Memories of the Cirque

[thymeast22]

⊱⊱ Cirque de Tromperiexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

✦ Memories of the Cirque

These are flashbacks throughout the history of Cirque de Tromperie. Aiolios and I are the only two who will be posting. However, we will pose prompts to the other members of the Cirque and post their responses.


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[thymeast22]

⊱⊱ Cirque de Tromperiexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

✦ Ava's nightmare

The child sat in the center of her bed, arms wrapped around knees she had pulled up to her chest. Her blankets pooled around her, showing the brand new mattress. It still felt strange, wrong. It wasn't hers, not yet. It was a gift, they'd told her. A new bed she would grow into, her own blankets and pillows - also brand new. The pajamas she wore were old, well-worn and dull from age and use. They were her only comfort. The faded purple fabric looked almost black in the moonlight, sharply contrasting with pale skin and dark red hair. She was a beautiful child, people told her. They also called her fearless. Then why was she so scared now?

Shadows filled her new bedroom, creeping around the furniture to cast long fingers that reached out for her. They hadn't been there the night before when she'd begged her father into sleeping with her. Don't make abandon me; don't make me spend the night in a new room all by myself. So he'd done as she asked, telling her that it was the only time he'd sleep in here. She had to grow up and be a big girl now. Her room was between his and that of her adoptive mother. She was still close to them, but couldn't share their rooms or bed anymore. She'd out-grown sharing their rooms and a space on the train had finally opened up. Her own private bedroom to decorate however she wanted.

But still the shadows cast from the moon through her window reached for her, threatened to steal her away. The rumble of the train wasn't as soothing as normal. It only highlighted how silent her room was, how empty it was. Knickknacks didn't adorn her shelves, the walls were still white and bare. No knives gleamed and no strange surfaces twisted the shadows into familiar patterns. The child fixed her gaze on a small velvet pouch on a shelf, a soft shadow against the harsh gleam of moonlight on dark wood. It was too bright in here. She needed a room that was dark but for the warm glow of lamps, the familiar smell of books and leather. Not white, newly-painted walls glowing from the moon.

It did nothing to chase away the nightmare. They had left without her, somehow forgetting her in the chaos of packing up the circus. She'd been alone, lost in the clearing as the sun sank and the shadows of the trees grew longer and longer until they drowned her. It was silent, the lack of sound growing thicker and thicker to suffocate her in her isolation. The girl shook her head, couldn't help the soft whimper or the tears that filled her eyes. The nightmare had woken her, and this strange new bedroom couldn't chase it away.

Gathering her courage, the child risked unfolding herself to slide to the floor. She made the dash to the velvet bag containing her precious lock-picks and fled her bedroom before the monsters could snatch her up. She turned down the hall, paused in front of the old door. Safety was just behind the stupid lock he had installed in an attempt to keep her out. She wasn't sure how long it took her to navigate the lock. Fear slowed time, made her hands clumsy and heart pound. She hadn't been very good at picking locks to begin with, especially not this shiny new one on to keep her from her father's private car. It felt like forever, and she didn't dare look behind her to see if the monsters had followed her from her room. She could almost feel their claws reaching out for her just as she heard the lock click open. She snatched her picks from the locks, twisted the handle, and stepped through the doorway into safety.

She was careful to shut the door quietly, replace her picks in their pouch. She put it on the corner of his desk, navigated around the piles of books (and a few of her toys he had yet to remove) as she made her way to the heavy curtain separating his bedroom from his office. She hesitated, nerves replacing the terror. Would he be mad that she'd abandoned her new room? Maybe she should go back. But, the monsters were outside his door. She couldn't leave without him to chase them away or they'd take her for sure. The first hot tear slid down her cheek, and she swiped at her eyes. He had taught her pride, or tried to. The show must go on.

Finally, the child tugged the curtain open so she could step through. When she saw that her nightlight still burned in the corner, she started to relax. "Daddy?" she asked softly, treading softly over to the bed. It wasn't something she called him often, though she didn't know why he didn't want her to. She saw the shadow roll over, heard it make a sleepy questioning noise. "It came back. You left me behind, and the monsters didn't want to let me go." Tears filled her voice, though she tried to keep it from trembling. He lifted the blankets up and scooted over on the bed. She crawled into the space he made for her, snuggled into the blankets he laid back over top of her. The last of the fear melted away as he stroked a hand over her hair. "Go to sleep, Ava. They won't get you tonight," he murmured. Only after her breathing evened out and she was asleep did Morgan, the feared Ringmaster of the Cirque de Tromperie, let himself drift back to sleep.

[Scrivener_Lost]

⊱⊱ Cirque de Tromperiexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

✦ The Ringmaster's Daughter - The Soul Contract

The sharp frigid winter wind howled against the moving behemoth as the train barreled through the night, churning up flurries as it made its way into the belly of a deep canyon. The mighty machine that carried the crew of Cirque de Tromperie whistled its final good-bye to the previous town as it left the boundaries of the mountain township; the wail long and sharp. The steep barren canyon walls caught the noise and bounced it back and forth between the rocky faces until the sound had become baritone, mournful even, sounding like that of a forlorn phantom. And for those who heard it, the sound was a lamentable cry, as the usually spirited occupants of the train were weighed down with a lugubrious air. It was late in the evening, just a few strokes before the hour of nine; the Cirque's departure from town had been waylaid by a few hours due to a rather distressing event. The typical rancor of drinking, eating, and general merrymaking was absent from the train as it charged ahead faithfully to its next destination despite the doleful events that had come to pass during their previous stay in town. This compressed doleful air was infectious and those who fought against the melancholy only found that they were countered with suppressed whispers and sharp glances to the final car of the train where settled deep in the warmth of his personal room, the Ringmaster sat at his desk, a small pearl gently caressed between his index finger and thumb. Morgan von Faustus gazed at the glossy object in his hand absently as he rolled it back and forth in his grip. The day had been tiresome and the night was only further eating away at his reserves, but he could not put his mind at rest. The mighty Ringmaster, the Keeper of Souls, the very harbinger of cold unrelenting life stared blankly at the lackluster item as the events of the day ran through his mind like a repeating image that would not cease.

The wind and snow rattled his windows while the strange grandfather clock behind him counted down the minutes and hours in a strange fashion, and the small wood stove crackled lively with the renewed source of energy Morgan had placed in there mere moments ago. On his cluttered desk was a hot cup of tea that was beginning to grow cold with neglect, the spicy scent of cinnamon filling the room. Above him, the many strings of oddly colored circus lights glittered against the dark ceiling like stars in the sky, a single oil lamp on Morgan's desk burning brightly as the Ringmaster sat in his mellowed quiet. One would think that a Ringmaster, for all intents and purposes, would be quite distraught over the death of one of his performers; considering the amount of time he had spent around most of them, it would be safe to assume that he would grow fond of at least a few of them. However, just like the frigid air outside, Morgan's level of attachment to his performers were icy at best, save for a very unique woman who had been brave enough to stand up to his unrelenting anger. But that was not the case for the young man whom had been buried today. Morgan had very little sense of even who the man was. He had simply called upon his contract as he had done hundreds of times to others. And his death was not a unique event to the Ringmaster as he had seen death come to take the lives of his performers before. But it was an undeniable fact that this particular young man had left a rather unique impression on Morgan. And in more than one way.

The deal had been simple and easy. To heal the sickness of one for the price of health of the other. It was a deal that had been made thousands of times and creating the contract for such a deal was a simple matter. Quite to Morgan's chagrin, however, the contract was not a fresh one. In fact, the young man already had a debt to be repaid. But by the powers that may be, the deal was accepted and the young man's debt increased. This was a unique situation, in that for Morgan, fulfilling the contracts typically meant that the previous debt would have been concluded before allowing a new one to be accepted. However, in this case, the young man had a strange and unique bargaining chip: a child. The Ringmaster was no stranger to the young man and the woman who had brought the child into this world since the child herself had been born while her parents served their time upon Morgan's train. And it was of little consequence to the Ringmaster to have a young child aboard as there were quite enough people to take care of the babe. However, the situation had grown quite dramatic when the mother offered her child in lieu of her debt. Morgan, though used to this distasteful behavior, found it quite disheartening, but accepted the offer. Shortly after, the young man was gravely injured and could no longer play with the big cats as he had done for so long. He began to train an apprentice to take his place and the Ringmaster would have let him live out the rest of his servitude in the form of simple work in one form or another.

Letting out a heavy breath, Morgan slowly twirled the small pearl in his finger once more. The small object was pale and sickly colored. Pale green veins had developed over the round object and it took upon the color of pale flesh. A large single crack had nearly split the pearl in half and even now, it was beginning to flake apart between Morgan's fingers. This was the soul pearl of the young man. With enough time, it will eventually crumble to ash and disappear, and with it, the contracts and debts that the young man had accumulated. There was nothing that Morgan could or would do to save this young man's pathetic life. He had called upon the powers and asked for a favor. And now, he had paid for it. The small mountain town had been kind enough to take the body of the performer from the Cirque and had even gone through the generous lengths of giving him a proper burial. The small funeral had been accompanied by those who had grown close to the performer while Morgan himself had been absent with work. Shortly after the funeral, the Ringmaster had called back his performers and promptly left the township. Without so much as a prayer offered to the young man, Morgan had quickly closed the book on the tale that was of his short and brief time with the performer. And yet, there was still a lingering piece of his presence on the train, a little child by the name of Ava Moran.

The young girl had become an undeniable presence within the Cirque as many of the performers had fallen in love with her the day she had been born. The Ringmaster himself had very little to do with the child, or he wished that was the case, but for whatever reason, the young pest had been drawn to him. It was quite an annoyance and bother, as Ava had taken to marking the mighty Ringmaster as the singular force that would abate her terrible wailing. With very little options given to them, as a last resort, his troupe would often bring the child to him in hopes of quelling her crying. It would be a lie to claim that Morgan was entirely immune to her charm and through the last few months, the dark and unforgiving Ringmaster was beginning to break down. Even now, in this reticent moment, Morgan found his mind slowly drifting to Ava. The Cirque had just buried the girl's father and for what reason? Because the man had offered up his health so that his daughter could live. Struck by a terrible sickness, Morgan had watched as the child suffered for nights with an unforgiving illness that should have taken her life, had it not been for her father. The child had gone for days with a rising fever and coughs that would make a grown man weep. The Ringmaster watched as she refused to eat and was plagued with insomnia due to the terrible coughing that wracked her small body.

It was both a miracle and a curse that had saved that child. For her health, her father offered his. But in the end, the same illness took hold of him and within a day's time, stole his life. This is what brought the Ringmaster to the sullen silence that had enveloped him for the last few hours now. The idea that he had given up his own life for the child pulled at the Ringmaster. The sense of love and devotion that he had shown to his daughter churned feelings in Morgan that he had not felt in some time. For so long, the contracts Morgan primarily held dealt largely with selfish and narcissistic desires that turned people into disposable pawns. It had been quite a long time since Morgan had fulfilled the contract of such a selfless desire and it weighed heavily with him. Instead of thinking simply of where to find his next contract to replace the fallen, he found his mind wandering back to the young girl that was now without a father. Yes, Morgan had agreed to let her live in the Cirque. She would be raised by the performers and given shelter until she came of age to begin working off her parents' collective debt. However, she would live her life without a true parent to call her own, to praise and love her when she deserved it, or a nurturing hand to protect her when she felt vulnerable. She would grow up, yes, where many children would not have been given the chance; but what sort of life would she have without a firm foundation in which to find love and comfort?

Sighing, Morgan closed his eyes as he sat back in his chair, the pearl resting safely in his palm. I'm getting too involved, he thought to himself as he listened to the warm fire crackling in the stove.

She didn't understand what was happening. Not because she was so young, but because they treated her as such. No one would explain what was happening, just brush off her questions and hug her and tell her it was alright. No, it wouldn't be alright. How could anything be okay after this? She understood bits and pieces, had heard whispers when they didn't think she was listening. Ava closed her eyes, tears spilling over as she sucked in a breath. She felt the performers glance over to her, caution in their stares. Was the child going to start sobbing again? Was she going to start asking questions they didn't know how to answer? Ava just set her head on her knees and cried.

Two weeks prior, everything had been fine. Dad had been hurt, but he was okay. He was healing and training the new guy to play with the cats. He would be fine. Then she had started feeling bad. She didn't want to eat, and had started huddling against Pyrrhus as often as she could. He was warm, and she couldn't stop shivering. Then she started coughing. Her throat hurt, her chest ached. And she couldn't get warm, could barely stomach the tea they gave her to sooth her throat. It hurt too much to swallow for her to eat, but her stomach hurt. So she cried, and the tears led to coughing fits. It kept her awake at night, and she grew weaker and weaker. It was hard to cough but her body found a way to manage. She kept shivering though she was sweating in her blankets. And the performers had visited her. Her father had barely left her side, and even Morgan had voluntarily found her. They talked to her, read to her, stroked her hair and laid cool clothes on her forehead, brought her tea to try and coax her into drinking. Then, her father had left.

He returned hours later, promised that she would start feeling better. She would be looked after and be able to stay at Cirque as long as she wanted. He had arranged for things. Ava had finally started feeling better, and watched her father grow sick until one afternoon he fell asleep. He had said he was taking a nap, and then wouldn't wake up no matter what she did. The performers had taken her away when they heard her crying, telling her that he was gone and in a better place and free. But it made no sense - he was right there! The day had only gotten worse from there.

The townspeople had lowered him into a hole in the ground, thrown in flowers to make it pretty for him. And he had been buried, with some of the performers watching. She was allowed to cry, but not ask questions. They shushed her if she tried to ask what was happening. Then Ava had been carried back onto the train and they had left her father behind.

Hours later, her favorite person was still ignoring her. Aloise and Maiya weren't helping. They were fighting again, to be honest. And it made the poor child cry louder until she was hicuping. Finally, an acrobat got up off the couch and scooped the toddler up. "I'm taking her to Morgan. The brat's wailing for him, might as well make the effort to shut her up," the woman said as she carried Ava down the stairs and headed for the Ringmaster's office. Knocking on the door, she waited for Morgan's invitation before going inside. She had been a friend of Ava's mother, and blamed the child for her friend abandoning them all. Now who did the acrobat have to confide in? "Here." She set Ava on the floor and shut the door, retreating to her room.

Ava sat where she was for a moment, big brown eyes taking in her new surroundings as she continued to sniffle. She pushed herself to her feet, crossed the floor to circle around Morgan's desk. She stood beside his chair, the top of her head barely reaching the top of his armrest. "Morgan?" Ava set her arms on the armrest and rose onto her toes, stretching to get closer to the Ringmaster. Brown eyes gazed up at him, tears filling them once again. "We left him." She crawled onto the chair and into his lap, giving the "terrifying" Ringmaster no choice but to help her up when she slipped. She curled into his lap, puppy eyes staring up at him, begging him to fix it and make it better. "And they won't tell me anything. Please?" Maybe he would give her the answers.

Morgan stared at the child now occupying his lap, his face drawn in irritation as his lips stayed firmly shut. His peace had been promptly shattered and now he was heavily regretting giving the acrobat permission to enter his office. She had unceremoniously dumped the child onto the middle of his floor and left, reminding Morgan instantly of the girl's mother which simply added to his irritation. When the young thing came up to his chair and called out with docile tones, Morgan was drawn into moment of frozen suspension as the girl simply welcomed herself into his lap. There had been moments where he and the child had shared embraces before, but on Morgan's end, it was simply obligation to get the child to quiet down. But now, as she stared up at him with teary chocolate-colored eyes, Morgan felt his resolve being tested. He considered simply quieting her tears and calling Maiya to retrieve the girl, but a terrible sinking feeling told him that tonight, that would not be as simple a task as he hoped. Pale golden eyes stared at the child with icy intent before he reached over and placed the pallid pearl on his desk. Placing his hands under her arms, Morgan lifted the child until she was sitting on his knees facing him. He held her there for a moment before taking in a deep breath. "Listen to me child," he spoke softly, but sternly, "Your father is gone. He will not be coming back." Morgan had no concept on how to explain to a child about death in a way that was not impossibly cold and lacking in emotion. For Morgan, he knew no other way.

"He has passed on," and though Morgan was used to giving a speech about debts and the terrible fate that was left to a child of inherited debt, he felt hesitation tug on him for the first time, "He...died. He loved you, Ava, and you should never forget that." Morgan finished softly. He looked at the girl and waited for the inevitable water works that would follow.

Ava was surprised when he picked her up, turned her to face him. She had expected him to set her on the floor and ignore her, to take her outside and hand her to someone else. But talking to her, answering her questions? Finally giving her attention beyond the bare minimum to soothe her? Ava didn't know why she craved his affection, why she had fixated on him as an infant. Until now it meant that her favorite safe place didn't want her there, only tolerating her because she would pester him with the endless energy of a three-year-old if he didn't acknowledge her presence. But for him to actually answer her question? She wasn't sure what to do.

Mocha eyes stared at him as he spoke, as she processed what he said. Someone had explained death to her when one of the cats had died. But no one had made the connection for her that people died too, or that you could die in your sleep and not just from a needle so you didn't hurt any more. After a moment she looked away, the smallest of frowns on her lips. She was thinking, sorting out the information she'd just received. Making sense of how her father and the lion were both dead, and why Morgan thought she would ever forget that her father loved her. Finally, she looked back up to him. "I won't. But.... I don't have any family here any more. Does that mean I have to leave?" Now the tears returned, welling in her eyes though they didn't fall. Not yet. She could hold it back like a big girl until he told her that she had to leave Cirque de Tromperie, that she couldn't stay forever like the other performers. It was the threat of being alone that terrified her, possibly more than finally understanding what had happened to her father.

The slightest twitch of a muscle in Morgan's face would have told any other person that he found the words spoken to him amusing. But coming from the mouth of this tiny child had quite a different effect. To any other person, he would have openly laughed in their face with a wicked smile. There was no choice in the matter; once you were contracted into the circus, there was no escape without the completion of the debt or worse. But those were not the words to be shared with a child. The only thing she understood was the loss and the inevitable loneliness that came with it. And, in the back of Morgan's mind, it conjured a memory that he had long since blotted out. It was a familiar feeling, the sadness and pain of losing someone dear; she spoke of it just as how he had experienced it. For a split second, a hot iron hand raked across his heart as he was reminded of the pain. And there was the initial connection. The mighty Ringmaster and this child were now more similar than Morgan might have initially realized. His brows drew close as he felt his chest grow heavy. Reaching up, he placed his hand gently on the side of her small face and softly ran his thumb across her cheek. "No, Ava. You don't have to leave. And you have family here, in the Cirque, with...us." Though his initial reaction was to point himself out, he had spent far too long keeping up the shroud of distance from her.

He could feel his resistance slipping. Why? Why now, of all times? He had gone so long without falling back into that damnable state of mind. He had blocked out all emotion and sense of attachment, so why now was his resolve being tested? Because of a girl and her tears? He had been cried to, yelled at, and begged by girls before. But not a single one of them had been this young. And despite the distance he had tried so hard to place between himself and the child, it was difficult to deny the curiosity and human element of the child when she had been born. Because of her, the poisonous memories and pesky emotions were coming back to plague him once more. He had fought long and hard to put up that protective wall and now, one child, was bringing it down and Morgan didn't know how to fight against it.

It took a moment, but the smile bloomed and did wonders to dispel the gloom that had hung around Ava, heavy as a cloak. She didn't have to leave her home or act like the normal children she saw at shows sometimes when she escaped her latest keeper. She could play with the lions, and stay with Morgan and Maiya and Pyr and Brynn. He wasn't abandoning her too. Ava relaxed, leaning just a little bit into his hand in a gesture of adoration and absolute trust. Somehow she just knew he would keep her safe. Then she realized the next problem. Until now, she had primarily slept in her father's room, with Maiya occasionally taking her. And she couldn't sleep alone, not even for naps. She never knew if the monsters were waiting to snatch her up, if she'd fall from the train and be lost forever if someone wasn't with her while she slept. Nothing would ever go wrong if the adults were there, anway. Well, some of them.
"Can I sleep with you? If you scare the others, then you can scare the monsters away too." The infallible logic of a child. She didn't realize she was starting to look tired, that she still wasn't quite back to full health. It had been a long day for the toddler, and that, as well as the emotional trauma, was beginning to wear on her. Maybe he'd say yes, and she could sleep soon. Here was nice. A bed, or just her own armchair, would be nicer. A girl could hope, anyway.

The request was an odd one and something Morgan hadn't anticipated coming from the young girl. And though her reasoning should have elicited a reaction other than a smirk, Morgan couldn't help the soft smile that graced his pale lips. The smile only lingered long enough for him to press his lips against the girl's forehead. He could feel it; the lingering effects of the damned sickness that had threatened to take her life that had instead been transferred to her father. The faint whispers of the cough lingered in her voice and the heat from the fever, though barely there, still brushed a haze of pink over her features. She needed to sleep and though it was customary for Morgan to simply push her off on her father or any other performer that was close by, the peeling heart of Morgan von Faustus had begun to unravel. He tucked an arm under Ava and wrapped the other around her shoulders as he stood, holding her against his chest. He extinguished the oil lamp before leaving his office and pushing through the heavy crimson curtain and split the car into two large rooms that contained his office and personal bedroom.

Morgan's bedroom was very much like his office; cluttered with books and random items that he had collected over the years. In the center of the room was a four poster bed made of mahogany like his desk. Though smaller than most beds of the same make, it was compact enough so that Morgan also had access to an armoire that was more or less a place for Morgan to throw coats over and a bookshelf that held more strange items rather than actual literature. A smaller desk also adorned his room and upon it were several golden lock-boxes along with a large golden bust of what appeared to be an angel.

Moving to the bed, the Ringmaster tossed aside the heavy ornate red and black comforter before sitting down upon the crisp white sheets. He then gently placed Ava on the thick mattress and pulled the heavy blanket over her. He offered her a soft smile before placing his hand upon her forehead once more. "We should get you some tea," he said softly, more or less looking for an excuse to leave the child before she could tug on his heart any further.

Ava automatically looped her arms around his neck as he picked her up, settling against him. Rather than head for the door, like he usually did, Morgan headed for the curtain that she was under no circumstance allowed to go past if she didn't want to get thrown off the back of the train. It had taken months for him to figure out a threat that worked once she could understand what he was saying. She looked around once past the forbidden curtain, curious. She hadn't seen back here before, and it looked like it would be just as much fun to explore as the front office. Well, it would be once more awake.

Morgan set her down and tugged the blankets over her, letting her snuggle into the warmth. At the offer of tea she pouted, chocolate eyes petulant to match the pretty pout. Three years old, and she had the expression down pat. When she was older she would be able to wield it like a weapon if she chose. "But that's all I've had since I got sick..." It wasn't quite a whine. She made it marginally cuter than a true whine, especially paired with the pout. She wouldn't refuse it if he handed her a cup, but she didn't want more. Especially not more of the stuff Maiya kept giving her that tasted like dead flowers.

Her words had stopped him before he even had a chance to exit the space. He turned and looked at her with a faint expression of displeasure. Her magical whine had caught him before he had a chance to brace against it, and he was pulled back to the bedside as he sat at the edge of the bed. "Well...if you won't drink anything, then you must promise me to go to sleep right away," he countered. He reached up and brushed a lock of hair from her eyes. His hand hesitated a moment upon feeling how truly soft and silky her hair was despite the rough treatment it usually received from different hands trying to tame the locks. He ran his fingers through the soft tresses several times before tucking the blankets tight around her. In the back of his mind, yet another memory tugged at him, but he was guarded against it as he shoveled it back down. This child laying here, in the present, was where his mind needed to stay focused. For the last three years the performers had continued to try and reason with Morgan when he refused to care for the child and in one night, by the selfless act of one man who wished to save his daughter, the Ringmaster was finding it difficult to refuse the child any longer.

The pout quivered when he first looked at her, an instinctual flinch at his displeasure. But then he was sitting beside her again. "Just not the dead flower tea," she mumbled as he brushed his hands through her hair. The motion soothed her, had her eyes grow heavy and hard to keep open. There was no point in fighting it though. She had somewhere new to sleep, and a new room to explore once she woke up. And Morgan had finally given in and stopped pushing her away. "Ni' Morgan," Ava murmured as she drifted off, lulled to sleep by his hand in her hair and the warm cloud of a bed.

As Ava drifted off to sleep, Morgan took the chance to escape the room, but merely so that he could return to the desk where he had left the soul pearl. By now, it was resting in a small hill of what appeared to look like sand. In reality, nearly half of the pearl had crumbled away and turned to dust. The Ringmaster stared at the small object, the red glare from the hot stove throwing a dark shadow on Morgan's face. Despite his failing resistance against Ava's charm, there was still the matter of debt. Morgan had only a few more minutes at best to finally transfer her father's debt before his soul would completely leave this plane. Taking up the pearl, Morgan held the fragile thing in his palm before closing his fingers around it. Long lashes kissed pale cheeks as he closed his eyes. He had no choice. The girl's family had accrued far too much debt for him to simply cast it aside. No, they would make sure Morgan kept up on his job.

Making his way back to his room, he let his eyes crawl over Ava's sleeping form before approaching the bed. Kneeling down, he gently drew one of her hands from the blanket. With his free hand, Morgan ran his darkly painted fingers over the child's soft palm before pressing his thumb against the flesh of her hand. And from her palm, a small soul pearl emerged as he drew out her eternal contract. This one, however, was clearly very much alive compared to the crumbling thing in Morgan's hand. It was bright, effervescent, and a rich flesh color. He let the small item roll into his palm and he opened the other. In one hand, he held the dead soul of her father and in the other, the lively soul pearl of the tiny creature now sleeping in his bed. Morgan stared at the two items before letting out a soft breath. Carefully, he crushed the remainder of the father's pearl in his left hand before slowly pouring the dust it created over Ava's pearl. Then he clasped both hands together, fusing the two as the transference of debts was finally completed.

Hoping his actions didn't wake the sleeping child, he glanced at Ava once before turning his gaze to the bust of the angel. With the fused pearl in one hand, Morgan placed his palm against the angel's forehead and muttered an incantation. The angel's golden eyes shot open to a space hollowed out inside of the gold carving. He pressed his thumb against the smooth lips of the statue and slowly the golden lips parted. He proceeded to place the pearl in the mouth of the angel before it closed and the eyes shut, once again returning to the rigid perfection of the golden statue. 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. Is this what it would have been like for him? To have such a tiny thing...so frail and vulnerable relying on you? Is this...is this what he would have gotten to experience? Morgan felt his chest tighten. Is this what you would have spent your nights doing? Cradling a tiny form, whispering sweet lullabies to calm her?

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 the radiated from her body and through his skin was strangely comforting. Was he truly ready to accept this girl into his heart?

When he felt the first pull of sleep against him, Morgan let his eyes close. He enjoyed the added warmth Ava was providing and in a strange way, feeling his bed occupied by someone else helped to make drifting off to sleep easier.

PART ONE

[Scrivener_Lost]

⊱⊱ Cirque de Tromperiexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

✦ The Ringmaster's Daughter - The Blood Pact

Ava didn't wake when Morgan grasped her hand, but instinctively tried to withdraw it. She knew something was going to happen. Her tug grew a little more forceful as her soul was taken hostage, though once the pearl formed her hand relaxed against his. Sleep shielded her from the worst of it. But she still felt the tug, as if she were being stretched thin and something deep within her were being pulled farther and farther away until she snapped into two with a small pop. It was the pop that woke her, that final act of resistance as her soul struggled to remain tethered to her body, and lost the fight.

The child didn't know what had happened, only that she felt funny. It was as if she weren't fully in her own head anymore. Her limbs felt heavy and her eyes fluttered shut. It took so much energy to keep them open, just to draw breath. And she felt cold again, a dull chill settling over her. Brown eyes blinked open, watched Morgan press something small and pink into the angel's mouth. The statue's eyes shut, and Ava felt sleep tug her back into it's soothing embrace just before Morgan looked at her again. Some part of her mind, not quite asleep, registered his hand brush her cheek and later rest on her side. The human contact settled her, promised her that the chill and emptiness were just a dream and that she would be alright. The absolute trust let her slip fully in to slumber, unaware anything was wrong.

The dream crept up on her, wrapped her fully in its folds before it turned dark. What had started as an ordinary day in the life of the Cirque's toddler shifted. The sky grew dark, and the performers changed. They were no long her family, kind and patient with her. The tricks they taught her were no longer innocent when the knives turned sharp and the juggling balls grew thorns. Fire leaped for her, knives outlined her and came closer and closer to striking flesh as the escape artist chains tried to wrap around her. Ava ran, searching for someone to help her. Everyone just wanted to hurt her. She coughed, chest aching from trying to breath and run. The coughing continued, a fit as bad as when she had been sick. Then she saw him, watched her father step into the Cage with the lions. He wasn't in costume; something was wrong. Pale hands with black polish scooped her up, kept her from racing to him. She fought against him as she watched the cats pounce, and she could do nothing but cry and cough and struggle against the Ringmaster and the words he whispered in her ears.

Finally something sank through and Ava snapped awake. She was freezing, coughing. And it hadn't all been a dream. Morgan was talking to her, had tried to wake her when she thrashed in the nightmare. "M-Morgan?" She didn't get any further than that before she started to cry, unsure of what was happening. All she knew is that she felt sick and was tired and hungry and terrified from the nightmare. Ava just wanted someone to hold her, but couldn't bring herself to move from where she sat on the bed. So she cried, tears interspersed with coughs that wracked her frame and were far too similar to those when she was sick.

And when Ava felt strong arms lifting her from her spot, she could practically feel the rapid thumping of Morgan's heart as he cradled her against his chest. He had swept her up quickly, almost too quickly, and his lips were once again pressed against her forehead. The Ringmaster himself was practically shaking as he held the girl, already on his feet and standing in the middle of his bedroom. How foolish he was. How stupid and naive. How blind...of all the simplest things; he had practically brought this pain on Ava without truly thinking of the consequences. Along with his heart, his mind raced as well. In the throes of her nightmare, Ava had awakened Morgan with her dreadful coughing. The tight and painful wheeze of it had ripped Morgan from whatever peaceful slumber he had finally attained, the sound so terribly high-pitched, he had feared some terrible creature had come to take the girl from him. And in reality, he could call this damnable sickness a wicked beast. He was so used to stealing souls from healthy and grown adults that when it came to children, his tact and ability were lacking in sensitivity. Taking the soul from such a tiny creature as Ava had effects and those effects had only given rebirth to the sickness that had just taken the girl's father into the afterlife.

Cursing his insolence, idiocy, and complacency, Morgan began to pace in a small tight circle, one hand supported Ava and the other pressed between her shoulder blades as he held her tightly to him. No. He wasn't going to let this happen. It was his fault she was in this condition now. Not after finally deciding that she would be his. The girl was without a family and he had promised her, promised himself, that she would be his from now on. And why? Because he was selfish. He was selfish and the girl was stubborn. She had managed to win his stone heart over and he had felt himself crack under her influence.

No.

