It was not their burden to bare, but you punished them for it all the same. I’m no fan of the ringmaster, but…..” In the haze of pain and mess of blood pooling in her mouth, Nova retched, coughing up more red frothy saliva. ”I meant it. I’ll be your death, so help me god.” She wiped her lips again, feeling the sting of involuntary tears in all her fresh cuts and scrapes. She took a shaky step toward the man, wincing as she evened her weight out on her thin legs. The sound of war drums pounded in her ears still, her pulse racing around her body. Blood rushed to her various wounds, attempting to clot and stop bleeding, and help heal her up. The headache growing in the folds of the acrobats brain squeezed her eyes shut as she stumbled towards Cannes once more. Aqua orbits honed in on the frail man immediately, blinded by the chaos and carnage around them. The fighting of the strongmen didn't phase her in the slightest. The only thing she could see was the broken exoskeleton of the horrid creature before her.


Before he could run again, or disappear up into the ceiling, Nova lashed out once more. Her right hand curled around the fabric of his shirt, pulling herself closer to him, sliding her weak legs in the dirt. Her left hand was quick to grip his narrow jawline, holding him in a firm grip. "You didn't have to do this, you know. Things couldn't have been that bad. But now.... now you've forced my hand, little boy. I can't help you now. No one can help you now." She spoke in low tones, slightly singsongy, trying to lull him into some form of drowsiness. "We can't have you screaming out again, dear. It's just you and me, now." The digits gripping his chin relaxed a hair, only to trail down along his throat, the ball of her thumb pressing harshly on his adam's apple, pushing it into his windpipe.


The slipping feeling was back again. Suddenly it was like there was no control, like some beast, some devil growing within her was controlling the action of her limbs and mind. She didn't want to stop it, to go easy on him, or to show him any mercy. They were lured here like common animals, right into the snare of a circus tent. Nova had no way of knowing what was going to happen here. Surely she had expected that something was happening but not to this extent. To even think that there were more people like them....with these....curses, just running about...working with other contract masters. Was this the cause of all the commotion of late? Morgan had been particularly dodgy according to the rest of the cirque; had these other performers been to blame? Certainly Kimber's death was no accident, and Nova had come to realize to woman who once occupied her room was certainly never rejoining them. And Morgan now, collapsed on the dirt in Maiya's arms, with Ava crying over him..."I didn't come all this way to watch these people suffer. To watch that son of a b***h die. I'm not done with them yet. I just can't let you get away with that, spider." Her pained digits tightened at his throat once more, her arms shaking as she tightened up to hold him still in front of her. Blood filled her mouth up, eeking out the corners of her lips as she choked on the thick red foam. Retching once more, she spat onto the ground beside them. Her injuries all burned with white hot fire. The entirety of her body shook with instability, all of her joints bruised and weakened from the fall. She had done a number on him, though, and for that she could be proud. His lip was split, and blood trickled from the crooked bridge of his nose. She couldn't rest until his pulse went out beneath her fingers, though, and so again, she squeezed back, pressuring him. "Apologize to me. Beg my forgiveness." A cold demand through gritted teeth, quietly hissed as she lifted with her left arm, attempting to pull some of his weight upwards, giving him less power to escape her grip. "Atone for your crimes, boy. Tell me what you've done. Tell me why."


" Aiolios"






◇ σσc

[Cynotastic]

tab 『ωɪтʜ: Morgan, Kat, Ava/Everyone 』xxxxxxx 『ʟocaтɪoɴ: Big Top 』xxxxxxx 『ϻσσɗ: Relieved, worried 』
"Talking"'Thought'

Her arms wrapped around the Ringmaster as she felt her nose drip onto his chest, and water drip from her eyes. Her hair splayed across her back and the Ringmaster, it was not as beautiful as it had been during the party; the style being ruined by both the sweat that collected on her head and the mud now as she laid against Morgan. Maiya expected that the wish granting was near instant - it had been when she made her wish for things to always be in her range. Why was this feeling like an eternity? Every moment, every second passing by where Morgan was not breathing, with his golden eyes looking into her's, or his hands either trying to push her away or hold her close. She didn't care what kind of action that he did, just as long as he was doing something. Any kind of movement or actions would signify that he was alive, living, breathing. "Maiya..." The Knife thrower had almost entirely forgotten about the presence of the Lion Tamer. After all, Maiya was being entirely self centered and only caring for her Ringmaster, her lover, to respond to her prayer. Had she been too late? Was there even a time limit on death? Did Morgan have a say? Did he want to remain dead instead of return to the living? Would he rather pass on to the after life then spend more time with her? Was, was the whole scene from the party simply a farce? Was that it? He really just wanted to go on and die so that he could be rid of her?

