Cirque de Tromperie

Zombie

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

[Scrivener_Lost]

cynosural𝐓c𝐡y𝐞 n 𝐑o𝐢s𝐧u𝐠r𝐦a𝐚c𝐬c𝐭a𝐞t𝐫



Someone had told Morgan once that it was only through hardship and struggle that the character of man would be judged. From there, the true worth of one's soul would be measured against the perseverance, persistence, and strength from which they would show whilst being put to the test. Back then, Morgan had doubted these words, scoffed at them and mocked such foolishness. There had be no founding truth in such lofty ideals and frankly, the notion that he would be judged based on his mettle through struggle and tribulation was laughable. He had thought, if one was not strong enough to pass through a gauntlet unharmed, then they were not worth their weighted price where the soul was concerned. He had laughed and mocked such a weak notion, casting aside the importance of such a lesson. In his youth, he had been careless and carefree so such a label would never have applied to him. He was free from the judgements of such caliber and to think that he should be concerned with the thoughts of others was purely comedic. He was above others. Beyond their casting thoughts. He was impervious to such weak notions. And it was this folly that had brought him to the brink of insanity when his strength failed him and pushed him below into a deep abyss from which he could not climb free. It had been then that he had found out what notions such as fear, weakness, and helplessness truly meant when it came to test his character. Time and time again, he had been thrown to the ground and trampled upon by the true enemy of the soul: doubt and negligence. It was then that he had begun to understand the meaning of those words that had been spoken to him. He had to be broken in order to understand before his selfish nature could be repaired and pieced back together into some sort of semblance of a man. Even then, after years of struggling to take these words to heart and change himself, he was placed into the gauntlet of trials time and time again. It would seem that the Fates had saw it fit that he be tested until he could barely draw breath. So much so, that he had begun to doubt he had truly learned the heart of the lesson; he heard the words, he had tried to fix himself, and yet, in the end he was still challenged. If he were to not become the strongest creature through default, then it was surely that he was merely a play thing of Fate and their strings of circumstance. He had foolishly assumed that the years of pain he had suffered at the hands of his occupation had finally formed him into a creature impervious to pain and doubt. He had been stabbed, shot, burned, suffocated; any number of the scars on his body could tell a tale of struggle and pain that he had taken to heart and judged his worth based on his ability to survive. The pain had become commonplace and expected, something he had grown used to. Even tonight, the agony of his torture had been something he had thought he was prepared for. But now, he could see he was sorely mistaken.

Seeing the fear in Ava's eyes was truly the most agonizingly painful thing he had ever experienced in his life. Her wide mocha eyes were locked onto his, bright orbs of life glistening with haunted tears as she gazed at him with desperation and pleading. He could hardly stand it as his blood ran so cold in his veins, he was surprised his heart had a beat at all. But he could feel it ticking madly against his ribs despite the frozen nature of his muscles. Seeing his daughter captured in the arms of this madman had Morgan torn in so many directions, he could hardly keep up with the flicker of thoughts that swam through his mind like a mad hive of bees preparing to attack those who dare to harm its queen. But there was one thought that came before all else. It drowned out the madness around him; the crackling flames that were slowly building into a raging inferno that filled the tent with a deplorable heat, the screams of the troupe as they ignored his commands and fought with Roland's crew, and the sound of his own wheezing breath that came from him in horrid sharp tones as the panic slowly constricted his lungs. "-If you scare the others, then you can scare the monsters away too-" She trusted him to keep her safe, to scare away the monsters that threatened her. Back then, it had been the nightmares and memories that plagued the poor child of her dying father. Back then, it had been a childish promise to help ease her into sleep. Back then... he had not been a fool and dragged them all into this wretched hell. "Its okay Ava. Don't fret. I will make it so that the monsters can't get you," he had promised her. And he had sworn that night, holding her close to him as she suffered in terrible pain with that wretched cough, that he would not let anything happen to her. From the heart, he had sworn that should it mean his death, he would protect her. And for over twenty years, he had held this promise above all. She was his heart and his very soul. She had been the reason why he had cast aside the mask of the cold demon he had taken up to prevent others from seeing into his fragile and weak heart. And as Roland pulled her back, she released a soft squeal that sent violent spasms panic through him. All at once he wanted to jump up and rip her from Roland's arm and cast the man directly into a vat of acid. The fear on her face was like a knife dipped in said acid and plunged into his stomach over and over again. Roland's blade danced precariously against her throat and Morgan knew there was simply nothing that could save her unless he pulled the mad man out of his manic state. Anger and pity carried no weight with Roland, that much was evident. And though it showed that he would respond to fear, Morgan worried that it would only be detrimental in the end. But he was out of options. There was nothing more that Morgan could do. His strength, having been borrowed, was fleeting at best and his dark magic would not respond to him. He had nothing more. Nothing more than to beg. "Roland..." He reached out to the poor pitiful detestable man. He gazed at the man with desperation, his eyes imploring him as he turned his palm to him.

"No! Not this time. You will not steal this from me! I will see you to hell if it is the last thing I do!" Morgan's heart dropped as Roland's eyes widened with delivish intent, his manic grin returning to his lips. God...no, please! He could not scream out, his body entirely turned to stone as Ava's eyes widened in panic and horror. No, no, no no please not my daughter! They could not look away from each other, father and daughter staring at each other as Morgan willed Fate to cease this horrid reality. Never before had he wanted anything so desperately. He would give anything to see Roland listen to reason. Anything. His circus, his soul, his life; every single piece of it to see Ava free. And he would have shouted this at the top of the highest mountain, screamed it until his throat was bloody and he destroyed his vocal cords. He would see himself eternally bound to the hands of Satan or God so long as one of them would simply save his daughter. He had promised her. He had promised her birth father he would protect her from the world. And in the end, he could not even protect her from his sins. Tears bubbled over her lids as Ava silently attempted to will her father to move. To do anything. Anything...but to sit there in frozen horror. And as the blade began to slide over her throat, Morgan felt every nerve in his body send a frantic electrical shock through his body. "I hope you enjoy my gift, Morgan." The silver bit raggedly into her neck, the slice lacking in elegance and tact as it split the skin and pried open her esophagus. A sound might have escaped him, he could not be sure; a scream which built at the very bottom of the soles of his feet and gathered agony and horror as it made its way up before it bellowed from his mouth. If he had cried out, it had been involuntary as his entire focus had been devoted to watching the agonizing seconds it took for Roland to plunge Morgan's world into a cold and impossible hell. Crimson poured in ribbons down her neck as small bubbles gathered in the corners of her mouth before trailing down her cheeks. In the few seconds it took for Roland to shove Ava forward and for Morgan's body to leap forward, nothing could be said for the forgotten realm of pain and danger as some invisible force drove him forward despite the damnable weakness that plagued him before. Suddenly, nothing in the world was of importance as Ava stumbled into his outstretched arms. Sharp panicked squeaks came from her as he pulled her into his lap, his right hand immediately flying to her throat as he gripped her under her left arm. "Ava...Ava...Ava, listen to me..." The words were flying from his mouth before he could stop them. He was hardly aware of what he was saying, let alone if they made sense as they tumbled clumsily from his lips. "You will be okay," he whispered, his breath airy and hardly worth its weight in words. Mocha eyes rolled up to meet his as tears trailed down her face, her body jerking with desperation as her lungs struggled to pull air in. The blood bubbled from her lips and from between his fingers, coursing into the palm of his hand. He could feel every fluttering beat of her heart in his hand. Her left hand reached up and gripped his arm and he could feel her tremble. God, he could feel her fear as she clenched onto him, her nails digging desperately into his skin. "Ava, I-I..."

"I can only ask that you trust me, Ava. If you cannot trust in me...then at least think of your father...and how he has entrusted you to me. I know this is all very scary. But soon...soon you won't have to be afraid. I will make it better. I promise." The bleeding would not stop and with each beat of her heart, more of her crimson life seeped through his fingers and drenched the back of his hand in rich red. It should be my blood that pulses through my hand... Her mouth drifted open as she choked and gagged, the blood pooling in the back of her throat as her lungs attempted in vain to repel the liquid. Morgan peeled back his lips in an expression of pain as though he were the one to have been stabbed. It certainly felt as though he had; his chest was ready to burst with pain as he hunched over her, his hand shaking as he pressed it to her throat in a foolhardy attempt to save her. And as his eyes closed, he felt for the first time in years, the bitter sting of water as it pooled in his eyes before dripping from his lids. Not the deaths of over tens of performers, not the agonizing emptiness he felt when they left, and not even the horrid image of Paul falling to his death had summoned tears. He had gone for so long repressing his wretched sign of weakness that when it threatened now, he found himself unprepared and unchecked. And as her pulse grew weak against his palm, Morgan howled in bitter agony as he pulled her closer to him, burying his face into her hair. "I will make it so that you and I will never have to worry about the monsters again..." He had been made a liar. A foolish and wretched liar. He had failed to protect the one precious gem of his humanity and as she withered away in his grasp, all he could do was bellow in sorrow as the life seeped from her mocha eyes. His body trembled as he pressed his fingers desperately into her ribs, trying against all that was mortally possible to summon back her heart beat as is continued to leave with each high-pitched wet breath that she attempted to take. "I'm not going anywhere, Morgan. The Cirque is my home. If you could get rid of me as easily as letting me work with the cats or pay off my debt, then you'd have tried it years ago so you wouldn't have to deal with me harassing you." No, Ava...please...you promised you were not going to leave...Ava... Hot tears poured down his cheeks, carving deep marks into the dirt and crimson that had gathered on his face as they painted pale pink dots on Ava's forehead. His forehead pressed against hers and with each sharp sob that escaped his chest, he practically inhaled her hair as her heart beat grew weak and nearly indiscernible in his hand. "Ava...I am sorry...Ava...I am so sorry..." He had feared for so long that his love for this girl would have been his downfall. He had hidden their relationship away from the world for so long, he had made her promise to never address him as her father in public. He had been a fool. Stifling her love and forcing her to repress it when they should have shown it with pride as a badge of courage against the doubts and fears Morgan carried with him; now faced with the reality of his actions, he felt soul crushing guilt as his shoulders jumped with each wretched sob that escaped him. "Don't keep pushing me away." Never again. He would not release her ever. He would carry her with him until the end of his days, her mark on him deeper than any scar would ever leave behind. I will never push you away...never, Ava, if you would please just stay with me. Thin silver threads of saliva dripped from his lips as he bawled into her hair, unaware in his sobbing as the final beat of her heart came and went, leaving him holding onto her lifeless body as the blood slowly ceased with final moments of her breath.