He wasn't going to let fate take this one. Not this time. She was his now and even if the world conspired to take her from him, he would fight it with every fiber of his being. He had lost far too much and had broken, and just when he was finally beginning to feel like he was ready to open his heart, in one stupid moment of obligation, Morgan was going to risk the life of the one being he had allowed to touch his heart. Taking in a deep breath, Morgan pushed the panic and self loathing aside as he turned his attention to Ava. He cradled her, rubbing the space between her shoulder blades gently as he gazed up at the roof of his car for a moment. No. She was his now. And he was going to make it so that she would be able to fight this and win. He had watched far too many humans lose their lives to injury and sickness because he had decided to not intervene. The fates be damned; this time they would not have what he wanted. Steadying himself, he allowed a soft smile to flow over his lips and he glanced down at the crying child.
"Its okay Ava. Don't fret. I will make it so that the monsters can't get you," he said softly.

Morgan scooped her up and she wrapped her arms around his neck, turning her face into his shoulder as she coughed and cried. She wanted the comfort, but the nightmare was too fresh in her mind for her to fully relax against him. But the motion of him pacing combined with the steady throb of his heart and his hand rubbing against her back was exactly what she needed. The fear faded, letting the tears slow though the coughing on increased in frequency and intensity. "Its okay Ava. Don't fret. I will make it so that the monsters can't get you." Ava looked up at him, brown eyes wide and not trusting his smile. Her lips quivered as she stubbornly held back a sob. "But you wouldn't help him. You let him get sick and the lions ate him and you just watched." She didn't pay attention to the fact that he hadn't seen her dream, didn't fully know what she was talking about. But he'd see her hesitance, that flicker of unease that had replaced her unfailing trust in him. "How can you keep them from getting me when they found him and you didn't stop it?" Tears filled her voice before another coughing fit took her, worse than before. It wouldn't take much more before she'd start coughing up blood, ripping her lungs to pieces in her attempts to breathe fully.

Ava's words tore at Morgan in more ways than just one, but he kept the smile on his face even when that flicker of distrust crossed over the girl's features. Ah, he thought, that's what she must have been dreaming about. And how terribly ironic and truthful her accusations were. Yes, Morgan had let her father get sick. Yes, Morgan idly sat by as her father suffered and yes, he watched when the man took his last breath. So what made Ava so different that Morgan could promise to protect her against the monsters, against the nightmares, against the dark things that threatened to take her away? Why should he be allowed to pass judgement on one person over another? Why should he be allowed to keep something that should never have been his in the first place? Especially when they had been denied the very thing that Morgan was now so selfishly taking for his own.

And that's what it was. It came down to his own overwhelming desires and selfishness. Even now, as he brushed her messy bangs from her face, gazing down at those large eyes so tainted with pain, the only thing Morgan could think of was his own selfish actions. He continued to rub her back as he ceased his pacing and turned back to his bed and gently placed her back on the mattress with every single pillow he had to offer so that she was supported in a sitting position. He gently placed both hands against her face before touching his forehead to her's. "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. Now, be a good girl, and wait here while I get you something to take care of that cough..." He muttered softly to her. He smoothed back her bangs for a moment before pulling back and giving her a reassuring smile.

Ava watched him, settled onto her pillow throne and tugged the blanket up. She was so cold. He leaned close, touching his forehead to hers. The motion was new, but strangely comforting. She listened as he spoke, nodding when he pulled away and brushed her hair from her face. "Okay..." She watched him carefully, fear lurking behind her eyes. But she would trust him. He had always been her favorite, even if he wanted nothing to do with her. But he had never hurt her before or lied. He'd fix everything, she had absolute faith in that.

After one last promising look, Morgan pushed back the heavy crimson curtain that split his car in half creating the space between his bedroom and his office. Walking out to the cluttered office space, he noted that the wood in his stove had been reduced to glowing embers, the cold winter wind still howling and clawing at the windows as flurries pelted the glass. The train was still in motion, and for that Morgan was grateful. The additional noise of the train barreling down the tracks would block out the horrid coughing of the poor girl. If any of the troupe members heard the terrible hacking and crying, Morgan would fear a mass riot that would break down his door and storm in demanding why the Ringmaster was yet again ignoring the wails. Breathing out slowly, Morgan made sure that the curtain was drawn closed completely before he walked over to the iron wood burning stove and took the iron kettle from the hot surface. He carried it gingerly to his desk where he pushed aside the papers and other knickknacks until he had a large space cleared in the middle. He lifted the tea pot over the desk and tipped it gently. Several drops of hot water spilled onto the wood, sizzling quite loudly. The moment the water had touched the wood, dark lines began to form along the surface as if some invisible hand were painting it. The lines twisted and turned, layering over each other, crossing other lines; and for each layer that was applied, the darker the image became. Several circles became clearly defined as ancient and arcane letters were scrawled along the perimeter of these circles. Written delicately as if etched by the finest scribe were the tria prima, several triangles also coming into view. And when it was finally complete, Morgan gazed at the massive alchemy symbol that would serve as his workspace.

As he placed the kettle back on the stove top, he moved to his door and made sure it was securely locked before turning back to his desk. Standing in front of it, Morgan could hear the child in the other room coughing once again, the sound scraping dark heated claws of panic through him. "It will be okay, Ava," he whispered to himself. "I will make it so that you and I will never have to worry about the monsters again..." Pulling from his clutter of books a purple velvet bag, he reached into the pouch and pulled from it a handful of what appeared to be salt and carefully poured it into the center of the alchemy circle. He dipped his finger into the pile and spread it so that the salt was evenly displaced. After setting the bag aside, he reached over to the golden dragon statue that bleed from its eyes and from its golden hide, he took a scale and placed that carefully in the center of the ring of salt. Stepping back, he made sure that the placing the elements were perfect before stepping around his desk to pull out from a drawer a dagger. Taking his place in front of the alchemy symbol, he raised his right hand with the dagger in his left. Without giving much thought to the sharp bite of pain, he drew the blade across his palm. The cut was deep and bled plentifully. The Ringmaster then raised his palm over the gathered ingredients and from his wound he counted twenty drops of blood before he lowered his hand.

Quickly casting aside the dagger, Morgan slammed his sliced palm over the the ingredients and began to smear the components together in an erratic fashion. The procedure was crude and the elegance of the art was lost, but it would serve his purpose. He would be terribly ashamed of the abrupt and impatient manner in which Morgan had constructed this potion. After rubbing the ingredients so they were entirely spread over the symbol, the Ringmaster hovered over the concoction for a moment, making sure that he had given the art exactly what it would need for the alchemy to work. Then, quickly; for every minute he spent hesitating Ava was suffering in the other room, Morgan gathered the thick and gritty mixture into a pile before scooping it into a pewter bowl. Once again retrieving the kettle, he poured more hot water into the mixture before stirring it vigorously. He let out a hot breath before taking the bowl and holding it aside as once again poured a few drops of water onto the desk, the alchemy symbol vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. Now all that remained was the debris from the potion. He quickly mussed his papers about promising himself to clean it up when he had the time.
Calming his trembling aura, the Ringmaster composed himself before he returned to the room, gently pushing the curtain aside as he stepped back in. Gazing at Ava, the girl's features lit up by a single low-burning oil lamp in the corner of the room, the Ringmaster approached the bed. "Ava, I have something that will take the pain away."

The child watched him leave, frowned just a little when he made sure the curtain was in place so she couldn't see what he was doing. She toyed with the idea of creeping to the curtain, parting it just enough to watch. The idea was quickly discarded, as it would mean leaving the warmth of the blankets. So she listened to the faint sounds of Morgan moving around until another coughing fit left her gasping for breath and with her chest and throat aching. And it didn't stop. As soon as she'd sufficiently filled her lungs to take a few proper breaths, she started coughing again. She turned her face into the pillow, could only stare at the red spots she didn't think had been there before. And there were more after her next fit.
Finally, the curtain opened and Morgan came back to her, this time carrying a bowl. She looked up to him, cheeks flushed with fever. "Can I have it?" she asked softly, voice already scratchy and dry. She stared up at him, waiting for the medicine. Then she added, almost as an after thought "The pillow is bleeding." Maybe he could fix that too?

Morgan smiled gently and an unguarded chuckle nearly escaped him as she reported about the pillow's condition. He moved close so that he helped her to sit up entirely before taking the spotted pillow and setting it aside before he took the place of the pillow. He curled one leg underneath him and pulled Ava into his lap before resting his back against the mountain of soft pillows. Balancing the bowl and Ava, he managed to pull the blankets over her, and subsequently, himself so that she was entirely covered. He then lowered the bowl to her and pulled back several auburn locks. "You must drink the entire thing, Ava. Not a single drop can remain, understand?"

Once again in his lap and safe from the world, Ava greedily leaned into him to leach as much heat as she could. She was no longer shivering, but she still felt as though she had been chilled to the bone and would never be able to get warm enough to fully banish the cold. She took the bowl in her hands, stared at the strange liquid before tilting her head back to him. "Ok." She started to raise the bowl but started coughing instead, and only his hold on the bowl kept her from spilling any. Once she was calm she took a hesitant sip and promptly made a face. "It tastes bad," she informed him. The child regarded the bowl with displeasure, the same look she usually reserved for the green vegetables they kept trying to feed her. The adults claimed they were healthy, and she needed them. Ava still didn't quite believe them. But, with the same reluctant acceptance she issued to broccoli, she opted for her usual method: get it over with as fast as possible. The child raised the bowl to her lips again, drank it as fast as she could. And made another face at Morgan when she was done. "I get ice cream if I eat vegetables. This was worse. So I should get two scoops for it."

As the last few drops of the potion slid down the child's throat, Morgan at last released a weary, but content breath. She didn't know it and even in the years to come, the Ringmaster would never tell her, but through his blood, the child would be protected. Well, at least for the moment being, the sickness would dispel and she would be able to finally rest peacefully. As for her future, she would be able to enjoy the eventual partial perks of accelerated healing that she now shared with him. Though her human blood still posed as a weakness, at least for now, Morgan could find peace in the knowledge that she would be able to fight against the deadly sickness that had plagued her for so long and ultimately, changed her life forever. And for Morgan, it served him to know that now he would be connected to her. Through his blood, he would have a bond with the child that he would share with only one other person in this miserable world and at least in Ava, he could finally find the connection he had been denying himself for so long.

At the mention of the sweet dessert, Morgan couldn't help the rumbling laugh that started deep within his chest and crawled out of his throat in a hearty chuckle that hadn't been heard even by him in a very long time. He drew his other leg up onto the bed and set the bowl aside on a small bed-side table before drawing his uninjured arm around the child. "Yes, if you are a good girl and if you go right back to sleep, I promise...you can have two scoops," he said humorously. He pressed the young girl to him so that she was fully laying against him, sharing his body warmth.

Despite the foul taste still lingering in her mouth, the ache in her chest began to ease and her throat didn't feel quite as raw. At the promise of ice cream, one he should know that Ava would mercilessly hold him accountable for, she smiled. She wanted it now, especially to get the taste from her mouth, but she would settle. Maybe she could talk him into letting her eat it for breakfast.... She'd have to see in the morning. "Ok. Good night Morgan." she smiled at him, stretched out and felt him tug her back against him. He was warm and safe. With that thought, she knew the monsters wouldn't bother her for tonight at least. So she snuggled against him and started to drift off to sleep. One thought held her back, just long enough for her to voice the concern before tumbling back into sleep. "Don't forget to fix the pillow."

As the child relented her body and mind to sleep, Morgan held on to her and lazily ran his fingers through her hair. Glancing to his right, he gazed upon his hand and noticed that it had already begun to heal. By morning, it would be nothing but a memory. Like this very night which would eventually fade into a mere speck of a remembrance. Or, in Ava's case, perhaps a lingering dream that had been brought on by the trauma of the last few days. The mighty Ringmaster, with his head slowly tipping back against the comforting pillows, began to feel the effects of the panic and dread quickly begin to take hold. And as the girl...no...she was more than just that now. She was his. She belonged to him. She was now, more or less, his blood kin. She was...his daughter. Ava, the Ringmaster's daughter. As his child spoke to him with her sleep addled words, Morgan's eyes drifted shut as felt his own exhaustion drag him down into the surly depths of slumber, a lingering smile accompanied a soft chuckle as he replied to her, "Right...the pillow. We'll fix it in the morning."

PART TWO - FIN

[Scrivener_Lost]

⊱⊱ Cirque de Tromperiexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

✦ The Great Hair Massacre

This is an utter nightmare! How could such a travesty happen?! This...it defies all logic! Who could possibly do such a thing?!

There was very little in this world that could phase the terrible and terrifying Ringmaster of Tromperie; his heart was cold as ice, his demeanor like tempered steel, and his personality like that of a maniacal beast. The man had traveled around the world and seen terrible poverty on a scale that it would make God weep. But would he spare a single coin? Not in a heart beat. He had visited the dirtiest of slums and fought with the most wicked of criminals. But would he spare a lick of food to a starving child? Not even if his life depended on it. And Morgan von Faustus had made his name as the most strict and demanding Ringmaster throughout the land and drove his troupe to perform under terrible conditions until their feet and hands bled with perfection. And yet, he would not allow them to ever return to their homes.

No.

He was a terrible and wicked man.

A devil through and through.

And there was nothing on this world that would waver his hard soul. Unless your name was Ava Moran. Then, you held the world's most wicked man in the palm of your hand. Like a hot knife to soft butter, Ava was the one figure in the world that could make Morgan von Faustus into a terrible pile of lumpy goop to which she could mold into any facade she desired.

Yes. This five year-old child sitting in the mighty Ringmaster's lap for all intents and purposes, held the world's most terrible devil on a leash. She was his world and she knew it. She...and her hair.

Morgan gaped with a terrified and ghastly look on his face, a look that was unfitting such a terrifying man. His breath was caught in his chest as a dusting of pink showered his horrifically pallid cheeks. His eyes itched and his hands trembled. In all sense, he was practically on the verge of tears as he stared at this crime, this...this unmentionable tragedy. Placed precariously on his lap in her usual spot was his adoptive daughter and though where he would normally spend time running his painted black nails through her hair, he could not tear his gaze away from this horrendous mess in front of him. No, these were not the soft silky pampered rich auburn locks that had grown long and beautiful with just a kiss of curl at the end. This mess was not the enchanting crown of soft red tresses that when they captured the sunlight just right shone like brilliant fire. No! This is a disaster! Ever so slightly, the tiny child perched upon his legs turned slightly, her cheeks dusted with soft freckles as she gazed over her shoulder innocently. "Morgan?"

The Ringmaster could see his hands shaking visibly as he slowly reached up to cup what remained of his beloved fixation. It had been, for lack of a better term, massacred. Her hair was uneven, the ends were singed with large chunks having been burnt away, and all that remained was a choppy, unruly, split-end infested mess. He knew the story. It had spread through the troupe like wildfire the night it had happened. As Morgan weakly began to brush his fingers through her hair, he thought upon the terrible tale that had been regaled to him. Pyrrhus had been practicing his act, just like every performer should have been doing as per Morgan's usual demands, and the curious angel in his lap had run off to watch the fire dancing when she had strayed too close. The flame had easily taken to her hair and though the fire-breather had ceased his act immediately and went to her aid, the child had been lucky enough to escape with only a few small burns on her hands and face. But her hair has been destroyed!

Even now as he pulled his trembling fingers from the sloppy mess, broken strands were interlaced in between his fingers. He might have been able to forgive the scorched hair and even might have staved off bashing the fire-breather with insults and harsh words, but instead of coming directly to him to confess to the atrocity, most everyone simply chose to play it off like it was no big deal. "Morgan is a busy man," they'd say. "He'll never even notice," they'd claim. But he had. He had noticed the moment the girl had skipped by him mere hours after it had happened. He had been taking inventory and his hands had been laden with a clipboard and a quill. And the moment Ava bounced by, everything tumbled to the ground as the Ringmaster's stayed at the spot in which she had passed him, utter horror creasing his features.

He had at last tracked the girl down and dragged her to Isabella in hopes that her hair would be saved. "I may be a miracle worker with your ugly mug, but that girl's hair is done for Morgan. You'll have to cut it." And had it been anyone else aside from that woman, Morgan would have thrown a fit of epic proportions. He would have screamed like a child and thrown items to the floor. Anything to prevent Ava's hair from having to be cut. "I told you months ago you were going to have to trim it! A five year-old child should not have long hair. Morgan, this was your fault." Her words had cut Morgan deeply and had frozen him to his core and any sort of idea of throwing a fit was smashed under her cold words. But she was right. She was right... and now he was forced to deal with the consequences of his neglect.

Inside he was weeping. He was in mourning as Isabella handed the Ringmaster a pair of silver scissors. "I'll not be the cause of your incessant pouting for the next few weeks," the heartless shrew had said. A cruel woman. Cruel, heartless, old hag, Morgan cursed in his mind; because he was sure not about to say it out loud. Plucking the scissors from his lap, Morgan held them in his right hand as the left held out a few of the scorched ends. He felt his heart dive tumultuously into his stomach as struggled to find the strength he needed to complete this terrible torture.

Yes.

He was being tortured. Tortured by the fates. Tortured by Isabella. Tortured by this idiot infested troupe of his. And as he rested the hungry blades against the red tresses, he must have given an audible sigh since Ava moved slightly. "Are you okay?" She asked innocently. Was he okay!? Of course he wasn't okay! This was a terrible nightmare from which there was no escape! "Everything is fine, Ava." And he wished his voice could have been more reassuring. Morgan wrenched his eyes shut as he pried open the mouth of the blades before a sharp smack was aimed at the back of his head. Glaring over his shoulder at Isabella, the women gave him a cruel look. Are you a fool? Keep your eyes open! If looks could kill, Morgan would have struck the woman down already. Turning back to Ava's hair, he swallowed hard before making the first cut.

Snip

Snip

Snip

For each cut that was made, Morgan felt as if someone were stabbing him. He was sure that he would bleed out before he finished the torturous task, his hands quaking as he took up each strand and sliced it away. And even though the entire event was finished in a few short minutes, to Morgan, it had felt as if he had been cutting her hair for hours. When at last he could do it no more and he dropped the scissors to the floor, the Ringmaster let his head fall back dramatically against the back of the chair. "Oh for goodness sake man!" Isabella growled as she snatched the scissors from the floor and knelt in front of Ava, trimming up her bangs so that she no longer resembled a doll, but now sported a cute short pageboy haircut while the Ringmaster breathed out dramatically as if he had run a mile. After running a comb through the shortened locks, Isabella brushed Ava's shoulder free if the stray hairs before cupping her face. "There now, doesn't that feel better? Come now, let's go get you a cookie for being such a good girl." Isabella said kindly as she left the Ringmaster's office, leaving Ava and Morgan alone. Turning on Morgan's lap, Ava peered up at the distressed man and waited for him to acknowledge her. When he drew an arm over his eyes, she drew an impatient breath. "Am I in trouble?" Morgan paused for a moment, but didn't lower his arm. He gave her a weak smile and his chest puffed out for a sharp chuckle. "No...no, child, you're not."

"Is Pyr in trouble?" At his, Morgan finally dropped his arm and tilted his head up to look at his adoptive daughter. She pouted at him. Her soft puffy lips were drawn together and her round cheeks were pink with indignation, just daring Morgan to say otherwise. He stared at her for a moment, his pale golden eyes trying desperately to break past those mocha orbs of her's. But she had him firmly in place, right where she wanted him. And he broke. Like usual. He rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. He wanted to be mad at the fire-breather. He wanted to punish him. However, Ava would not allow it. She tilted her head slightly, her eyes widening as she waited for Morgan's response impatiently. "...No...it was an accident..." he finally relented. The reaction was immediate as Ava smiled and hopped off his lap. "'Kay!" She chirped before trotting out of the office. Morgan closed his eyes for a moment before sitting forward and cradling his head in his hands. He wallowed in self loathing as he thought about her beautiful long hair now turned into nothing more but dead strands strewn across his floor.

"Morgan?" The Ringmaster lifted his head, the young girl standing in front of him once more. She had her arms tucked behind her back as she looked at him sheepishly. "It will grow back..." Morgan's eyes widened slightly before his brows drew together as a soft smile crossed his features. She was consoling him. She had been the one to suffer her hair having been cut and he was acting like a child; but she was consoling him. He reached out to her and brushed a short strand of hair that Isabella had missed. "Heh. You're right. It will." He admitted. Ava smiled brightly before taking Morgan's hand and pulling on him. The Ringmaster responded like a puppy being pulled along by its master as Ava and Morgan left his office, the hungry blades of the scissors now laying on the chair in the middle of the room as the sun cast its warm evening hues through the speckled windows.

[thymeast22]

⊱⊱ Cirque de Tromperiexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

✦ Ladies and Gentlemen, May I Present: Your Lion-Tamer

Ava paused outside the door, took a moment to calm herself and pull her emotions tightly under control. A deep breath in, then slowly released. And another as she forced her heart to stop pounding, her muscles to relax. She had to be perfectly calm, in absolute control of herself. If she let her fear show, she would be ripped to pieces. She would have one, and only one chance. If she didn't assert herself, make it known that she was not to be underestimated, then all her training would go to waste. She had spent years learning how to best manipulate the creature behind this door. After all, you couldn't just ask it to do what you wanted. No, you had to convince it that he had thought of it first, that the reward far outweighed his reluctance to complete the task. He had to believe she was invulnerable and that he could never best her. She would always win, and it was in his best interest to go along with what she said. In addition to years of training with the creature, she had spent the last year in secret preparation for this meeting. Ava had done everything she could to prepare herself for this meeting - there was nothing more she could do but take the risk.

What lurked behind the door could draw blood in a flash and likely smell her fear. If he sensed anything other than utter confidence, he would pounce. The most feared creature of Cirque de Tromperie, and she was about to walk into it's lair alone and armed with only her wit. Few others in the Cirque dared to do what she was about to do, even those who had been here far longer than her years. But, she had one small advantage. The Terror liked her, and behaved for her far better than he would for the other performers. But if they had attempted what she was going to, he would have mercilessly slaughtered them. She just had to pray that his affection towards her would keep him from drawing blood. With one last calming breath, Ava steeled herself. Then she opened the door, and stepped into the Ringmaster's office.

Morgan von Faustus sat at his desk, scribbling away at a piece of parchment. Probably a plan for the next job. With an air of nonchalance, she moved further into his office to take a seat in her over-stuffed armchair. She sank into the cushions, swung her legs over one arm of the chair with her back against the other. Best let the wild beast come to her first. If she didn't act like she wanted something, he was more likely to relax and let down his guard. So Ava picked a book off the stack beside her, flipped through the pages until she found where she had last left off.

This was possibly the most important meeting she would have with her Ringmaster. Not her adoptive father, she couldn't let him start thinking of her only as his daughter but as a soul with a contract to pay off. She would turn 15 in two weeks, and it was time for Ava to start performing. She had nearly two centuries of debt to pay off, thanks to her parents. And she'd be damned if she didn't spend those years performing her chosen act: the lion-tamer. Her gift fit it better than any other show the Cirque put on. Speaking to animals did nothing to an acrobat or juggler, though she could have performed in either show if necessary. But she could never bring that magic to her act the others could if she were to play a sideshow act or work the trapeze. No, the only way she could perform to the lofty standards of their Ringmaster was if she utilized her gift to train the large cats into doing things no other lion-tamer could. And she was the only one in the Cirque's roster with a gift geared towards animals. Especially because the current lion tamer, Dusty, had paid off his debt, and was only sticking around until Morgan found him a replacement.

But, Morgan didn't realize that Ava had worked with Dusty for the last year, training with the cats in secret. And she had been working in the cage alone for the last month. She was ready, Dusty agree. There was nothing else he could teach her, nothing else she could do to prepare. And she had a talent for the job - he agreed with her. The cats responded well and didn't push her too much, Frankly, working with the cats was easier than what she was about to do. She had to convince Morgan to let his daughter perform with wild beasts capable of ripping her to pieces if she let them. She could only hope he would listen to her, and not jump instantly into over-protective-father-mode.

She had prepared carefully, dressed with more care than usual. Slim pants tucked into her favorite worn boots, a loose dark green blouse that made the red of her hair stand out. Her hair, the object of most of Morgan's affections, had been carefully cleaned and brushed and draped over her shoulder. No make-up, that would be too obvious. But she'd forgotten about the scratches on her arm from when she stepped too close to a cat a few days prior. He'd barely scratched her, and she'd worn long sleeves to hide the marks. Now all Ava could do is read and wait for Morgan to address her.

After scratching away at the paper for a few minutes more into Ava's visit, Morgan eventually relented to the terrible way his eyes were burning. He had been working for several long hours now on this single plan, his frustration growing with each minute that he gazed at the outline. He had skipped several meals and his stomach was clawing at him which only added to the annoying way his eyes were beginning to itch with overruse. He ran the back of his hand over his eyes, blinking furiously as he placed the quill on his desk and let out a frustrated breath. Leaning back in his chair, he ran his hands through his messy dark hair before letting his palms press against his eyes. "If we were to gain access to the door, he would have exactly fifteen minutes to run...but the second floor poses a problem...really, who constructs a manor with no balconies? Its an atrocious building...the kitchen is too far to the south...and then there's the damned dogs..." He was talking quickly, sputtering nonesense to the untrained, but Ava knew exactly what he was doing.

"The layout does not serve for a quick get-away...and the armory is right there...right there! Right bloody there in the hallway! So why...why must there be no balconies?" Morgan growled, dropping his hands before his eyes eventually met Ava's form. But even still, he was not completely focusing on her. He was seeing her, a person in the room, with an aura that he recognized, but his mind was still working through the holes and knots of his plan. "How fast can the average man run? If it were not for the dogs...it could be so simple..." Morgan continued.

Ava looked up when he started talking, closing her book to listen. She didn't know exactly what he was planning, as this was the first she had heard of this particular job. But she could guess at where the problems lie. "Well, could you use Alaizabel? She could teleport out, and elimate the issue of having to run out." Ava didn't particularly like the woman, but that didn't mean she pretended that Alaiza didn't exist. "If dogs are the issue... You could let me go and distract them? Let me go on the recon, see if they'll respond to me. If they do, I could keep them distracted while whoever makes their get-away." She doubted he would go for the later option, but she had to at least offer it. It was a reminder of her presence, that she was more than just his daughter. Sometimes it worked, and he had sent her on a handful of easy jobs when she had Maiya or Pyr to look after her. She was slowly wearing him down on that front, primarily because she had beaten all the locks he had put on his office to date. He just didn't know she'd figured out how to unlock the current one yet. She shifted in the chair, waited to see if she had given him a viable option, or at least given him a point to jump off of and find his own brilliant plan.

The moment Ava had started to speak, Morgan's eyes lost the dazed appearance and he blinked, truly see Ava now as she easily answered the man's muddled questions. He stared at her for some time as his mind worked and she could see it in his eyes; that far-off gaze that told her he was calculating, always calculating and judging the odds. When at last he appeared to find the answer, he quickly plucked the quill from the table and began to scribble madly, ink splattering messily over the paper. And he did this for some time until at last, a victorious smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth and he replaced the quill back into the ink vat. "Brilliant...the timing will have to be down to the second...but this plan...its a good plan. There is no way that it could-," and he paused suddenly when his eyes shot up at Ava, recognition finally hitting him. He gazed at her and took note of her hair, and he grew suspicious. The girl had been able to play him for years. She was a master maestro and could play each of the troupe members like a perfectly tuned instrument and the Ringmaster was no exception.

"Ah..." He glanced over his shoulder to the backward ticking grandfather clock as he surmised the time. It had been nearly twenty hours since he had begun planning out the final details of this mission. He turned back to Ava and gave her a placid smile. "Afternoon, Ava. I did not realize...I had left my door unlocked," he greeted rather tersely as he stood up. He placed his hands at the small of his back and leaned backwards, stretching the tired muscles as he ambled over to his office door. He ran his fingers over the complicated structures before he pulled back with a frustrated look on his face. He had in fact not locked his door, so Ava was not technically interrupting him. He drew in a breath before approaching her and running the back of his hand affectionately across her cheek. "How are you today, Ava? Would you be interested in any Dead-Flower Tea?" He asked as he pulled the familiar tea-kettle from the wood burning stove.

Ava smiled as his eyes focused on her, then onto his plans. She'd given him something. She waited until he started scribbling to open her book back up, though she was unable to focus on the words in front of her. She could give off the appearance of utter relaxation, but her mind was racing as she tried to anticipate how this would go. He wasn't in quite the mood she had thought, not yet. She needed him calm and off-guard before she sprang the news on him. Finally Morgan surfaced from wherever he went while planning, and finally realized how long he had been under this time. She knew the signs, having watched him plan missions for years. When he commented on his door she only smiled sweetly, the picture of innocence. She hadn't had to unlock his door herself, this time.

He approached her and she inwardly tensed, convinced he had seen something behind her eyes. No. She was careful, she was in control. He only saw amusement and her portrayed innocence, presumably concerning his lock. Ava smiled at the absent gesture of affection, automatically leaning lighting into it. "Only if you eat something. I know you have a tin of cookies stashed somewhere. Eat one, it's good for you. And I know you haven't thought to feed yourself since you started planning." Ava grinned up at him, eyes dancing. He always acted annoyed when she mothered him, but he was never careful enough to hide the amusement from his eyes. Besides, she had filled his stash a few days earlier. She knew the cookies inside were his favorite. As hungry as he probably was, he shouldn't be able to resist. And she could have one too, as he was too much a gentleman to not offer her one of her own cookies. Perfect.

Morgan paused as his hand rested on the handle of the kettle. The girl was clever and observant, one of the many talents she had picked up being raised in the cirque. Whether she had learned it from him or one of the other members, he was unsure; but it was an annoying quality when she used it against him. Mainly because she knew she could get away with it without repercussions. Walking back to his desk, from an obscure place of storage amongst his books he pulled two tea cups that were carefully balanced on the tin Ava had so lovingly provided him. He placed the cups on his desk, careful to avoid placing them near any of his freshly laid down plans, and placed a tea bag from a small box into each of the cups before pouring hot water into the cups. The rich aroma of rose and vanilla filled the room before Morgan placed the kettle aside. He opened up the tin and from the carefully wrapped contents pulled a rich butter cookie that had been dipped in chocolate. He slid the tin towards Ava as he quietly munched on his.

"You always do so well to take care of me," Morgan mused as he finished the cookie. He knew that if he did not eat the entire thing then Ava would hound him until he had finished the whole bloody tin in one sitting. Looking at his adoptive daughter, he now began to finally scrutinize her. It was late in the afternoon, not quite close enough to cease activities outside since they were stationed at the moment, and he expected her to still be running around hassling the other performers as they practiced. Though, at the same time, perhaps he should be thankful. The last thing he wanted was to see her near those damned cats that she unfortunately had a habit of doing. No matter. She was here and that meant she was safe and not off making trouble. "So, Ava...steering clear of trouble, are we?"

Ava shifted in the chair, finally sitting upright rather than laying sideways. But she still crossed her legs beneath her, unable to sit properly if she didn't have to. She took one of the cups of tea and a cookie, only smiling sweetly at his words. "Because I've dealt with you when you aren't taking care of yourself. It's scarier than usual." She kept a straight face with a solomn nod, then couldn't help herself any longer and laughed. He was scary, but she'd always just ignored it and found ways to cheer him up. So far, he had never used the Wrath of Morgan on her to the point of truly scarying her, threatening her like he did the other performers. Though, that could also be because Ava refused to back down to him unless it served her own purposes. She finished her cookie, and then he spoke. Here was her chance. She just needed him to broach the subject first.