No! No, that can't be true! He had requested she stay by his side and stay in his bed for a few nights. That was not something that she knew Morgan could simply fake. After all, he didn't push her away like he did with just about everyone else that came into contact with him. He embraced her, danced with her, and kissed her. Those were actions that came from the bottom of his heart! Those were intimate moments birthed of love, and desire. Then, there were those sweet foreign words that trickled from his lips where he admitted his love for her - "Ich liebe dich, Maiya Seilouen." If that was not a statement that further proved his affection for her, then what would? But, the moments continued to trickle by with still no life movement, no subtle breaths blowing onto her to signify that he lives. "Morgan... please... don't give up." Ava continued to sit there and vocalize her worries where Maiya found herself unable to speak once more. Her throat chocking and refusing to allow anything but coughs of disappointment escape. The ball of sorrows was solid in her throat and she knew that if she spoke any real words, that her more composed sadness would transition into painful sobs.

She turned her head up towards his face as she pressed her ear against his chest. There was no hear beating in his chest. It was just awkward silence. Her crimson eyes hid behind her lids as she laid there on Morgan. While there was still chaos erupting arund her, she couldn't focus on anything other than the Ringmaster. At this moment, she didn't care for what may have been happening around her. Hell, for all that she was aware, someone was lingering behind her and waiting for the perfect moment to stab her in the heart. But, she would be alright with that. After all, Morgan had yet to come back. Was she truly too late...? "Father... Morgan... please answer me..." It seemed that Ava may have been feeling similarly. But, then there was a light sound of a heart beat. She continued to press her head against his chest to ensure she was actually hearing the noise. After another beat, she pushed herself back up and looked down and the tattered Ringmaster. Though, at the mention of her name, the Knife Thrower's head swiveled to Ava as the girl chattered with excitement in her voice. "Maiya, look!" Her crimson eyes landed on the Lion Tamer's hand as she pointed at his twitching fingers. Gasping with the revelation, her crimson gaze shifted back onto the figure of Morgan as his body began to breathe in air. Then, he coughed and sputtered with a terrible sound. "He's breathing!!" The excitement that was blossoming within Maiya was quickly squished by the realization that there was something she should have taken care of before wishing him back to life - his lips were sewn shut. "Morgan! Morgan, you're alive!" She squealed excitedly a she sat Morgan upright to try and help whatever was stuck in his mouth ooze out of the miniscule gap between his lips. She used her right hand to unsheathe another of her daggers. "I am so glad you're here..." The brunette muttered as she put her hand on the blade to ensure more control of the weapon. Though it had left little gashes on her fingers, she didn't care. Using the fine tip of the dagger, she cut between his lips. Her face twisting with extreme focus as she attempted not to cut the man's teeth, gums, or lips as she cut the stitches. She discarded the blade and wrapped her arms around him in an embrace. Though she was certain that the man would probably feel a rush of pain from all his injuries, she didn't care. Maiya needed this moment. She had almost lost the man she had spent a hundred years with. "I thought I had lost you..." She whispered into his ear, but as her head rest on his shoulders, her eyes caught sight of black legs showed her that someone else had some more sinister ideas.

"Oh ho ho~! Did someone just sacrifice their life for someone who was supposed to die? Well, sounds like to right fate, the both of you need to die." Katarina said with a laugh was she swung around a blade. "And, I feel like you owe me, Maiya. You always talked big game when we worked together. Let's settle this here and now." Maiya's crimson gaze fell to Ava. "Ava, please make sure he's okay, I have business to take care of." The Knife thrower instructed as she planted a kiss on Morgan's cheek before picking up her dagger that she had used to sever the strings that had secured the Ringmaster's lips together. "Fine." The brunette growled as she stared at Katarina. This had been a long since do, and it would be close enough revenge after what Katherine had done to her years ago. In fact, Maiya still had a scar from this woman's sister.


『σσc: KNIFE THROWER D-D-D-D-D-D-DUEL! 』
Aiolios