One of the heavy iron beams that held the tent's shape, weakened and compromised by the heat, broke away from the center pylon and plummeted down to the ground, kicking up flame and searing debris as it crashed not more than a foot or two in front of Morgan. The Ringmaster was hardly away of the searing flame as it rushed over him and Alaizabel, cascading hissing embers over anyone who had been foolishly close to the ground around impact. The vibration of the shock wave was hardly enough to warrant his attention as Morgan let the smoke and heated air wash over him. Nothing was felt. Not the heat. Not the feeling of millions of tiny threads and embers that bored into his skin with heated teeth, ripping and burning his skin. Nothing but the terrible throbbing of his head as the sorrow gave away into fury. The sound of flames crackling and burning in front of him was silent compared to the raging inferno of his mind. I promised Ava's father that I would protect her... I cannot help you. I swore that I would never fail. If you do this, there will be repercussions. I will rip him- I am warning you! You have no more energy! -into shreds and feed the hounds of Hell his flesh one piece at a time! You cannot push your body this far! He will die! As the flames billowed around him, the Ringmaster threw his head back as a wretched and terrible scream ripped from his throat, the sound echoing across the whole tent. "Damn-!" Through the tongues of orange and red, he could see the terrified vermilion gaze of Roland as he gazed on at horror as brilliant golden eyes seared through the fire as though the flames were nothing but an illusion to the true fire of Morgan's scowl. And when Alaizabel jumped forward, it was through pure instinct that he swung out his arm. No way in hell was this woman going to take down this man. He would see her locked in her own box for an eternity before he would let her touch him. His arm swung out, blood whipping from his hand as the Escape Artist attempted to run past him. He felt the jarring effect of her solid body slamming into his outstretched arm, but it was so far from his mind, he was hardly away of it as she coughed desperately for air. The woman was terribly injured and he should have been far more concerned about her injuries that stopping her so abruptly; it was assured that in this state, he had no true control over his strength, diminished as it was. "Th-that b*****d is escaping... and you choose now to turn on- on a comrade?!" He could feel her eyes on him, but he did not care. He slowly stood, his legs wavering despite the rigidity of his body as Ava drooped unceremoniously from his lap. His entire focus was forward, his entire body undulating with the movements of his chest as he took in rapid breaths. "Rather than knocking me down, I would expect for you to stand! If you are so inclined to do harm, assist me in ending on life that need not burden our oxygen supply longer!" Stand. Yes. He was doing that. He was going to rend Roland from this world twice over. But he would do it without this mewling woman beside him. You are making a mistake. He did not care. Everything that he had fought for was laying on the ground dead and the wretched voice thought it was best to now challenge him!? "Please, Morgan! We may yet catch him!" Her desperate words fell on deaf ears; that was, deaf in the sense of listening to logic or reason. Instead, he simply raised his arm, his palm mere inches from her face as he simply bellowed: "Silence."

He would be the death of Roland. He alone would rend the man's soul from existence. He would avenge the world of this horrid night. He- And as Morgan took a step towards the flaming wall of salvation, a cold bolt of weakness swept through his body as a breath-sucking pang blossomed from his above his hip. I told you not to push it fool... "Ggk!" It went for his knees first, freezing up his joints as he lost all control. First his right knee buckled and then his left and the Ringmaster dropped to the dirt once more. His hands flew to his side as he wobbled on his knees for a moment, No! Please, not now! But it was useless. His fingers grew numb before he could assess the wound at his side and suddenly, his head felt as though it were filled with cement as tears spilled down his cheeks once more. Just...a little...longer... His head dropped back before gravity pulled against his as though the earth lusted for him and he was pulled forward onto his belly, the image of Cannes sweeping down from a ribbon and snatching Roland to safety burned into his memory before the world around him faded into a dull roar.

Standing in the dark room, Morgan listened to the soft rhythm of Ava's breathing for some time before he moved to his bed. As he carefully lowered himself to the mattress beside her, he at first lay so that his back was to the girl. And as he closed his eyes, Morgan could not help the torrent of memories than had been poking and prodding at him all night. Nothing seemed to quiet his mind as he fought against the relentless wave, struggling to find some sort of peace. Eventually, he rolled onto his side and faced the tiny creature that was sleeping soundly. In the darkness of the room, Morgan slowly lifted his hand and traced the soft outline of Ava's cheeks. The Ringmaster let out a heavy breath and rolled onto his back as he draped one arm over his eyes. He was getting far too attached. But...was it truly such a bad thing? He had gone years fighting any sort of relationship so that there could be nothing that would exploit him, no weaknesses, no distractions. And yet...something was drawing him to this child. She was now without a family, alone in a world of hardship and debt. Did the Ringmaster truly believe his own words? Was he truly opening up to her enough that she could call him "family"? He had been there since the day of her birth and had watched her grow just like a parent. But could he truly devote his time to her and still remain focused? Morgan let his head drift to his left and golden eyes stared at Ava as she slept through Morgan's turmoil. This time, instead of touching her soft features, Morgan simply placed a hand on her body and let it rest. The warmth that radiated from her body and through his skin was strangely comforting. Was he truly ready to accept this girl into his heart?

He had. And he had loved every bit of it.

And now she was gone.



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


cynosural† 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: The Big Top cynosural† 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐲: ...? cynosural† 𝐎𝐨𝐂: Final post from your Ringmaster until Act Two!


Quote:



Layout Created by Cynosural Cataclysm

[Cynotastic]

tab 『ωɪтʜ: Morgan and Alaiza (Everyone) 』xxxxxxx 『ʟocaтɪoɴ: Fiery Bigtop 』xxxxxxx 『ϻσσɗ: Panicked, sad 』
"Talking"'Thought'

With her mind focused on applying pressure to her wounds, the knives that she had picked up with her telekinesis fell to the ground with a clatter. Maiya inhaled sharply as her crimson eyes looked to the blades as she contemplated collecting them and re-sheathing them. However, she was unsure how much blood-loss her body would be willing to handle before things got worrisome. Her gaze lifted off the blades as she sat up straight. A groan of agony escaped her as she tried to use her legs to get her back on her feet. But, before she managed to move too much, her eyes caught a glimpse of something even more frightening. A fire. There was a weird crackling noise that echoed through the tent as a large flaming creature appeared in the distance. Since the Knife Thrower had been so focused on her duel and making sure that she got out of the situation alive, she had not even noticed that Pyrrhus had engaged the opposing Fire Breather - Rei. Her teeth began to grind together as she felt a spark of concern burst in her chest. She knew that between the both of them that Rei would probably have the upper hand - considering the fact he dealt in magma. But, in that same vein, she knew that Pyrrhus was much more crafty than the other man. After all, the magma manipulator was just plain stupid. Her eyes then bounced onto Katarina who had been sauntering away from her. That was her next area of concern. Maiya knew that she should prevent the woman from approaching anyone - especially Morgan; but, she hadn't the slightest idea on how. Bending her knees, Maiya managed to rock onto the balls of her feet before standing up straight. A wavered breath escaped her as she closed her eyes tight to try to ignore the pain that reverberated through her body. Her brows knit together in agony as she slowly opened her lids once more. The next moment, she took a step forward, and began to close the gap to return back over to Morgan and Alaiza in the center of the tent.

She kept her gaze locked on the red-head as she moved with an increased pace towards the middle of the tent. However, it seemed her intentions were derailed without Maiya having to interject. After all, the sound of Rei's voice beckoning for her help seemed to catch her attention instead. Which was perfect - it meant that she could not take advantage of Morgan's moment of poor decision making to reclaim his daughter. But, the situation left a sour taste in the brunette's mouth. It made her feel she should go help their Fire Breather, after all - one against two was definitely not a fair fight. Though, the back of the Knife Thrower's mind, she knew the truth. If it came down to her having to choose between Morgan or Pyrrhus, she would choose the Ringmaster every time. And while she and Pyr had been close once upon a time, she had already lost her lover once. Therefore, she absolutely refused to lose him again. She paused as she inhaled and exhaled sharply once more. There had been so much death. So much pain for the entire troupe. Even just deciding that one person's life was more important than another proved to the brunette that this entire night was just so terrible. Her gaze lifted from the floor before her as she let her gaze land onto the main antagonist of the evening - the one who held tightly onto Ava. Her mocha eyes filled with fear as she was pleading for assistance from Morgan. Maiya knew. She knew exactly what pain that was undoubtedly flooding through the Ringmaster. It was a pain she was still all too familiar with. The pain of losing a loved one. However, his circumstance was undoubtedly different. After all, he could not simply sign his life away to keep her alive, could he? Considering he was the one who fulfilled contracts she doubted it. Her bottom lip trembled with sadness as she realized the terrible reality that was going to cease the entirety of the remaining troupe. The death of Ava. While she had been primarily Morgan's daughter, the majority of the Circus family also considered her an important part of the family. And now, now she too was going to die.

No! No! Maiya wouldn't allow that. She couldn't. That would be absolutely devastating for Morgan. And, what the Knife Thrower wanted most was Morgan to be alive and happy. She couldn't let that happen! He was happy, she was happy. Morgan had just said he loved her, and then the entire evening came spiraling down into pure desperation. She continued to move forward, now with renewed resolve and a new goal. Maiya was going to put a stop to the murdering spree that the old members of the Cirque had been raining down on them. However, it seemed that perhaps she had made a mission for herself too late. Roland had a tight grip on the Lion Tamer and he was babbling on like a man who was desperate. "No! Not this time. You will not steal this from me! I will see you to hell if it is the last thing I do!" Her crimson gaze darted from the enemy and onto Morgan as she could see fear and panic flood his expression as well. In fact, she had even seen tears pooling out of his eyes and down his cheeks. That in itself told her exactly what the man was feeling. He was probably wishing for time to stop ticking so that he could pull his daughter out of the arms of the madman. He was probably hoping that it was he who was dying in exchange for the life of his daughter - just as she had felt when she thought he had died. But, even more than that, the fact that Morgan was crying made her feel worse. In all the years she had known the Ringmaster, not a single tear left his eye. He was always strong and was capable of masking most of his emotions of sorrow. While he had been close to tears on two momentous occasions, the droplets of sadness never actually fell from his tear-ducts. It was a bit surreal. The raw emotion that was being channeled by Morgan made everything so much more devastating. Her heart plunged down to the bottom of her stomach where it sank like a rock. It felt as though her telekinesis was turning against her as she found herself unable to breathe from the realization of how much he loved Ava as his daughter.

Maiya was wallowing in the pure feelings that dripped off of the Ringmaster's voice, and then the cold harsh reality of Roland's voice hit her ears. "I hope you enjoy my gift, Morgan." Her jaw dropped as wide eyes turned to land on the silver haired enemy as he drug the blade across the Lion Tamer's neck. Blood pouring from her grievous wound just as it had spilled from her own injury. Crimson eyes were pulled from the horrific sight as she twisted her gaze to the ground before stumbling forward a few more steps and arriving at Morgan's side. Roland had tossed the dying body towards Morgan as he seemed to be jumping back to avoid a beam as it came crashing down into the ground. Her jaw clenched as anger decorated her features. The man was so pathetic as to simply throw a dying body with no consideration. Her legs threatened to give out beneath her as they shook with both panic and rage. But, she couldn't allow herself to collide with the floor again. No, the tent was catching on fire from the flame duel, their time was going to be limited. If her hands were not still applying pressure to her wounds, she would have balled them into fists. However, instead all that escaped her was an insult - "You monster..."