Ava let the faint pout sit on her lips, rolling her eyes at him. "Yes, Morgan," she sighed, the put-upon monotone of a teenage daughter who had heard the lecture enough times to recite it herself. "Yes, your performers are off practicing. No, I'm not in their way. And yes, I stayed out of the way during the show so your performers weren't distracted and I wasn't in the Crew's way." Her words were tinged with just a note of bitterness, a hint of misery. She was small, too small to be of much help with changing sets. And while she was strong, she just didn't have the body mass physically required to move equipment. At least Morgan refused to believe she could. So she spent the shows backstage, or occasionally talking Matteo into letting her help run the lights. Everyone was supposed to make themselves useful if they weren't performing, but Morgan had laid so many restrictions on her, with the goal of keeping her safe, that she wasn't able to do even that much. It was an old argument, but maybe he would remember that her birthday was in two weeks. She would be fifteen, and finally old enough to perform. Hopefully he'd mention it. If not, she'd have to move onto plan B.

And the bitterness and misery was not lost on the Ringmaster. He could hear it in her voice every time she spoke when it came to her lot in life amongst the Cirque. The Ringmaster would internalize it every time; take in the bitter and forlorn way she would sigh when he prevented her from doing anything even remotely "exciting" or "dangerous". He could see it in her eyes every time she asked. Those glittering mocha eyes would bore into him, begging him, pleading with him to let her join the rest of the troupe during their daily activities. And on more than one occasion, he had nearly slipped, almost allowing her to try some obscure acrobat art that would surely get her hurt. But each time he would even remotely consider it, a tiny little black butterfly of doubt would form in his chest and flutter about until it would make him sick. That doubt would blossom into fear and even despite the restrictions, rules, and even the blood contract; Morgan feared losing that girl.

If there was ever one debate that Morgan and Ava would have, being allowed to perform had always been a tense one. Yes, he knew she was going to be fifteen shortly and eventually, she would have to start performing if she wished to work off her parents' debts. And perhaps, within those two weeks, Morgan would make up his mind. He would consider the possibilities, the variables, the pros and cons; and eventually, he would come up with a plan, much like the missions he worked so feverishly upon. He would relent to giving her a performer's act, but something simple and easy at that. A juggler or something similar. She would at least appreciate that, right?

Taking the tea from his desk, he held the aromatic drink up to his lips as he stared at Ava from across the desk. She wanted something, he could feel it, and he would need something solid to hold him fast to his decision...whatever it was that she was going to ask him. Perhaps, he thought to himself, he should ease up on the girl...give her a chance...Tipping the tea cup back, he silently sipped on the hot drink before lowering it. The conversation had soured, if not for the typical reaction of a girl her age, but still...it could possibly grow out of control if Morgan did not divert away from the issue now. "Your birthday is coming up...shall I ask for anything in particular in town?" Innocent enough question, right?

She watched him, saw the debate. But Ava wasn't sure where his mind went, where he was leaning. She took her tea, took a sip as he watched her. It was a game, both trying to get into the other's mind and guess the next move. This match would go the same way the strategy games he had taught her went. He planned, strategized everything down to the smallest detail. She planned some, but would rely on instinct and her ability to play him, to make him see what she wanted him to. Sometimes he caught on, and realized what she was doing. And sometimes she completely wrapped him around her finger and ran circles around him. Please let this be the second. He has to give in this time.

At his question her gaze sharpened over the teacup, piercing straight into his soul. Ava knew he refused to even consider the posibility that she had learned that from him, considering how successfully she wielded it against him. "Well, you won't give me a cat." She would have taken a normal-sized house cat, but he knew exactly what she meant. "I want to start doing more than taking up space. I want to actually be useful instead of just the Circus brat who tags along everywhere and uses a room you could be using for another performer. I want to start paying off my debt. I can't keep doing nothing, Morgan." There was just a slight edge to her words, the barest hint of temper. She had to make him understand this time. He couldn't buy her good graces this time. There was only ony thing she wanted from him for her birthday: to work with the cats.

Ah, there it was. The damned cats. Morgan simply knew it was going to come down to this. However, Morgan remained composed and calm as he took another sip of his tea. There was no debate to this. He had decided years ago that he would not allow her to work those cages. He had promised himself that he would save himself the panic and nerves that came from watching people work with those wild felines. Morgan took a deep breath, lowered the cup, and gave her a subtle smile. "Fine," he simply stated. "You can start the moment the clock hits midnight. Once you turn fifteen, you can work...as a juggler," he replied with finality. There would be no debate. No matter what she said, no matter what sort of games she played, he would not give in.

Well, any act was progress. But she hid any glee at the simple allowance of working on a stage at all. "We have two jugglers. And Fiero refuses to work with a girl, you know that. Puck's taught me a lot, but I'm not good enough yet. And my gift doesn't help me at all with juggling. You know if you put me on that stage, the act's not going to be the same because I can't add any magic to it." She took a sip of tea, matched his smile with one of her own. "I've practiced the other acts more. I should play to my strengths, shouldn't I? Do what I'm best at? I'm small, and Aloise wouldn't let anything happen to me. Neither would Kimber or Icarus." He just had to agree. Just agree, don't realize the statements weren't necessarily related. If she could trap him in his own words... Well, he'd be proud once he stopped raging at her.

The Ringmaster sat in his chair rigidly with his tea still hovering by his lips. He knew exactly what she was trying to play at. That smile of hers told him so. The cup in his grasp shook slightly as his nerves began to fray. He slowly placed the teacup on the desk before standing and silently walking over to her. He knelt in front of her chair and reached up, taking the teacup from her and placing it aside so that he could hold her hands. Looking up into her eyes, he gazed at her evenly. "I will make room with the jugglers, they will have to listen to me. I will allow you to start out there. Perhaps if you can show me that you're careful enough, we can work to something larger," he said. He then broke the cold and stern mask he had adopted as he lifted his hand and curled a long lock of hair around one of his fingers. A familiar and archaic gesture between them. His eyes traveled over her features before smiling softly. "You're far too pretty for your own good. If anything were to happen to you, I wouldn't be able to live with myself," he admitted softly. He then reached for her arms and gave them a gentle squeeze before standing up. "Come now. Surely you'd be happy with that?"

He pushed back, unrelenting. Ava said nothing, didn't move as he stalked over to her and knelt in front of her. She held herself still, kept her emotions in check as he spoke, played with her hair. And she barely hid the wince when he squeezed the spot where the tiger cub had clawed her. Ava didn't meet his gaze once he stood, not trusting that he wouldn't see what his words did. She was too pretty for it, he couldn't stand the thought of her being hurt. So he had no faith in her ability to keep herself safe? No confidence in his other performers to do their jobs and catch her if she jumped off the trapeze? No. She was just a child, she could never be anything more than that. There was no possible way she could train just as hard as the other performers, that she could be talented and hone her art to perfection. She couldn't perform a difficult act because she was pretty, and because Morgan obviously had no faith in her.

Ava spoke quietly, still not looking up to him. He wouldn't see the rare sparks of temper in her eyes, contrasting with her deadly calm words. "If I was anyone else, you wouldn't hesitate. You would just look at the facts in front of you. Your lion-tamer has paid off his debt and wants to retire. You have a person who's gift lets them talk to animals and has nearly two hundred years to pay off. If they were attractive, all the better because it makes for a better show." Ava looked up now, not bothering to hide the flicker of pain or the beginning of her temper. "It doesn't matter that the cats know me, that I've been around them and working with them for almost ten years now. I'm the only person they will let near the cubs, but I can't possibly do the job because I'm yours, so you'll throw away the best chance you have at finding a good replacement because you don't think I can do it."

"No." The word had come nearly before Ava had finished speaking. "The answer is no and always will be," Morgan hissed. His eyes were glaring at Ava dangerously as he put as much force and finality into those words. He stood tall and straight now, instinctual displays of power over-riding sense and years of tempered anger. His hands clenched tightly and his eyes lit up with the anger that was threatening to boil over. He quickly retreated to his desk now, eager to sit before he made any unncessary movements. He quickly laced his fingers together and placed them on the desk as he lowered his head, glaring at Ava through the messy and untamed bangs.

"Nothing you say will make me change my mind, Ava. This is the last time we will speak of this. I will talk to Fiero and Puck tomorrow. This is my decision. Now, you best take your leave," Morgan growled darkly. It had been quite some time since Morgan had used this tone of voice with Ava and even to himself, he sounded uncharacteristically cruel. But she was a stubborn child and if she did not take him seriously before, well...now, she had no choice. He lashed out with his hand quickly in a dismissing manner. "You may return to your room now."

The callous tone and dismissal hurt, slicing deep. But the wounds were enough to spark her temper. "No! Not if you won't even listen!" Ava snapped back, staying seated so she wouldn't do something stupid like try to bash some sense into his stubborn skull. "You want to keep me safe? Then lock me in one of Alaizabel's boxes. I could fall of the train and break my neck, an elephant could step on me. I could juggle knives and slip and cut myself and bleed to death, and don't try to tell me I wouldn't be doing that. If you're bound and determined to put me in their act, you know you can't lose the danger element because then it's not any fun for the audience. 'They watch us because we do the impossible, as a Circus. And as Cirque de Tromperie, we do what most ordinary circuses wouldn't dare attempt and make it look effortless.' " Ava hurled his words at him, tongue sharp as a whip. She had listened to his speeches to her and to the performers, had heard him encourage more dangerous acts once they had been perfected to the be as safe as they could while maintaining that edge that was so typical of the Cirque. "If they stop juggling knives or torches or anything else dangerous, just because I'm part of their act, then you'll constantly be disappointed."

She kept going, knowing that her next words could either get her in even more trouble or finally break him down. Or, more likely, both. "Dusty wants to retire. He would leave here now, if you let him. You told him a year ago that he could start training a replacement. I've been working with him, and with the cats. I've been in the cage on my own and nothing happened. The new tricks Dusty showed you, that you said were the best part of his act? I taught the cats those tricks, on my own. I can do it, Morgan. Just give me a chance to prove it." She stared at him, defiant and desperate for a chance, just one opportunity to show that she wasn't useless and inept. Just once chance.

The moment Ava admitted to the fact that she had in fact been working with the cats without Morgan's permission, the Ringmaster's eyes widened dramatically. Pale gold eyes stared mercilessly at his adoptive daughter as she continued to speak, sinful and horrible words spilling from her lips. The current beast-tamer, Dusty, was relatively decent with the cats and it had been surprising when he had asked Morgan to watch a small show of tricks that seemed far too complicated and intricate to be of Dusty's doing. But the Ringmaster had chalked it up to a "second wind" sort of deal, the last bit of magic that the beast-tamer would produce before his retirement. To learn that it had been Ava's doing...it struck Morgan to his core. Not only was she interracting with the beasts and training with them, but she had been in the cage on her own, and Morgan had not known about it? The mere thought that Ava had been in that cage was enough to send Morgan into a fury, as history could tell, but to have been practicing behind his back...

It was enough to make Morgan sick. Sick with anger. Sick with fear. And sick with the realization that despite all of his hard work and constant denial of her requests; that Ava would still be drawn to work with the damn cats. And even though she was sitting here in front of him whole and healthy, clearly not torn to shreds by the claws of the beasts, Morgan's shock and rage were clouding his mind, blinding him to the desperation and pleading that poured from Ava. He could not see her talents, he could not see her skill, he could not see her for the mature teen she was so trying desperately to be. No. All he could see was her body being ripped to shreds, the cats chewing on her limbs as they hissed and growled in their victory over their master. He could only see the crimson that stained the floor and his hands; afterall, he would have been the one to grant her the permission. He could only see the hurt and pain her death would grant the Cirque. And he could only see himself, breaking, once again into a million unobtainable peices. He could only see...the misery and pain that death brought.

And it was the image of his daughter laying on the ground, bleeding profusely, reaching out for him as she begged to be saved that burned his heart and soul. Morgan's hands shook as he stared at Ava, the muscles in his jaw visibly moving underneath his pale skin as the anger bubbled up at an uncontrollable boil. And when at last, it had reached to a point where he would either bend to her will or it would spurn his doubt, Morgan found that he could not make the decision quick enough as he suddenly lashed out, his arm sweeping across the desk and knocking tea, porcelian, papers, and the cookie tin to the floor. He shot from the chair and slammed his hands against the desk and roared with the ferocity of a wild beast, baring his teeth in a crazed manner. "You dare to disobey my rules? You willingly went into that cage after I deliberately told you not to and you dare to come to me now and ask to work with those loathsome beasts!? How do you expect me to trust you in that cage if I cannot trust the word of my own child? How, Ava, do you expect me to say yes after you've said this to me? How dare you act so foolishly behind my back! You are lucky that you're not dead!" Morgan howled, slamming his hands against the resilient wood once again.

She sat with bated breath as Morgan stared at her, gold eyes wide. He wasn't moving, not exactly. Small twitches, small signs that he was trying to process her words. And he didn't hear anything she said. Rather, he heard only what she had said. He didn't see the loopholes she exploited, didn't hear the volumes she left unsaid. He couldn't see that she was desperate, that she so desperately needed his approval. That she couldn't do anything else but work with the cats. Why couldn't he understand? Why was he so desperate to keep her locked up like a china doll? The cats were her talent, were her focus. Her gift. But nothing she said or did would register with him now. All she could do is try to save face, to force him to review her words and hear what she could never voice.

Morgan hurled the things from his desk, surged to his feet and slammed the desk. Ava jumped, the violence unexpected. It took all her will to stay where she was in the seat, to not shrink away from Morgan in a rage. She couldn't give in. "You never explicitly told me that I was not allowed to work with the cats. I didn't tell you because I knew you would do this, and I wanted to learn as much as I could before you tried to ban me from the cats." His anger washed over her, brought tears to her eyes and made her skin pale. But she didn't shrink away, didn't let the tear fall.

Ava slowly unfolded her legs to set her feet on the floor and push herself to her feet. Brown eyes stared at him, cold and miserable and shining with unfallen tears. "You've never trusted me. You don't think I can do anything on my own, even just juggling. You still think I'm just a child and need you to do everything for me. I grew up, Morgan. I'm not helpless. Stop acting like it." With that, Ava turned to head for the door. She wouldn't let him see her cry. Not now.

That look...that frightened and shocked look that drudged up glimmering tears that refused to fall; he had seen that look before. On her face before. And all at once, the rage and unadulterated anger that had been clouding his mind seeped away and was replaced by the icy cold realization that he had been the cause of that infernal look. He had startled Ava and even though she hadn't flinched, he could see still the look of shock etched across her face. And he was the cause of it. Morgan drew a shaky breath as he stepped back, his legs hitting his chair as his eyes followed Ava to the door. How could he have been so crass, so utterly abhorrent to her after promising her years ago that no monster would ever get her. And yet, here he was, the very monster he had promised to protect her from. Morgan raised his hand to his forehead, his fingers quaking with the residual effects from the blinding anger. He had lost his temper with Ava before, but this...this was on a whole different level that morgan had not expected. He would never have predicted that his own fears and doubts would have festered into such a terrible wound that was threatening to burst and bleed at any moment.

The Ringmaster took several short choppy breaths before he pressed his hand over his eyes and he clenched his jaw tightly. He let his torso lean down as his arm supported him against the desk as he struggled to come to terms with what he had just done. Ava was only trying to prove her worth, to show him that she was ready to be in his grown-up world and he only continued to push her away; continuously shoving her back into childhood where she would be safe. That's all he wanted. He only desired for her to be safe. He did not want her to see the cruel world for what it truly was. He did not want her to experience pain and suffering. He did not want his child, the one great item in his life that kept him grounded to sanity to ever break and fade away. He had given her the blood-pact, he had chased away her nightmares, and he had raised her into a strong and capable young woman. And yet...it was Morgan who could not let go. He did not want her start working off the debt because eventually, she would be free to leave. She would be free to choose her own fate. And if her choice were to leave the Cirque, to leave the other performers- no, Morgan could care less about that. He was afraid she would leave him.

But he was truly making matters worse by keeping her so close. She was pushing against him, wanting to make her mark on the world like any child her age. And Morgan kept dragging her back to the safety of his coat, smothering her like he had done to her during her childhood. He wanted her to continue to pull on the long ends of his tailcoat and ask him silly questions. He wanted to wrap her up in his hands and toss her into the sky. But by preventing her from letting go, he was only making it worse. He was holding on too tight and she was fighting with too much vigor. He was risking the chance of her breaking and sooner or later, one would have to give in. But like Ringmaster, like Ringmaster's daughter. She was stubborn and bull-headed and she would fight against him no matter how hard he held on to her.

So...

If he didn't want to see her crumble apart...there was only one answer...

Morgan turned his glassy eyes to Ava and before she could reach the door, Morgan flew to her and suddenly wrapped his arms around her from behind. He nearly engulfed the child in his grasp considering the massive difference in height. And he held her tightly as he buried his face into her hair. For a long moment, he didn't speak as he simply held her tightly, her arms encased in his so that she could not fight back. She could feel a slight trembling from the Ringmaster as he held on to her. "I do trust you, Ava," he spoke heavily and reluctantly. "I know you're not helpless...I've known for a long time...the fault lies in me. I am a cowardly and selfish man, Ava."

She kept her spine rigid, her head held high as she crossed the few feet to the door. It felt like miles under the weight of his wrath. Ava let memory guide her to the door, eyes closed to stave off the tears. Morgan had taught her pride, he and Maiya and Aloise had stressed how appearance was everything. A lady does this, and doesn't do that. She doesn't pick fights, doesn't play pranks, and doesn't cry where others can see her so she can always save face. But Ava was anything but a lady. She rarely wore skirts, could swear with the rest of the Cirque (as long as Morgan wasn't nearby). But she still couldn't let herself lose her composure, couldn't let herself fall apart until she was safe in the solitude of her room.

Ava opened her eyes, reached for the doorknob, and froze. Strong arms wrapped around her, and safety enveloped her. She was pulled back against Morgan, his arms trapping her and his face pressed into her hair. She was about to fight, to struggle and yell. But he was shaking. And that scared her almost as much as his fury.

The Ringmaster's daughter stilled in his hold, listened to what he said. And to what he didn't. His hug let her calm herself, let her clear her mind and think. She knew him, knew some of the ways his mind worked. So she would soothe him, push away his worries so she could convince him to let her perform.

"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." Ava smiled as she teased him, leaning back into his arms. Relax. I'm still here, and will be for a very long time.

The Ringmaster's quaking continued for a minute longer as he fought with the words that were piling up behind his lips. His brain was ready for the answer to come forth, but his heart still did not trust him. His heart still held fast to the fear, doubt, and selfish desires that prevented the words that Ava so dearly wanted to her to come forward. He was not ready for Ava to take charge of her own destiny, and though she told him what he wanted to hear, it was not easy for the Ringmaster to take in her words. He had heard similar promises before and they had been broken just as easily as they had been made. But this time...this time Morgan would at least have some sort of control. He would not be so utterly helplessly manipulated by the hands of fate. And though he swore to fight against the fates, there had to be a moment where he would relent, could relent, so that Ava could finally breathe. His arms tightened around her even more so when she leaned back into his grip and he swallowed harshly. "If...if you want so much...to work with the cats, Ava, then you may have it," and as the words left his mouth, the Ringmaster felt the whirlwind release of his restrictions against her that had built up over the years. He would still fear the cats and their unpredictable behavior and he would constantly doubt the beasts, but they were animals and easily replaced.

Ava was not. And she was relying on Morgan to release her.

And he had finally given permission. His heart quaked ceaselessly as the words continued to spill from his mouth without stop. "You were always meant to work with the beasts...from the moment you were born, there would have been no other design for you. And I think...that your true father would have wanted to see you pick up where he left off. He was one of the best...and you will be as well," Morgan said softly before slowly releasing his arms. He gently turned her to face him, his hand cupping her face as he gazed at her as if seeing her for the first time. She would be fifteen soon and the proper age to start working off her debt and even though Morgan would fear every waking moment she was in the cage with the lions, he knew he could no longer keep her from what she desired most. "You are truly beautiful Ava...and now Cirque de Tromperie will have the most beautiful and talented beast-tamer."

Ava had stood still before, but that was just a ploy to twist Morgan to her will. But at his words she froze, breath caught in her lungs. She had hoped for this, had planned every possible way she could have convinced him to let her work with the cats. But she had never truly thought that Morgan would let her. Her head was spinning, heart thumping lazily and haphazardly as it tried to remember how to properly function. But he kept going.

Mentions of her birth-father were few and far between. She knew of his sacrifice, and knew that his final deal had been one of the factors that finally convinced Morgan to adopt her. But beyond knowing that he had worked with the cats? She knew nothing. Ava was speechless. Morgan's words kept repeating in her ears, echoing over and over again as she tried to make sense of them. He thought she was meant to work with cats, and that she would be good at it? He turned her to face him and she mindlessly pivoted on her toes. Ava stared up at him, shock mingled with awe and incredulous joy. He cupped her face, and his next words had the tears finally falling. Ava flung her arms around his neck, couldn't help the laugh that bubbled past her lips. "Thank you. I'll be the best the Cirque has ever had. I won't disappoint you." Finally. Finally, she had her chance to shine.

[thymeast22]

⊱⊱ Cirque de Tromperiexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

✦ Ladies and Gentlemen, May I Present: Your Fire-Breather

Alexander could have sworn that someone was following him.

At first the wild youth just chalked it up to paranoia, though he didn't really believe that it was. This new feeling felt too justified compared to the normal ethereal feeling, Whatever this was felt more immediate, like the sick, heavy, feeling that some shadow would snap him up and carry him away was real and would come true at any moment, not to be reasoned away. He blamed the feeling on lack of sleep, considering that when he tried to remember how many days it had been since he last slept he couldn't quite piece it together. Time started to blur together after about day two, but he didn't risk it. He couldn't risk it.

It had been nearly two years since Alexander had woken up with his life in ashes around him, but all the feelings that came with the event still stung fresh. The difference now is that he was better at hiding them. Guilt, and fear, and sadness became restraint and icy rage that snapped out at anyone who dared get near. Not that anyone ever tried, or even had the chance to. He had been running ever since it had happened, never staying in one town too long, just enough to maybe do a job and get enough money to feed himself before he took off again. Sometimes he hitched rides on merchant carts. More often than not he just ran. And when running became too hard he walked. Following the endless coast back and forth.

For tonight though, he was stationary, he had a job to do in the morning so he was spending his night sitting out on the cliffs near the sea, breathing salty air and letting his hair whip across his face as he stared out at the endless waters. Alexander liked staying near the ocean. It meant that if he happened to fail, if he slipped unwilling into sleep and the fires came again, well, then he'd be near the water where he could do the least damage. Besides, the roar of the waves did plenty to keep him awake. If he got too tired he could climb down and splash around in the cold water for a while to wake himself up. The system worked quite well, usually. Unfortunately, the unknown days with spare snatches of sleep were catching up to him more quickly than he could react, and the uneven rhythm of the waves began to transform themselves into a lullaby as his breaths started to sync up with it. It almost felt as if he was riding a wave himself though he was entirely still.

Maybe he should have been grateful for the footsteps, then. He heard the soft crunch of footfalls on the sand behind him and a shot of adrenaline shredded the haze of almost-sleep. His hand immediately shot down to grip the knife that hung at his side as he adopted a fierce mask to hide the fear as he turned around to face whatever was out there in the dark. "Who's there?" he demanded in a rough voice, fingers white knuckled from how tightly he was gripping the blade.

A hazy light cut through the darkness as the footsteps approached closer, each step even and pronounced. Whoever was drawing close was purposely announcing their arrival. The sharp creak of metal scraping against metal could be heard as the the light gently swayed, clearly provided by a small lantern. The phantom continued to approach, but when the young man's voice cut through the night, the strange presence ceased its movements, coming to a halt just a few feet away. For a long tense moment there was silence with only the breathing of the ocean between them. Then, a long last, there a voice. It spoke to Alexander in a deep and careful tone. "Good evening." The lantern screeched loudly as the stranger lifted it high, showering Alexander with pale light. But it did more than just that. It also illuminated the stranger's face and finally, the young man could see him. With fierce pale eyes, the phantom that lurked in the darkness stared down at him with a cold gaze.

"Quite an odd place for such a young man to be resting," the stranger continued. "Tell me, young man, do you go by the name of Alexander Grey?" The stranger tilted his head ever so slightly as if he were quite curious.

Alexander tensed up as the silence stretched on, he would have thought that the steps had been his imagination if it wasn't for the small circle of light that approached with the noise, and the tailored shoes he could see gleaming on the ground in the lamplight. Good evening? Well, at least it wasn't someone about to tell him to get off their land, though that helped almost nothing. As the lantern was raised, Alex stood, keeping his hand tight by his side. He didn't give a rats a** if it alerted the man that he was armed. Maybe it was even better that he knew.

The man that the light of the lantern revealed, looked almost nothing like a man at all, pale eyes and pale skin, and a gaze that looked like it could chill the warmest hearts. The thing looked more like a spectre or a demon than a human. It certainly wasn't the sort of man that you wanted to meet in the dark and alone. Not if you were smart. Fear and panic sparked in his chest when the Man asked his name. How did he know his name?

"Who said I was resting?" Alexander retorted in a low, even voice, trying to keep his voice and face far calmer than the felt, though he could feel his palms heating up. No. No. Not now no. "And what's it to you?" The youth tried to ignore the feeling and push it down. He couldn't lose hold of his problem now, It could only make things worse.

A soft chuckle came from the figure in the shadows; a mocking and cold laugh without amusement. It was the laugh of someone who knew something deep and foreboding, but would not reveal it with the rest of the world. "If you are not resting...then this is an odd place for one to live. And if that is the case, if this is where you do reside, you are acting quite rudely to your guest," the man muttered. Then the man began to slowly circle Alexander, all the while keeping the pale and pathetic amount of light directly over head so that the man could clearly investigate him. "You are very clearly Alexander Grey. My name is Morgan von Faustus and I have come to collect upon your debt." Circling and circling, like a beast preparing to strike down its prey; the phantom known as Morgan eventually ceased his stalking when he stood directly in front of Alexander. He tilted the lantern back slightly so that his own features could be seen more clearly. No point in hiding it now.

"So...will you come peacefully, young man?"

That chuckle made Alex grit his teeth and make his stance even more firm as his body told him to flee. "I live here tonight." he stated, which, he supposed he did. He didn't really live anywhere specific. "And wouldn't you say it's more rude for a stranger to show up uninvited and call itself a guest?" he retorted, voice short and sharp. He turned with the Phantom so that his back was never to him, not letting the man have the satisfaction of treating him entirely like prey.

There it was again, so sure that he was speaking to Alexander Grey. The youth couldn't help but wonder, and not for the first time, if that actually meant anything anymore. That name. "Collect on my debt? What ******** debt?" It wouldn't surprise him if debt collectors were this imposing from the stories that he'd heard about them but there was no way they'd be coming for him. "I haven't borrowed a dime from anyone," he spat, staring the man directly in those ghostly eyes, trying to appear sharp and brave though one of his feet moved backwards like he was going to try and bolt any second now.

As the waves crashed loudly against the shore, the strange man continued to stare at Alexander like he were a piece of meat. His pale golden eyes danced over the young man's form before coming to rest evenly at his eyes again. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, a faint tug on his lips, the slightest threat of an amused smile. The boy had grit and fire in him, a combination that could prove to be an issue if his anger got out of control But he knew, oh he knew, he could see it; the fear that was well guarded behind those fierce eyes. Both of them, even shrouded in the dark embrace of night, could see that neither were easy to give in to each other's impressive stance. And the man, Morgan, could only think of how this frightened young man vaguely reminded him of himself. Vibrant. Strong. And stubborn.

"Money, my young friend, is not what I'm after," and like a snake coiled to attack, the man lashed out and grabbed Alexander by the chin, his gloved hand gripping the man's face quite painfully. He wrenched Alexander's face to the side, bringing the lantern close, too close, to the young man's face. "Your name is Alexander Grey," he repeated, "And your father made a deal with the Devil." Morgan twisted Alexander's face to the opposite direction, his eyes trailing down the burn-like birthmarks along his chiseled features. He released the young man's face and took a step back. "You have a gift, my boy, and it was not given to you by chance. You owe quite a bit and even though the Devil is a patient person, your time has come. I am here to collect the debt your family name has accrued." The man lowered the lantern ever so slightly. "I am offering you a chance to work off this debt in a place where your particular...gift will be appreciated. So...I shall ask you once more: will you come peacefully? " And now, Morgan's expression lost any sort of amusement or amiability. "Or must I force you?"

"If it's not-" Alexander's sharp question was cut off by a tight grip on his chin and he grit his teeth against the rough touch, the fine fabric of the man's gloves surprisingly not helping soften the vice of the stranger's fingers. As Morgan brought the lantern closer to Alexander's face, the flames started to flare and get brighter in their container, creating a bright burn that made Alexander's pulse quicken as his attention split. He wasn't sure whether to focus on getting the flames to die back down to normal or to focus more energy on keeping up appearances for 'Mister von Faustus'.

He didn't have to think about it too long, sneering as Morgan twisted his head roughly in the other direction, looking at his birthmarks like he was an animal up for inspection before being bought. All this talk of demon deals and his father's debt was at once terrifying and ridiculous. What could his father have possibly made a deal for? They hadn't been well off, his father hadn't been particularly skilled. There had been nothing miraculous about their lives. He spat on the ground when the man let go of his chin, leveling a glare at him as he kept speaking. A gift? A Gift? If the stranger knew as much about him as he claimed to, why the hell would he call it a gift? The lantern flared brighter as Alex lost some of his carefully won control, the glass cracking as the sudden increase in heat warped it. "You're out of your god damned mind."

The sharp noise of the glass splintering echoed out against the soft rumbling of the waves as the flames licked against the surface, cracking it and warping the metal, the soft iron crying out in resistance. Any normal person would have dropped the lantern promising to explode into angry flames, but Morgan did not. Instead gave the lantern a passing glance before his golden eyes danced back to the angered form of Alexander, now illuminated by the bright and angry flare of the lantern. But Morgan did not seem concerned with the fire that both emanated from the boy or the lantern. Instead, he simply held out his left hand, the right still braving the increased heat from the angry flame. In the palm of his hand was a dark orb, or one that had formed rather quickly. And even in the all consuming darkness of the night, the orb seemed to be even darker than that. But it did not stay stationary in the palm of his hand. No, it was moving, pulsating almost, as if it were breathing. It was certainly levitating a few inches from the man's hand, that much could be seen. And as it continued to pulsate and grow, faint red particles began to swirl inwardly into the orb, as if it were consuming it. That's when Alexander could see; the man was very clearly gathering what could no less be described as magic in his hand. Whatever sort of black magic he was conjuring, it was clearly darker than the night, a thick mass of shadows that swirled ever so elegantly in his palm, crimson ribbons of red swirling intricately against the black lace of darkness.

b] “I am not to be trifled with, young man. I will only offer you this once more...work for me and pay off your debt. Or I can simply end your miserable pathetic existence here and now. Which shall you choose, Alexander Grey?” Morgan leaned forward slightly, stretching his palm dripping with magic towards the frightened young man. “Your soul is far more valuable to me alive, so I would rather not kill you.” For a brief moment, the deranged man from the shadows cast his eyes off to the side as if to question his words before speaking them; “Working for me will not only pay off your debt, but you will be given shelter as well, a home.” Had there been any sort of kindness or sympathy in that statement, it was lost to the cold and wicked tone in Morgan's voice. Despite that, there wasn't a lick of lies in what he said. He truly was offering the young man a place in which his gift would be appreciated and accepted, not to mention a commodity. But whether or not he believed the strange man was up to Alexander.

