Kashi Hikari
Fashionable Trash
10,850 Points
-
150
-
100
-
100
▕ ▕ ▕ ⋮❛ D A I J O U B U ⋯ D A I J O U B U 」
- //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// It's alright, It's alright
▔ ▔ ▔ ▔ ▔ ▔▔ ▔ ▔ ▔▔ ▔ ▔ ▔ ▔ ▔ ▔▔ ▔ ▔ ▔▔
▌ × You should just keep on laughing for me ▬ ┊
▕ ▕ ▕ ⋮❛ D A I J O U B U ⋯ D A I J O U B U 」
- //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// It's alright, It's alright
▔ ▔ ▔ ▔ ▔ ▔▔ ▔ ▔ ▔▔ ▔ ▔ ▔ ▔ ▔ ▔▔ ▔ ▔ ▔▔
▕ ▕ ▕ ⋮❛ D A M I E N ⋯ T H E C L O W N 」⋮ ▕ ▕ ▕
It was hot. Too hot. Warm colors danced before his eyes- an array of orange, yellow, and red. Red hot pain danced across his skin, in particular his left hand and the left side of his face. His lungs also ached, his breaths coming out as small pants and coughs as he tried to get the smoke out. Screaming, crying, and the sound of flames taking down the wooden structure filled his ears. Damien was reliving it yet again- his very own death. That was all Damien really remembered in his last moments of life, the fire, the pain. He knew he was dragged out of there and laid down on the grass, everything went blank after that. Yet in this dream it was worse, in this torturous dream, the fire continued to consume him until all he could feel was the flames around him and all he could see was everyone he cared walking away from him, disappearing yet again into the fire. He cried out for them, but no matter what, he couldn't reach them they were too far gone. Just when the flames started to fade away into a sea of black, Damien was jolted awake. What awoke him was none other than Mistress Deava's shouting.
He sat up and flexed his muscles a bit, which were actually throbbing a bit, his hand was actually a bit numb from him laying on it for all too long. He rubbed as his hand and looked back down at the mask that he had been repainting before he fell asleep. The colors were much brighter now, perfect for the show that was to be put on that night. He put all of the bottles of paint into his personal chest along with the rest of the masks that he owned and then went over towards the mirror that was hanging up, tacked to one of the posts that was holding up the small tent. He removed the mask that he was wearing that moment, a plain white mask with nothing on it at all. He put that one down on hsi bed and then took the one that he had repainted it and placed it over his face, doint it quickly and cautiously as if to make sure that there was no chance in hell that someone would be able to see his face.
Underneath the mask he had scarring, bad scarring that went from his jaw up to just about his temple, it also covered part of his left cheek. It was a deep pink color, it looked red hot, angry and painful. Yet, the sad part was that it didn't hurt. When the third degree burn hit before he died, things started to go black, yes. The pain also began to fade as well. Once someone gets a third degree burn it no longer hurts them, you see, Damien was at that point, and now the scars remain with him even after his death. The human form he takes after making others happy is a form that is cursed with the scars that he obtained though his death. Luckily, that can be covered by his mask. The burns on his left hand can also easliy be covered up. He wears a pair of white gloves all the time, no matter where he goes. The only time he takes them off is when he takes a shower, he also has to take his mask off then, but he was always quick to make sure that no one was watching.
When he was sure that no one was watching, he put his blank mask away and continued to walk over towards the mess hall, taking quick steps to get there. When he got inside he saw the chaos ensue and frowned under his mask. It seemed quite chaotic at the moment. Honestly, though, Damien saw no problem with the new comer. Then again, did Damien ever have a problem with anyone? He didn't want to intrude though, the new person seemed to be a bit nervous with so many people around him, so instead of approaching the group, Damien went off towards the side and watched from afar. Out of pure boredom he removed one of his gloves, the one that was on his right hand, which was not burned, and began to play with a bit of the thread that was coming off of it. The gloves themselves were a pure white color, but due to the fact that his costume was a purple color, the thread that they were bound together with was also a purple color.
He would have to go into town one of these days and get some new thread, but that was easier said than done. Damien didn't really get all too much free time. The time he did get was often used to fix things that had been broken or messed up during one of his many, lousy performances. For example, throughout the performances he would often fall and occasionally he would fall onto something that he wasn't supposed to. When that did happen, he did everything in his power to fix what he had messed up.Oh well. Damien wasn't all too worried about it. No one would really notice the sewing of his gloves coming undone on stage. All that truyl mattered was that the one on his left hand stayed put and his mask didn't break.
If they were to see his burned, ruined face then Damien knew deep down inside, that they would probably run away, screaming in pure terror. That was at least what happened before. After he had first died and went back to the circus with the Mistress, he went with her one time into the town. He was quiet at first and a bit clingy, but he had yet to start wearing any kind of mask to cover the burns. When the people of the village first saw him, they stared at him in shock and kids tried to approach him and ask about the marks on his face, but in the end he ended up feeling ashamed and ran off, hiding his face, eventually he found blank clown masks in the circus and he began to wear them, when he was wearing them, people were no longer afraid. Ever since then, he had always worn masks, no one knew about the burns beneath the mask. No one. And it was going to be that way for all eternity as long as long as he had anything to say about it.
A small sigh escaped from Damien's lips as he sat at one of the tables. He hoped the Mistress would say all was well and they would be allowed to go back to work soon. He was sure that they all had a lot of work that still needed to be done before the circus opened. Since Damien didn't want to be rude and interrupt, he decided he would just continue to sit there, playing with the thread hanging off of the edge of his glove.
[[ ooc;; Icky post. I changed tenses once or twice. Sorry about that TT ~ TT... and I ranted... x- x ]]
▕ ▕ ▕ ⋮❛ I am merely a clown balancing on a ball in this small circus. 」
- //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// It's alright, It's alright
▔ ▔ ▔ ▔ ▔ ▔▔ ▔ ▔ ▔▔ ▔ ▔ ▔ ▔ ▔ ▔▔ ▔ ▔ ▔▔