Her eyes were pulled off of the enemy as she watched Morgan shift in her vision, he had stepped forward to catch his daughter before attempting to calm the girl. But, really Maiya knew that it was the end of the girl. She was unsure if the man was trying to make her ease to passing on easier, or if he was simply speaking nonsense to try and make himself feel better. Her lip curled inward as a sour taste crept into her mouth. For what the night had started out as, she had never anticipated so much bloodshed... So much loss... So much death. She swallowed harshly; the saliva traveling down her throat ached with sadness as she watched the man, she wanted to see the Lion Tamer blossom back to life with no wounds. But... Even bringing Morgan back by putting her contract back in place didn't even heal him fully... Ava was dead. There was no way to dance around it, and when her body began to spasm with the last attempts at oxygen, Maiya could not watch anymore.

However, there was a shining beam of light amidst the chaos. The familiar voice of the Escape Artist hit the brunette's ears as her crimson gaze darted off of Morgan. She had uttered an obscenity before she moved to chase after their wounded opponent. But, it seemed Morgan had no tolerance for her antics as he blocked her advances and prevented her from chasing him beyond the burning blockade. "Th-that b*****d is escaping... and you choose now to turn on- on a comrade?!" There was the light thud as the deceased Ava made contact with the floor as she tumbled off of Morgan's lap. Maiya's gaze shifted back onto her Ringmaster as she watched him begin to stand - no he wasn't just standing... He was preparing to attack. Alaiza, on the other hand, continued to lecture him. "Rather than knocking me down, I would expect for you to stand! If you are so inclined to do harm, assist me in ending on life that need not burden our oxygen supply longer! Please, Morgan! We may yet catch him!" "No, we shouldn't do that. We need to get out of here! People have died, we are all injured we ne-" her words were cut short by the voice of Morgan booming over the immediate area. "Silence." Her hands applied more pressure to her wounds as his voice shocked her briefly. It was clear their words were hitting deaf ears. Her eyes narrowed on the man as she watched him take a step forward. But, it seemed that something had stricken his limbs as he slowly began to crumple and gave in to the gravity of the world. The man had choked out a noise before he collided with the earth.

Now was her chance, they needed to get a move on. The tent was nearly entirely captured by flames. Dropping to her knees she moved her hands off her body as she wrapped a limb around Morgan's waist, and the other around his back looping up to his shoulder. Had it not been for her telekinesis she would have been unable to lift the man. However, with grace and elegance she had been able to hoist him up with an arm stretched across her shoulder and where she pushed his hand onto her wound to keep the pressure constant. Then, she used his body against her side to apply pressure to the injury across her own waist. "Help me if you can, Alaiza. We need to get out of here now. We have no time to get Roland." She hissed as she struggled with the larger man. Her crimson gaze was tossed around the tent as she tried to get a mental note as to who was together. Taubryn was helping Nova, Dam was with... Abagail? What is she doing with Dam? I didn't even notice her... She noted mentally as she tried to pay attention to the woman's eye color. But the smoke blossoming off of the flames made it difficult to really see much of anything. Her eyes then bounced to the flaming Barghest who continued it's battle with Rei and Katarina. Please Pyr, help us get out of here by manipulating the flames... She pleaded internally as she started to move towards the entrance of the tent. They couldn't afford staying any more.

This was it.


『σσc: LET'S GET A MOVE ON! 』
Aiolios

xXx Fox Trot xXx

[Scrivener_Lost]

Cannes

”I cannot. I will not." What!? Purple irises widened again as his abated panic renewed and his fingers began to tremble lightly against her wrists. Her body was weakening against her will and he could see it in the way her strength wavered. Despite her waning life, she still held him firmly. Perhaps it was her anger or now she was simply running on pure adrenaline fed by a spout of blood lust to see him dead; the fact remained that he could see she was suffering. As the fire crackled lively over head, the flames eagerly consuming the remaining oxygen, his eyes remained locked on the girl's face. Both of them were sweating from the heat. Silvery rivers of water cascaded down their dirty, beaten, and bruised faces. But her focus remained sharply on him, devoted to him, undivided and wholly complacent to see him crushed underneath. But surely she would not disobey Morgan! The Ringmaster held her soul in her hand. Did she not understand the severity of his punishments when it came to ignoring his commands? Either...she is stupid...or...or... His eyes drifted over her arm to the Ringmaster who was kneeling in the dirt, his arms cradling the woman he called 'daughter' as bright red crimson spilled from her neck. His brows peeked sharply on his forehead as a cold bitterness filled him once more. Or has he...really...changed? No. He could not trick himself into believing something so foolish. The Ringmaster was stern, wicked, and demanding. He was a man who knew exactly what he wanted and took when he desired. He was not a gentle person and that had been one of the many qualities that the Acrobat had fallen in love with. Strong. Absolute. Darkly confident. Austere. In some twisted sense of mind, Cannes had come to love the richly stubborn and mulish actions of the Ringmaster. Everyone respected him. Feared him. They wavered at their core when thinking or speaking of him. If that was not the true aspect of power and command, then all else in his life had been a lie. But seeing him now, collapsed in the dirt with the Beast Tamer in his arms, it made him sick. Was it pity? Was it relief that he had succumb to his sins? Or was it longing yet to be that person he coddled in his arms? Has he truly become someone that is capable of emotions and tenderness? And as he slowly rolled his head back to look at the songstress, he could not help but feel a small pinprick of guilt. Or...are we...am I the person...that broke him into the man that is shedding tears now? ”I’ve no will to follow orders. How could he possibly want you to live through this? After all you’ve done?” For a moment, he simply remained suspended in a sense of thought as she spat her words at him before, his lips twitched and an uneasy smile crossed his lips. How could he possible want you to live through this? That was the question of the hour. Cannes had been struck with nearly the same amount of awe, but the question still stood: Why would Morgan ever think of granting them a second chance. The man was strong enough to see them all quartered and hung. That had been the reason for all of the trickery and foul play. Because they knew they could not take him down without resorting to backstabbing. So, why then? Why let them go?

"Keh! Kekehe!" Several small chuckles escaped him as he stared at her with an agonized look of pleading. Hah...hahaha! I don't know! Why the hell would Morgan try to save scum like us?! It was laughable. It truly was. Not only had they fled from the circus, but they had waited and planned for years on how to strike back at this wretched demon who held them captive. And in the end, it was only now that he was seeing Morgan's humanity for what it was. It was only after blood had been spilled and heartbeats silenced that he could see that Morgan suffered just as any person did. And they had brought it upon him. I only wanted...him to realize... No. It was too late. ”You owe me a debt of life now. But one will not suffice, you see. We’ll burn together in this tent, you and I.“ He panted heavily for a moment before his grin grew nervously. The corners of his mouth turned up sharply as he shook his head lightly, his bangs falling into his face as he gazed at the insane woman with fear once more. "Heh...wait...you...y-you're insane!" His nails dug into her wrists as he jerked against her hold. W-what happened to her wanting to save me!? What is with this girl?! She had been so concerned just moments before and had switched back so suddenly, he could barely comprehend the change as he pulled against her. He didn't care anymore. If she was going to snap his neck, she would have done it already. Now she was threatening to hold him here as the tent came down around them. She plans on taking me down with her! He scraped his nails along her skin, trying desperately to entice her with pain to release him. "L-let me go! Let me go!" He shrieked as he planted his heels into the dirt and twisted in her grip. He had been so frightened that she was going to snap his neck, now he almost preferred that to burning alive. ”I have never sworn my allegiance to Morgan or his traveling band, but I will die a slave to this cirque long before I see anyone else murdered by your hand.” That was it. She was lost to her own madness. There was no way she was going to listen to logic or command, no matter if it came from Morgan's mouth or not. He had decided, he didn't care if she snapped his neck, he just wanted this woman to stop filling his mind with terrors. He pulled against her, thrashed really, the fabric of his shirt tearing in her grip. But she did not let go. She had a vice grip on him and she was determined to take him down with her. "No no no no! Let me go!" Morgan's command had been his last saving grace, but if she was not going to listen to him, then he was doomed. The raging fire was quickly swallowing the tent which meant that Rei was occupied and more than likely, Katarina was as well. And Roland...We are nothing more than insects to be scraped off his boot, he realized with cold and bitter truth.

The moment her lips parted, he could feel his limbs grow heavy once again as his body slowly eased into a complacent state. No... His fingers trailed off of her hands and his legs straightened, his spine slowly growing rigid to attention at her call. The lovely notes and docile tones eased his body into a doll-like state as his hands came to rest by his hips. She truly was going to drag him down into the depths with her. And as her voice continued despite the wet and obvious lack of air, he tried to will his webbing into his mouth. But his tongue was swollen and fat in his mouth with a lack of water, unable to produce the saliva that he needed to make the sticky substance that would save him. The taste of copper in the back of his throat dripping from his nose was making him beyond thirsty and he could not draw the strength he needed to ignore her song. There was a thunderous boom and the ground shook beneath his feet, but he did not have the will to look as the metal beam crashed not more than a few feet from them, throwing up embers and ash around them. They were truly in hell now. The heat was unbearable and his lungs powered through the lack of air as his entire body undulated with the effort of taking in air. But his mind was so separated from his body, he could do nothing to fight back as death came to greet him in the form of a young frail looking siren. A demon's wail sounded out and Cannes knew them to have come across the gates of Hell. He was going to die. He knew it. And to affirm this sinking reality, a tear rolled down from his eye. He didn't want to die. He was afraid to die. “Nova.” He didn't know where the man had come from and could not move his body to gain a look at his rescuer, but he could see as the man reached forward to place his hand on Nova's arm. “Come on, little songbird. Let him go.” His fingers slid down to her hand and he could feel his insides bubble with effervescent hope. He was going to live! Yes! Yes! Take this mad woman away! Save me! “You fought so well already. There isn’t much time left, we must leave.” Cannes felt relief and joy fill him as the Illusionist pried her fingers from his shirt and finally, her siren's song faltered, releasing him. She fell back into the man's arms and Cannes collapsed to the dirt, his hands and knees catching him as he shook his head in attempts to chase away the lingering effects of her song in his head. As his senses returned to him in a trickle, he slowly raised his head to gaze at the Illusionist as he pulled the girl against his body. Another massive roar from the Barghest sounded out and Cannes watched as a massive tongue of fire that had crowned around the entrance to the tent suddenly parted, the ground below it smouldering, but untouched by the flames. The Fire Breather had created an escape for Morgan's troupe. An escape! He slowly and wearily pushed to his knees, his eyes locked on the exit to the clear midnight air beyond. Here's my chance! He started towards the exit, but paused before turning to glance over his shoulder, his eyes coming across Roland as he looked near collapse. His skin was a deathly white and he had succumbed to weakness as he hunched on the ground on his hands and knees. He looks awful... He bounced on the balls of his feet for a moment as his eyes moved from the exit to Roland, back and forth a few times as his anxiously struggled to make up his mind. A breath slowly leaked from his lips as his head swiveled towards Roland. He raised his hand and a bright pink ribbon cascaded down around him and he wrapped it around his arm quickly before running forward as he cast one final glance at the siren and Illusionist. Good luck...