Every fiber of Alexander's being screamed at him to run when the darkness started to gather in the stranger's palm, it was clear that no good could come of it. But instead, he found himself stuck, watching the way the darkness seemed to condense into something sinister and all consuming, unable to make his own muscles move for him. He didn't know what sort of evil this was, collecting to be used, presumably against him. Alexander wouldn't have been surprised if the stranger could hear his heart thundering in his chest. Still, even in his fright he couldn't help but feel a spark of curiosity try and peek through the fire and ice battling to consume him. What sort of magic was this? What sort of demon was this man?

When the stranger threatened to end his existence the young man believed fully that he would be a man of his word if given the chance. Looking at the darkness coiled in the man's palm, Alex seriously considered death, and certainly not for the first time. He was ashamed of how many times it had seemed like a real option dangling in front of him, but compared to living the rest of his life as either a slave to his curse or a slave to this devilish stranger, the option stopped seeming quite so bad. Before he had a chance to respond, though, the man said he preferred him alive, that he was more valuable alive. Alex spat a laugh, short, sharp, and humorless. "You've already made your decision, why try to give me the illusion of one?" His voice was still sharp, pretending that he had any control over the specter that was threatening him, but his eyes were wild, glittering with fright. The statement was as much of a resignation as the man was ever going to get from him, giving himself up to either death or the servitude. He refused to believe the sugar-coated promises hat the man was giving, assuming that 'home' and 'acceptance' were pretty words he used just to soften the blow of a lifetime in the man's sinister shadow. His lip twisted and he tried to take a speck of control from the man, though he doubted it would work. "And stop ******** calling me Alexander."

With the unspoken resignation, Morgan dismissed the magic in his hand and a halfhearted smirk crossed his lips before he closed his hand and just like that, the magic dissipated. Standing straight, the specter appeared to relax, the overwhelming and suffocating aura that had begun to collect between the two of them slowly fading. “Good,” he answered sharply to no particular question. When the demand of ceasing of the young man's name came, the man gave a simple shrug. That was a simple enough request that he would honor. “If I cannot call you by your real name, then by what title do you wish to be called?” The man was slowly stepping closer to him now, removing his gloves as he did so. When he was within arm's length, Morgan knelt down in the sand, gently placing the lantern securely on the ground before laying his gloves folded on top of each other upon his knee. Turning his golden gaze up to Alexander, he waited for the boy to answer him.

Almost as soon as Pyrrhus had resigned himself to whatever fate the man had chosen, the man too backed down. It was like they both knew they had reached some sort of decision, even though it was clear at least to Alex that this Faustus fellow had the upper hand. Why back down now? Had it all been just a show to get him to give in? He didn't take his eyes off of him as the man lowered the lantern to the ground and started pulling off his gloves, revealing hands that were nearly as white as the fabric that had concealed them. Pyrrhus." he responded to the question, short and simple. He had been going by the name for a few months now, after he couldn't make Alexander fit anymore. He couldn't remember where he had heard the name, but it sounded like something fierce and reminded him of the word Pyre, Of flames that climbed high into the night and ate up whatever was below them. Perhaps if he could pretend to be one with the flames long enough it would actually happen, he would actually get control.

When his eyes focused back on the man's hands Alexander--no, Pyrrhus--took a step back, but he was too close to the edge of the cliff. There was nowhere for him to retreat to anymore. "What are you going to do to me?" he asked, attempting to sound rough, or at least resigned but coming off as more on-edge than he would have hoped as his eyes flickered over the length of the Man's body.

“Pyrrhus...” Morgan tested out the name, letting it pour from his lips as if tasting the name like a fine wine, picking out the hints and notes of determination and ferocity. It was a good strong and noble name, one befitting of the wild eyes of the young man standing so precariously at the edge of the cliff now. Even now, with his back facing the ocean and the Devil at his fingertips, the young man resisted the fear that clawed at him. He fought against the quaking terror that threatened to consume him and Morgan could see it in his eyes. He was like his chosen namesake; a burning raging fire that threatened to consume those who came too close. Or at least, he would be. All Morgan could see now was a tiny lick of a flame, like that of a burning candle, weak and easily dismissed with the breeze. The boy had clearly suffered, not only by the physical marks on his body, but Morgan could see it in his eyes. He could also hear it in his voice, deep below the wavering growl that called for strength and fortitude as Morgan confronted him. The golden-eyed man slowly stood up, his gloves now carefully tucked into the breast of his heavy coat. When the young man inquired as to what Morgan was about to do, the darkly-clad man simply held out his hand, palm facing up to the darkened sky, as he were offering to Pyrrhus.


“Your family's debt must be collected and I am here to accept the contract. I am not interested in money or any sort of material payment, but rather...I want you to work under me. I am the Ringmaster of Cirque de Tromperie, and I am in need of performers. You have a unique...skill I am rather interested in.”Morgan glanced at the warped lantern resting in the sand next to his feet. “You will work off your debt with your servitude to the Cirque and when you have fulfilled the contract, I will let you go,”Morgan stated simply as if it were the most natural thing to do. He lifted his hand slightly, his pale skin practically glowing in the darkness. “Take my hand and the deal shall be made. Or,”Morgan's eyes widened slightly as a cruel smile threatened to cross his features, “I'm sure Poseidon would be more than pleased to have your flesh as an offering,”the Ringmaster stated as the waves crashed loudly below.

Pyrrhus looked at the man's hand rather than his face as he spoke of debts and contracts, staring at the ghostly fingers that almost seemed to glow in the pale light of the moon. The warped lantern's had died down again, just twitching a little more wildly than normal now, instead of blazing bright and harsh. This Man was nothing to be trifled with. And dispute how insane he sounded, Pyrrhus found himself believing him. Still, it surprised him when he said that he wanted him to work at a Circus, at the fantastical Cirque he had almost visited that very evening, if it hadn't been for a strange sense of foreboding around the place. At least now he knew why.

When the Ringmaster said that he had a skill, Pyrrhus knew he meant the fire, The way he looked at the lantern said it all, and that idea was far more frightening than anything the Man had said before. Pyrrhus had been told from the time the first sparks showed their ugly heads that his 'power', his 'skill' his curse was a black mark to be hidden away and never discussed. He had worked so hard, so long, to keep the flames controlled, every ounce of restraint was hard won and the idea that anyone would want him to let go of the hold and give into the roaring inferno that could and had ruined lives in an instant... Pyrrhus's hand trembled very slightly as he started to hold it out and time seemed to still as he listened to the crashing waves. For a terrible instant he nearly did jump, imagining himself throwing his body into the dark waters below and never coming back up, consumed by the sea. But to die now would be to give in to the devil. And Pyrrhus had fought too long to throw it all away now. Instead he clenched his jaw tightly and looked back into the Ringmaster's golden eyes as he grabbed his hand, in defiance of the wicked glint he found in them.

That instant, that brief and utterly despicably short second, Morgan had seen the want. The desire to jump. That tiny little candle flame was wavering and diminishing so quickly, if Morgan had breathed in that moment, it surely would have been extinguished. But then, the fire grew so brilliantly, the flare and heat of it all released a wild maniacal smile upon the Ringmaster's face as their skin touched and immediately, the contract had been signed. The first thing Pyrrhus felt was an intense burning sensation that blossomed from his grip with the Ringmaster that surged up his arm and across his shoulders. It continued down his spine and spread through his whole body like a searing wildfire. Once it had surged through his legs, it twisted around and shot up through his back like lightening. The moment it had hit his skull, Pyrrhus felt if hot clawed hands were raking through his insides, searching and prying, like an animal digging for food. When at last the hands had found what they were looking for, they clamped shut and the young man felt the searing heat begin to fade. Slowly it continued to drift away as if someone were slowly draining all the heat from his body. And then, there was a sharp tug and Pyrrhus flinched and braced himself. The sensation was terrifying and overwhelming. He felt as if his very heart were about to burst from his chest as another sharp pull came. He couldn't help but feel like if he allowed the tugging and pulling to continue, he would lose something so incredibly important, that he would simply fade away without it. Another tug. His heart constricted painfully. “Do not resist, you will only make it worse on yourself.”

The voice sounded alarmingly distant. And in some corner of his mind, he knew it was the deranged Ringmaster speaking to him. But he could barely focus on the voice as another pull came and Pyrrhus felt his chest burning as if he had been running for miles and miles breathing nothing in but frigid air laced with sharp crystals, ceaselessly with no respite. “Stop resisting, Pyrrhus.”But if he let go, then that important part of him would disappear. Then what would happen to him? Would he simply cease to be? Would he die? Would he vanish into the cold void of nothingness? Another ripping icy pull. If he continued much longer, surely his mind would split into two. If he resisted any longer...surely he would die...This pain was intolerable, but he was not going to close his eyes and give the Ringmaster the satisfaction. His gritted his teeth so tightly together that he could taste blood then slowly... he let go, his eyes locked, wild, on the ringmaster's. Just like that, the last threads that held his soul in place slipped free and Pyrrhus felt as if he had been plunged into a deep dark tank of icy water. All at once, he was hollow inside. There was this overwhelming sense that whatever kept him whole, whatever kept his body and mind from endlessly drifting, was suddenly and very dramatically gone. There was nothing but hole where his soul had resided. And perhaps the worst part of it all, was that it almost felt good.

A dark chuckle came from the Ringmaster. “The deed is done.” But Morgan did not let go. Instead, he continued to hold on to Pyrrhus' hand as he slowly twisted the young man's wrist so that his palm faced the sky when Morgan released his grip. There, rolling gently in his palm, was a medium-sized pearl that looked almost like a bead of lava smoldering in his palm, the bright angry oranges and yellows swirling just beneath a thin, cracked, spiderweb of black. It shimmered brightly against the night, vibrant and whole. A bemused sound escaped the Ringmaster as he plucked the round object from Pyrrhus' hand. “A nice healthy soul...its quite beautiful".Morgan said as he examined the pearl against the pale lantern light.

Pyrrhus was exhausted. It felt as if every sleepless night he had has in the last two years had fallen on top of him at once and one foot jerked forward to keep himself from falling face first into the Ringmaster with a wave of fatigue, even as the other man gripped his hand to pluck the pearl from it. He felt washed out and hollow, but at least he didn't feel quite as full of guilt and terror anymore. He just felt tired, bone deep and nearly insurmountable. But he stood anyway, forcing himself to straighten and pull his hand away as the devilish Ringmaster inspected the shimmering little pearl that apparently was his soul. "Just like that?"he tried to hide the way his breathing was labored now and didn't quite succeed. "I belong to you?" He looked the ringmaster in the eyes again, though his own desperately wanted to slip shut. His gaze wasn't so much defiant anymore as half-lidded and weary, it felt like his whole body was made of hollow lead. "I'm part of your Cirque?"Pyrrhus wondered distantly if the ringmaster could see the dark circles that he certainly felt under his eyes.

The Ringmaster dropped the pearl into a breast pocket before gazing lazily back to Pyrrhus, his gaze much less intimidating now that he had the boy's soul in his grasp. In fact, he looked downright bored. Now that he had gotten what he wanted, Morgan appeared to care very little about Pyrrhus' condition, like a cat tired of playing with a mouse it had killed. The muttered and distressed questions were left hanging uncomfortably in the air as the Ringmaster quietly observed the struggling young man. The Ringmaster himself looked rather worn, if only for the lack of hot and spiteful words that were biting at his lips. Pyrrhus had put up quite an impressive fight, perhaps even more so than any contract Morgan had come into contact with. It had left Morgan feeling a touch drained himself, he had only had to exude that amount of power once or twice before and even then, the physical bodies of those unfortunate souls had given up quite shortly afterwards. The struggle had been far too stressful on their bodies and they had ended up giving in to the overwhelming weakness and fatigue that typically plagued humans after having their souls ripped from them. More often than not, the soul would come out damaged and worthless after a fight like the one Pyrrhus had put up.

But lucky for the boy struggling to keep himself up in front of the Ringmaster, he had been smart and given in to his fate. Though, now Morgan watched him with clearing eyes and a more focused gazed. He wanted this soul to live. He wanted to see this tiny flame burn brighter than any that came before him. But he would have to fight. Morgan could only do so much to help him along, and that's even if he decided to spare the time and energy to do so. But if Pyrrhus could fight for that long against Morgan's powers, then the Ringmaster had no doubt that he would survive this bout with fatigue.

"Yes...you are now mine,"the Ringmaster said, savoring the way those words rolled out across his tongue. He had always enjoyed saying that. "Your soul belongs to me and now, we shall return...return to Tromperie where you will serve out your debt to me. And when...and if you pay off this debt, then perhaps...I shall eventually release you. But you,"the Ringmaster once again approached Pyrrhus, closing the gap between them as he reached out and tipped Pyrrhus' chin up, almost mockingly. You have quite a bit of debt. So, perhaps you'd like to go to your new home and rest up before you begin your eternal work for me?"

For a long moment Pyrrhus could feel the man's bored eyes on him as the silence yawned between them. Only the sound of the waves and the soft panting of Pyrrhus's breathing were left in the night. Perhaps it was his imagination, but it looked almost as if the Ringmaster looked slightly worn himself and the realization made a tiny spark of pride flip over in his chest. It seemed to him that making the Ringmaster feel anything was a feat, even if he had only ended up making himself fare far worse in the end. For a moment, Pyrrhus saw Morgan as a creature that was not as infallible as he first appeared.

Pyrrhus wasn't sure the answer was any better than the silence when the Ringmaster started addressing his questions. The way he said the word mine like it was his favorite word in the world sent a little shiver of ice down Pyrrhus's spine, and then he mentioned the Cirque again. ********. He had almost forgotten that he still had a short journey ahead of him. The news of a possible release in the future, though, gave him a tiny little ember of hope, even if it was false. How much debt was quite a bit? twenty years? forty? eighty? The more he thought about it the less the reassurance meant. Pyrrhus straightened himself as the Ringmaster came closer, and resisted both the urge to flinch away from that little touch or to lean into it and use the other man for even a little bit of support. "How long is the walk?" He never thought he would want to sleep ever again, apparently he was wrong. Just the knowledge that he still had miles to go before he could collapse for a few hours made his body ache, but he had fought this long he could not give in. He had already made up his mind that he would never fully give in to this man. He could only hope the journey was short lest he collapse on the road and embarrass himself.

"How long is the walk?"Morgan chuckled darkly as he plucked the warped lantern from the sand and turned on his heel and began to walk, the darkness beginning to descend upon Pyrrhus as the Ringmaster walked away. “Best keep up if you'd rather not be dragged behind the horses,”Morgan answered with a snide tone as he continue to put distance between him and Pyrrhus.

Pyrrhus made a little noise in the back of his throat as the ringmaster turned and started walking away, leaving him in the dark. He realized that he didn't really have much of a choice at this point, not with his soul gone. He gathered his things quickly, nearly falling over when he stooped to get his tattered bag off of the ground. Standing up wasn't much easier, his head reeling wildly as he nearly fell over. But he took a breath and held it as he jogged a few steps, then stumbled into a walk a few strides behind the Ringmaster. At least there were horses. That was a good sign, he wondered if he would have to ride one or if it was some sort of carriage. The man looked like he probably had a carriage.

Sweeping just beyond Pyrrhus' camp for the night and around several sandy dunes littered with panic grass and bearberry bushes was indeed a carriage. Sitting idle just a few yards from a tempered dirt road the carriage sat like a small beacon in the night. Several candle-lit lanterns hung from the vehicle faintly illuminating the red and white stripped banner that stretched around the entire carriage with the title CIRQUE de TROMPERIE surrounded by a gold ornate frame. It was very clearly not a personal vehicle and perhaps used primarily as a carriage for means of advertisement. It had very clearly been used for ages, for even in the dark, Pyrrhus could see that the wooden panels that built the sides were sun-bleached and the once black iron fixings had long since begun to rust. An older man sat in the seat, and as Morgan and Pyrrhus approached, the elderly man turned to gaze at his master and the young new performer. The man's heavily wrinkled face wrenched up at the sight of Pyrrhus as if he had just come upon some odious scent. His long eyebrows had nearly grown past his eyes, so it was difficult to truly decipher any sort of judgement. After a moment, the older man coughed, gathered spit in his mouth, and then leaned over the seat and spat thickly onto the ground.

“Hmm...are you ready, Master Morgan?” His voice was rough, gritty, and couple with the accent, quite difficult to understand. The Ringmaster lifted the lantern in his hand and returned it to its location amongst the others before turning to Pyrrhus. He gave him a tense smile before opening the door to the carriage and motioned for him to board. “Your carriage awaits. Soon, you will be home. And then, I can truly welcome you. For now, just let me say,”Morgan gave a slight nod of his head, “Welcome to Tromperie.”

By the time they had reached the carriage, Pyrrhus wasn't so much walking or shambling along anymore as he was falling onto the leading foot as he took each step, exerting conscious effort to keep himself fully upright and moving forward. He had never been so relieved to see ethereal lights in the darkness. As they got closer, he could see more details, the long banner, the worn panels, the iron bars that seemed to be rusting away in places. It must have been very ornate in it's day. The fleeting thought of why a Man who could buy souls would use a carriage until it was this worn flitted through his mind, but he was nowhere near stupid enough to mention it out loud. He was so caught up in focusing on propelling himself forward that he didn't notice the disdainful look of the old man, only focusing on him when he addressed the shadowy Ringmaster. 'Master Morgan?' had he heard that right? Was it expected that he would call the man that too?

He didn't spend too much effort on trying to figure it out, his head perking up when the Ringmaster addressed him again 'your carriage awaits' was he mocking him now? The quesiton was only a fleeting thought as Pyrrhus came up beside him when he was ordered to board with a gesture. He had to close his eyes for a second before he climbed in, like he was summoning the strength to complete the simple task that stupid body saw as a feat. Once he was in and seated he practically melted into the seat. When Morgan had boarded as well he flicked his eyes up to meet the Ringmaster's again, a tiny wry smile tugging at his lips as he replied "Thanks Master," He finally replied to the welcome he assumed was at least half goading. The way he used the title sounded like defiance, even in his fatigue-rough mumble.

Of course Pyrrhus had intended to stay awake the entire ride back to the Cirque and only fall asleep once he was safely tucked away wherever Morgan saw fit to put him, but his body was having none of it. Though his posture was stiff, arms crossed over his things and holding them to his chest, and they weren't even a minute into their journey before closed eyes and slow breathing had turned into a dead sleep, still sitting up. Even in asleep, the wild youth with the candle-flame spirit still didn't look relaxed. He was wandering head first into unknown, and if even half of the others at the circus were half as imposing as their Ringmaster perhaps it was good that he caught some sleep, because he had a long sentence ahead of him.

[Scrivener_Lost]

⊱⊱ Cirque de Tromperiexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

✦ Ladies and Gentlemen, May I Present: Your Knife-Thrower

Maiya Seilouen wasn't quite sure what had drawn her to the circus, all she knew was that she needed to go. All she was aware of was that she had a particular desire and the fresh faces the circus brought gave her hopes to fulfill that desire. When she arrived, she wandered to the big tent and sat down in the audience, her eyes fixated on an acrobatic woman who was absolutely gorgeous. Long blonde hair, thin and petite, absolutely gorgeous, and definitely skilled at her task. It was a wonderful performance as she twisted herself amongst the ribbons. As Maiya watched and witnessed the performance and the finale if it, the brown haired woman felt she needed to seek out this woman.

While in this day and age, same sex relationships was something frowned upon and rather difficult to find. Maiya's desire for finding a woman was fairly overwhelming, and with her flirtatious tendencies, she had managed to woo a fair number of woman. Her current goal was to woo this woman as well. As she exited the large tent, she followed after the blonde haired maiden. "Heey!" Maiya called out trying to get her attention, which seemed to work as the woman stopped in her journey to where ever and turned to the brown haired woman. The blue eyed girl offered a smile and a quiet greeting back. Needless to say, Maiya invited the woman out into town and the two hit it off fairly well. After the initial drink at the local bar, Ms. Seilouen had managed to get the woman's name - Elizabeth Kingsley. She had also discovered that this woman had the same interests as Maiya - other women. They sped through interaction rather hastily, and needless to say the evening ended up with both the women in Elizabeth's room on the train.

Once the two women returned to Eliza's room, things continued moving fast. Pieces of clothing started to come off, and the two fell onto the bed before they were both completely naked. Then there was a knocking at the door. When Maiya heard the noise, instinctively, she opened the door with her telekinesis. However, due to her being amidst some action she had hardly paid attention to the figure lingering in the door.

Why he had chosen to skulk through the residential cars instead of simply stomping through them like he would normally do on any other typical day, the Ringmaster would never know. Perhaps it was that he was looking for someone to prey upon, to exact his frustrations and anger upon, and he didn't want his chosen target to hear him and scamper off. Or perhaps it was due to the fact that he had screamed nearly until his throat was raw just hours ago and he was nursing the grating pain of overusing his voice. After all, it couldn't have been more than forty minutes after spending nearly an hour and a half introducing his troupe to the screaming audience. It was terribly exhausting to produce a voice loud enough to block out the screaming children, roaring of impatient lions, and the general chatter of an excited crowd. They had only just begun to invest in a system of experimental speakers that could amplify the Ringmaster's voice and the music for the circus, but it was still archaic at best and heavily flawed. Or, his terrible and sour mood could have been a byproduct of just having dismissed his knife-thrower. The fool had severely injured the Damsel in Distress; his aim had been shoddy at best and his power of metallurgy hadn't affected the knives in time before two lodged themselves in the upper bicep of the poor woman. The woman had tried her best to remain professional, but her screams had stilled the audience into a terrible silence. The jugglers were quickly able to recover the mood, but it was no use.

The audience had seen the failure. And when the show was all over, Morgan waited until the performers gathered in the usual spot before he ripped through them all, bashing every single performer with insults and cruel words. Upon dismissing them, Morgan held the knife-thrower back until everyone was gone. The two men spoke (or in this case, Morgan screamed at him until his throat was nearly bloody with the intensity) and threatened the man in all ways that a man could threaten another. Well, this particular soul had not quite appreciated the words Morgan spared him and when the Ringmaster had turned his back, finally satisfied with the words that had been said, the knife-thrower had attempted to jump the Ringmaster. Fed up with his constant moodiness and cruel ways, the knife-thrower brought it upon himself to try and best the Ringmaster.

It had not ended well for the knife-thrower, but he had gotten lucky. Morgan von Faustus was not a forgiving man and after promptly bludgeoning the knife-thrower within an inch of his life, he cast him out of the circus. The man's debt had nearly been completed anyhow. What were three years to a man who lived a life eternal. He would surely face the wrath of the Owner regardless, considering the disaster that was today's show. Tomorrow's show would surely suffer and with a decrease in funds came an increase in the Owner's wrath. So what did it matter if he had cheated a soul out of a few years of debt if he was just going to face his wrath anyways?
But now, the Ringmaster was left to deal with the fact that he was minus a knife-thrower. That alone would put him in an off mood as he slid down the corridor rather soundlessly. Though, he wished he hadn't. As he had neared one of the rooms that belonged to an aerial ribbon acrobat, he could hear strange noises coming from within the room. Pausing, Morgan's gold eyes flitted over to the door suspiciously. The noises were out of place and unusual and the Ringmaster found that coupled with his current mood, he was ready to dismiss yet another performer for acting out place. Rapping his knuckles against the door, he called out the acrobat's name before the door was suddenly pulled open and he found two women caught up in the throes of passion. The Ringmaster was struck with surprise and shock, his heart leaping into his throat as he suddenly became very very aware of just what was taking place. Red laces of embarrassment crossed his face as he took a step back.

“Ah...ah w-what is going on here Elizabeth!? Who is this woman?” Morgan was finally able to find his voice again as he turned his gaze aside. By the Gods...why this, why now?

As a male's voice hit her ears, Maiya froze. Luckily the two women were still covered enough. Her gaze moved over to find a rather attractive man standing in the doorway. He was a tall, sophisticated looking man, with spots of grey forming in the depth of his black head. When it came to men, older men were usually the ones that caught her attention. Glancing at the woman in her arms before sitting up, Maiya took notice of the panic and fear struck expression that Elizabeth wore as well. Moving from her laying spot, the brown haired woman stretched her arms above her head before looking back at the sir who stood in the entrance to the room. With her arms going upwards, it caused her large breasts to jiggle. Winking at the man, she moved to her feet, and walked over to him with movements that helped emphasize her hips and hopefully draw the man's eyes to admire her figure.

"Hey there big boy." She started as she placed a finger on the taller man's chest. "So, what's your name?" Maiya started before casting a glance towards the bed. Her mind wasn't so much focused on his name, more for the question that was going to fall from her lips next. While sure, the woman in the bed was clearly intimidated by the man. Maiya just couldn't let such an attractive man slip through her fingers. "You want to join?"

The woman was built like Aphrodite herself; the very visage of Venus in all of her beautiful and seductive glory. With her curvy figure making its way towards Morgan, he did not miss the glimmer in her eyes like that of a beast examining its prey. Her exquisite beauty was not lost on the Ringmaster was it was in every man's nature to admire the beautiful creatures that were women. Even the Ringmaster himself found it difficult to turn his eyes from the woman and her voluptuous figure and when he felt her finger upon his chest, he felt his heart skip a beat. A noticeable amount of crimson had formed on the man's pale face as it raced across his cheeks and down his neck. And he knew very well that she was not interested in his name as he had come across many women like her before and it was a well played-out ruse to get vulnerable men to relax. Morgan closed his eyes, still averting his gaze as she continued to play into her ruse and had he been lesser of a man, he might have let his inhibitions slip. But as it were, Morgan had a much more solid foundation than most gave him for. He had something that he held dear that ground him to his sanity and composition. And when she threw the invitation his way, the Ringmaster found the strength he needed to deny her advances and beauty in the form of repugnance.

And not for the two women in the room and not for the advances even, but repulsion of himself. To even remotely consider the possibility of breaking his oath brought him intense shame. Shame and failure as a man to keep his word. And if there was one thing that Morgan hated more than anything, it was failure. Morgan turned his head away from the woman before a harsh scowl crossed his face and no one knew better than Elizabeth what was about to happen next. “You are trespassing on private property. This woman does not own this train, I do!” Morgan hissed and lashed out, grabbing Maiya's arm roughly. He pulled her close as a deep growl formed in his chest. “I suggest you gather your things and leave immediately! And you,” he turned his fierce eyes on Elizabeth.
“This place is my home and I will not have you sullying this place with your careless flings!” He hissed. “Get out!” He bellowed while tossing Maiya back towards the bed.

She shrieked as the man grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him. Maiya then realized there was a reason that the woman she was in the bed with seemed terrified of him. Her red-stained eyes looked at the man with panic as the words escaped his lips. This was the man who owned the circus, this was the man who orchestrated the amazing show she had witnessed earlier? When he tossed her back onto the bed, she looked up onto the man in all his overwhelming glory as she laid there, unsure of what to do for a moment.

Maiya was very much interested in the man, and she really did want to get to know him better. While this was probably the worst way to meet an attractive man, let alone lone that could easily resist the temptations of her figure, she felt she needed to do something to make him not so grumpy or agitated. For whatever reason, her mind leaped from laying there blankly to using her telekinesis to hitting the man on the head with something. Maybe even through the blanket on him? Her head turned back towards Elizabeth who had snuggled herself beneath the blankets looking terrified of what was going on. Her large blue eyes looked back at Maiya and she shook her head slowly. "Hey, hey now Tiger." Maiya stated trying to get the man to not flee from the room. "I think we got off on the wrong foot." She said as she stood back up. Her telekinesis had picked up a shoe of Elizabeth's.

Maiya saw the floating shoe out of the corner of her mind, and while she had the ability for quite a length of time in her life, she had still failed to really understand how to use it. Often times, it kicked up without much thought, and responded to things she said verbally. Such as in this case where she mentioned foot, so subconsciously her mind lifted up a shoe. To her, instead of an extension of her mind or actions, she always seemed to have to state a word in order to activate it. Otherwise it just kind of actively searched for keywords in her speech and corresponded to them, or - when the women began to get excited it would do random things on its' own much like opening a door.

"Not now..." she muttered to herself as she buried her face into the palm of one of her hands. "You see." She said louder, trying to keep the man interested in her conversation. "I actually was trying to find you and let you know that I really enjoyed the show tonight, particularly Elizabeth, but I was wondering if you had any open spots in it as well. As, I'm very interested Sir." Maiya said with a smile and a wink. While she knew the wink was probably not going to be beneficial in this case, it was more of a habit at this point in the twenty-two year old's life.

Particularly Elizabeth...particularly Elizabeth...Morgan couldn't help but snarl in discontent as he rolled his eyes dramatically. “Clearly.” He snapped with wicked sarcasm at her comment even as she dolled on. And when she inquired upon openings, his mind immediately went to the recent dismissal of his knife-thrower, but it was quickly cast aside as the woman winked at him. What a foolish minx, he thought to himself as his brows furrowed deeply. He was not in the mood to deal with this woman who dared to try and sweet-talk her way out of the situation. No. The woman had trespassed onto his home and he wasn't about to let that folly go without some sort of recompense. Both her and Elizabeth would have to pay. He had invested far too much into his train, his Bastille, his home; and the thought that some random stranger simply walked right up and into it sent tumultuous spines of frustration through his body. This was his home, not some random shack in which every brought their spoils of conquest. Kneeling down, the Ringmaster kept his eyes low as he plucked from the floor a random article of clothing before tossing it at the woman.

“Even if you could move the very mountains or part the Red Sea, I would never allow a wench such as you into my troupe. You've no talent I am interested in, since apparently your only skill happens to be the ability to express women from their clothing. Now, I will not repeat myself,” Morgan bellowed. “Both of you! Remove yourselves from this train immediately before I find that your skins would be better suited as a throw rug!” The Ringmaster hissed, his golden eyes flashing dangerously.

Glancing back at Elizabeth, Maiya wanted to make a comment about /removing herself/ from something. However, she knew now was not the time or place. As she turned her head back towards the man in the doorway, something other than her hair flew past her head. In fact, it was the shoe from moments ago that she inadvertently lifted with her mind. The foot covering traveled through the air, and towards the man's black and grey head. Smacking him across the face. Deciding that was the best distraction she had at the moment and clearly she had been on the wrong side of conversation the whole time. She took this opportunity. Gathering up her clothes and a few articles for Elizabeth, she waved her hand dismissively.

"Well, I suppose I'll shuffle my way out of here." Maiya stated as her voice trailed off into an utterance of "Come on Elizabeth..." While the man was taking up most of the doorway, it was difficult for the smaller girl to scoot by him. However, she tried her best to, while with her large breasts it made the already small space even smaller.

But before she or Morgan could move or scoot out of the way, the Ringmaster's hand lashed out and grabbed the woman by the bicep. The moment his hand touched her flesh, this time, the woman could feel an odd creeping sensation flowering from the point of contact. Looking up at his face, Maiya could see the Ringmaster, aside from a growing red mark upon his cheek from where the shoe had been flung at his face, his eyes looked distant and foggy as if he were deep in thought. With their bodies smashed together in the doorway, it was easy for Morgan to keep a hold of her as he slowly began to return from...where ever his mind had gone. The Ringmaster blinked several times before fully coming to focus on Maiya and the moment he did so, a terrible expression crossed his features. Instead of pure unadulterated anger, now, a hint of intrigue had been sewn through and he looked at her like a possession instead of a stranger.

“You...have a debt to pay...” The Ringmaster maneuvered himself so he was now fully blocking the doorway as he pushed Maiya back into Elizabeth's room.
How he could have missed it, Morgan was unsure. It was not like him to mess up. But neither had her contract been visible when he had first come to town. Even during the performance, when he had the time to search the audience for debts, he still had not seen hers. But now, in light of her powers, he could see it fully. The anger had fully blinded him and now he felt like a fool. No matter, he thought to himself as he stared at her. The contract is still unfulfilled...a nice minor debt to be completed...still, her power will be immensely useful/...And just like that, the transgressions of intruding upon his home were forgotten. He could care less. Not only did she had a very unique power that would be very useful to him, but her initial debt would keep her there long enough for Morgan to think of a way to keep her around longer. There were numerous things Morgan could think of that would stall the woman's debt long enough for him to get a decent use out of her powers. A wicked smile crossed his lips as he held on to her arm tightly, his nails digging into her skin. “You know...I think a position may have just become available...” Morgan added darkly. “Maiya SeiLouen, you have a debt yet to be repaid...”

As the man put his masculine hands on her arm, she felt a chill creep through her body and goosebumps corresponded to that. Her eyes gazed up on the taller man, and as he maneuvered to keep her there. A grin crossed her face before he spoke. "Now, now, this is more like it!" She commented, thinking that the man had changed his mind about her prior offer. Though the distant gaze and fog that held to his eyes was an odd change from his original demanding state, she didn't mind as it could possibly mean that she'd bed him.

However, the next few words felt oddly out of place. 'A debt?' She thought. 'What-- 'Her thoughts were cut off by the man pushing her back into the room. "Out out out, no. Stay. C'mon sweetheart, make up your mind~!" She uttered as she sat herself back onto Elizabeth's bed. Her eyes wandered off the man for a moment and back onto the youthful girls' still panicked state. Though, her wide eyes stared terrified at Maiya still. The brown haired woman managed to read the words "Get out" before Maiya's attention was brought back to the tall black haired man. A part of her felt that this man's sudden change in persona and random interest in her was very out of place. However, that part had become even more interested in the man aside from his simple mysterious appearance. As, his mind was clearly a maze of wonders as well.

Her right hand began to run through her hair as the man suddenly revealed that he did have a position available. A toothy smile crept onto her face, then she stood to her feet. No matter how much the man tried to seem so dark and mysterious, it was honestly making her more and more interested. Maybe even a bit turned on by his strange mannerisms. "Oh~? Decided you wanted to keep me around, huh?" She stated jokingly accompanied with a low chuckle. "I'm not quite sure what this debt thing you keep mentioning is. However, if it means I can get closer to you and Elizabeth. Well.. Count me in~" She sang the last part and another sultry laugh escaped from her lips. It wasn't hard to convince Ms. Seilouen.

"Keep you around, yes," Morgan began, his voice heavy and dark. His golden eyes fluttered across Elizabeth's terrified form and his brows lowered. "But she will not be so lucky..." Morgan finished as he snapped his eyes back to Maiya. He still had a firm grip on the woman's bicep even as she stood. "Maiya, I am in need of your gift and so, I will accept your contract." The Ringmaster glanced down at his hand where he held onto Maiya's arm and she could feel another strange sensation once again blossoming out from the point of contact. Like cold fingers raking across her skin, she could feel as if ice water had been poured into her veins and was slowly spreading through her whole body. It surged through her, reaching every point and every muscle, running across every fiber as it searched. It was searching, groping, looking for something and coursed through her until at long last, it began to well inside her chest. Her heart and lungs felt as if she had been plunged into a frigid ocean, the waters completely encompassing her as it threatened to drown her. At one point, it all stopped and it had found what it was looking for. She could feel it as the icy grip wrapped around every good feeling and every inch of her being, slowly surrounding it like a hand as it clenched tightly and securely. Every sense of who she was had suddenly been plunged into a dark icy crevasse as the horrible clawing hand began to recede, taking with it her very center. Her very being. Every dream, aspiration, moral; everything that was Maiya Seilouen was being drawn from her like an insect slowly being drained if its insides from a predator spider.

When at last the entirity of her had been taken, it broke away and drifted from her like a lingering fall breeze chased away by a cold winter gust. And the moment Morgan released Maiya's arm, she could feel the last final threads of her soul rip, and all at once, she felt hollow. It were as if every thing that made her whole was suddenly and quite frighteningly gone. Just disappeared. As if a giant hole replaced where her lungs and heart were located. Quickly taking her left palm in his hands, Morgan watched as Maiya's soul pearl formed, bright pink and healthy as it formed into existence. The Ringmaster's eyes glittered with excitement as he tilted her hand and watched as the medium-sized sphere rolled from her palm into his. He held it up and released her, inspecting the pearl like a diamond dealer, looking for any flaws or cracks. If the soul had been damaged, then it would be useless seeing as how both the soul and the woman would die shortly after. "Mmm...this will do." Morgan muttered as he pocketed the pearl into his vest. Turning his gaze back to the two women, his eyes lingered on Maiya for just a moment before snapping to Elizabeth. "You...you're no longer worth my time. Get up."

The feeling that coursed through her body was so peculiar. It started at her arm and pulsated through her veins. While she had dabbled in some unsavory tendencies amongst her freedom, Maiya had never encountered a feeling like this. To put it in her own words, it almost felt as though a ghost were searching her entire body for something though what - she couldn't pinpoint as the frigid specter traveled through her figure. As this occurred, she clearly stiffened as it journeyed within. Her eyes widened as the feeling shifted from a simple interior traveler into something whisking her being away. As though whatever phantom which was scouring every inch of her insides had found a treasure and began to kidnap the items within.

What exactly was this man? She didn't know. Maiya admittedly knew nothing about him. However, in his strange contact with her skin. The uneasy feeling that the two of them touching caused to crawl through her; it was just too interesting. What came with the hallow and empty feeling that appeared within was nearly immediately replaced with a giant desire, an even more emphasized feeling of desperation to be with this man forever even if it were against his will. The mystery, unsettling magic that sent shivers down her spine - down into her core. All this did was further emphasize her want, her need, her goal in life to become this man's closest ally and partner through everything.

This was a feeling that Maiya had never experienced before. While sure, she idly flirted with people in an attempt to smuggle them into the bedroom. Nothing, no man or woman, had ever made her feel such want. So, while initially the onset of loneliness crept into her heart, that empty, spacious feeling, was simply replaced with hope - and an urgency to become close to this peculiar man who was mostly known as the Ringmaster. What was his first name though? That was Maiya's first quest and progressing forward in a relationship would be the next one.

Then something else caught her attention. The formation of something solid in her grasp. A pinkish white round object. She still was confused as to what exactly was unfolding. It felt like a riddle she was too dumb to solve. Something out of her reach that was coated in an unsolvable puzzle, and at the core of this was the man next to her who had rolled the freshly formed ball out of her palm and into his own as he inspected the jewel.

As the man finished looking for whatever he was; he looked at Maiya and past her onto Elizabeth, the beautiful blonde. Once the man demanded her actions, she did as told, while whimpering his name - Morgan. This caught Maiya's attention, but not so much so as to cause for alarm. As she was far more interested in putting The Ringmaster's name in her memory.
“M-Morgan, please!” Elizabeth squealed as the Ringmaster lunged forward and grabbed her arm, violently pulling her from the bed. “I said GET OUT!” Morgan hollered as he yanked the girl in front of him before shoving her roughly from the room. With Maiya's pearl in his breast pocket, he had very little concern over what she chose to do. She was his now and even if she tried to escape or attack him, the Ringmaster knew she wouldn't get very far. All he needed to do was to give the pearl just a gentle squeeze and the woman be incapacitated. The Ringmaster continued to force the girl through the train, other performers peeking through their doors or lingering just out of the way in the common spaces as Morgan practically tossed the woman about violently. When they had arrived at the loading door, Morgan through it open and turned to Elizabeth who was trying to pry Morgan's bruising grip from her arm. The fear was real in her eyes, all of their eyes as the troupe watched the violent Ringmaster treat the woman like a rag doll. Hushed whispers and concerned whimpers began to fill the halls as a few dared to venture out of their rooms. The Ringmaster had just gotten rid of one misbehaving performer, so who was to say he wouldn't get rid of another. And without much tact or grace, he shoved the woman from the high platform of the train and let her crash into the dirt below before kicking free the unfolding stairs that would allow him to descend safely.

As he walked down the stairs, he could hear the woman whimpering, sobbing really, into the cold dirt. It was late in the evening now and a harsh cold wind was blustering through the circus grounds. There were no fading embers from the large fire pit and even most of the lanterns hanging from the train had gone out with the exception of the two that cast a damning light down upon the collapsed figure of Elizabeth in the dirt. However, the moment Morgan stepped out into the night, he blocked a great deal of the light, casting a long thick shadow over the woman. “Please...please...what about my debt?” Elizabeth weakly inquired, his voice heavily muffled as she could not dare to look at the imposing Ringmaster, her face buried in her arms. Morgan snarled with spite and disgust. “What ever made you think that your debt would have been paid in the first place?” He growled out icily. She slowly lifted her head to look at him, her eyes wide with fear as the Ringmaster glared down at her. “Only in death will your debt null and void,” he added heavily.

Inside the train, there were gasps and whispers. “He's crazed! He nearly beat William to death! He's going to kill her!” “There's no reasoning with him when he's like this!” “He's killed before...who is to say he won't do it now?” “We can't let him...Elizabeth has done nothing wrong!” “Someone needs to stop him!” “Oh yeah, you go ahead and challenge him...he's got our souls you fool!” But these words did not reach the Ringmaster as he now stood towering over the Elizabeth. “Let this be a lesson for all who dare to transgress against me!” Morgan announced to the troupe filling in the door space, eyes wide with fear and anticipation as the frightening Ringmaster stood over Elizabeth, the poor woman entirely encompassed in his shadow.

The shrieks and squeals from the blonde haired maiden as the man yanked her out of the sheets snapped Maiya out of her slightly lusty daze. The scene the pair of them caused as Morgan shuffled Elizabeth and himself from the room caused her jaw to drop open with a bit of shock. Throwing her own dress on before following the ruckus, her eyes furrowed in confusion. 'What is this man doing' She internally asked herself as she caught up to him. As she followed, fear began to replace the curiosity and slight interest as she realized how violent the man was being towards Elizabeth. He wouldn't harm her - would he? Especially not after her fabulous performance that had pulled Maiya onto the train to begin with.

Then... He threw her out the train. Maiya gasped, though she was glad the train wasn't in the process of relocating when the clearly angry man had decided to expose the blonde. Maiya had only see that the man had retreated after her before a flood of onlookers gathered at the exit. Due to her shorter stature, it was difficult for her to spot exactly what was going between the Ringmaster and the acrobat.

The words that escaped the lips of the other circus members hit her ears. What exactly had she gotten herself into? The conversation made her brows furrow again. "He's got our souls you fool!" Then, Maiya recalled the pearl that the man had extracted from her skin. Was that really a solid soul? That didn't seem right. Poking between the crowd, she was able to see the mysterious man stand over the blonde woman. Stating it was a lesson for anyone who dared to defy him. It was a sight to see. A terrible sight.

A sight that was going to forever be engraved into Maiya's mind. While she knew that she desperately desired to get closer to him - she had learned that after this experience she would have to advance slowly and tactfully as to not step past the man's boundaries.

Though, she never knew that doing that would take more time than she even expected to live.

[Scrivener_Lost]

⊱⊱ Cirque de Tromperiexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

✦ Ladies and Gentlemen, May I Present: Your Acrobat Icarus - Part 1

The sun was just starting to sink below the horizon and cast pale orange and purple light over the park. Most of the other children had already gone home for the evening, but little Andromeda was still skipping away. Her brother watched her from his place where he was sitting high above her on the top of the swing set. He just didn't have the heart to pack her up and take her back home to the strange house that they still hadn't grown used to yet. Besides, she looked happy here out in the fresh air, jumping about and playing with friends--both real and imaginary. Besides, he liked it up here, high in the air where he could see everything and no one else could get him. He was the only child in the neighborhood nimble enough to climb the slippery poles and the only one brave enough to shimmy out onto the connecting bar and sit up on the top of the swing set like he did. Sometimes, when he was showing off, he even hung by his knees to get cheers from the other children.

Icarus sighed as he swung his legs, he knew they had to leave soon, but he could give her just a few more minutes of freedom before he lead her back to confusions. Back to "when are we going home?" and "Where's daddy?" Their father had been buried nearly two weeks ago and still the child didn't quite seem to grasp that it was final. Or maybe she just didn't want to believe. Icarus smiled when he heard her laugh at something and closed his eyes as he listened to the wind for a moment, only opening them again when an eerie stillness seemed to creep over the space. At first it seemed like everything was alright, that it was just his imagination, but then, out of the corner of his eye he saw a tall dark figure coming closer.

Normally he'd ignore it, just a man wandering through the park--it was a public space, after all--but something felt wrong, creating a leaden feeling in Icarus's stomach. He scooted along the top bar of the swing set so he could grab the support and start to slide back down to the ground, dropping the last foot or two. "Andy!" he called out to his sister, reaching out for her as the dark figure kept stalking closer and closer, bringing a heavier feeling of foreboding with him. "Andy I think we should go home now."


The little girl pouted and waved her fists, looking for a moment even younger than she was "Aw, but Icky it's not even that dark yet! Auntie said we didn't have to be in until it was dark!" Icarus bit his lip but smiled at her, kneeling down a little bit and running his fingers gently through her hair.

"I know, but it's going to be dark by the time we get home and we wouldn't want to get into trouble, right?" His pink eyes kept flickering from his sister's face to the man beyond her shoulder,

"Five more minutes?" Andromeda batted her eyelashes at him, little pink lip turned out into a pout. Icarus debated for a few seconds before sighing and shaking his head before smiling at her and gave her hair a little tousle.

"Fine. Five more minutes then we have to go." His worry about the man was probably nothing anyway.

The evening was warm. Pleasantly warm. The last rays of the sun cast deep rich shadows against the ground while throwing a soft orange hue against any object that it could find, its weakened grasp slipping from its surly fingers as the night pressed down upon the sun, threatening to push it below the horizon. It was a rather unusual time for visitors to still be within the park, but a lone soul had walked quite some distance from his home to visit the infamous piece of land. It was known for miles that this particular place had a special selection of aspens that when the last breath of the evening whispered across the land just as the sun faded from the skies, the trees would join together in a beautiful chorus that would remind one of a church choir singing. He had wanted to visit the park for this reason in particular, but it would be lying to claim that it was the only reason why he was here; simply put, he was running away. Well, not quite away as he could not completely abandon the place in which he would spend life eternal. But it wasn't often that he could find the time to have just a few precious moments by himself before the rancor would follow him.

Morgan the Ringmaster had come to this park for more than just solitude. As it were, his knife-thrower Maiya had been particularly clingy today and beloved Ava was being a righteous terror thanks to the attempted demands of the Ringmaster to get her to dress like a proper lady instead of some sort of feral child pulled off the street. It had not ended well and the resulting fallout had sent the Ringmaster reeling after she had joined with the illusionist to make the Ringmaster's day a living hell. Thankfully, they were stationary and the Ringmaster was able to disembark the train in order to escape the endless torment of fake doors and stairs that made no sense. So yes, in a way, he was running away. He was escaping the train that had become a mad house and for the first time since early morning, the Ringmaster had found silence. It was nice.

But that was not even the main objective here. The warm sunlight and pleasant breeze that had begun to rustle the leaves of the aspens were merely a calming change in the rancorous day for the Ringmaster. Now, he had business to attend to. Standing at the edge of a gathering of young aspens, the dark figure watched the two children as they lingered in the park. He had dressed lightly for this occasion. Dressed in slacks and a vest accompanied by a button-down shirt, the Ringmaster had forgone his typical intimidating attire for something a little less...threatening. After all, if he was going to address children, then he didn't want to frighten them completely out of their minds. Though, it was out of character for the Ringmaster; but if ten years of raising his daughter had taught him anything it was that children apparently did not favor dark clothing. He had to admit...not being under several layers of vests and coats was rather refreshing.

Taking in a deep breath, the Ringmaster strode forward to the pair of children, siblings by the looks of it. When he was within a few feet, he slowed his stride before clearing his throat. “Good evening little ones. You are out rather late, don't you think?”

Icarus was prepared to mostly ignore the man, the park was big and fairly well known, after all. Besides, the evening was nice, pleasantly warm with a gentle breeze. Who wouldn't want to be in the park? But instead of keeping to himself and not bringing his little ominous cloud into their world, the strange man walked right up to them and started questioning their being out at this hour. Tall tales of strange men that took children away flooded into Icarus's mind and he took a few steps back from the man.

His fear was out of character, normally Icarus had no problem welcoming strangers but he just couldn't shake the feeling that he had about the man. Still, he didn't want to be impolite, though being lumped in with his sister and called a little one did annoy him. He was fifteen, nearly grown, it wasn't his fault he was short. "We were just about to leave Sir, but it's such a nice night we decided to stay out a few more minutes." He took his little sisters hand and squeezed it before kneeling down and giving her a pat on the hip to get her to run off. "Go swing Andy, I'll be over to push you in a minute if you want." he whispered before standing up and facing the man again, registering, but not quite acknowledging his sister's bright little smile and affirmative response a she skipped away.

Icarus faced the man again and smiled at him, though the gesture was a little bit strained. "I-is there something I can do for you, Sir?" he asked cautiously, putting his hands behind his back as he rocked on his heels. The polite little phrase was meant to be a lighter version of 'what do you want from me', and Icarus assumed that the message would get across.

Morgan's eyes followed the little girl as she trounced off, her small form reminding Morgan of his own adoptive daughter at that age. Not a care in the world, merely focused on play and imagination; it was a good age for children. They were still innocent, untouched by the harsh realities of the world. For those who had suffered at such a young age, they often bounced right back. Resilient, promising, and filled with dreams. Their minds and souls were cluttered with fantasy and congested with amusement. Still untouched by sin and damnation, children were true wonders of the world. The Ringmaster watched the child for only a moment long before turning his attention to the boy in front of him. His smile betrayed the nervousness and uncertainty that was hidden in his voice. But it was there. Plain as day for the Ringmaster to see and of little surprise or consequence.

"Your name is Icarus Fletcher, is it not?" Morgan asked, his tone low and uncharacteristically gentle. He could not help it. For as old as Icarus was, the age in which Morgan typically began to take children unto the Cirque, it did not lesson the flitting guilt that struck the Ringmaster when he had to take these young and inexperienced contracts. In the distance, Morgan could hear the small girl as she entertained herself and for a moment, Morgan felt a twinge of hesitation. "Your father passed away recently." It was more of a statement than a question, but he did not want to frighten the young boy with the knowledge of something that strangers would not have typically known.

Icarus looked at the man as his gaze traveled off toward Andromeda who was giggling and talking to herself as she swung, already getting decent height. He expected the look he found there to be predatory or dangerous, but instead, oddly, he found it almost fond. Icarus bit his lip and ran his hand through his hair, starting to look more bashful now that he wasn't nearly as scary as he had seemed as he was approaching. Had he pegged this man all wrong?

And then the man said his name and Icarus's eyes went wide, more surprised than frightened. Did he know this man already? There was a beat of silence, barely long enough to be noticed, before the man spoke again 'your father passed away recently. "Yes Sir..." There was a little hesitation and a confused look from the boy "Were you one of the people at the funeral?" His father's 'following' if you could call it that, was small, but there had been a fairly large number of people that Icarus had never seen before filing through and giving their condolences and raving about how much his father's music had touched them. Was this man one of them? "I'm sorry, but if you were I don't recognize you."

"Do not fret, I was not present. But your father's passing is an interest of mine," Morgan said softly, "Tell me...are you all that she has?" Morgan asked, his eyes traveling back to the young girl on the swing. He had done it before. Numerous times.

Torn families apart.

Mothers, fathers, siblings, sons and daughters; Morgan had ripped families apart ever since the beginning. As it was the nature of the beast, the debt almost always included a debt accrued by one family member and shoved off onto another. The most common path of the debt was from one parent to the child, so it was little surprise when Morgan came to collect upon the debt that he would be ripping families apart. Some were more subdued than others, but on more than one occasion, Morgan had been assaulted on various levels by parents trying to protect their children or lovers attempting to save each other. It wasn't easy and it had never been. Even in the past when Morgan gave very little thought to his actions; there was always still some sort of conflict that arose. But perhaps, even worse than the physical wounds that were left after such an event were the emotional and mental scars. Stripping a mother of her child was perhaps one of the worst. There was no sound in this world that Morgan hated more than a woman screaming for her offspring.

But perhaps just as difficult was knowing that with the collection of one contract, it would be leaving a family member completely alone. In this case, taking Icarus away from his sister would leave the small girl with no older brother to protect her. The Ringmaster let his eyes slowly drift back to Icarus.

Icarus's face fell a little at the question. "Not exactly..." he hedged, looking out at Andromeda again. After all, at least after they were orphaned their aunt--a woman that Icarus had never really interacted with before, except fleeting instances years apart--had taken them in when she had taken what was left of their father's tiny estate instead of leaving them to an orphanage or to the streets. But while she was worth mentioning for her acceptance of the two of them into her home, she wasn't exactly a warm woman, and she was practically a stranger despite the short time that they had been with her. "...but I'm the most familiar." True enough. At this point, since his sister was so young, he didn't know which of them would be more affected by something like a separation, her or himself. He'd spent so many years taking care of her, he didn't know what he would do if he didn't have to. It would certainly be lonely.

He forced the thought down, trying not to focus on the sad thing, and instead focused back on the man's face, his eyes flicking over it like he was looking for something. Slowly, he got himself to relax a little, smile a little bit more at the stranger now that he seemed less intimidating then before. "She reminds you of someone, doesn't she? Do you have a daughter?" His questions were innocent and genuinely curious. Icarus couldn't quite pin why he thought the man was a father, there were plenty of people who treated kids gently without the experience, and the man certainly came across as more powerful than paternal, but when he looked at Andy it was hard not to see him as someone who had at least cared for a child.

Even when the child affirmed that at least the girl would not be completely alone, it did nothing to lift Morgan's spirits when he contemplated on having to split the siblings, for even the Ringmaster knew how important siblings were to each other. To take one away would hurt one or both, and it didn't matter how far they were from each other, they would always be thinking of them. And when the young man inquired as to Morgan's familiarity with the young girl, the Ringmaster felt himself give a start. Ah...getting in too deep, he thought as he cleared this throat. As much as he wished he could speak of Ava and join in easy banter with the boy, the evening was growing late and Morgan had to hurry this along. He had too much work to complete to get caught up in a conversation. The Ringmaster closed his eyes for a moment as he steeled his resolve before opening them and setting his jaw. Work is work, no matter the situation, he had to remind himself. "Young man, are you familiar with the concepts of debt?" Morgan asked. He put his arms behind his back, his long dark hair falling over his shoulders in lazy waves and loose ringlets as he waited for the child's response.

Icarus looked confused when the topic suddenly jumped from Andromeda to debts, but he humored the man.His father had spent enough time getting in and out of it that Icarus had enough familiarity with it, not to mention the time that he had spent working in that store. He just didn't know how to explain it. "When you borrow things from people that aren't yours you're expected to give them back. And while you still owe them things you have a debt for whatever you owe them. It's like having negative things." Icarus tried looking down at his hands as they fluttered around while he tried to explain what debt was. He looked back up and tilted his head at the man. "Right?" The way the man had steered the conversation started making Icarus's worry seep back in...Did his father owe more debt? Icarus thought that they had gotten it all handled. He started fidgeting again, his eyes flicking from the man to Andromeda and back to the man.

He gave the young boy a gentle and affirmative smile accompanied by a nod. The boy did not need to know the logistics of debts; how they often carried interest, the bounding contract, the resulting hyperinflation of accrued debt. Those were minor things, things that Morgan did not expect him to know. But he knew just enough for Morgan to be able to carry on this conversation without having to stop and explain the basics. "Very good. You're a smart young man," Morgan commented. "Debts come in many forms. Most people ask for money. Some people ask for land. Others ask simple favors; a ride to market or help moving a harvest. Really, debts are just fancy favors that result in one person gaining what they desire, but at the cost of something else. Debts must be repaid or else bad things happen," Morgan said warily, struggling to keep his voice from slipping back into the typical dark tone that he generally used while having this conversation. "But, if people pay them on time, then the debt goes away and things return to normal," Morgan continued. His eyes shifted away from the boy in front of him and once again sought out the young girl. A soft breeze rustled through Icarus' hair and tossed Morgan's tresses about.

"Your father had quite a bit of debt through his life," the Ringmaster stated evenly. "And for the most part, it had been dealt with. However, there was still one lingering payment he did not make. And that was to me. My name is Morgan von Faustus, and I come on behalf of Tromperie. You see, young one, your father made a deal some time ago and over the years...he forgot about it. Unfortunately, when a debt is not repaid quickly enough or in this case, when the borrower has passed on, the debt is transferred to his next of kin." Morgan paused and turned his gaze back to Icarus. "That would be you, son."

Icarus knew most of what the Stranger was telling him, how debts worked....that bad things happened to those that didn't pay them.... Icarus started getting more and more worried, especially when his father's debts were brought up. He knew nothing good could come of whatever the man said next and his hands balled into little fists at his side. They had already found out about everything else, how could this have stayed hiding? He was jerked out of his thought by the Man introducing himself and saying where he was from. "Th-the Circus?" Icarus asked, furrowing his brow as he looked up at the man, confused. "Wh-what sort of debt could my dad have owed to a circus?" Icarus looked down at the man's feet. "What do I owe you?"

His chest felt funny with emotions, worry and hurt, he had loved his father but...his habits not so much. He wished that he could have made him happy instead of letting him destroy himself and his family and get everybody into debts like he had. Icarus didn't have any money, he wouldn't be able to pay back whatever the man asked of him. How long did he have before the bad things that the man was talking about started happening? He could feel stupid childish tears start to p***k at his eyes at the idea of getting anyone hurt because he couldn't pay off what his father owed.

When the boy asked pointedly just what the family owed him, Morgan felt an absent tug on his lip. The question was amusing in the sense that even though he was the debt collector, there were still terms that prevented Morgan from being the one who actually granted the favor. No, he was merely the collector, the shepard, the herald of those who had incurred debt. And while the poor fools who had to work for him often did not truly grasp the gravity of their debt; as the concept of time seemed to be absent from their minds until they were a few years into their sentence, Morgan found it ill-humored when people assumed he was the one to whom they sold their souls to. That was not the case, but for simplicity's sake, he allowed the accusation to scrape against him as the explanation against it would take much longer than he had patience for. Not to mention, the terms and agreements that went into making contracts into realities were far too complicated for those who did not understand that in this world...there was more to this world than what religion and storybooks claimed. Plus, it was not /technically/ the circus in which called upon the debt, -what a silly notion, Morgan thought absently. But the boy was beginning to look stressed enough that Morgan figured it was not worth trying to fill his head with corrections.

"I regret to inform you that what you owe me cannot be found in a purse or on a title or deed. What I have come to collect is far more...valuable than that. Icarus Fletcher, I have come to collect upon the debt your family has accrued by means of-," the pause came quite suddenly and Morgan instantly damned himself for his hesitation. This is pathetic! This should not be any different than any of the others! He chided himself. Taking a slowly drawn breath, Morgan's golden eyes darkened as he stood over Icarus. "-your soul." He doubted the boy would truly understand what Morgan spoke of. He /couldn't/ possibly understand the gravity of it. To a boy, what was a soul? A word describing an eternal item in which God alone judged? An intangible item that was unreachable by all save for sin and redemption? When it came to religion, they had played out the word "soul" into an forbidden item which none other than God and Satan could manipulate and twist. Technically speaking, this was only partially true. But in a child's mind, the world of God and Satan was something that came from a book to teach rigid mortals and terrible restrictions on what it meant to truly be human. So would this child in front of him truly understand the gravity of what Morgan was asking for?

Icarus didn't know whether to be relieved or even more crushed when Morgan said that he didn't owe him any sort of property or money. When he said it was far more valuable Icarus settled for crushed and wiped angrily at his eyes. The pause was killing him, but when it finally broke, for the grave words "Your soul" Icarus blinked a few times, then started to laugh. A surprised, unbidden burst of strained giggles found their way out of his throat. "My Soul?" He sounded far more amused than scared. He just assumed that the man was kidding if he was saying something that ridiculous, that this was all some sort of elaborate joke.

The concept of a soul seemed kind silly to him in itself. He knew that the soul was supposedly the part of you that lived on when you died, it was the thing that old women 'blessed' when you did something kind for them, but his father hadn't exactly been a good catholic and Icarus only had a fuzzy grasp of most religious things. "How could anybody owe anybody a soul? Isn't it a part of you?" It was, in his mind, like saying someone owed you a heart or a brain. It just didn't make sense to collect on that sort of debt.

When the child had laughed, the Ringmaster could only stare at him as he tittered on about how a soul could possibly be separate from their physical bodies. The truth was, Morgan wasn't entirely surprised by the child's laughter and it softened the hardened expression of the Ringmaster. A child's innocence was always something to be enjoyed, even if it was only momentary. The Ringmaster let a soft breath escape him and he almost felt like as if the child were making fun of him, mocking him for even /suggesting/ that a soul could be something tangible. And for humans, that was true. In some sort of odd and twisted design on God's behalf, he made the immortal soul something that was even foreign to the very humans he loved so much. A locked away concept that could only be judged by either the Eternal or the Damned. It was truly unfair and wicked, in Morgan's opinion, that the Almighty would create such wicked, damned, beautiful, and pathetic creatures such as humans only to be the final voice in their judgement. Were they not capable of judging themselves and creating the lives they saw fit instead of pandering to his design?