Interacted With↷

Quote:

Novalyn; fighting
Taubryn



Roland

plip
tab tab plip
tab tab tab tab plip plip
I was...so close...victory...was within my reach... His vision swam and muddled before him, crimson mixing with brown, muddy highlights of red and orange mirrored in the liquid image that spread before him. The pool of blood belonged to him, a symbol of his failure and defeat at the hands of Morgan once again. The flames that licked the air and crackled in front of him threatened to char his face as his vision drifted in and out of clarity. I did everything according to plan...never did I stray once... The sound of people screaming and yelling on the other side of the burning pylon came to him in dulled notes as he knelt in the shadows of his own darkened hell. He was stuck. Cornered. The walls of the tent behind him were slowly being eaten away by flames and in front of him, well...it wasn't just the fiery beam that threatened to eat him up. Morgan is on the other side... he mused darkly as warm blood continued to drip down his face. plip plip plip. There was no denying that what he had just done would most certainly cause the world to be rent asunder. He had slain that which Morgan loved. Again. Heh...maybe this time...you will learn...fool... But it was hopeless at best. The Ringmaster would not allow such a tragedy to occur again. Fool you once, shame on me...fool you twice, shame on you... He chuckled darkly, the sound wet as his breath crackled. He was so weak, his elbows shaking as they struggled to keep him from falling into his own pool of wasted life. Do you feel it, Morgan? Roland struggled to lift his head. I may not have been able to capture you...slimy devil...but I will have managed to break you...again... His head dropped, unable to lift what felt like cement resting on the back of his head. This time...there will be no way...you can put yourself back together... His vision swam in front of him and his right elbow caved in underneath him, the Alchemist dropping into the dirt on his right side. He could barely focus now as the flames continued to build around him. Did I impress you, Morgan? Did I finally make you see me...for what I truly am? Perhaps now...you will think second...to your despicable actions. Perhaps now...you will doubt yourself...and let fear make your decisions. There was a soft cry in the distance, something he couldn't quite place recognition to, but he did not care. Laying in the dirt, he could only hope that he had struck enough damage against Tromperie that it would make Morgan feel as desperate and lost as he had made Roland feel every time someone had left his shoppe in search of something created by the von Faustus family instead. Everything that I did...was to strike you down...and I hope every soul that felt the sting of my anger will haunt you for the rest of your years, Morgan von Faustus. "Roland!" Crimson eyes drifted to the side where a shadow dropped swiftly from the ceiling before quickly limping towards him. As the pale figure crouched to its knees, he felt a small hand on his back. "Roland? Roland! Come on, we need to go!" He felt as the thing Acrobat shoveled his hand under his chest and attempted to lift him. Cannes...that whelp... "Hnng! Come on...we're gonna burn up!" He whimpered. The young man slowly lifted him out of the dirt before reaching up for a ribbon once more. The world around him was plunged below as he felt his body jerked upwards, the vision of Morgan being plucked from the ground by the knife thrower being the last thing he witnessed as Cannes burst through the frail fabric, leaving behind everything behind in a wake of flames and blood. Do not think this is over, Morgan. I promised a war and so it will come, that much I promise you. I am merely a harbinger of what is to come for you and your beloved Tromperie...


Interacted With↷

Quote:




Color Key↷

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

[Cynotastic]

Abagail & Apostle
He had turned his gaze up towards her which made a jolt of panic spread through her skin. It was so bizarre that she had somehow been gifted with courage to approach this stranger who could have been just as terrible as her father or the voice in her mind. But, he looked up at her seemingly mystified by her mere presence before he sniffled slightly. Has he been crying? Her hand wavered with uncertainty as she contemplated giving into instincts and running back into her fragment of the tent. Then, when a laugh escaped his mouth she found herself withdrawing her hand as she took a partial step away from the boy. He had just watched her slay another human, why had she expected the man to be anything other than unpredictable. She blinked questioningly as her oceanic eyes remained on the man as his forced laughter seemed to stop before answering. "Y-yes." Her teeth pulled against the flesh of her lip as she contemplated whether or not to assist him. She remained frozen in her position as she watched him turn to face her. He had a broken smile upon her lips, and while there had been chaos erupting all around them, he had still been treating her with kindness. It is a farce, Apostle hissed in her mind. He is just going to use you as I do. She swallowed nervously. The voice in her mind had always been overwhelmingly negative. So, with courage still filling her chest, she found herself wishing to continue to disobey and disagree with the pessimistic thoughts while she found the opportunity. "I absolutely do." Her hand extended back towards the lanky man as she waited for him to take her assistance. Her eyes watched as he placed the blade into his boot.

When the man reached out and contacted her own skin, he could feel something odd with the man. There was a sensation she was not used too, but yet it felt familiar like the presence of Apostle. The hell? The voice spat in confusion. There was something else that was attached to this man. Something very similar in nature to him. And he didn't like it. Abagail's eyes widened in disbelieve. Was this man capable of manipulating spirits as well? Was he another's vessel? She blinked in disbelieve as she tried to push the concern out of her mind. There was a weird distortion in the air around her as she could feel a slight lapse in the spirit barrier as her other counter part made certain that she could not be possessed by the other spirit. Her eyes shifted into a red-violet hue momentarily as a wicked smile stretched upon her lips. However, it was very brief; for once the doctor began to use her limb to help pull him to his feet, he had returned to his task. A squeak escaped her as he pulled her a bit harsher than expected before putting his hand on her shoulder to fully steady himself. She stiffened considerably when he placed his hands upon her. Not only that, but she also flinched beneath his grasp as well. Abagail had been so accustomed to any contact being painful. Therefore, she had expected just the same from this stranger. However, there seemed to be no malice in his action. It was just a mere accident to keep himself from slumping back into the ground beneath him. Then, when he had uttered out an apology, it was something that really confused her. After all, since she had left Cirque de Tromperie, she had been the one to apologize. She was always treated differently, either it be that she was treated as trash, or simply because the others feared Apostle. But, in most circumstances, it was her apologizing to the others for her stupid actions. Well, at least, her actions were stupid as far as Apostle was concerned. Abagail remained stiff under his hands until he had managed to get himself balanced. Her gaze remained on the floor, and when the man leaned around to look at her face, she kept her attention focused on the floor as her hands fidgeted with the ribbon that was sewn into her dress by her collarbone. "Thank you," he spoke with his voice having a clear cut tone of genuine thanks. It was so weird being a person. She swallowed anxiously. "Mmn." The former illusionist hummed with uncertainty.

Then came the question that she was unsure if she could answer. "B-but.. who are you? And why are you helping me?" Well, she was Abagail. Had he been asking for her name? Or was he asking for who she was? If he was asking that, she was Abagail the Illusionist... Or perhaps, who shared her body? It was a concept she always had a hard time answering. While her own consciousness and body was all Abagail. The one who she felt had her body most was Apostle So, which of the two was she? Her gaze skirted around the ground before she rolled her ocean eyes onto the lanky doctor before turning her gaze elsewhere again. "I... Ah, I am A-" she had hardly gotten past the first letter of her name before the bellow of Morgan echoed through the tent. "Release my daughter," Her eyes bounced up to the sight of her own father holding Morgan's daughter. "Oh no..." She uttered as she scratched at the turtleneck of her dress. The crying girl who was curled up next to Maiya and the Ringmaster had been his daughter. And now, she was in trouble. This was to be another casualty on her behalf. If she had just freed Morgan, then he would not have been here for his troupe to save him. Then, none of the blood and bodies would have been shed.

"No- Ava-!" The man she had assisted shouted as he tried to move closer, but found himself needing to use her shoulder as a point of balance. She tensed up again beneath his touch and found herself frozen in place. The more contact he had on the woman the more she was certain there was another entity surrounding the boy. But, she had never met someone with the same problem as she had. Was this man truly of a similar feather? Or was he haunted by someone who had been affected by this man? Regardless, she was an anchor for the man as he stood tall watching the area around them unfold into a horrific scene with more death. Then the addition of fire was even more frightening as Abagail's fight or flight response was telling her to get out of there now. After all, she had the one thing to prevent her father from ending her life. She could be immortal and free from his tyranny if she just fled. But, she found herself unable to. Her legs were locked up, she was having problems breathing as fear consumed her body. Ocean eyes were wide as she was conflicted. She wanted to go. But, what if she was found? She would probably be killed for attempting to rebel from her father. I would rather die again than have to deal with Morgan or be on our own. Apostle hissed in her ear as he tried to convince her to merely do as instructed and continue to cling to her father. But, no doing that would make her continue to lead a life of pain and unhappiness.

"Hate to tell you that some of 'em didn't wanna be called off..." The man who she had just assisted was awfully chatty despite her limited answers. A shake of panic spread through her body as she let her ocean gaze slip onto the doctor before the floor as she still found herself frozen in the moment. With a nervous swallow and an anxious sigh she began to fidget. Then, the man seemed to be able to manage himself as he moved between herself and the exit. "You don't have to be so afraid of me," Her hands were folded up against her chest as she gently pulled on the ribbon that was holding the cape on her body. She watched as he extended an arm and blinked a few times in contemplation. She was but a stranger to him, and yet he was offering to escort her out. He knew nothing of the evil spirit within her own body. He knew nothing of the spirit that wanted each and every person of Morgan's troupe dead. He knew nothing of how she was preventing people's powers from working. For all he could have been aware she could be able to cause people to explode upon contact, and yet, he still offered his hand. Even amidst the chaos, he had chosen to trust her with no doubt and offer her an escape. "C'mon- let's get out of here before the whole place goes up in flames!" Abagail's gaze remained on his extended hand as her teeth pulled on the skin of her cheek. It was tempting. If she accepted his offer, she could rejoin Morgan's troupe. She would be free of the wretched torture of her father; Apostle's activity would lesson because of the aura that emanates from Morgan. The sound of her father's voice rang through the tent, and her head swiveled towards the source. Her hair lifted with the motion and hit her head when she stopped and stared wide eyed at her dad. He was going to slay a complete innocent. Her eyes bounced between the four clustered in the middle as she saw the pure terror that decorated Morgan's face. He truly cared for his daughter. He wanted her to be saved. However, Abagail knew if she were in the opposite position - Morgan threatening to slit her own neck - Roland would not care. No, he would laugh at the notion. After all, to him, she's useless and pathetic. She couldn't keep her gaze on the sight. Her hands flew up to her head as she pressed the palms of her hands against her ears. Shaking her head she was so internally conflicted. The offer from the stranger was still sitting in the air, waiting for her to accept. "Trust me? Please!" But yet, she couldn't bring herself to do it. If she was caught by her father - if she was abandoned by the stranger - then she would be better off dead. However, if she had accepted the lanky man's offer, who was to say that Morgan would be okay with it? A panic gasp escaped her lips as she failed to come up with an answer. Then, a scream from the doctor made Abagail know what had occurred. The Lion Tamer had been slain.

Shaking her head, Abagail tried to remove the thoughts from her head. It was so much to absorb so quickly. However, time was ticking and she had to settle on a decision. Though, before her mind was able to even start moving into a direction of a real choice, the creaking of the tent had prevent her mind from moving forward. "Look out!" The next moment unfolded far too fast as a beam fell down towards them and then she was on the floor out of the way with the stranger's arms wrapped around her. She blinked as he released her carefully before adjusting himself besides her. Ocean eyes gazed at the flames as they made the answer clear. There was a blockade between herself and her father. She was free. Saliva traveled down her throat as she blinked and her jaw popped open with shock. Not only was she not going to be pulled into hell by the hands of her father, but this stranger had just saved her own life. The sound of coughing pulled her back from the reality. Fire was growing in front of her, and feeding off the flames was smoke that she definitely should not have been inhaling. "C-c'mon! We should get out of here!" She coughed; the grey clouds irritating her throat and lungs. It was becoming more difficult to breathe the longer she was freely inhaling the ashy substance. However, she had no long sleeves to filter out the bad from the good. She pushed herself onto her feet before extending out a hand. He was right, they should get out of here. She attempted to clear her throat, but it hurt even more. Shaking her head she simply extended an arm to offer the lanky man assistance on his feet again.