Morgan tilted his head slightly as he gazed at the boy, a faint smile lingering on his pale thin lips. "I do suppose its kind of funny when you think about it," Morgan said, his voice lighter. But it was not a kind note. It was the tone of voice someone used when they were about to discuss a very heavy matter but in terms that would be easily understandable. Not quite condescending, but not truly gentle either. It was eerie, like the first string being strung on a cello. You know the sound is about to become deep and pulling, but the first note is something nearly sweeter than honey. "But the truth is, child, that everyone has a soul. The soul is a unique thing...something that is constantly changing. When you run and play, when you jump and nearly touch the sky," Morgan looked up to the deep maroon layers now falling over them like a blanket. "You feel as if you can fly...you're alive...filled with energy...that energy is part of your soul. You can feel it if you try hard enough. Its inside you," Morgan slowly lowered his head and looked at the tiny teen. He reached over and poked the boy in the chest. "In here. If you listen hard enough, you can hear it. You can feel it. It moves you...your dreams, your inspirations, your hopes, and even your nightmares. Everything that is you is your soul. And souls, believe it or not...are commodities. They can be bought, traded, stolen, and sold." The Ringmaster's smile darkened.

"When adults are desperate...they do strange and terrible things. They don't often think," Morgan said, tapping his head with his index finger, "and when they don't think, they make mistakes. Costly mistakes. Mistakes that...can cost one their soul. Do you understand so far, boy?"

[Scrivener_Lost]

⊱⊱ Cirque de Tromperiexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

✦ Ladies and Gentlemen, May I Present: Your Acrobat Icarus - Part 2

It seemed like in the span of seconds, the Man had gone from agreeing with him and smiling at him to telling him that the every thing that made him feel anything was the part of him that he now owed him. It was a jarring change in tone and Icarus felt really weird about it, starting to shift, his pink eyes flickering over the ringmaster's face like he was trying to judge whether the man was really serious or not.

"So....So...Because my Dad....wanted something so bad he promised you his soul, but you didn't get it....I....I have to give you mine to make up the debt?" He bit his lip to keep it from wobbling, the fear welling up fast in his chest. No no no he didn't want to be scared. He looked back over his shoulder at Andromeda still swinging high and giggling as she swept through the air. People that didn't pay their debts had people close to them get hurt... He didn't want Andromeda to get hurt just because he was scared but..."Does that mean I'll never....dream or feel happy or have energy or anything like that ever again?" He asked, getting more worried now. He didn't want to stop feeling things.

"Oh no, no, no. You will dream...you will feel happiness...you will feel sorrow," at this, Morgan paused and followed Icarus' gaze to the chipper girl, "You will still feel very much like you do now. You will fear, you will love, and you will live...but your soul will stay tucked away. Invulnerable. Protected. Locked away, until the debt is repaid. Yes. Your father never paid his debt after he sold his soul and through the laws that must be, the debt has passed on to you now. You are the proper age in which to start paying off this loan," Morgan said, his golden eyes slowly drifting over the young boy, now gazing back at him.

"Of course...there is always the option of transferring it. There is one other of your father's blood and technically, if you wish, you can have the debt...relocated." Morgan stared at the boy as he waited for his response. Now, it would be up to the child. Would he run? Would he accept the offer of transfer? Or, would he give into the fate that the Gods had planned for him. If the child ran, it would be a simple matter of track them down and forcing the contract. It was an inconvenience, one that would continue to scrape away time that could be better spent back on the train completing work. Then again, it would also give him an excuse to avoid the problems, go on a little hunt, and come back with a fresh contract. But bringing a child back to the train had its own advantages and disadvantages, namely the other performers. It was not uncommon for Morgan to bring young teens and adults to fulfill contracts, but for those who were older or who had spent more time on the train that some would often openly share their dislike of the idea.

After all, what sort of black hearted beast would steal the soul of a child and force them into labor? Especially one whom had a sibling that relied on them...Morgan thought with rising guilt. But he was the Ringmaster. He had broken families apart before.

A job was a job.

'You will feel very much like you do now'. Well that was a comfort. A small comfort but a comfort all the same. He turned back to the man as he kept talking, his eyes going wide when he asked if he wanted the debt to be relocated. "No!" he yelped quickly, possibly a little too sharply. "No. Don't....relocate it." his sharp faded into a more proper tone as he spoke. He may not be fond of the idea of the responsibility but there was no way he would let the debt skip from himself on to his sister if what was what the man was suggesting. He had to protect her. It was his job. He wouldn't, he couldn't, make her take the debt in his place.

His hands balled into little fists at his sides again, and he looked down at the ground. He didn't want this. He didn't want any of this. He didn't want his father's debts, he didn't want to think about leaving his sister alone, he didn't want to give this stranger his soul. But beyond any of that... He didn't want the man to do anything to anyone else just because he couldn't do what was being asked of him. Debts must be repaid or else bad things happen. He let out a shuddering little breath, still looking at the man's shoes. "I-if I give you my s-soul and start paying off the debt....You w-won't-" he made himself look up at the man again, his eyes clearly showing his worry and fear. Normally he would put on a brave face, even a happy one, but it didn't seem right for how serious this was turning out to be. "You won't hurt her?" his voice was quiet and almost hesitant, like he was slowly and reluctantly resigning himself to the idea.

The man gazed at the young man for a moment before relinquishing a soft, but rather eerie smile. It was the grin of a man who would be obtaining something precious, however, it was still laced with hesitation. Morgan knelt in front of Icarus now, looking directly at him as he draped his arms over his knee. "I will not harm her. I would not dare touch a hair upon her head so long as you are willing to repay this debt. But I warn you child, it will be a long time before you are able to see her again. I will not hide this fact from you. If this is something you are still willing to accept, then I will proceed and we shall be done with this business. But if you so choose otherwise...I cannot promise her safety, do you understand?" Morgan turned his gaze to his hands now, still encased in white gloves, and began to slip his long fingers from the soft cotton covers. "Now...Icarus, I will take up your contract and she will be free to live her life peacefully. She will know nothing about the debt your father owes and will be left alone. You alone will take up this responsibility and as long as you dutifully work off your debt...this business will no longer haunt your family." Looking up at the child, Morgan gazed at him with what could only be described as a pitying look. His eyebrows were drawn together and if only for a moment, a whisper of regret passed across his gaze. And even if there were no other viable possible course for the child, Morgan at least wanted to give him the option, as meaningless as it was, to make the decision for himself.

It wasn't fair. The choice wasn't a choice at all! How could this man ask him whether he wanted to do what he said or let his sister be hurt, maybe even tortured? He bit his lip and clenched his fists tighter for a second. For a brief moment he allowed the feelings of self pity and hate--for his Father to bring this on him and this man that was making good on it--to wash over him. But then he got a hold of himself, let out a slow, hitching breath and tried to find what could possibly be good in this.

Well....Well at least it would stop with him. Right? At least if he agreed Andromeda wouldn't have to see any of it. Wouldn't have to hear about it. Maybe she could go on with a decent, if vague, image of their father in her memory instead of having all his flaws haunting her for ...who knows how long. He let out a slow breath, smoother this time, and watched as the man took off his gloves. then he took a long moment to look at Andromeda swinging happy where she was and reinforced that this would be good. When he looked back at Morgan, he could see the flash of pity in the Man's eyes. He huffed once more then shook out his hands, trying to stoke any embers of bravery that he had. He wanted to know more details, he wanted to avoid it all together, but he didn't want Mr. von Faustus to think that he was going to go back on his agreement so....so he'd get it out of the way first since it didn't matter what the details were, this path was the only choice. "What do I have to do?"

"Its simple, really," Morgan started. He held up his right hand. "I will accept your contract and you will work for me. For the debt your father accrued, you will stay within my circus and work until you have completed your debt. Simple, yes?" Morgan tilted his head slightly and looked at his hand, his long pale fingers bare save for the black paint on his nails. "All that is required of you is a simple...touch. A handshake, a simple brush of my hand upon yours, and the contract...your soul will be mine to control for the duration of your debt." For a moment, Morgan wondered how much of this the child truly accepted and how much of it he simply diverted to some terrible hallucination or nightmare. If the child had any sort of grasp on reality; and for the duration of their conversation, at least, he appeared to have the idea down of debt and return. But it was evident that the thought of being able to use a soul as currency had Morgan worrying how seriously this child took him. It would be difficult enough for him to know that by the time he worked off his meager debt, the child he called sister would be a grown woman with a life that had been barren of her brother.

That was the reality of Morgan's deals. For no matter how short or brief the debt, or how long for that matter, he suspended every aspect of life for these people. They would not age, but the world around them would continue to move on as was the nature of this planet. Plants, insects, animals, people; nothing would be the same for them the moment their contract was accepted. While they were suspended in a moment of time, the world would continue to flourish and decline around them without even batting an eye at their disappearance. His sister would grow, mature, and eventually begin to age while Icarus himself would continue to be perpetually young. By the time Icarus worked off his debt, his sister might not even remember him, or if she did, it would be through dreams and passing thoughts. She could possibly marry and have children by the time Icarus would even be remotely close to this side of the country again.

And that was the reality of Tromperie.

Work in a circus? Icarus wasn’t sure he had any talents that translated into circus life. He obviously wasn’t a performer so that was out of the question. And he wasn’t very big or strong so any carrying job they put him on would have him more in the way than helping, at least for the first part of it. He could cook a little, So maybe he could do something in the kitchen, and if there was any jobs for people who could ferret themselves up into high places maybe he could do that too. Maybe they’d just have him sell tickets. His mind ran away with him for a second, so when the man held out his bare hand Icarus blinked rapidly as the little bubble of thought was popped. One touch. That’s all it took for him to belong to this man? The idea wasn’t a pleasant one. He didn’t want to go for long periods of time without seeing his sister, he didn’t want to leave her alone with the aunt that was practically a stranger… but he had no other option if he wanted to keep her anything like happy so he slowly extended his hand out to Morgan.

But at the last second he snatched his hand back and turned it into a ‘wait’ gesture instead. “I’ll be….I’ll be right back, okay? Stay right there.” He held his hands palms out to Morgan as his body turned and he sprinted off toward the swings. He watched the timing of the swing for a few beats before snapping Andromeda up off of it and twirling her around in the air before setting her down on the ground while she let out a little fit of giggles

“Icky! What did you do that for?!” She chastised, hitting his shoulders with tiny fists, but still laughing all the same.

“You. Little miss. Have to go back home now.” Icarus returned, tapping her lightly on the nose just to watch her wiggle it. The sky was nearly dark now, a dark bruised purple, and the lamplighters were busy igniting the street in amber light barely enough to find your way by when it got truly dark.

“You mean we have to go back, silly.” Icarus shook his head and exhaled a sharp little breath, how was he ever supposed to explain this? Let alone in so little time? Would she even understand?

“No, Andy, I mean you have to go back.” Icarus cast a little wary glance behind his shoulder at Morgan standing there, then knelt down so that he could be level with his sister, pink eyes searching her beautiful blue ones. “I-I’ve gotta go somewhere else. And I might be gone for a long long time.” He gently neatened Andromeda’s hair as he talked, straightening her blonde wind-ruffled curls.

Andromeda just tilted her head. “Are you going where Daddy went?”

The innocent little question made Icarus’s heart twist in his chest. “No, I’m not going where he went. Daddy doesn’t get to come back, but I’m gonna see you again someday I promise, okay?” The vow was honest, even if he didn’t know all the conditions yet. He wasn’t just going to abandon her and never see her again. The thought of whether or not she would even want to see him again when he was finally allowed to see her flickered through his mind, but he pushed it away quickly. He couldn’t quite shake the ice in his chest though, and he reached out quickly to drag Andromeda into a hug that felt desperate even to him. Childish tears pricked at his eyes again, but they didn’t quite fall, a small miracle he was thankful for.

"Icky! You’re squishing me.” Andromeda protested, wiggling in his grip. “What’s wrong?” Icarus pulled back and shook his head, wiping the back of his hand against his eyes before leaning in to give Andromeda a quick little kiss on her forehead. “Nothing, I’m just gonna miss you. That’s all. Tell Auntie...that there was something I had to take care of, that I’ll be fine.” It’s not like he expected the woman to worry that much about him, after all he would be one less mouth to feed and fifteen wasn’t that young for boys to disappear into lives of their own. It was time right? “Go on. Go home. I’ll see you soon.” Soon could mean ten minutes or ten lifetimes. However long it ended up being, he would call it soon and count the days until it meant now.

Andromeda seemed to vaguely grasp what he was saying and gave him a quick hug. “I’ll miss you too. Icarus.” The little girl was reluctant to leave now, but Icarus gave her a little encouraging pat on the hip.

“I love you~.” He cooed, the words said so childishly and sickeningly sweet that they were almost teasing. Andromeda just laughed and reached out to pat his head.

“Icky you’re silly. I'll see you soon okay?” she giggled before starting to skip off toward home as if she expected Icarus to follow right after. It almost looked like she was taking the light with her now that her innocent presence was gone and there was just the Ringmaster left to attend to.

Icarus took a deep breath before standing back up and walking over to where the Ringmaster had stood, waiting, presumably watching. “I’m Ready.” Icarus stated with the sort of finality that said he knew something big was about to happen, even if he didn’t quite grasp the entire gravity of the situation. He stuck his hand out for the Ringmaster and he braced himself.

For the first moment that their hands touched, Icarus almost thought nothing was going to happen, only able to feel the cold smooth skin of Morgan’s hand. But then something more started up. It felt like Ice spiking and crystallizing his blood, sweeping out through his body from his hand. Everything started to go cold and tingly like the time he had jumped in the river a little too-early in the year. He shivered hard, and tried to squirm away, but the Ringmaster’s grip was strong against his own. Then the flooding feeling was over and it was replaced by hands tiny little nails scrabbling through his body like animal claws. Searching. Hungry for something. Icarus squeezed his eyes shut tight not ready to face it, face the sensation, face Him. The feeling was terrifying but he couldn't get away even if he had tried. It was an agonizingly long time before the little claws found what they wanted, latching onto something inside him that felt /vital/. All the light and happiness and fond memories seemed stored in whatever the ethereal hands were grasping for. He gasped aloud and struggled for a moment, trying to keep hold of the thing inside him that the feeling was trying to pull out. He was reluctant to let whatever it was leave, he didn't feel like he should or that he could.

But he was too weak and the hands were too strong and he could feel something inside of him ripping away from whatever held it in and slipping through whatever hold he had on it like water. The feeling receded, snapping back like it was traveling back into Morgan's palm leaving Icarus feeling cold and empty and hurt. He stumbled forward, putting his hands out against Morgan's chest to catch himself before standing back up, adding dizzy to the tally of unpleasant feelings. He groaned quietly and shook his head trying to clear some of the icy cobwebs away from his thoughts. It was only then that he really noticed the little thing in his palm. He blinked and turned his hand over and unfurled his fingers to reveal the pearl rolling around in his palm, It was on the small side, pale green and glimmering, almost glowing, with gold iridescence. "Is...Is that it?" Icarus asked, though his breathing was a little shaky and his fingers trembled as he held his hand out to Morgan.

The Ringmaster silently took the pearl in his hand and examined it closely as a jewel dealer would criticize a diamond, his golden eyes betraying nothing of his thoughts to the child in front of him. But if Icarus were able to gain access to the steely mind of the soul-stealing man in front of him, he'd find himself in a whirlwind of thoughts and emotion. One would be able to claim that the cold heart of the pallid creature was in fact a beating item, rich and raw with nerves that could burn and ice over; simply stated, the scene played out between the two siblings had affected the Ringmaster more than he would ever admit. It was disheartening for the man knowing that such a display of love and pure innocent intimacy could sway him into nearly abandoning the contract, but he could not deny that the display had been emotional and touching. And, it made regret linger in his heart just a little bit more. Perhaps it was because Icarus and his dear beloved sibling reminded him of his own adoptive daughter or perhaps, it was simply the pure human connection that had him reeling; either way, it had pulled on his heart more than he would like to admit. As he covered up the displeasing emotion with his typical cold gaze, he continued to examine the beautiful pearl. It had turned out to be quite lovely, unique really, as he gazed at the unique color and incandescence. If there was something that the ageless man never truly got over in his years of this work it was that each pearl was unique, much like the threads of fate, never the same. There would /never/ be another soul pearl like this in the world. It was one of a kind and once it faded, there would never be one to replace it. And the Ringmaster's face twitched slightly as the thought haunted him. There would never be a soul like this ever again.

And perhaps the Ringmaster should have been more frivolous and joyful to know that only he would ever be able to see this truly beautiful item. No one else in the world would ever lay their hands on this fine specimen of a soul. No...not just a soul...a person... Morgan's golden eyes eventually drifted back into focus on Icarus as the boy spoke wearily. “Yes...yes, that's it. This tiny little pearl contains all that is you,” Morgan breathed softly, now as he held it in his palm, holding it up so that the boy could get a good look at it before the Ringmaster would tuck it away. Tuck it away...far from prying eyes...in my control...and safe... “Contained in here is your heart, your essence, your true self...and once your debt is complete, I shall return it to you. Complete. Whole. Untouched. I promise,” Morgan found himself nearly whispering to Icarus. He was being assaulted by the memories of the night he had taken Ava's soul, the two events practically clashing in to each other and while Ava's contract had been created quickly with no explanation to the girl of what was to occur, Morgan had made very similar promises to her in her fevered sleep.

Tucking the pearl into a breast pocket, he slowly stood up with his arms held out to catch the boy if the weariness overtook him. Unfortunately for the child, he had fought against the call at first in all the ways a young soul could. But in the end, the Ringmaster's power had been too great and Icarus had been too weak to put up a true fight. And perhaps it was Morgan's fault for not truly warning the boy of the effects, but regardless, the young boy would have likely fought against it in the end. Morgan knew it was not a pleasant ordeal. He could recall countless times and numerous contracts that had fought and personally witnessed the resulting fatigue and sickness that often took over. Some people suffered worse than others and on more than one occasion, a soul fought /so/ hard, it ended up breaking. The extreme fatigue and pain it had caused simply could not be undone. The Ringmaster's eyes went dark if only for a moment as he considered how terribly careless he had been in the past. All of those beautiful and singular souls that would never again exist...extinguished by my hands... But it would appear that Icarus had given into the dark magic easily enough that its effects would be harsh albeit temporary. Gazing down at the pale-haired boy, Morgan paused.

“Are you ready?” He asked flatly. There was no longer any need for intimidation or fear. The boy's soul was his and now, Morgan had ultimate control over his future actions. But he could not help the faint hints of subtle soft concern. “Are you ready to go home?”

It seemed like the little pearl would be far to small to contain the whole of a person. But he didn't have any other explanation for what just happened. The dizzy, feverish, headache feeling was deterring him from thinking too deeply about it, anyway. He did managed to note that his soul was pretty though, from what he could see. There was a faint flicker of pride in the cavern of his chest, saying that at least he had a pretty soul if it wasn't to be his to keep for the moment.
Home. The idea of Home was a concept that Icarus knew but couldn't quite imagine without the people he had known and loved before. He knew it was possible, technically, and he could only hope that the place that he was being taken would actually turn out to be like a home to him in the end. He had been to a circus a few times in his life, and it was always a spectacle, full of magic and wonder and the idea that that wonder would be a part of his daily life...well, if he had to live out a sentence on his father's behalf, there were far worse places he could imagine doing the time in.

Icarus took one last lingering glance off in the direction that his sister had gone. It felt almost like there was a wall there now. The place where they stood now acting as a solid marker of before and after. His soul was in the Ringmaster's hands. There was no going back now. He still felt as sick and unsteady as he felt unsure, but, like with taking on the debt, he had no other choice. Meeting the Ringmaster's eyes, he nodded and stated as firmly as he could: "I'm ready."

[thymeast22]

⊱⊱ Cirque de Tromperiexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

✦ Ladies and Gentlemen, May I Present: Your Escape Artist

Alaizabel was tired. Exhausted was probably a more realistic statement, but Alaizabel didn't like hyperbole in a setting where she could get away with something less forceful and display the same result. In the three years since her family had abruptly perished, she had done practically nothing with her life. There was nowhere for her. All she had was her manor, her property, and even that was not her own. No, her legacy and lineage belonged to her uncle, unfortunately, but luckily the man was willing to fork over the coin needed to afford the damned place. Lord knows Alaizabel was in no way fit for a working environment. But in spite of all of this- the destitution, the loss, the anger, the sheer boredom- what had taken such a toll on her wasn't her average, everyday life. It was one man. One infuriatingly pushy, devoted, and stubborn man who couldn't take no for an answer.

At present, she was sitting in her bedroom. No one in her family's service had quit, thankfully, so the place wasn't nearly so messy as it should have been. But it also wasn't quite as tidy as the blonde woman preferred. Books were strewn haphazardly over the oriental carpet, littering the floor, piled up in the order of completion. In the last few years, she had gone through countless books in countless languages. She had even taught herself a few languages, though you'd be hard pressed to hear her attempt to speak them. Fluently, she spoke and read English and French. She could understand German and Spanish, but she could never think of a circumstance in which she would need to speak them so she had never sought tutoring in it. Understanding would be enough to get by, she prayed. After all, she had no real intention of venturing very far past her own home anymore. There was nothing left for her. Nothing but fiction, something far off from the cruelty of the world that had wrenched her family, her life away from her.

Her frustration mounted as her mind ventured back to the tall man with black hair, and she chucked her latest novel, Grimm's Fairytales, across the room. Two years. She'd had two years of silence, of isolation. She wanted it to go on. She didn't want to go outside, to interact with people, to have to put on heirs and appearances anymore. She'd managed to escape it for those blissful two years following her parents' deaths... that's what she told herself. In actuality, it had been the worst two years of her life- she'd lost the motivation to live, to breathe, to exist, in the wake of the burden her father had placed on her, in the wake of what he had done to her precious, sweet mother. Melanie had been a kind, gentle soul, someone who could command an army with a simple plea... had she been well enough to command one. She'd suffered for years, nineteen years, before her father had finally, mercifully, died and freed her. At the time, she couldn't bear it. The day that her mother's life had slipped through her grasp had been the day that Alaizabel Conway lost the will to live, had lost herself. Anything would have been better, anything would have helped Alaizabel to cope and heal, but her extended family had let her be. Some people need time, they would say. This is how some people deal with loss. She had /needed/ them, but she knew that they couldn't have helped her. Not with this... this debt she'd been saddled with.

She hadn't gotten any details. Just that the debt must be paid, and since her father had shirked every other responsibility he'd had in life, why not drop it to her in death as well? She could have guessed better than to trust the elderly man, but this was not what she had expected. For two years, she holed herself up in her room, reading, avoiding the world, "mourning". She couldn't take the world, and she was horrified to find out what her debt would take. Her life? She could handle that. It wasn't worth much anymore. Her money? She didn't give a damn. Leave her the books and a chair by the lakeside and she was as happy as the next person. But there were darker, more sinister thoughts that surfaced in her mind at the ideas of debts... perhaps she'd read to many fiction novels, but her imagination could easily get away from her if she lingered on it too long.

And then he had appeared. Morgan von Faustus, he had introduced himself as, and his name and image were immediately burned into her mind. Her mother had been a commanding presence indeed, even in her ailing hours, but Morgan... it seemed fitting that such a threatening man could be a debt collector. He had found her by the lakeside one day, skipping stones mirthlessly, and began prattling something about a debt. It was at that time that she'd felt , finally felt, something for the first time in years- thankful, that was, that she wasn't at home when he'd decided to drop by. With a panicked look, she had teleported as quickly as she could back to her room at home. It wasn't exactly a walkable distance between the two- hopefully she had escaped him. Childishly, she had wrapped herself in her blanket and hidden in her bed, willing herself to forget about him.

But now....

It had been a few meetings, and he was certain, insistent, that she would join. Join what? He had prattled on about some circus or something, and she had scoffed. Her, Alaizabel Conway, a viscountess, performing in a circus? The thought was ludicrous at best, offensive at worst. But the more she considered it...

With an aggressive huff, she flopped down on her bed, Grimm's stories all but forgotten in her reverie. He'd been so certain, no doubt in his even, frightening tone, that she would join him. Did she even have a choice? And what was she even doing here, now? She was nearly twenty-two years old, holed up in her room, fighting the urge to.... to what? Exist? Breathe outside of her safe bubble? This was no way to live, but did she... even want to anymore? Her life had stopped being hers the moment her father had died and taken her mother with him, leaving her behind, she supposed to Morgan...

Morgan von Faustus....

Would it really be so bad...?

It couldn't have been as bad as what she was putting herself through, what she was doing now, which was borderline nothing. But having a life, after so long...? She wasn't sure she could manage it...

She could never explain where the motivation suddenly arose from, but before she knew it, she was dressing, preparing herself for a meeting. She always met him by the lakeside, she always found him there. Perhaps, if she just went there--? Alaizabel looked at herself in her floor-length mirror, scowling at her appearance. She was obviously not taking care of herself as she was expected to- her face was sallow and too thin, her button-down white shirt and leather vest hanging a bit too loosely from her frame. She luckily had a belt in place for her riding pants, long since unused as her horse was. Her hair was dangling in her face, and she brushed it harshly, quickly (why she was rushing, she could never explain). She'd been hiding for too long. Granted she'd never expected to free herself from her dark passengers by escaping to the circus, but... what did she have to lose anymore...?

She fastened her hair back with two simple orange ribbons, one on either side of her head, and gave herself a satisfied huff. This was about as good as it would get, she supposed. With that accomplished, she peered around the room. Would he let her come back for her things? She couldn't imagine she was expected to bring her things... besides, she could always sneak back, she assumed- she could be quick with her teleportations if she was careful.

She steeled herself in the midst of her room, her mess, her past, and focused. On the lakeside, on Morgan von Faustus...

Alaizabel felt the familiar tug from her power and let out a sigh, waiting for the familiar breeze and rustle of leaves she associated with the tranquility of the lake.... But it never came.

She felt her heart start- a horrifying sensation after not having felt such an intense emotion in so long- and her eyes shot open.

The room was cluttered, filled to the brim with strange artifacts, intrigue, and mystery. Her eyes skirted over all of the various odds and ends that littered the compact, dark room. In the center of the room, though, a desk was fastened to the floor, and behind it...

...Was Morgan von Faustus the man himself; the Ringmaster of Tromperie. And on his face was an expression most foul, his brows furrowed and a scowl from which there could possibly be no recovery lay plastered across his face. He was leaning heavily on his desk like a man dripping in exhaustion and his arms outstretched as if he were begging to be relieved from this terrible fate of his. His long dark hair was pulled up in messy fashion, a crimson ribbon loosely tying it into a terrible excuse for a bun at the base of his skull. The long messy tresses that fell in front of dark ringed eyes were askew, pushed aside, and partially tucked behind his ears and he was only vaguely dressed in the remnants of the imposing long coat that he had visited the woman in days ago. Instead, now he was simply dressed in a simple white button-down blouse with the sleeves rolled up lazily to his elbows and a black and tan striped vest that had not been buttoned, or had previously been unbuttoned. And upon his lips he wore the expression of someone who had just been caught in the middle of a grand scandal, his mouth slightly agape, stuck in mid-word and his golden eyes, which once held the fierceness of a lion, were staring softly at the tiny creature in front of him.

Instead of having his head low and his hands madly scribbling upon a mountain of papers or even busying himself with screaming at an incompetent performer, the terrifying and mysterious Ringmaster was elbow deep in an apparent game of dolls with a tiny creature crowned with auburn hair. “What do you mean she's awake now? Dornröschen must sleep until her Prince comes for her...Ava, that makes no sense.”He was saying to the small child. She was positioned in an armchair directly opposite of the Ringmaster on the opposing side of the desk. The chair looked new, the deep maroon leather rich and full with stuffing, the golden buttons and detail shining brilliantly in the pale light of the room. Between the two were several dolls and strewn across the desk were various articles of clothing for the playthings and in the left hand of the Ringmaster was a doll with long silky black hair and his right hand was spread out imploringly at the girl in front of him. The small girl, Ava Moran, was sitting on her knees, her elbows lifting her tiny body from the armchair as she held onto a doll with golden hair. Her cheeks sprinkled with freckles were puffed out as she stared down the Ringmaster, her dark mocha eyes boring into him. The Ringmaster shook his head and lifted the black haired doll in his hand. “Schneewittchen is the one-,” but Morgan did not get to finish his sentence as he dropped his head down to the desk in defeat as Ava began to tap her doll along the surface, happily resuming play.

She didn't understand why he was getting frustrated. All the stories, each with a princess and an evil queen and a prince, sounded so similar. But Morgan was getting the stories wrong! There were no trains or circuses or cats or dragons. Mostly the dragons. Every good story needed a vicious fire-breathing dragon! (Not surprisingly, Ava had sided with Maleficent over Sleeping Beauty.) So Ava found herself being forced to correct the stories to make them better. "No Morgan! The dragon locked her in the tower and she has to clean for the dwarves until the Prince brings her an apple!" Morgan had stopped telling her multiple stories a night after one night when he had told her of Rapunzel, Snow White (Schneewittchen), and Sleeping Beauty (Dornröschen) and she meshed all three tales into one. It didn't help that the other performers told her the English names, and Morgan was still trying to teach her German.

Ava shifted uncomfortably in her chair, the dress bunched up uncomfortably from her position kneeling on the chair. It was a soft pink and white flouncy number, a gorgeous dress for a toddler with her hair in curls down her back. The ribbons Morgan had tried to coax into her locks had long since fallen out, and she'd abandoned her shoes and those horrific stockings hours before. So far, he hadn't noticed that she was once again bare-foot, or that her hair ribbons were holding Dornroschen's hair back. As she shifted she caught something out of the corner of her eye - a new lady!

Ava jumped out of her chair and ran to stand in front of Alaiza, brown eyes bright as she stared up at the woman, focusing in on the brightly colored ribbon in the lady's hair before returning to her face. "Who're you? You're pretty. Do you wanna play too?" Ava held her doll out, practically bouncing up and down with her excitement over her new friend.

The defeated man muttered something into the desk as he weakly bounced the doll against the wooden surface, responding to the girl's odd questions. He hadn't heard her leave the comfort of the armchair and bounce over to the stranger and he had assumed she was simply continuing her play after the Ringmaster relented to her mixed stories and muddled plots. “Why thank you...I am flattered,” Morgan responded in a terrible attempt at a feminine voice. His own cool silky tone was difficult to twist and warp and it sounded like some horrendous gravely note akin to that of an old coal-miner. After a moment when Ava didn't respond, Morgan slowly lifted his head and was surprised to see that his adoptive daughter was no longer in her chair. He blinked, his golden eyes clearing from the defeated daze they had adopted as he focused on the spot before shooting over to where Ava was speaking to a phantom. Or what Morgan would have assumed as a phantom, for what other possible explanation could there have been for the woman's sudden appearance. He had locked his door shortly after Ava had demanded that Morgan play dolls with her specifically so no one could see this; his entire wardrobe was in shambles and his hair unkempt and wild. He looked far from the imposing figure he always strove to be and now, this strange woman had just appeared on his train.

And not just the train, but in his very own office. Adrenaline shot through his body like lightning and the Ringmaster shot up from his seat so quickly, his armchair slammed loudly against the grandfather clock behind him. He was lucky he did not break the glass case. His face lost the soft undertones of a caretaker and were replaced with the harsh dark lines that he was known for as a terrifying snarl crossed his face, his hands clenched tightly against the desk as his golden eyes widened in a terrible and harsh glare. He did not recognize the woman at first and only saw her as an intruder. She was an intruder and right in front of this strange and foreign phantom was his daughter. He took in a deep breath, his chest filling as he bellowed at her, “Who are you? How did you get in here?”