They had to leave, and she knew what choice she was going to make on her exit.


Interacted With↷

xXx Fox Trot xXx

Damuron: Acted as a fence post and carried on a little bit of conversation.


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

[secretshades]

◆ ʟocaтɪoɴ:Big Top xxxxxxxx◇ ϻσσɗ:. . . xxxxxxxx◆ cσϻpaɴʏ:Taubryn

The time for patience was over. She could feel her body heaving it’s last breath, and she knew her moments were limited. She would not surrender. The only way the small acrobat was going to give in was if the man gripped tight in her hands succumbed to his wounds, first. No order from Morgan, or anyone else would drag her away from this. She couldn’t keep them safe, and now she was paying for it. If all the tromperie acrobats were to die here, he was to die as well. Watching his pupils dilate as she stare up at his was oddly satisfying to the girl. The pain in Cannes’ eyes was almost caustic, burning into her mind. His agony was delicious to her, the fear washing over her in heavy waves. Heat was beginning to flood over them, too, from the hot tongues of flame washing across the canvas tent. Beads of sweat dripped from her hairline, finding themselves stinging in her eyes and mingling with the blood that trickled down her face. ”How… how can you smile knowing that these are your final moments? Your very name shall be wiped from this earth. “ Her jaw was clenched together tightly while the words and blood eeked out between her stained teeth.


Her mind was in a haze of oxygen deprivation and blood loss. Everything was getting fuzzy around the edges, slowly snatching away her field of vision. Everything she could see was smoked over. His laughter hit her through the fog like a truck, jarring her back to reality. The grin that split his face was terrifying, that of the night terrors she had experienced as a child. ”Why are you….laughing? “ Her words were wet and choked with blood and smoke. " Heh...wait...you...y-you're insane!” Automatically, her hands tightened once more on his body, pulling him inches closer to herself. Every agonizing second was burning up all her energy now. The heat of the tent and the heat of her body was fatiguing her faster and faster. ”No, no. I’m not insane. I’m angry. And I’m dying. You’re my last hope, to atone for the mistakes I’ve made here. And more than likely, I am yours…” He would perish fighting her, she was certain. He would finish his task of killing them all off, and be briefly remembered by those who survived this. Maybe even honored by his own leader and cohorts. She would take him down, too, so that Aloise, August, and Kimber could rest easily.


His body thrashed and twisted again, wringing her face in agony. " L-let me go! Let me go!" She shook her head once more, anchoring her arms to her body, breathing in the hot smoke around them. ”No. Accept your fate. Pay your debts, and die.” The words hissed from her lips like steam as she leaned her neck down, wiping the corner of her lips on her shoulders. ”I can’t just let you go. You’re caught in my web now, boy.” He protested again, scraping the earth with his heels and pulling the flesh from her hands with his nails. She didn’t cry out or break her gaze, staying scoped in on the fading features of his face. " No no no no! Let me go!” Again his body pulled and twisted, trying to escape her. His clothes tore under her iron grip, the fabric tearing away in her hands as she struggled to suck in enough air for a couple verses to put them both to rest. Her will was not strong enough to defend from the song she quietly breathed into the air between them. It was for the best, probably, to have her feelings clouded away while she diverted all her remaining energy into supporting her body and her one functional lung. She heaved breaths in between words, the elegance in her voice lost to her delirium and exhaustion. The air in the tent grew thick with heat and the stench of blood and death, forcing each breath to push harder and harder against her torn organs. It wasn’t until she felt someone firmly grip her hand once more that she stirred back to life. Those were not the bloodied fingers of her spider-prey. Those hands were a little larger, stronger than Cannes had been. They didn’t pull at her skin, or tear at her fingers, but gently pressuring her into letting go.


Taubryn… He was speaking behind her, too, trying to pull her hands from the man in front of her. She opened her mouth to speak once more, dread washing over her and blood dripped off her lips. Immediately some form of modesty clouded through her, closing her jaw and stopping her song. Finally, she let go. There was no stemming the tides of tears that streamed from her eyes as she stumbled a little, finally weighing the situation properly. She was going to die here unless she gave in. Morgan had been right. She needed to release him, and she needed to leave the burning big top. The strength was sapped from her body though, the will to fight and live draining from her body over her lips, the same way it had when she first joined the ranks of the cirque. ”Taubryn….I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” At a loss, the words slipped off her tongue as he gently lifted her up. Nova tried not to wince as he began to move, feeling her loose ribs moving in and out of place. ”You don’t have to…..you don’t have to carry me out of here. If you can’t….I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I just…” Her body was shaking, plagued with convulsions and tremors. ”I’m frightened, Taubryn. I don’t know what’s going to happen…” She could see more of her body now, bruised at cut here and then, and the ripped fabric of the dress she had worn through the party stained in deep crimson. Dirt and blood marked a lot of her exposed skin, and sticky webbing from Cannes still clung to her fingers in some places, and hung off the fabric of her bodice. ”I’m sorry.” It seemed the only thing she could say as she repeated herself quietly, trying not to stir or cause him any discomfort in carrying her. ”I’m so sorry.”






" Ararelia"






◇ σσc

[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 in their best interest to evacuate, and Damuron did not need to any sort of training or certification to realize it. Being a doctor would not save him from incineration, nor would it lend any favors to the young woman he had apparently taken to escorting. The smoke was mounting, billowing in thick clouds from any vantage point it could achieve. If the fire didn't get them, smoke inhalation would, and he knew that he was in no sort of state to combat any sort of ailment. His blood, thin as it was, already wasn't carrying enough oxygen. Combine the lacking air with lacking blood and a heaping helping of smoke, and you had an unconscious and almost certainly dead man. And given his current outfit, he didn't even have anything to cover his mouth with. He looked to his side, burying his face in his elbow as he retched a powerful cough. Tears sprung to his eyes anew, though these were not mournful- they were autonomic, attempting to protect his eyes from the dry and damaging onslaught of the smoke. He kept his face buried in his elbow, attempting to siphon out what precious little ash he could from the air as he looked to the silver haired girl. She had stood, he saw with delight, and was extending a hand to him. Yet again, the young woman was offering her help. She did not know him. In fact, the most she probably knew of him was just that he had unsurreptitiously taken the life of one of her apparent allies (after all, she was not a member of their troupe- what other explanation did she have for being there?). Even still, her soft, pallid hand reached out to him, offering salvation to the fallen man drenched in blood. It was quite a picture, to be sure- a fair and gentle woman braving treacherous conditions to assist the wounded beast. the gesture of mercy and gentility was almost more than Damuron could allow himself to accept. But her eyes were an oasis amid the inferno, promising escape, sojourn from the wreckage. The doctor had made a conscious acknowledgment that he would not walk out of the tent alive upon his arrival. He had known this to be an irrefutable fact. And yet, here he was, faced with the realization that amid all of the people to enter, among the throng of worthy survivors... he seemed to be presented with an opportunity for escape. Given the option, he would have traded placed with any of them in an instant- any of the fallen would be better suited to life, more deserving of retribution. Paul could return to Alaizabel (oh and how she would weep for joy were that he could); Aloise could grace the skies once again, winning hearts with every wink and coquettish simper. Puck, Flynn, could return to their lives- their secret rendevous in the equipment cars when they thought no one was paying attention, the music the two of them wrote together, both in their act and in their souls. Or Rhythm, who's demeanor gave a realistic reference for the idiom 'gentle giant'. The lumbering bear of a man could continue to test the limits of all of the places suited for naps and those not, and occasionally update the others on the best hiding places about the train for a good cat nap (though his cat naps tended to extend well into the realm of hibernation). Icarus and August, both precious and kind, could continue to grace the Cirque with their overwhelming kindness and sincerity, continue to act as the indispensable glue that kept the troupe knit as tightly as the scarves that Ava had worn around the tent in winter. Ava. Not only would her life be a treasure among the Cirque, but the insurmountable amount of good it would do for Morgan (Damuron was unwilling to even begin to imagine how he was feeling now, completely not considering how it would continue to haunt the already sombre Ringmaster well into the future). She was, in many ways, the light and life of the Cirque itself. With her gone...

Damuron gave one last sweeping look around the tent, his eyes stinging mercilessly as he sought survivors. Through the brilliant conflagration of the fallen beam, he could see a warped figure, a shadow of either a very wide-set individual or a few carrying another. To another side, he could see the approaching image of someone toting another along on their back; through the flicker of the flames, the mirage of heat, their identity was elusive. Still, that implied something magnificent: there were survivors. He would not be alone. And with survivors of an event like this... They'll need a doctor. His purpose was clear, though he felt disgusted with himself for finding a personal sense of usefulness amidst the carnage. They were all hurt, and it was by his hands that he would see them restored. At least in the physical sense... He turned his malachite gaze back to the young woman and took her hand with a grateful, though almost distant smile. "Thank you." He looked to her, and though his mouth was still covered with the crook of his elbow, the smile was clear in his eyes, the gratitude shining through unmissable. The thanks was not just for the hand- it was for the faith, the kindness that he did not deserve and that she rightly did not have to administer. It was for making the decision to trust him and give him the chance he had not earned. Damuron knew he did not deserve to make it out of this tent alive. She, however, did. He needed at least to help her. That was what he could do now. He could repay her faith with positive reinforcement by affirming to her that she had made the right choice.

Quickly, he took her hand. It was a struggle to make it to his feet, though he did so without tugging the woman's arm around with him. After a few moments, he was settled. Stable was not a word that would describe him in the least, but precarious as he was, it would suffice. His hold on the silver-haired woman's hand synched tightly, and he dropped his defensive arm to balance more. "Follow me!" He would normally not have shouted at a young woman who seemed as beautiful as skittish, especially for the fear of frightening her off, but the roar of the swelling inferno would not allow him any alternative. The crackling intensified, and the fire licked greedily along any surface upon which it could take purchase. It was too forgiving that the flames avoided the entryway. Were it not for the fact that Damuron had been privy to Pyrrhus's ascension to a phoenix, he would have possibly found faith in God at that moment. But no, this was no dues ex machina. This was his friend. Pyrrhus was shepherding them to safety. Damuron did not know yet what that bode for his survival, but the doctor sent a brief wish to the heavens that it was not what he feared. Come back to us safe, Pyrrhus. If he could become the mighty bird of flame, surely he could rise from the ashes in a similar fashion. At least, that was his hope. Either way, this was the work of his dear friend: he could not allow this opportunity to go to waste.

Damuron was taking too long. The fire was only going to get stronger and appreciating it from the belly of beast was foolish at best. He brought his gaze back to his escort. It was a trick of the light, of course; her oceanic eyes, for a brief moment, seemed almost to flash vermillion in frantic, flickering light of the blaze. But she shook her head and reset her gaze, and was abruptly normal. Damuron, for a moment, allowed himself to half stare with a cocked brow. It.. it was the light...? A vicious roar of fire took an opportunity that he did not have the time to concern himself about the hue of her eyes. Whatever the cause was, he could figure it out later given that he actively took to an escape route. He took as deep of a breath as he dared, ignoring the soot that coated and parched his throat with a thick vengeance. "Now!" Taking only unconscious care to assure that the woman had her footing, Damuron tore off in a sprint toward the entrance. It was a straight shot, thankfully- in a way, it was fortunate that almost the entirety of his stint in the tent had been toward the threshold, as it now assured a relatively quick flee from the danger. Still, even the precious collection of seconds, perhaps half a minute or less, of running was almost more than he could muster. His legs threatened adamantly to buckle beneath his steps; his lungs heaved, burning with a similar intensity to the flames that bristled around them. His head felt clouded, as though a heavy fog had taken up residence in where his mind should have been. But he needed to make it just a bit further. He could still feel the woman's hand in his as he pulled her along behind him. Just a bit further. He could see the blurry figures of others seeking the same route of escape, though making them out through the blackness at the edges of his eyes was impossible. Just a bit further-!

The smoke clung to his clothes as he finally broke free from their insidious tendrils; the frigid evening air was like water in the desert as he gasped in relief. Damuron propelled himself away from the catastrophe in his wake, making certain to pull the woman toward a safe distance as well before whipping around to the congregation behind him. He needed to know- he needed a count- who was left, who was safe, what needed to be done, how could he help, who needed attention, who was left? His mind raced, and the second he spun to face the masses, the colors of the world began to bleed and run together like a child's watercolor painting. It seemed that his inner dialogue, which bounded around his skull like a rabbit injected with an adrenaline shot, had sapped all of the strength from his entire body in order to fuel its curiosity. "G-guys, are... you...?" The colors were blending, but he could manage to at least guess at identities. Morgan for sure- the black hair was hard to miss, and Alaizabel was similarly unmistakable with her tawny mane and emerald gown. Maiya was beneath the man's arm, hoisting him up. The crimson of her eyes was catching, as though his mind had become attuned pointedly to the color of blood over the course of the evening. And the blue hair- that must have been Taubryn. It must have been. Did he had a bundle on his back? Could that be...? He blinked, attempting to solidify the increasingly distorted perception of reality. Consciousness was like smoke between his fingers as he took a shaky step forward, reaching lethargically toward the group- there were so few, their numbers had dwindled so tremendously, it was too awful, but were they hurt?- with dangerously heavy eyelids. "P-please I ne...ed to.... if you're .... hur...t..."

All at once, the world was torn from beneath him like a napkin in a parlor trick. With his energy reserves drained to naught, Damuron crumpled to his knees, then collapsed into the dirt as the world around him faded into nothing.


Cynotastic



✂⋯ ʟocaтɪoɴ: Outside the Big Top ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ϻσσɗ: Exhausted ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ωɪтʜ: Survivors {Abagail} ⋯

[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?
xxx▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀
Let's watch this city burn

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

░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░

Taubryn slowly backed away from the boy Nova had been fighting against, his eyes never leaving his form. He shushed the little songbird gently when she began to whisper apologies. He couldn’t afford to be distracted right now. Despite how battered he looked, he was taking no chances on turning his back on the enemy. They were running out of time, all of them, but the boy could very well want revenge on the girl in his arms, deeming this moment the perfect time to strike while she was weak. So, he just watched him, but still edging ever slowly away and closer to the entrance of the tent. He had seen the flames part a mere seconds after he had started looking for a way out and sent a silent thank you to Pyrrhus. His grip on her tightened as the other boy moved, but to his surprise it wasn’t directed at them. A pink ribbon descended around him and instead of a weapon, he used it as a sort of swing to get away from the area. Taubryn narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t remember many things, many important things he chose not to remember, but he would remember that boy’s face. Along with the other fire breather and the man who murdered his sister. He would remember their faces and he would make them pay. Not now, maybe not even in the near future, but he would find a way to make them regret what they’ve done.

Smoke clouded his vision, making him unable to see any more than a few feet in front of him. He turned away and began to move towards the entrance, trying hard not to jostle her wounds any further and shifting his arms. He didn’t know the full extent of them but he could take a guess when she gasped in pain at the slightest wrong movement from his side. Nova began to speak again, muttering nonsense under her breath that he could barely even distinguish due to the roar of the flames and his own thudding heart. What he could hear though, made him want to both slap her and hold her until those stupid ideas banished from her head. Don’t have to…he didn’t have to do anything…if ever he had a choice in the matter, he would always choose ‘have to’. He opted for the latter as he tightened his grip on her. She was trembling. Shaking so hard he was worried that she would aggravate her wounds even worse. He realized too little, too late that he was shaking as well. Unable to distinguish her tremors from his own.

He was scared. Honestly scared like nothing he had ever felt before. He felt like a child again, locked up in that room where nothing grew. Loneliness, sadness, his only friends were the ones he had made from the shadows. His parents, for all the world loved him dearly, but cared little for his own wants. “I know.” He said, barely even above a whisper, “I know…I am too.” Honesty tore through his words, laying them bare and open for her to see. He was so, so scared. Of what, he still had yet to name. Or refused to name and acknowledge. Quickly glancing down, he tried for a small smile. What came out instead was a pained contortion of his face. He looked back up and nearly cried in relief at the sight of the nearing entrance, “Don’t say that, little songbird.” He said, “Look. We’re almost there.” He swallowed the lump in his throat as she continued to speak. Sorry. Sorry…. 'I’m sorry too. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough. I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough. I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you. Any of you. Ava…Pyrrhus…Rhythm…Aloise…August…Icarus…Paul…Flynn…Puck…I’m sorry…I’m sorry…'

He swore to himself he was never going to make the same mistake. Never going to form bonds to this silly world, this pathetic and frail world. Never going to be the fool he once had been. He was sorry…so sorry. He could feel Nova slacking in his arms, her breathing slowly gradually, which he took as a good sign that she was relaxing. Good. Good. He couldn’t bear to hear any more of her words and pained whimpers. His eyes watered as the fire grew to be too much and he was unable to distinguish anything more than blurry shapes. He willed his legs to last just a little longer as he could practically feel the outside world beckoning him with teasing fingertips. The utterly cold night air hit him like a punch to the face, briefly stopping him in his tracks. He coughed violently, the smoke in his lungs burning and clawing at his chest. He glanced down to check on Nova and found that her eyes had closed somewhere along the way. What he wouldn’t give to be able to sleep as peacefully as she seemed to have. A soft breeze blew and shook him from his state.

With one last look behind him, Taubryn moved, his feet heavy and the woman in his arms heavier, to join the rest of their remaining group. His eyes still burned and watered but he managed to distinguish who was left. Just a petty little scattering of people, so different from what they had been. And apparently plus one that Damuron had dragged along. Once again, confusion and a hint of suspicion flickered across his face. He hadn’t seen her in the fight, was she just a passerby…? A curious soul out for a walk and somehow stumbled upon that hellfire? That was impossible. She had to have some reason to have been there, but his tired and frayed brain refused to connect the dots together. Speaking of…had the ones who had started this escaped too? He cursed under his breath at the thought of any of those bastards escaping when none of those who deserve to leave ever would. His fingers tightened painfully on Nova as hatred swept through him. But when he saw the sorry mess that they were all in, the flare quickly dissipated. Tired. He was so, so tired. His shoulders drooped as the events of the night washed over him. He could faintly hear words but couldn’t, for the life of him, distinguish just what they were saying nor figure out just who the voice belonged to. Distractedly, he set Nova down on the ground next to him before he accidentally dropped her. Despite his best efforts to continue standing, however, his legs finally gave out from under him. Taubryn fell to his knees and stared, unseeing, at the ground in front of him. "I...I'm..." his whisper disappeared into the night. Tired…he was so, so tired…



x ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░

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 top >> outsidexxx 〈 company 〉 ㄨEveryone>> whatever was left xxx 〈 ooc 〉 ㄨ Final post omg




Quote:
i don't know who to quote here so i'll just put everyone :U

[Promise of Bliss]

·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸¸.·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸¸.·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸¸.·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸¸.·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸¸.·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸¸.·.¸¸.·´


Her words were not reaching him. Confound it all, now was not the time for Morgan to be so completely vacant. To leave Roland to escape was to take leave of any sense of solidarity that they had to any of their troupe- to the living, the dead, and that included the woefully fallen Lion Tamer that had reduced the man to a state that Alaizabel would not, could not bear to remember or acknowledge. Everyone that night had suffered their own wounds, wounds that were so deep within that she could hardly imagine any variety of remedy that would alleviate the agony. And while each would suffer differently, they would all suffer all the same. They could, however, suffer in peace if they could only capture and destroy Roland. Those who had been lost deserved retribution, and it was within their grasp if he would just get to his feet and cooperate with her for once in his miserable life. For once trust her with assistance in a task, one that would beget blood and unimaginable satisfaction. Alaizabel did not ask Morgan for much of anything. But now, she leapt to her feet. "Please, Morgan, while we have a chance--!" She did not need Maiya's interruption to affirm that Morgan was not there. His eyes were vacant, a single spark within them that seemed to see and hear nothing but what it desired. He was completely focused, though on what, she could not discern. But Maiya spoke all the same, insisting, "No, we shouldn't do that. We need to get out of here! People have died, we--" People had died?! With a growl, Alaizabel's ocher eyes flashed to Maiya with all of the chilliness of a blizzard. Her response overlapped with Maiya's, slicing through the harsh crackling of the flames. "You profess this as though it had escaped my notice, dear Maiya, but their sacrifice cannot be in vain! We do not have time for--!" Despite how frosted her tone was, how cross her body language was, Alaizabel's anger was clearly not directed at Maiya. It was a plead for agreement; a plea for further assistance. With Maiya's abilities, who knew how much easier it would be to eviscerate the b*****d that had carved into their loved ones. Her abilities were great, greater than Alaizabel had ever really given time to think about. Surely with her help-! But they didn't have the time to argue about it. Frustration manifested in balled fists, a sort of vacant trembling of nerves and a visibly clenched jaw. They were just standing amidst this hell fire, while Roland was escaping-- he was escaping!

"Silence."