The Ringmaster was moving now, practically leaping over the desk to grab at Ava and scooping her up into one arm while the other was held out to his side, splayed and clawed, ready to attack if the need arose. But the moment his eyes truly focused on the woman, Morgan released a tense breath and he blinked. “Y-you...what...how did you get in here?” Morgan repeated, his voice still dripping with anger, but at a much less degree.

At first, Alaizabel wasn't exactly sure what she was seeing. Morgan von Faustus, to her memory, was a tall, regal, commanding figure in a dark coat with eyes that bore directly into your soul. He was intimidating and ruthless, but well kept. Looking at him now, he was simply a shadow of his previous portrayal. His hair was in a poorly tied bun, a decent amount falling in front of his clearly exhausted eyes. His shirt was open at the top, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows with what appeared to be speed, not image in mind. And his fierce expression, the one that cut into her heart, that made her actually feel something for the first time in... what, years?- was now adorned with a look of confusion, shock, as he looked at the chair in front of him. In his hands were... dolls? Yes, they were, in fact, ornate dolls, and though she could not see what was sitting in the chair, it did not appear that he was playing with them for his own benefit as he implored someone that, no, Sleeping Beauty (Dornröschen), was not in fact awake, and needed to wait for her prince... Ava, he addressed the unseen (she supposed child) figure as. It was fortunate for her that she had just previously been reading Grimm's fairy tales, lest she misconstrue the situation further than it possibly could be. She felt a chuckle bubble in her chest, but did not dare to breathe, let alone laugh at the poor man. Here she had seen him as frightening, an imposing and dangerous figure, while in fact there was a softer, more human side to him. Maybe the circus would really not be so bad as she had anticipated... At present, he was trying to convince her that Sleeping Beauty remain at rest, while Schneewittchen (Snow White) was the one they were to focus on. But it appeared the child had taken him to the brink of his patience as he plopped his head down on the desk in front of him.

In spite of herself, Alaizabel felt her lips turn up in a small smile. Maybe he wasn't so bad. Probably was to common company, but regardless of how she herself felt about children, she had learned that you could judge the quality of a man's character by how he addressed his children. She thought back for a moment on her father before blacking out her mind. This isn't the time, she reprimanded herself.

Luckily she didn't have long to dwell on the thought as she finally found the source of the doll game- Ava. She was a cute little thing, and Alaizabel, for a split second, forgot how much she generally detested children because goodness was she adorable. She supposed as long as she didn't harbor any responsibility for a child, or if they did not directly interfere with her, children were alright (as long as they weren't screaming.... or crying... which Ava was doing neither). The small girl hefted herself from the large chair, twirling across the room to where Alaizabel stood. She felt her stomach drop. Well, she had assuredly been spotted, but by the little girl in the truly precious white dress rather than by the man who had claimed to own her soul. Alaizabel recoiled a bit at the small person's enthusiasm at the prospect of playing, smirking a bit when she called her pretty. Before she had the chance to respond, the Ringmaster himself piped up with what she could only assume was an attempt at a princess voice. Quickly, Alaizabel put a hand over her mouth to suppress laughter. The poor man was completely at Ava's whim, wasn't he? She restrained herself and looked back to Ava, not noticing the man lift his head and finally see her. She put her finger to her lips and took a subtle step back. If she could just play it off as Ava talking to Morgan, she could pretend to have never seen anything- she could duck outside and knock, and the man would be none the wiser, dignity in tact, and would not see her as a threat-

All hope was lost as the armchair reeled into the clock behind the Ringmaster, and Alaizabel visibly tensed, shrinking into herself. This was it. This was how she died. All earlier thoughts that maybe he wasn't frightening were eradicated as he stood straight up and aggressively addressed her. She took a more visible step back from the small girl. Of course he would be alarmed- was she here for Ava? Was she here for him? How did she even get there? Alaizabel was a threat in this situation and needed to somehow make herself less so.

She backed as far away from the pair as she could, running harshly into the door behind her with a small, surprised yelp. She reached her hand up behind her, attempting to jiggle the door- locked. Great, couldn't claim to wander in on accident. Her heart raced, threatening to beat out of her chest as the Ringmaster scooped the child up into his arms. She swallowed nervously. Wait, he seemed to be recognizing her. That did nothing for her nerves whatsoever, but maybe death wouldn't be quite so swift as she expected. Why, oh why, had she thought pursuing him would be a good plan...?

"Y-you... what... how did you get in here?" Somehow he sounded less bloodthirsty than the first time. That was promising, she assured herself. She had no doubt she looked just as panicked as before, and forced herself to take a deep breath in an attempt to calm down.

It didn't help.

"I-I'm sorry," she started, cursing herself as her voice cracked and croaked. It had been a long time since she had used it- she had, in fact, always let Morgan do the talking in their previous encounters, and wondered idly if she had actually ever spoken to him herself. "It- it was an accident. I haven't... haven't figured out how this whole thing really works. I was trying to meet you at the lake, and I guess my brain stuck on you and brought me here instead of where we met before, which has never happened and frankly I never expected it would, and I am so sorry I didn't mean to intrude I understand that is horribly impolite of me and it will never happen again, sir, mister, um... Mister von Faustus." The words spilled from her mouth rapidly, panicked. She was trying so hard to fix what she'd done, to somehow bring the conversation down from aggressive to diplomatic. She was typically a paradigm of manners and good breeding, and this reflected horribly on her character. After she attempted, likely failed, to explain herself, she gave a small, polite smile to the young girl now hoisted in the Ringmaster's arms. "And to answer you, young miss,"/color] She spoke softly, kindly, "My name is Alaizabel Conway. I appreciate the compliment. But I'm sure your... um... father?" She glanced furtively to Morgan, then looked back to Ava, "would not want me to join you at present. Perhaps some other time?"

She'd never play with the girl. She was atrocious with children. It was likely the reason she didn't care much for them. She would watch children play from a distance and envy their energy and youth, and think they were adorable and all of her maternal instincts were there, but she just could not wrap her head around having children, caring for children, and any time she'd tried she'd ended in failure. That was likely the leading reason why she would avoid them at any cost under normal circumstances. But this was not a normal circumstance. She had to diffuse the situation and make herself more likable. If playing with a toddler did that, then by god she would tell stories that would make the girl's head spin... in a good way, she hoped...

She looked back to Morgan. He still was clearly on edge, and she couldn't blame him. "Please, sir," she said, her tone even now, attempting to be calm and collected. "I was not trying to barge in. This was simply an accident. I can take my leave and never speak of this again. I am very sorry for causing you such distress...."

The Gods be damned!As Ava squirmed in his arms, Morgan held his fiery gaze on the woman as she muttered and stuttered her excuse, trying to save face and quite terrified by the looks of it. Good! The more frightened, the easier it will be to control her, Morgan thought as her voice cracked. She was attempting to calm herself down, that much Morgan could tell. And in all honesty, Morgan was reeling inside himself as well. He had acted so quickly, he hadn't even time to think upon what he was doing. He had been ready to strike the woman, tear her down and toss her body from the train. He was quite unsure of what had just come over him in that instant and he found himself almost just as winded as the woman sounded. He was sure that a spirit had possessed him in that instant as he hadn't reacted in such a manner since...well, he couldn't think of the last time he had felt such...what? Panic? Tch! He was the Ringmaster of Tromperie. He was feared readily by his performers and known for his excellence in the circus community. Morgan von Faustus certainly did not panic in the presence of a stranger, especially a woman. And yet, here he was, his arm nearly trembling under Ava as he glared down this woman. But even more troubling than the fact that he had panicked was the reason why he panicked. It was absurd, strange, and certainly not like him to have anything to worry over. He had nothing to fear when it came to this world and panic was strictly born out of fear, was it not? So where had it come from? Why had he jumped to Ava before even considering what the woman's motives were?

And that's when he realized; he had panicked because of Ava. The man cradled the young girl to his chest and he took a deep breath. I have a damned weakness! Morgan felt a hot sensation flood his chest as he realized how foolish he must have looked. Great, he thought to himself sourly, Now I look just as foolish as I act... As the woman continued to try and save her dignity, Morgan listened to her prattle on, but when she had mentioned the lake, that's when Morgan /finally/ realized what was going on. Ahh...Alaizabel Conway... Slowly, things were beginning to make sense. She was the woman Morgan had visited several times now to gain her contract, each time leaving with nothing to show for his efforts. And though he certainly did not find it aggravating; No, it was more of a fun chase...a little cat and mouse..., he knew in the end he would get what he wanted. Because in the end...when Morgan had his sights on something he wanted, he would stop at nothing until he had obtained it. Why was this woman's contract so important? Well, not only did she have a fairly large debt, but her powers were very impressive. In his line of work, being able to simply shift to and fro between random places without so much as leaving a breath behind, well...it would work wonders. But it was not just that. He felt compelled to treat the woman with dignity. She was a proper lady, clearly from proper breeding, and had been raised as a true woman. Everything about her; from the way she spoke to the way she dressed simply spelled out Class. She was not used to be being treated...well, the way Morgan had treated other women in the past. Instead of caring less for their tears and wails, he would simply force them into his Cirque with little pomp and circumstance.

But Alaizabel Conway, she was different. She appeared to be made of porcelain and if Morgan truly wanted her contract, he would have to adapt his methods to reflect her and her fragile state. So if he had bide his time and wait, if he had to play a little to get her, then he would do so. After all, after dealing with a three year old for the last few months, Morgan's patience had begun to grow by leaps and bounds. It was also the child in his arms that had began to teach him that ladies were not meant to be treated so roughly. It was a lesson of old, one that he had forgotten for many years, his own proper upbringing and upper-class breeding lost in a haze of anger and work for Lord knows how many years now. Slowly, it was coming back to him and this interaction between him and the upper-class woman would truly be the test to his months of training at Ava's hand.

And that was until she had mentioned the word "father". The moment she word had left her lips, Morgan felt his chest tighten and he turned his eyes down to the crown of auburn before reaching forward and past Alaizabel to unlock his door. "Pardon me," he said tensely before the door was open and he was kneeling down and placing Ava on the floor. He gave Ava a weak smile before taking her small hand in his and pressing the top of her hand against his lips. "Give me just a moment, my princess."

Ava jumped when Morgan suddenly scooped her up, losing her hold on the doll. It lay abandoned on the floor, Morgan's grip keeping her from trying to get it. The pretty lady, Alaizabel, spoke to her, but Morgan was already pushing the lady aside to unlock his door and set her down in the hall. "Bu- but you promised!" Brown eyes welled with tears as she stared up at him, a small pout on her lips. She got so little time with him to herself, she had to fight to keep what he was willing to offer her. And now he was kicking her out? "Please? I'll be quiet and stay outta the way..." She made no move to grab at him, though he still held one of her hands. She just stared at him, looking akin to a kicked puppy.

"Ava, dear," he reached up and cupped her face before gently shaking his head. "I have some very important business to attend to. Why don't you go find Isabella and ask her to put you in something...more comfortable, okay?" He took her gently by the shoulders before turning her to face the hall before giving her a gentle shove. "Oh, and Ava...stay away from Taubryn. He'll only get you into trouble," Morgan added as he stood up and stepped back into the belly of his office, closing the door behind him. Turning back towards Alaiza, the Ringmaster gave her a careful look before reaching up and buttoning his vest. "Now that you're here...shall we speak more about this debt?" Morgan knew he had to be careful with this conversation. He had already experienced her flighty tendency to instantly transport herself away from him. There was nothing keeping her from doing it once again. He would have to play a bit before he could attempt to gain her contract.

[thymeast22]

⊱⊱ Cirque de Tromperiexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

✦ Ladies and Gentlemen, May I Present: Your Escape Artist, Part II

Alaizabel watched Morgan carefully, judging his movements, assessing the situation just as he seemed to be. They were testing the waters, even nonverbally. She needed to take the temperature of the room, of her.. opponent? No, she shouldn't view him as that. That was far too combative, and what she sought now was conflict resolution, not mounting tension. However, he was most assuredly not a man to be trifled with, not a man to behave poorly around. She consciously thought back to her upbringing, her years of rigid instruction with her various instructors. She would have to pull out all of the stops if she wanted to be considered anything akin to a peer to a man such as Morgan.

Before she could get out another word, he brushed her out of the way of the door- not harshly, but with a certain tenseness and an unspoken demand that she did not think it wise to resist him. She stepped back a few feet, mindfully avoiding touching anything that hung from the walls. She observed as he exchanged words with the small auburn-haired girl. It was a side of him she was sure that she, herself, would never see again if she did not relish in the moment. Hearing him call her princess, seeing him take her hand and gently plant a tactful kiss on the knuckles, made something inside her feel squishy, warm, and she had to admit that some strange far off part of her mind loved it, but the conscious part, the part that was horrified of this man and his capabilities, quite literally squashed any trace of the thought from her brain, lest she be taken in by how he treated someone that he was clearly close and familiar with and be yet again blindsided when he wheeled on her with his typical tight, superior demeanor. Of course the child protested, as they always do; she was begging to stay longer, and the same sympathetic distant part of her mind felt guilty for stripping her of her time with her, if not biological father, father-figure. But Morgan was curt with his response, shoving the small girl away with a fair amount of tact before closing the door behind him and turning back to her.

She was prepared this time, her face clear of any lingering start or concern. Alaizabel looked him in the eyes as he spoke, keeping her expression as even as she prayed her tone would be when she spoke. After not having spoken to literally anyone in nearly two and a half years, her voice was in desperate need of a good workout, and if she had stopped to consider consequences before clicking her heels and appearing at the cirque, she may have considered rehearsal or some form of practice before such a meeting. But that was the situation, and if there was one thing Alaizabel was good at, it was taking the world at the world's terms. No matter what he threw at her, she was prepared. She could be polite. She could be charming. She could get by just fine without worry.

At present, the man was busying himself with readjusting his clothing, she assumed making himself more of an appropriate authority figure than a fatherly figure. This was, of course, not the setting to be relatable and empathetic in. No, this would likely be businesslike and calculated. That was a realm she could work in. Thought, to be fair, she did not look any better than he did at present (though his appearance was due to stress and effort, while hers was due to potential emaciation and a lack of caring for herself in far too long; she knew that she did not look healthy or nearly as imposing as a woman of her stature was meant to, but at this time, she wasn't terribly concerned with it. She supposed it leveled the field.)

He immediately inquired about her debt, and she nodded calmly, careful to keep her expression as blasé and clear of lingering emotion as possible. "Yes," she responded, "That is actually why I came to seek you out, though I must again apologize- this was not the way I intended to go about things. I am sorry for my mistaken imposition, and I hope that you will see it in your heart to forgive me for the intrusion." Her voice itself was soft, weak, but the tone behind it was calm, cool, confident, and there was no indication of her previously frantic state. That had been embarrassing- surely after all this time she had learned to control herself! She bowed her head a bit with her apology, hoping that sincerity would be conveyed, but never quite sure how people received her. She knew that while her tone was polite, many people read it as insincere; it was a distance, formal way of speaking, and that commonly did not translate well to people who were not raised in such demanding environments. Then again, she had no idea what this man's home life had been like, nor what to expect from him....

She continued, "I recall you mentioning something about a debt, but I regrettably did not give you much time to offer an explanation. I am here now, though, to remedy that error, and I hope that we can discuss this properly.” Now that I'm done being a useless, rabbit-hearted damsel... she chided. She looked Morgan over carefully. Ah yes, this was indeed a great match unfolding before them, a sensual dance between two adept professionals prepared to test their skills to the final beat. But who would misstep first? Who would give in to the other's tempestuous performance? For the first time she could recall, Alaizabel could not finitely foresee the outcome. For some reason, this debt did not seem like something she could tactfully see her way out of... nor was she convinced that she wanted to.

What a clever fox, Morgan thought as he noted the switch in her demeanor. She was like a person who had lingered too long in the dark and whence upon coming out into the light, forgot just how truly bright it was. It took time to adjust and it would be wise to do so unless one would stumble about quite foolishly. It had taken a bit of time, but her eyes were finally adjusting to that light. She was clearing the fog from her head and the moment Morgan had displaced Ava from the room, it were as if two opponents had begun a rather tense game of chess. He could see it now in her eyes; the proper upbringing and carefully presented woman flourishing from this skinny and disheveled girl. The moment she spoke, her voice weak with disuse, Morgan could feel the tension in the room shift. Like two opponents staring at each other and sizing the other up before said chess match, Morgan and Alaizabel stood opposed. She was white where Morgan was black; she had taken the first move and slid her token across the board. It was claimed that the white player always had an advantage over the black, and in this case, it wasn't any less true. In the blink of an eye, Alaizabel could simply vanish from Morgan's sights and be hundreds of miles away before the Ringmaster could even take a breath. She had started with her apology and a respectful nod. This had stirred something inside the Ringmaster, a latent memory, like someone pulling out an old photo album to recall a lost moment in time; and he began to remember, that he had the skills to deal with a woman of this caliber.

It had been quite some time since Morgan did not simply physically overwhelm someone to gain a contract and even lately when he had relied on other means to obtain their souls, Morgan felt a twinge of excitement this woman presented. She was unique. Proper. Formal. And knew how to play the game. And play we shall, Morgan thought as he continued to address his clothing. He pulled the sleeves down to his bony wrists before buttoning them securely. He straightened his collar and pressed the wrinkles from the blouse before finally tucking in his shirt. “Your apology is accepted and may I also start by offering one of my own for my terribly unkempt appearance. It was terribly rude of me to come at you in such a manner,” Morgan replied evenly as he turned from her and walked towards his desk. He pulled Ava's armchair aside and instead brought a slightly more worn chair to the desk. He held it out in such a manner that it was an invitation for the woman to sit. No, she was not allowed to sit in Ava's chair. She was a lesser guest, not on a level where the Ringmaster would offer her such an intimate object. But he would treat her with the dignity befitting of a young woman. “Please, have a seat. Shall I get you some tea. Surely, my actions rattled you,” he said as he moved to the iron wood burning stove and plucked from its surface a matching iron kettle. Moving back around to his desk, he pulled from some random storage space amongst the wall of books two teacups and a small tin. From within the tin, he pulled two tea bags and put one in each cup before pouring the hot water over the top. He then replaced the kettle back on the stove before sitting in his own chair.

Her countenance remained set as he addressed his appearance, and she gave him a slight nod as he apologized. "Please, do not apologize. It is I who dropped in unannounced. I have no doubt that, had I taken the proper avenues, you would have been more prepared for company. But I appreciate the sentiment." She offered a polite smile. "And it is to be expected that you would react harshly to an unsavory figure- there was no way you could have known I was not a threat. It is not something you can generally prepare for, one just appearing before as I have." It was true, teleportation wasn't exactly a common, attainable feat, yet here she stood, the product of such an act. She supposed that likely had to do with this... debt, or whatever her father had saddled her with. She paid no mind as Morgan traded out seats for her, offering her the more worn desk chair. It was only sensible to place her in such a seat- let alone was the other chair /clearly/ reserved for Ava, but it wasn't smart to put a rival in such a fine seat; it gave them some sort of superiority, a sort of edge in discussion. She nodded politely and accepted the seat. She had been correct. Morgan assuredly knew how to play the game.

He offered her tea, and she again offered a restrained grin. "That would be lovely, thank you."she responded, folding her hands on her lap. She crossed her legs as she had been taught, at the ankles, and sat rigid in her seat as he took his chair across the desk from her. A barrier between the two, solidifying the conflict. A breach of that gap would end the conflict- she needed to make certain that she did not reach across the desk, break the barrier, before he did. That would be the key.

She looked into Morgan's eyes, her expression mild; her golden brown eyes were calculating, feeling him out. How best to approach this...?

Morgan gazed evenly and openly at her. He was but a book, open to be explored and as such, he interlaced his fingers and propped them upon the desk with his back straight, if not with a subtle lean in forward. He was pushing against the barriers, showing a slight breach of conduct, so as to make him appear much more aloof. She was the type of opponent who would follow all rules to the book. Any sort of misconduct on Morgan's side would surely appear as a blazing insult to her. He had already moved his pawn, jumping a space, and now he would await her move. But before her next turn, they would play a little at each other. Testing the waters. Poking against walls, but not breaking them down. How terribly exciting! But Morgan kept careful watch on his expression. As a tactician, it had been a very long time since he had come across someone who could match wits with him on his level. But this woman...she was unique. She was classically trained and despite the mussed appearance and shaky words earlier, she was beginning to shed that outer layer of nerves and was replacing it with the cool calm face of a true lady. Even now, he could feel her prying and poking at him with her eyes. Morgan would allow her to explore his outer countenance. He had long forgotten the heresy that was his appearance. His hair was long and unruly, dark in appearance with the softest hints of silver beginning to show through. It was crude for a man to have such long hair and not keep it up and the rules stated that if your hair fell over your eyes, you were naught but common filth with something to hide. In his case, Morgan was glad that he had chosen to throw it up in a lazy bun before settling down to play with Ava. With his bangs brushed aside and tucked behind his ear, he was still more presentable than usual.

But that was not all a man was judged on. The dark and sunken appearance of his eyes claimed poor nutrition, the unsightly rings under his eyes spoke of terrible sleeping patterns, and the dark painted fingernails were far from the proper appearance of a gentlemen. Morgan had several errors marked against him and it would only work in the lady's favor of the game. But the Ringmaster didn't let that bother him. He knew before hand that he was at a disadvantage. He knew this, but he didn't let it bother him in the least. Instead, he embraced it. He would turn it from a weakness into a strength. Even now, as they sat in a suspended moment of silence as the tea steeped, the rich aroma of ginger and allspice filling the air between them, the two were still playing the game. "Miss Conway, as stated previously in our last meeting, I am in the business of debts. I come when a debt has yet to be repaid. You see...when a contract has been written up and signed, it is a promissory statement that in the near future, the borrowing party will repay the sum of which they borrowed. Your father accrued a great deal of debt, you see, and with his death...unfortunately, that leaves this burden upon you." Morgan paused as he once again pulled from a random storage space amongst his wall of books two small silver spoons. He gently placed in front of Alaizabel as he tipped his into his teacup, slowly stirring the rich red tinted water.

"It is a terrible thing for a woman such as yourself to have to deal with something as ugly as debt," Morgan continued as he pressed the spoon against the tea bag, the waters swirling with concentrated essence. "However, it is a matter that must be dealt with. I came to you to offer a deal. There are many debt collectors in this world, my de dear, and I daresay that my offer is perhaps...the least crude in terms of payment." At this, Morgan gently tapped the spoon against the teacup before lifting it and breathing in the spicy aroma. He then sat back in his chair and held the teacup in one hand and the small plate in the other. He gave the woman a soft smile. "I know you scoff at the idea of working in a circus and frankly, I do not blame you. What a terribly dirty and boorish place for a flower such as yourself, am I right?"

And so the dance began, and she knew immediately she would have to follow his lead, attempting to keep proper step as he immediately took the dominant position. But in tango, a woman did not have to lead to be dominate. No, in tango, Alaizabel could daintily follow while still maintaining her superior stature; after all, in tango, the woman was aggressive, certain, regal, and demanded respect. Just as she intended to do.

Morgan leaned forward onto the desk, carefully lacing his fingers in front of him. The first step was taken. The man gave off an air of someone who was fully prepared, of a man in a proper suit with haughty ablutions, even in spite of his obviously ill prepared and exhausted state. She should have given him more credit, she realized- clearly here was a man familiar with the red tape, with the maddening tightrope nobility must walk with regalness and grace. She allowed herself a small smile. Splendid. At least they were on an even keel- she wouldn't have to hold back. It wasn't typical for her to be able to match wits with another person, especially as of late, and she didn't typically adopt such a self-assured attitude. She wasn't particularly cocky. But occasionally, when she truly felt a challenge arise, she allowed herself to feel a little pride in her proper breeding. Even if politeness and nobility were generally a sham, a shield, it still delighted her a bit deep within to find someone who could match her stride.

He was asserting himself, pressing her boundaries. She stood her ground, her frame taught and rigid in her chair. The air around her was charged, electric, and it was nothing to do with the steeping tea wafting through the crowded room. She was in his territory, on his time- it didn't matter what sort of advantage she had in the area of physical preparedness (which honestly was not much- while he, too, looked guilty and undernourished, she wasn't exactly a paradigm of health herself at the moment), he had compensated by dominating the space, as he was doing with the desk as well. As he began talking, she hung on his every word, nodding silently as he spoke. He rehashed the debt again. Her father –Vincent, that b*****d-!- had signed her life away, her will, her power over her own life; let alone that, but he had taken her beloved mother with him. Thankfully, he did not mention this. While it had been two, nearly three years since that time, the wound was still fresh, and the last thing she honestly wanted to be doing right now was introverting in the midst of such a poignant discussion. The debt to be repaid was likely what made this exchange so difficult. Had her father asked for anything, practically anything except what he had asked for, she likely would have been proud and actively wiling to incur his debt on his behalf. If only he had done some admirable, something dignified and generous... instead of making her suffer like that for so long--

She ripped her mind back to the present as Morgan placed the tea in front of her. Damn, she clearly had some attention issues she needed to work on. After so long in solitude, mucking about through the destruction her father had wrought upon her world and her mind, she had a hard time solidly focusing on what another person had to say. She was so used to her own inner dialogue, her own thoughts, that she was rusty on her extroverted people skills. Mercifully, it did not seem that he had elaborated any in the few moments that she had been preoccupied, and he swirled his tea calmly in the short lull of silence. Looking at him, her thoughts drifted back to her lake- he reminded her of the glossy, serene surface of the lake on a calm, windless day; he was aloof, fluid, relaxed. Just as a proper gentleman should be in a business meeting. She flipped her hair from her shoulder daintily and took up the warm teacup. It was simple, elegant, starkly in contrast with the excitement of the many intrigues displayed around the room. She met eyes with Morgan again before busying herself with her tea. She stirred the drink mindlessly, listening as he continued speaking again. Ah, yes, he assuredly had experience with nobility, she now had no doubt. He was playing to her pride, to her status (not that she minded, it was nice occasionally to hear that she was seen as she intended to be seen).

"I came to you to offer a deal. There are many debt collectors in this world, my dear, and I daresay that my offer is perhaps.... the least crude in terms of payment." She peered up over the rim of her cup, eyeing him carefully as he delicately chose his words. Was this, by chance, effortful for him? How commonly did a viscountess appear before him, having incurred a debt she had no means or intent initially of taking on? She assumed this wasn't actually something she could negotiate; she had no doubt that in an altercation, it would be a menial task to take the girl by force. Assuredly she had the upper hand, being that she could blip anywhere at a whim, but this somehow did not seem the sort of man that you trifled with for long. She idly wondered how far she had pushed Morgan, but now was not the time. However frustrated or fed up with her he was, he was assuredly keeping it to himself now. He clearly knew what she was capable of, and was being careful not to press her too hard, lest she slip yet again through his fingers like water. "I know you scoff at the idea of working in a circus, and frankly, I do not blame you. What a terribly dirty and boorish place for a flower such as yourself, am I right?"

A flower, was she? Oh, he was laying it on thick, but she could appreciate a man who was so evidently intent on keeping her attention. It was so seldom that noble men /tried/ anymore, and words such as those came off as superficial and meaningless. Somehow, even in spite of the conversation's ominous undertone, Morgan was managing to keep the conversation aloof, inviting, smooth and undulating like a snake coiling its unsuspecting prey. It mattered not that the man may have been out of practice- with talent for discourse such as his had no need for consistent practice. She however was not in her prime. It had been too long since she had performed for an audience, and it was going to show- if not now, soon.

She took another long draw of her tea, savoring it for a moment. At least it was magnificent tea, and this coming from someone who typically hated tea. If (more likely when, but she wasn't thinking that until it was as inevitable as she feared it was) she ended up joining his.. cirque..., she would have to recall to ask him for the name of this style of tea. It was shocking to most people that such a noble Brit did not enjoy tea, but alas she has simply spent so many years slapping on a plastic grin at tea time that the inquiry didn't come up anymore. She idly concerned herself over whether the tea would have been doctored in any way before dismissing the thought. This man seemed to be of character, someone with integrity and fearsome pride. She doubted he would stoop to something so low as drugging a debtor. Besides, if he did, it wouldn't do him much good...

Alaizabel delicately replaced the teacup on its saucer, weighing her options. Combative? No, that would do neither her nor her character any service. Diplomacy was almost assuredly her best option, but what was she even hoping to gain out of this? It seemed that repaying her debt was her solitary option, other than quickly spawning a child and then offing herself... and while she had toyed with some more heavy, dark ideas in recent past, her current self did not particularly fancy death, even over having to degrade her station in such a position as circus worker. She inspected her hands. They were not made for manual work, nor did she have any explicit talents of which to speak.... at least, none that a circus could implement... did they need a pianist in a circus? She somehow doubted it. Regardless, she needed to move to take charge, to lead their altercation in some form or manner.

She peered up, seeking Morgan before speaking, slowly, meaningfully. "Indeed, a circus is not precisely ideal." she agreed, treating him to a small, polite smile as she gave a short laugh. "Though I am no flower, and am not entirely accustomed to work. But I must ask, what exactly are you expecting from me? I do not have much to offer that I believe would be of appropriate service to a man in such a position. I have to wonder if there is a different solution to our issue, one that you potentially have not previously explored?" She adjusted before continuing, "I am in no way attempting to shirk my debt- I fully comprehend that this is, as you have said, a situation that must be dealt with. Nor am I asking for any degree of intense leniency. You are, I am sure, a busy man running such an... establishment-" she chose her words carefully- "as this. But I simply do not see how I would fit into your vision. What I suppose I am trying to say is that I may not be a good... investment for what you are anticipating. I do not fully understand how you intend for me to pay off this debt, nor what this debt exactly is."

That wasn't entirely true. She knew full well why the debt was there. She simply did not understand how she was expected to pay it off, how her father/ had anticipated her paying it off. She felt a stab of frustration at the thought again and stamped it out quickly. Not the place, not the place. "I am also not certain how exactly this debt is to be paid. Work, I understand, but what amount of debt did my... ahem... my father build? I'm not certain I comprehend the payment method..."

The woman had a way with words that made his proposition sound absolutely absurd and silly. And truly, for a woman of her upbringing, it would be terribly ludicrous for her to believe in such a demand. To work in a circus. A lady of her class, despite what she may or may not have accomplished in the past, would be akin to something like telling a farmer to paint da Vinci with no proper schooling. It was humorous and blatantly obtuse. But the Ringmaster did not find his work amusing in the least. No. To a child, a poor cretin, or even any other creature by lower means; he would not expect them to understand the nuances of the debtor’s life or field of work. The soft smile he had offered her as a placating and reassuring gift still lingered on his lips as he gently ushered away the hot steam that billowed up from his teacup. He relished in the sweet and spicy scent of the allspice as he listened to the girl ramble on. Frankly, it mattered little to Morgan what the woman said, though he was sharp enough to pick up the hesitant way she spoke of his cirque. She was playing the game of words, filling the air with her magical vocabulary and promising composition. She truly is a magnificent creature, Morgan thought as patiently waited for the lack of understanding to finish tumbling from her lips. The game had only just started and Morgan had to be sure to carefully move his pieces across the board in such a manner that he would not upset the opponent. In this young woman's case, she did not quite understand the debt and the reason for it. No one ever did. And at least, that Morgan was patient enough with. Humans were incredibly selfish and crude in their execution of lessons and morals with their children and even more so as the ages continued to build and fade. As the years wore on there had been a substantial increase in the demoralization of the entire country and not just in the English-s
peaking Providences of the world.