His mighty roar did not cause her to recoil- she had expected that, when he eventually returned to his 'senses' (though she wondered if any would be left in the wake of what he had endured.... Ava, damn it!) that he would immediately slip into a visceral rage. In eighteen years, she had seen something very similar as a pattern; it was his habit to default to anger, even where inappropriate. And now, it was very appropriate. What she did recoil from was the nearly landed strike. The flinch was slight, entirely out of reflex, but the second that she recognized what was happened, she arrested in place. Her expression slipped back into one that was more familiar to those around her- a calculating frigidness, her eyes slipping into an almost dry glare. Hit her. She dared him to hit her. After all that they had done for him, all that had been sacrificed, it was just the sort of justification she needed to be able to actively pin this event on him. Strike her now, and he would affirm that they had been wasted in their efforts, that her enemy was just as much in Roland as it was in him. Just beneath the surface of her conscious mind, she knew that was unreasonable; Alaizabel could, to some degree, understand his reasoning for behaving as he had. The magnificent backfire that had resulted from his good intentions was regretful, but no more his fault than it was hers for spurring the troupe into action, than Paul's for rallying those opposed into fighting and subsequently dying for a cause, than Maiya's for aggressively demanding on the venture just as well as the others had. The fault was shared and shared alike. But in that moment, she could delude herself into casting blame, if only the alleviate the anguish that had begun raking its claws against the open wounds already wrought on her heart. Just a few more inches and he could bear the weight of all of their sins; just a few more inches, and Morgan could be the martyr to her rage. But his palm fell short of its mark. Alaizabel felt an almost distant disappointment. You cannot even allow me that courtesy... For a moment, she stared at him in silence, her demeanor exuding a frost that should have quelled the flames that drenched the tent. "Are you quite finished with your temper tantrum, sir?" she hissed. It seemed that he was. He took a determined step, and a cold smile passed her lips. "Glad to see you agree. We-"

She had apparently been misinformed, far too trusting in the power of his sheer determination and far too allowing of his grievous wounds. Morgan would not be going anywhere. At the first impact of a step, his legs buckled beneath him, and he dropped to his knees in an instant. The mirthless smile gave way to a scowl, as irate at his weakness as she was concerned. She gave an exasperated groan. "Oh, damn you, Morgan!" she grumbled, rushing forward in an attempt to keep him from completely collapsing to the ground. She was only marginally successful, catching his arm as he crashed into the dirt and hiking him up enough so that his head did not smack into the packed ground. His shoulder would be unhappy with the jarring upon his awakening (just as hers was from the exertion of his full weight lurching her arm nearly from its socket), but at least the concussion was avoided. She lowered him carefully, hissing at the stinging up her forearms. Shifting her forearms, she finally caught true sight of the injuries she had incurred. The skin was practically liquidated in some spots, bubbles of sores speckling the otherwise affected flesh. She growled beneath her breath. Of course she was in such agony- the burns were beyond what she had anticipated; though she could not see it, she imagined the skin around her soft of her collarbone looked remarkably similar, though the area was significantly smaller by comparison. Her arms quivered, and she swallowed harshly the desire to be ill. It looked worse than it was. It had to. She would be fine; the stinging feeling of her flesh boiling would soon enough cease, and the feeling that had begun fleeing her would be renewed. She had overdone it, there was no mistaking that. But she could not let it defeat her now. Alaizabel had a purpose, and no amount of numbness or vague sensations of her nerves seething would stop her. Though she had to admit that the almost pulsing nothingness that become so natural feeling was strikingly odd. It was as though her body was simultaneously registering the pain, feeling the frigid flames of agony, but rejecting it by way of simply blocking any sensation of touch. Was this shock...? She had to say she had expected something else, but this would suffice if it meant that Roland--

Was escaping. It was like watching a sort of macabre fallen angel swoop in to rescue the sinner from his atonement as Cannes plucked Roland from the earth and galavanting off toward safety. Toward an outside world that so many countless others who deserved salvation would never see again. Her pain, Morgan's collapsed frame, Maiya's approach all faded into the distance as she locked her eyes on the retreating duo. She prayed he was looking. More than anything, she needed Roland to see her eyes, to feel her resolve, which emanated from her with undeniable ferocity. She did not need a snarl, or a gesture. She did not need to shout or proudly attest to her intention. There was nothing to mistake in her stature. Even from where she was kneeling, Alaizabel's eyes were as imposing and demanding of recognition as anything she could have otherwise mustered. He would know her intent, and intimately at that. He would know- not now, perhaps not even soon, but he would know an agony unlike any that had befallen him before. The slit to his face was nothing, his feud with Morgan reduced to sheer child's play compared to what she wanted to execute. This was not to the death any more. His suffering would be sweeter than that. It was a matter of time and planning; and she had the resources appropriate to accommodate both of those requirements. She would make absolutely sure of it.

At present, though, Alaizabel had no other option than to resign that he was truly beyond her grasp. She could not grieve for the loss of tangible revenge at the time, though; she would have plenty of opportunity to remedy their joint mistake at a later date. For now, Maiya was right- they needed to make their way out of the inferno. After the image of Roland and Cannes left her immediate field of vision, she returned her attention to Morgan; they had come for him, after all. Leaving him now would reduce any sacrifice or intention to so much ash as the tent would soon become. He was the leader of the Tromperie; what good was the troupe without their illustrious ringmaster? The rueful thought should not have been as entertaining as it felt, but it seemed that command of her emotions had fled her at present. A half manic giggle bubbled from her lips before she caught it, swallowing it down. Contain yourself. The goal was to save Morgan the entire time. We must not fail now. Alaizabel watched as Maiya took care to lift Morgan from the ground (was she that strong? The woman was hardly a limp noodle by way of strength, but that seemed un-- her telekinesis, of course. Well that was helpful) and positioned him on her side. With clear discomfort, Maiya breathed, "Help me if you can, Alaiza. We need to get out of here now. We have no time to get Roland." Alaizabel resisted the urge to snap that she knew that- directing her aggression toward Maiya would not do any of them favors. Instead, she nodded sharply, then took Morgan's arm over her shoulder. It was trickier than she would have liked; the numbness in her hands made it difficult to tell how tightly she was actually gripping, and the arm looped around the man's back could have just as easily have been floating a few inches away as it could have been pressed agains this frame. She wanted to contribute to toting him to safety, but with lacking feeling it was worrisome how much she was potentially putting on Maiya. "Shift his weight if you need to." Alaizabel insisted, her tone grumbling a bit as she took to standing. "I am not the best helper at present, I fear." Peering around, Alaizabel searched for the entrance to the tent. "But do not exhaust yourself. I cannot carry, well either of you really..." What if the feeling in her arms never returned? Would she be able to function this way? To perform? No, now was not the time to consider that. It was Alaizabel's responsibility to usher not only herself, but Maiya and Morgan to safety. And safety came in the form of an obviously flameless threshold just barely visible through the flame. But still, there was a way around, and Alaizabel began pulling on the shared luggage. "Come- this way!"

It was a great blessing that Maiya was there to help. Had Alaizabel alone been attempting to tote the man, surely they would both have perished to the blaze. But with the aid of the telekinetic, the stress and difficult was decreased. Not by much, that was for sure; the sweltering of the flames, the way that the images around them shimmered and wavered, making it nearly impossible to distinguish the edges of the tent from the rest of the inferno, made certain to manufacture their own difficulty to contribute to the overarching issue. Still, Alaizabel supposed she had Pyrrhus to thank for the threshold not being bathed in flames as the rest of the canvas mausoleum. No, the exit was mercifully clear; it beckoned her with the slightest coolness of a clean breeze. The ash in her eyes made them water, and she struggled to properly breathe through the heat and smoke and soot. Her throat, parched as it was, seethed from the agony of dry, rasping breaths. But then all at once, they were freed. The chill of the wind was a slap in the face, but Alaizabel gasped breaths gratefully before sputtering a few racking coughs. With Morgan and Maiya, Alaizabel journeyed a small ways away from the conflagration before peering to the others with obvious trepidation. She took each of them in in turn: Taubryn, with the apparently unconscious Nova on his back. The man was clearly experiencing shock of a markedly different variety than her; with a vacant stare, he set Nova carefully down on the ground (my, she was still, but that was fair- they had been through a lot, and she was not the only unconscious member of the group remaining) before crumpling to his knees to stare listlessly at the gravel. But he was there, thank goodness. Her eyes fell upon a stranger next, one that Alaizabel found simultaneously familiar and entirely foreign. She had to admit that he mind was not exactly pumping every piston at present; had she been within her wits fully, Alaizabel would likely have been able to put the similarity in its place. Be it divine intervention that did not strike her with the recognition of Roland or simple exhaustion, Alaizabel could not at present make the connection. But why would a young woman have been within the tent in the first place? She was so clean, not at all marred by the combat. Let be who she is, where did she come from? Who brought her here....?

Damuron should have been her first guess. From where he had been facing the woods, she had not seen the positively devastating state that he had been left in. Now that he had spun round, she was betwixt horror and simple awe at the amount of blood that coated the front of him. He stumbled a bit forward, clearly lacking any sort of coordination or command of himself. "G-guys are... you...?" Lie. Her first instinct at seeing the unsteady man, the unsettling amount of blood, was to lie, placate him, and get him to take a seat and breathe before he hurt himself... further? He didn't look injured though. Her perfunctory glance over his person revealed that for all of the crimson that assaulted her eyes, Damuron himself seemed relatively unharmed. The rips in his shirt, though, the lurching in his gait-- he was not alright. "Never you mind that now, Damuron, we shall be just fine," Alaizabel said hurriedly; there was a lack of empathy in her voice, but her expression was beyond her control; her brows pinched in concern. "Please, sit, you do not seem well yourself-" The man needed to learn to care for himself. Idle conversations with Taubryn had reached a similar conclusion over much more mundane subjects- an idle fever he ignored here because he was supposed to attempt to help with set up, the ankle he ignored there because Aloise had flirted with the poor dear- but this was proof enough that the man simply lacked any sense of self regard. In this moment, Damuron needed to sit before he simply collapsed. It was unfortunately no surprise when he would not oblige. His eyes grazed the congregation, both seeing and unseeing, as he reached toward them and muttered, "P-please I ne...ed to... if you're... hurt...t..." Much like Morgan had earlier, Damuron's knees gave way beneath him. Damn! Releasing her hold on Morgan, Alaizabel shouted, "Maiya, take him!" The Escape Artist ducked from her place at Morgan's side and darted forward with her arms outstretched. Concussions- none of these collapsing men ever seemed to consider that this was not the time! Alaizabel's caught the man beneath his arms, but his stature and weight was too much for her. To no avail, she heaved an effort to keep him aloft. She crumpled to her knees with a grunt of pain as the stones bit into her knees through her skirts. There was no way she could expect to keep him upright, but she could make his descent less catastrophic. With a delicacy she typically reserved for fine china, she maneuvered the man so that he laid half on her lap. Her fingers slipped beneath his chin, pressing into the skin as she began to root around for a pulse. Breathlessly, she began to whisper, "Damuron!? Damuron, no." Never had they been particularly close in any respect, but that did not change the fact that she thought very highly of him. He was someone she could rely on, someone that, despite their lacking communications or real foundation for friendship, held a special place for her. He was kind and gentle, unintrusive and charming in his own right. Never had she heard even a breath of anything negative about the tender man that now lay unconscious in her arms. He didn't deserve this- none of them had; Icarus, August, Aloise, Pyrrhus, Rhythm, Flynn, Puck, Ava, Paul-! If Damuron died, it was one more soul lost to the sick of sin this evening had met them with. Losing anyone else was more than she could stand. "You mustn't- not you too. Damuron, please-!" And there it was, the faint fluttering of a pulse just beneath her fingertips. It was distant and slow, but there, strong enough that she allowed herself to be relieved by it. He seemed to be simply unconscious, and in no small part likely due to the blood soaking him. Was it his own? Without wounds to justify them, she could hardly tell. Yet, if it wasn't his- it must have been. Damuron was too tender of a man; he could never have done something with this carnage to another person. Yet without the wounds....

This was not the time. She could ask him about it later, but that implied that they had to get away from here first. "Everyone, come near and grab tightly. Now." Her voice was not as even as she would have liked. The raw turmoil within her manifested in her tone. She waited impatiently as those in her party took hold- Taubryn still clinging to Nova, Maiya to Morgan, and she to Damuron (the young woman seemed to hang a bit back, but eventually, tentatively, grasped at Damuron's pant leg; either way, she was hitched on). As long as there was a link, she could connect the travel to each of them, right? If she had learned anything from her escapades with Maiya previously, it was that. Satisfied that the survivors were all on board, Alaizabel shut her eyes, concentrating on the breeching point in the center of her abdomen. It could not fail her now. Not now. Not after it had abandoned her in such a time of crisis before. No. This- would- work! And it did. The familiar tugging in her stomach nearly brought happy tears to her eyes as the realization that they could escape washed over her. It was the next instant that the roaring of the destructive flames vanished entirely, the heat at her back undetectable. She opened her back, alarmed at the frigid tendrils of the air beside the train. They had made it, yes (she dizzily affirmed that the others had in fact made it). But in place of the heat, the passion, the rage from earlier, a now almost numbing, sharp chill was settling into her bones. The group around her was so sparse. No one... almost no one had returned. She looked past the edge of their broken huddle to the place where the others should have been, the place where her family should have been... vacant. The place at her side, where a bashfully charming and impossibly gentle Romani should have hurriedly been shepherding everyone forward with a frightened and concerned urgency, vacant...The realization crashed into her like being accosted with a bag of bricks. The multitude of those who had perished, the fact that they had left them all there to burn away in the fire, the fact that it was real and that they would never be coming back-

The sound she made as the first sob heaved out of her was as undignified as it was abrupt, and a dainty hand flew to her mouth and she wrapped her other arm around Damuron's shoulders. It was as if she were holding on to him as an anchor, something to root her to the place. She bowed her head and abandoned her accursed breeding as she finally crumbled beneath the weight of the events.




Quote:

Quote:

Quote:

Quote:



·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸¸.·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸¸.·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸¸.·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸¸.·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸¸.·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸¸.·.¸¸.·´
✿ ʟocaтɪoɴ: Big Top --> Outside the Train xxxxxxxx❀ ϻσσɗ: Forlorn, desolate xxxxxxxx✿ ωɪтʜ: Whoever's Left xxxxxxxx❀ σσc: HOLY CRAPOLA WE FINISHED A THREADOLA

[Scrivener_Lost]

⊱⊱ Cirque de Tromperiexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside while still alive. Never surrender." *

The Barghest of Tromperie knew that his life was forfeit and he had been prepared for it. He had decided as such. There had been no illusion to the fantasy of survival. The tent was awash in flames, the heated tongues hungrily and selfishly eating away at the fabric quicker than he had anticipated. Of course, why should he be surprised? The tent was ancient. It had been pockmarked with holes and fraying at the edges for years. Still, it served its purpose well and as it was quickly sacrificed to the curling tongues of red and orange, the embers quickly eating away at the vulnerable flesh as it enveloped the entire tent. But what served to drive everyone to seek an exit gave him power to fight the enemy in front of him. The flames that threatened to consume his friends would be the very same flames he brought down the enemy with. With what concentration he could sacrifice, the flames curled and dimmed with his beckon around the only exit viable for the survivors. It was a simple enough task and the fire obeyed him as any servant to a master. It was only after that the Ringmaster and what pitiful remaining performers managed to gather to their feet that the Barghest remained focused on holding their escape despite the movements in front of him as the bothersome magma-thrower begged for the help of the contemptible b***h that had slain so many of his dear friends. He would get to them, oh yes he would, after he was confident that the Ringmaster and his brood had found safety outside of this inferno. And as brilliant eyes watched as the fraying remains of the troupe limp from the battlefield, the Barghest bowed its head in somber goodbye before returning its large crackling skull back towards the witch and her partner. The magma-thrower was already recovering and it was only time before he would be refreshed. Just as its master had been knocked about, the sizzling dragon had abated its strength momentarily, but as the rival fire breather recovered, so did the malicious strikes of the dragon. It grew, larger and larger now, his wicked mirror taking the opportunity of his momentary distraction to build the serpent anew. The churning snake wrapped around him securely, squeezing the carriage of the Barghest with ferocity like a python aiming to suffocate its prey. With a final roar from its searing throat, Tromperie's beast charged forward, hardened claws ripping into the dirt and creating impressive craters. The same flames that served his whim and will borne smoke that now clouded his vision and where his strikes fell short of its target, the serpent had managed to wrap around its limbs now. With this attack came a new and distressing realization as metal sheets spread around the dragon as reflecting scales. The melting constructs of the tent had been feeding the woman for some time and now the clever woman would use it against him. His concerned bellow was lost amongst the sounds of snapping wood and crackling flames as the metal sheeting swarmed around him like a revolving mass of silver. A determined growl escaped the beast's throat as its eyes swept the tent one last time. If anyone was alive, they only had seconds to leave. But as each fallen body came into view, each lost comrade, his fury only grew, his resolution solidifying. There were subtle signs of life, a weakened groan from the Snake Charmer and a terrified sob from the Juggler who clung to his beloved. They were too far gone now to save them and this horrid thought would be his sin to carry. Their lives would be taken, he would take them, and his sin alone would be enough to charter his path to Hell. But Hell is where he would meet these bastards if it was the last thing he did. He alone would make sure they suffered for what they had made Tromperie suffer. For Morgan and his broken mind, for the troupe for watching as their Ringmaster was belittled and tortured, for his friends who fell while trying to protect Morgan, and for his dear companions that would survive them. With a path of blood paved of their own flesh, the troupe and Pyr would see to it that the survivors would march into the sunrise of the next day.

With a roar that was rumored to have spread across the entire valley of Rhine, the Barghest lunged for one final attack. The resulting fireball was said to have been brighter than the sun. What started as two gargantuan beasts fighting for victory soon became one massive inferno composed of two battling entities. The ferocity of the battle and the height of the flames simply melded together as the Barghest was consumed in the squall of flame and metal. Writhing against its enemies, the Barghest held no concern for the poor souls below as they were awash in flames. Instantaneous. Painless. Any souls remaining below the churning beasts were granted release and as the tent began its collapse, it was evident that any fool wanting to rush in would be instantly engulfed in the angry wildfire. Throttled by the metal and magma dragon, the Barghest fought with valiance and dedication as it struggled to overwhelm the wicked creature. It was in his desperation that he became blind to the two shadows that managed to creep into the surrounding forest. With one final cry, the snake crushed the Barghest in its wicked coils and brought its flaming body down upon the circus grounds. It was with luck and timing that Alaizabel had blinked the survivors away as a trail of fire and falling metal crashed down upon where the survivors had gathered. Crackling embers and smoke trailed into the sky, curling and dancing in the frail remnants of the wind that had blustered so strongly before. Higher into the sky the thick black smoke rose, touching the stars and the air above as ash began to rain down upon the area. The snapping of metal and wood sang in the empty night air as the world gazed down upon the fallen remains of what had been Tromperie's infamous Big Top. Once the home of thousands of smiles and a shroud of laughter, it had been reduced to embers and ash as the crackling flames finished off what entrails were left of the construct. High above the graveyard the sky cleared, a curtain of stars spraying across a dark canvas. And there, just beside the moon, was the brightest star in the sky, its view unhampered by the smoke and clouds.

"I was told once...that if you can see that star...you would 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 would both be looking at it. Kind of a silly notion...do you not agree? 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 are not technically alone if both of you are staring at the same thing..."

What returned to the train was not what one would call human. Shadows. Whispers of people. Ghosts. Brought suddenly back into being, what returned to the stagehands was not what had left them. A cry went through the train and those who had remained on the metal beast rushed forward only to find mere fragments of people staring back at them. In the most literal sense, what had left to acquire the Ringmaster had been a small army. What came back were the broken remains of a mere batch of people. It was impossible to comprehend, shocked gasps and horrified looks stared on as those too weak to hold themselves up collapsed. The scent of blood, smoke, and death lingered on the group, the trail of smoke from the inferno several miles away only hinting to the massacre that the group had left behind. There were several hushed voices that questioned and begged to know what had occurred, but such dark curiosities were quickly stamped out as Isabella and Matteo came forward, the pair immediately shouting commands to those who gaped like fools. And as they gazed upon the broken remnants of what had once been the most talented and famous troupe in all of Europa, it was clear that what they had suffered through was nothing short of pure Hell. But there was no time to mourn. As much one would would have simply left the group to wallow in their loss, it would have been irresponsible for the stagehands to allow the troupe to collapse in the dirt. Those who would stand were asked to do so, those who could not were gathered in the arms of others. Pale ghosts were all that stared back at them, eyes red with exhaustion and tears. As Nova was lifted from Taubryn's side, whispers were quickly hushed as the girl's head lolled lifelessly on her shoulders. Lifted from the ground, her body was like a dolls as Matteo searched for a heartbeat. A simple shake of the head told them enough. Concern quickly spread through the group as pulses were sought from the Doctor and the Ringmaster, despite Morgan's apparent consciousness, Isabella was not fond of the blank stare that came from his eyes. He was fixated, silver falling from his lids once more as his golden irises remained locked in the direction of the burning tent. No amount of shaking or vocalization would break him from his eerie reverie. Deep inside, he knew. He knew. This was all his fault. The illustrious Ringmaster had been made a fool and he had let himself be tricked by a worm. He had been a fool.

He had failed.

And as he was dragged on board, what last image he had of those beloved souls that had come for him, to save him, was nothing more than a single trail of smoke that trailed up into the sky before disappearing beneath the gentle kiss of the stars...


The Promise - Krypteria


And with that, we turn the page on this chapter of Cirque de Tromperie. But what was left of the troupe was not what remained and though they were tested to their limits and broken, it is not what breaks that makes a person but rather what they rebuild. And so, we open a new chapter of the story of the mad Ringmaster and his circus.

Will you join us?

Or have you been sufficiently entertained?

I want to sincerely thank each and every one of you for your time and dedication to this RP. I can't even believe we made it to the end and finished this thread. I have never done that in my entire history here on Gaia. We have been working on this for a year. In just three days from posting this, we would have officially hit the one-year anniversary of Cirque. It has been an incredible learning experience and though we have been through plenty of drama, I can say that we have all become better writers for it. I cannot thank you enough for sticking around to the end. Though I wish we could have held on to more people, I feel we have established quite a little family leading into our second thread. We're about to start something new and fantastic, but we wouldn't have gotten to this point without the help of others throughout the year. From the very beginning to those who lingered towards the end, this story wouldn't have been possible without all of you. Morgan has easily become my favorite of my personal characters and no one character has ever had so much time, dedication, frustration, emotion, and happiness directed towards them. Without you, he would not be. And so for that, I also thank you. I cannot wait to start a new chapter and continue this amazing story with you all. Let us put forth our very best for the new members!

Cynotastic

xXx Fox Trot xXx

Ararelia

* Tupac Shakur