But what the world could not provide in knowledge, Morgan could. The process of debt and collection was something he had been doing for so long now. Born into it, really. It was his bread and butter. What made this event more tedious than previous contracts was the girl's ability and her tendency to run. And even though she appeared to have gained a traction on her flighty nature, Morgan was still unsure of her intentions. Was she truly going to sit here and let him lecture her on the debt? What would her reaction be after the matter? Would she get upset and disappear in the blink of an eye? Or would she resign to the fact that she had a debt that needed to be repaid and even if Morgan could not get her at this moment, he had an entire lifetime to hunt her down. However, the Ringmaster favored the idea and the sense that she would in fact stay around. She was a woman of class and had a reputation to uphold. If she simply blinked out of the room now, she would be labeled as a coward, a deserter, a filthy little mouse with no courage. If she so chose to blink out of existence, it would not be difficult for him to track her down with her name in mind. Morgan von Faustus always got what he wanted however. And if in this particular case, he had to work for it a little, then by all means...he wanted that power!

The Ringmaster took a wary sip of his tea. It was hot, searing really, but Morgan had always been able to consume foods and drink at a much higher temperature than normal people. He simply chalked it up to having to eat and run constantly. There was no time for waiting for it to cool down. One simply had to consume and be off, damned with the consequences. He let the spicy tea liquid spill over his tongue and roll about his taste buds for a moment before it drifted down his throat and filled his belly with a warm spreading sensation. He lowered it for a moment and sat back in his chair, holding both the teacup and saucer as he crossed one leg over the other. “You see, dear woman, there are plenty of strange and unexplainable things in this world. For example, this golden dragon here,”his brows raised the slightly as he nodded his head towards the perpetually crying dragon that poured crimson down its face. “Lift it if you wish. Touch it. There is simply no explanation for it, is there? That is simply one of the wonders of this vast world. One of the other strange things about this world...is the magic that humans as a whole have forgotten in this day in age. Does that dragon bleed by magic? Or is it by some other means? Certainly not mechanical...perhaps spiritual? Or is magic and 'spirit' simply the same thing just dressed in different aspects? This world has been tainted by religion...damned...sullied...but there is one truth to this no matter what you call it. There is a higher will than humans believe, though it may or may not follow the same ideals that have been conceived in their minds. What I am trying to say is that...this debt that your family owes...is not something that can be obtained by monetary value. That you may have guessed already as I'm sure our business would have been complete by now.” The Ringmaster paused to take another pleasant sip at this tea.

“What I am interested in...is not money or any sort of...physical item you posses. What I am after...is a little more unique. Your father made a deal...a spiritual deal...and the terms of payment fall into the same category. I know a woman of your caliber cannot simply work for the rest of your life doing menial tasks...that would be an insult upon your breeding. I find that would be quite awful of me to defile such a beautiful and rare thing in this day and age. No...what I am after is your soul. And your 'gift'.”

The terms had been placed upon the table. He had woven in as much charm and tact as he could afford without sounding like a beggar. He still needed her to think that she had the upper hand and that she would have to be the one to offer herself up to him. He still had a few more moves up his sleeve before he could move his Queen and strike the final blow. But preemptive moves were a fool's game and thinking that you had won the game before a pawn was even removed from the board would spell disaster. No. He needed to wait and see. Just what sort of morals and rectitude did this woman have?

[thymeast22]

⊱⊱ Cirque de Tromperiexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

✦ Ladies and Gentlemen, May I Present: Your Escape Artist, Part III

Alaizabel watched the Ringmaster closely as he took a tasteful drag of his tea. She would never understand how people could enjoy tea. But at this point, she decided that maybe he didn't. Maybe he was doing what she was- what was expected. She lifted the cup, tipping it gently and taking a sip while Morgan spoke. Leaned back, relaxing with his legs crossed, the man seemed to be completely in control, completely dominating the conversation. She had gone into this discussion knowing that she was at a complete disadvantage, but she hadn't expected him to be quite as much of an imposing figure as he was. She held her cup aloft in front of her as he dove into his speech.

He drew her attention to one of the obscure items in his room, and she peered over warily. Ah, a dragon... crying blood. That was charming. Truly something that she would particularly draw someone's attention to in order to make a point. That was most assuredly not something that would frighten or concern someone that you were trying to create a rapport with. She felt her stomach turn nervously. Alaizabel wasn't particularly squeamish with blood, all things considered, but that didn't mean that she was exactly comfortable with a supposedly inanimate object displaying Ebola-like symptoms... She looked it over carefully, resisting the urge to look away as quickly as she could and instead mulled over what he said as she observed. "There is simply no explanation for it, is there?" She felt her face deadpan for a moment before she caught herself and replaced it with a look of distant interest. Of course there was no explanation for it. It was a magical object. It was kind of a part of the gig, being that it innately held unnatural powers. Many people supposed that an upright, dignified woman such as herself would have a hard time embracing the supernatural, but Alaizabel had never really considered it an option. Having grown up with an inherent ability to teleport herself at a whim, she supposed it was fairly expected that she believed in things many others could not. She also had a surprisingly active imagination, considering she spent a decent amount of her time reading fantasy novels. Magical objects, spiritual blessings, and the like had never been exactly surprising to her.

She realized abruptly that she had lost herself in her own head again. Damn, she had really lost her edge after her years in isolation. She rotated back to looking at Morgan as he continued speaking. She knew it was part of the game they had decided to play, but she never did understand why nobility felt the need to be just so tedious. And the fact that she did it herself was irksome as well. But she was a product of her environment, just as he was, and his environment had clearly raised him to love the sound of his own voice. She tuned back into the present just in time for him to get to the information that was actually relevant to her interests. "What I am trying to say is that... this debt that your family owes... is not something that can be obtained by monetary value. That you may have guessed already as I'm sure our business would have been completely by now." He took a moment now to take another drink of his tea. She followed his example and took a small sip again, hastily swallowing it before it could linger in her mouth too long. It was not the most unpleasant tea she'd ever had, and the scent of cinnamon wafting off of it was pleased, albeit a bit stifling to her. But that didn't mean that she enjoyed the bitter leaf water any more than she had enjoyed any other teas she had tried. Scent-wise it was fine, but the sooner she could stop pretending to be savoring her tea, the happier she would be.

She lowered her teacup to the saucer as he continued. "What I am interested in... is not money or any sort of... physical item you possess. What I am after.... is a little more unique." Alaizabel peered down into her tea, her face hidden by the shadow of her bangs. Even in the reflect on the surface, she could tell how bored she was. Of course, she knew what to look for. To any outside person who didn't know her well (which, granted, no one did at this point), she would seem as mildly interested as was appropriate. But honestly, this man was droning on. She had always been bored numb at parties for her father or when speaking with related members of the vetted aristocracy. This man was being just as coy, just as cautious as any of them with his words. She couldn't blame him. With the way she had behaved in his presence before, she could hardly be angered that he was treating her as a flight risk, because that was exactly what she was. Half listening, she took another drink of her tea. "No I find that it would be quite awful of me to defile such a beautiful and rare thing in this day and age."She closed her eyes in order to hide her rolling them. Again with the beauty? First she was a flower, now she was rare; it was laying it on a bit thick, in her opinion, though she would never say such a thing. She had never considered herself anything special, and when she was presenting herself as she did at present she knew the man was simply attempting to sugar coat her. It wouldn't work.

"No... what I'm after is your soul. And your 'gift'."

After all that tact, all that grace, all of that careful word choice, this was what he decided to be blunt about? She coughed a little into her tea, having gasped at the suddenness of the man's words. Her soul? He wanted her damned soul?! What the hell kind of deal had her father made?! She covered her mouth quickly, placing the tea on the desk before her hurriedly, and destabilized her breathing. After all of the mystic things that Alaizabel had allowed herself to believe in, after accepting a bleeding, golden dragon, it was shocking to her to be so disbelieving in the concept of a soul. The idea had never fit into her schema of life. But that was what life was: altering your perceptions. If this man told her that there was such thing as souls, she needed to readjust her notion of a soul. That was what she did: she took life on life's turns, and ran with it. It wasn't healthy by any means, and it more often than not added to the stress in her life since allocating space for situations did not mean coping with them, but it was the only way she knew how to continue on. So there she sat, his golden eyes leveled on her, waiting, anticipating, assessing her every move. He was still in play. He was toying with her. Her hand stayed over her mouth.

Was she ready to give up her soul? She had never imagined that deciding of her own volition to come here meant that she was forfeiting her soul. It wasn't until just a moment before that she even considered the existence of soul. Now that this whole new door was opened up to her, this window into her (literal) soul, was she so willing to part with it? Her hand dropped from her mouth to her necklace, and she gripped it tight. She was showing weakness, though not in her expression. Other than the initial shock, her face had remained unchanged in response to the man's terms. She quirked a brow. Wait...

"My gift?" she inquired, not removing her hand from her locket. "I don't understand... I don't understand what use something such as that would be to you. I am afraid I must confess that I am not exactly... cognizant of what a circus could do with someone like me." She wasn't trying to be combative- she truly did not know. She had never seen a circus, and honestly only thought of bearded women riding elephants when one came to mind. It had just never been something she found herself dwelling on. But now came the question of her soul. Did she try to fight it? Was she ready to give something of this magnitude up? She wasn't certain what the essence of a soul was, but if she was to believe the things she had read about it, souls made up the very being of a person. Who would she be upon parting with it? She gave a subtle shake to her head and moved on. "As for the matter of my soul...."she continued, and gave a small, dainty chuckle. "I'm not quite certain how you intend to take that, nor what sort of adverse effects that could cause. Personally, I do not believe it sounds healthy or... prudent, to hand over something of such a delicate nature so flippantly. Unless you speak of selling souls metaphorically, in which case I must concern myself with your humor." She caught his eye, a glimmer of defiance in them. She knew that work was likely. She knew that she would likely have to sink beneath her station to satisfy this man. But her soul....? Something about it seemed too... intimate, too gentle to just hand over to someone. It sounded suspiciously like giving your heart to someone, and she would never, ever bequeath something like that, much less to a haughty, self-important nobleman like Morgan von Faustus. "I do not commonly do this, but I would ask that you speak candidly, and that I may do the same. What do you want from me? Just who a
re you?"

It sounded surreal to give up her soul. Surely he couldn't mean that her soul was a tangible exchange of goods....? She needed it plainly; perhaps if he spoke without pretense, her mind could stop flitting around the subject like smoke from a fire and instead physically grasp the concept. Her eyes skirted over him carefully, and her nerves stood on edge. The music was mounting. It was his step.

“Unless you speak of selling souls metaphorically, in which case I must concern myself with your humor."

Morgan could almost see the threads of patience and control slipping away from the woman and from behind another sip of his tea he hid an amused smirk, though his eyes stayed placid and relaxed. She was slowly showing a fracture in that perfect porcelain mask, even if he had to lay on the charm thickly. Alaizabel was not the type of woman to be drawn in by pretty and large words, namely because she actually knew what they meant and the meanings behind the lexemes; Morgan was quite fond of dazzling daft women with brilliantly strung together verses since they could only see the beauty of the words and not the underlying poison that he laced them with. But Alaizabel Conway was a unique creature and one that Morgan found playing with quite an alluring match. She was not about to let herself be drawn in by a pretty face and seductive words, and for that reason amongst others, Morgan found himself wantingher even more so than before this interaction. She would prove to be a lovely addition to his collection of playthings, a beautiful China doll that would only be tampered with when he needed to pull out all of the impressive stops in order to complete a transaction. And like a China doll, the moment her contract was his, she would be locked away in a glass box, safe and securely hidden for only himself to enjoy. A locked box in which she would never be able to escape, never able to tumble from and crack her preciously painted face. He had never desired a contract more in his entire career than he did of this woman's. Slowly lowering the teacup back onto its designated saucer, the Ringmaster placed the paired items onto the wooden desk before sliding his golden eyes across her form from the corner of his eye.

“You wish me to speak plainly to you then...so be it. You are a smart woman, Alaizabel, but I'm afraid you appear to have a rather lacking imagination,” Morgan said airily. He knew that their match had finally reached a point where he felt they were on even ground. Their pawns were finally evenly dispersed and the weapons were drawn. Now was the time to act and if he made a mistake here, it would likely end the game much earlier than he wanted. But she was beginning to crack, as was evident in her fading rigid body language. And he was well, his shoulders were beginning to slump slightly instead of holding them back. But he was no longer trying to appear the top player. No. They had come to silent and invisible terms of even property now. Their errors had been on full display throughout the run and now, there was no point in trying to cover it up. The game was in full swing and they were quickly and accurately making their moves now. However, unfortunately for Alaizabel, the questions she asked gave Morgan a secret game piece; the Fool. There was no such thing in a true Staunton set, but now, the Ringmaster felt he could finally introduce his own rules. And he would start by throwing the Fool in amongst Alaiza's pieces, letting his silly antics and unnerving riddles fool the pawns into accepting their fate. “There was no fault in my words. As I stated, your soul is the required payment for such a hefty debt such as yours. Flippant? My dear lady...there is /nothing/ flippant about extracting one's soul, I assure you. It is a very precise and...how do I say...unique experience?” At this, the Ringmaster slowly stood from his desk and placed his thin hands upon the surface, leaning on his arms slightly, his untamed and messy locks drifting from behind his ear to cascade down and frame his face.

“Your gift and your debt are tied together; one cannot exist without the other. Your gift is unique...no one in the world has the same power as you, just as no one will ever share the same soul that is of Alaizabel Conway. You see...I run a very unique circus. Everyone in it is just like you; endowed with a terrible and beautiful twist of fate and all very much owing that power to me. There is no telling just what sort of unique job you will take on...perhaps an acrobat or a juggler...or even... an escape artist?”Morgan flourished his speech with his hands as he stood straight now, leaning his right hip against the desk. “My Cirque is the best in the world. We perform feats other circus' can only dream of. And why? Because they do not have the abilities that my troupe does. But for each ability...there comes a price. And the payment? Why...it’s as simple as a handshake. A simple touch, nothing painful I assure you. With a soft glance of my hand upon yours...your soul will be transferred to my ownership and we will begin the process of paying off the debt. Simple, yes?” He leaned back against the desk slightly, ever so subtly edging closer to the woman without encroaching upon her personal space.

No, he would have to wait for the perfect moment to breech that intimate bubble. “As for adverse effects? Why...the only thing that happens is that you simply stop aging. You still live, you still breathe, you still exist; you simply do not grow old. Once the debt is complete, then you are free to go. Simple! Done!” The Ringmaster dusted his hands together to animate his point. “See? It is truly not all that terrible now, is it? You work off the debt and you stay young.” Why exactly he was explaining this to the woman, even Morgan was unsure. Was it because he trusted she would take his word for truth and give in to the options? Or perhaps, that was the nature of the game? You give a little to receive a little; eventually wearing down the enemy with the constant ebb and flow of the game. Now, he was leaning closer to her, his eyes steady with hers, golden and wide. “Alaizabel Conway, I am Morgan von Faustus, the Ringleader of Tromperie and I want...no...need your talent...your soul.”

Her invitation for candidness was well received, that much was plain. Though as the man spoke, she was not sure whether this was to her benefit or detriment. His words were like poison being slipped in her ear as Claudius to King Hamlet. He knew just what to say, how to say it, even without all of the fluff and frills. Truly it was a remarkable display, and she watched tensely as he moved subtly around the desk. She shifted a bit in her seat, pushing as far into it as she could get away with without actually looking like she was going to bolt. She watched as he went on, bragging yet again about his precious, unique circus. He certainly does dote on his little brigade, doesn't he...? she mused as she observed him. Speaking of his troupe she would hardly have been able to envision him as (quite literally) a soul-sucking harpy; rather, he seemed like a man who simply took pride in his peoples' accomplishments. She was fighting a battle she knew she was ill-equipped to win, and as he spoke she could feel herself being drawn in by his sublime charisma and unrivaled charm. He knew what game he was playing, and impressively just who he was playing it with.

Morgan went through a list of performances she could undertake, giving explicit care to his final suggestion. Escape artist. She quirked a brow as he paused, leaning against his desk. Now /there/ was an idea. A woman who could teleport... escaping from things. That hardly seemed fair. Least work possible, I suppose, she pondered, but ultimately wrote it off. If she was going to do something, she would do it with her own skills and talents. No way would she shirk her duties and fall back on something so cheap and tasteless. It seemed too... cliché she supposed, though that wasn't the word she was looking for. Boring? Unoriginal? Simple? She wasn't sure, but the idea of spending who knew how long as an escape artist simply didn't appeal to her. Maybe an acrobat would be interesting... She returned her attention to the man again. Ah. He was praising his circus again. Does he think this is a roundabout way of self-affirmation? She wondered, watching him intently. No, he did not seem like the sort of man to prattle on about his own hubris. Perhaps he truly did have this sort of faith in his operation. At least that much was admirable.

"Why... its as simple as a handshake. A simple touch, nothing painful I assure you. With a soft glance of my hand upon yours... your soul will be transferred to my ownership and we will begin the process of paying off the debt."

Her hand flew to her locket and she averted her eyes. Painless? Somehow she doubted that. Falling asleep was painless. Reading by candlelight was painless. Having the very essence of your being extracted from your body, apparently by someone's prying physical hand? That sounded less than painless. If she had to venture a guess, she'd say it actually sounded quite the opposite. He was standing nearer to her now, on her side of the desk. Without her realizing it, he had completely closed the gap between them, though he still maintained a tasteful distance from her. She twisted the locket in her hand as he carried on.

"Alaizabel Conway, I am Morgan von Faustus, the Ringleader of Tromperie, and I want... no.... need your talent... your soul."

Oh Mother. What did that... that beast get you and me into...?

She flicked her gaze to the dark haired man, suppressing a look of disbelief. Three things: one, he wanted her soul. That was weird enough on it's own, but she'd pretty much come to realize that aspect of this was evidently unavoidable. Two, taking her soul would cease her aging. Yes, that definitely went with what he said about 'no adverse side effects'; being frozen in time for who knew how long definitely sounded like it would take no toll of her living form whatsoever in that timeframe. Absolutely sounded safe. No complaints there... Three: he said he needed her? She was loathed to imagine someone needing someone such as herself. She was hardly anything special- just a plain porcelain doll sitting aloft on a shelf, ready to be shown; seen, and not heard, as they said. And to someone like, him- like Morgan von Faustus, as he had felt the need to re-introduce himself following his speech-, she could not understand the appeal of such a useless piece. It was like playing chess with a full set, but your queen was restricted to societal conventions, peculiarly displacing literally any appeal or usefulness. If he needed a pretty face, she was certain he could buy one in the downtown district for far less effort than he was currently expending.

Alaizabel stood, taking two careful steps back from him. The chair she had sat in now divided them. She needed that divide, that schism. It was all she could imagine now keeping her safe from... well, from what she wasn't entirely sure. But she still was not entirely sold.

"So... so suppose that this.. process was entirely painless," she started, placing her free hand beside her on his desk. She was bracing herself- for what she didn't know, but she would be ready if she needed to bolt. "Suppose that an unspoken time of agelessness and soullessness sounded appealing, and suppose that I would agree to working with you- not that I'm saying at all that I would be inclined to say such at this moment. Supposing all of that to be true, which I am still not entirely convinced that there is no other purgative in your decisions here..." She looked down, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth. "What now?”

Alaizabel was weak. She was weak, and she was tired, and she hated feeling so completely defeated and helpless. But in this man's presence, in his wake, what choice did she have? He was surprisingly intimidating for a man that could not do much to her if she fled. She could run- vanish from site and throw herself from a cliff and he would never be able to find her. But... was death a better escape than this? Maybe the circus was a new chance, a new start. She wasn't sure exactly how something like this would help her, but.... but anything had to be better than the squalor she had been forcing herself to live in for the past two years. Nothing was left for her on the outside. Perhaps this was the break that she was looking for, peculiar as it was.

She tightened her grip on her locket again before releasing it, looking up to Morgan with a dignity and strength that she honestly didn't have in her. But the game was not over. She needed to maintain poise, at least until the beat died down.

Yes, he repeated his name.

He would repeat it and his title: Ringmaster, over and over again until it became abundantly clear just who he was. Why? Because Morgan's Cirque had to be the best. Was the best. And always would be the best. And that simply was because he only took the best. In a time when the culture and nature of “Circus Folk” had been bred from the minds of those who steered clear from gypsies and the deformed, it was partly because of Morgan's Cirque that the acceptance of the circus had increased and the view had changed, if by fractions at most; but it was a start. Instead of being shunned and forced to work out of hovels and perform for poverty and offer entertainment on a mediocre level, Morgan von Faustus' Cirque had done its fair share of lifting the title from the muddy and disease infested level of mere “circus” into something that was now considered a rising art. Lords and Barons asked for his Cirque by name and on a few occasions, even Kings had allowed him to amuse them. Yes. Morgan loved to listen to himself talk because if it were not for his voice, the voice of the Ringmaster, there would be nothing but chaos that ruled the idiots that infested his troupe. Egos would flare out of proportions and eventually, rules would be broken. So how did one man manage to rule over a group of foolhardy pranksters (aside from stealing their souls, of course); he did that with his voice. His very name struck terror into those who worked under him and the title of his Cirque brought with it cheers from the crowds and a constant flow of fresh faces that filled their audience.

So yes. Over and over again.

He would repeat his name until this woman cowered under him like any of the other members of his troupe.

Because now he could see it. The rising level of weakness in her icy gaze would betray her careful composure and if he had not been carefully watching it over the span of his conversation, he might have missed it. He could see it, however, and it was beginning to affect him as well. But not dreadfully so. In fact, it excited him. He could feel the familiar sense of victory beginning to cloud his judgment, his carefully planned expressions cracking ever so slightly. The slightest twinge of a muscle in his face, a minor twitch of his brow, or even an oddly displaced sparkle in his eye. His own composure was beginning to fade because with the sense of victory was the excitement that rose from it. The idea that all of this hard work would finally come to fruition, that soon he would have a new plaything, a new toy in which he would be able to manipulate fully filled him with the glee of a child who had just been given a sugary treat. It made his hands tremble slightly with exhilaration and he was glad that they were busy supporting his weight as he continued to lean against the desk or she might be able to see the loss of his rigid control. Morgan tilted his head slightly and gave her a smooth smile.

The Fool was on full display now. This sacrificial pawn would be the final token he would use in his arsenal. Morgan found that by displaying the Fool piece, he could now fully develop his final move and confrontation with the White Queen. He stood up from the desk now and moved just slightly off to the side before he turned to face her, both arms cocked behind his back as she asked her final question.

"What now?"

"What now...what now, you ask..." The Ringmaster repeated as if he were testing the words in his mouth, his tongue rolling over each letter as he lifted his chin and closed his eyes for a moment. His smile continued to stay plastered on his face as he appeared to drift off into some unknown land of contentment and amusement. The Fool. He would take her suspicions, let his precious regal mask crack for her to peer into the insanity that was truly his mind, give her a brief gaze into the world she was about to be absolved into. “What now...” He repeated once more before taking a deep breath, his chest barreling out before he unfurled his arms and displayed his palms to her, opening his golden eyes and letting them rest upon her form. “The answer is simple, Alaizabel Conway. You live. The tapestry of fate is not one that is easily manipulated. The threads are bound tightly and if you fight against that which God has decided for you...you simply begin to fray and split. But this! I am offering you the chance to take an opportunity of altering those threads without the discourse of being ripped apart by the pathetic seams of what your reality was. Can you not see it? Can you not see the chance I am giving you here? Yes, you will have to work for me...and yes, your world will change around you while you stay suspended in a moment of time. But would you rather see yourself unravel and unfurl by a design that was not your own?” Morgan tossed an arm out to the side, the other resting against his chest.

“Will you allow God to not only take your Mother and leave you to suffer alone, only for him to rip your tapestry piece by piece? Why not give him a thorn from which to p***k his finger upon? Live, Alaizabel. That is what you would do. Travel to the far ends of this world...perform for millions of people...entertain those who need a smile. Provide for them one moment of awe and pure magical bliss for one infinitesimal speck of your time and throw a careless insult to God as you live.” Morgan let his powerful voice fade as he stood there, his breath coming from him in careless puffs as his golden gaze waited eagerly for her response. He had gotten a tad carried away with his speech, but all that it was worth, the Ringmaster spoke the truth despite showing her the Fool's piece. Now he was playing a risky maneuver. Would it work against the girl? Would she make an error in which would allow him to move in his final pawn? Would his Black Queen topple her White?

As Morgan turned to face her full on, she took another calculated step back, barely pushing herself back against the stove behind her. It (thankfully) was not lit, but did house a particularly large amount of books near it. A couple of the books tumbled from behind her, and she scurried to pick them up as he sized her up with an eerily contained smile. Something was lurking, dark, undulating, unseen behind that smile, and she wasn't certain that she wanted to know precisely what that serpentine being had in store for her. She gathered them without thought, without taking note of their titles, until a particularly new novel was taken in her grasp. She stopped for a moment, weighing it in her hand. She had seen this book, though very recently, and the details of it were at the level of recency that she could recall and recognize the portfolio, but not the entirety of the plot. The Picture of Dorian Gray... Ah, no I remember, she thought to herself, keeping her focus on the book rather than observing Morgan. Oscar Wilde's tale... Dorian sells his soul, diverting his own aging and disintegrating beauty into his portrait... sins with no consequence... a life of youth and beauty to enjoy your every desire...

She'd read reviews of this book, now that she thought of it. It had been horribly ill received. People had insisted that Dorian was a terrible man, a degradation to society apparent. Not everyone, she supposed, caught the satire of it all. But now, as she stood and listened numbly to Morgan prattling on yet again (That affirms it, if nothing else... this man loves the sound of his own voice...), she realized that everything Wilde had written was a possibility, not just a satire, but tangible, attainable. Better still, she would never have to be reminded of her sins, the way Dorian was. There was no painting, no constant reminder of her digression from society, no indication that any contract had been entered... she would be, in essence, eternal. Was she ready for something like that? The impact was unfathomable. Alaizabel Conway, being a consistent part of the world, stretching off into time unknowable. It was almost more than she could take in. He spoke of unending possibilities, of opportunities hanging just out of reach that he was suddenly making accessible, but she wasn't convinced. Eternity was a hell of a pill to swallow, even just a seemingly infinitesimal blip of it.

"Will you allow God to not only take your Mother and leave you to suffer alone, only for him to rip your tapestry piece by piece?"

Alaizabel was wrenched from her thoughts at the mention of her mother. She gave a small gasp and dropped the book, reaching with both hands to her locket and glaring to Morgan. What right did this slimy man have talking of her precious mother in any realm? A dangerous look flicked in her eyes before she stamped out the flames inside, gathering control of herself. No use instigating a fight, she thought, closing her eyes and giving her head a shake.

God? What of God... it was a joke. God was a crutch for the weak, for men like her father, to call upon in their hours of need, to hide behind when they did something morally ambiguous, to blame when they could not fault themselves for their irreputable, pathetic actions. God was a weak fabrication meant to soothe the minds of small, blind children as they drifted to sleep in an otherwise cool and cruel world. God was a /sham/.

He implored her now to live; "throw a careless insult to God as you live”, he had insisted. He stood, his breathing faulted from his tiringly excessive speech. She had heard all that she needed to hear without all of the talk of God and whatnot. She took a breath, steeling herself. If in a few years she hated herself for dong this, she would throw herself from a cliff. It was simple. Any time she wanted out, it was no further than a thought away, after all. Right...? She had no idea what the contingency on her latent abilities would be, but she simply had to have faith (in what, she wasn't sure) that things would work to her advantage. She could stand conceding one fight if it meant the inevitable war would be hers. She knew when to take a tactical retreat...

"God is inviable," she began before she could stop herself. She stooped down, scooping up the book carefully. Her voice was cold, precise, calculated. She did not want to rev this man up again, now that she had seen how terribly long-winded he could be. "God is a safety blanket for those who are too weak to take command of their own lives. I have no intention of expending precious energy attempting to spite a fabrication, Mister Morgan von Faustus. I would expect better reasoning from a man of your stature, to be certain." She stood straight, and there was nothing about her stance that betrayed her intentions; she was seething, barely containing her flickering anger as she spoke. Her voice shook, "And I speak candidly again, so forgive me for it, but never, never mention my mother again, is that clear?" Her spite was like venom as the words left her lips. Her words were frigid, slow, and unmissably damning. No one was allowed to speak of her mother- not the maids, not her family, not even her darling uncle, and most assuredly not this... this vile excuse for a person who stood before her, bartering her own livelihood away from her. She had known coming here that she would not escape, that this was an inevitability, so she supposed she should not harbor as much malice toward him as she did, but that did not matter to her now.

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and visibly calming herself. She was done with her hallow threats, done attempting to assert herself to a man she simply did not stack up to in her current form. She released the breath from her mouth with a small huff, then calmly replaced the book on the stove behind her. She remained facing the stove for a few moments more than necessary. Leaning a bit, she pondered again; was she strong enough to do this? Working in a circus hardly seemed befit of a woman of her status, granted, but that wasn't her concern. There was nothing she abhorred more than the knowledge that she was useless. And nothing could be quite so demanding of her, frankly lacking, talents and skills as a circus. But... but she had who knew how long to adapt, right? Take life on life's terms. she chided herself. Accept things as they come and you will never be taken. You will always remain, and you will always persevere, if only you adapt to the times. It was a mantra she had been attempting to adapt since the blind-side that was her parents' simultaneous death. But now, more than ever, she needed to call upon an inner strength that she regrettably did not feel she had.

Alaizabel presently turned, sharper than she had meant to, and reached her hand out. She was quite a distance from Morgan, but if he was half the gentleman that he portrayed, he would come to her. It was one last ditch effort to assert herself, to demonstrate that she was not just some lowly simpleton who could be so easily ployed and won over. If he wanted her so badly, he would come to her. Small victories, but victories nonetheless, she told herself. This was not the last battle, the last match, the last dance. But when it came, she would be ready. "A simple touch, you said?"

There was something undeniably beautiful about the mind and the spirit of human beings. There was always on unfathomable truth, one complete and whole positive affirmation that one could make about humans and that was; they were uniquely adaptable. As it had been law for thousands of years, adaptation had been the only way one would be able to survive and succeed in this realm of living. From the romantic idea that humans had transcended from some form of primate into the complicated and infuriating beings that presented themselves now; there was no denying that without this mutation that there would not be a single creature on this planet that could have as wicked or brilliant mind as a mortal. The brain worked like nothing else in this world, though it did share very similar properties with that of the complicated matter of the eye of a fly or the system of photosynthesis that kept plants alive. A unique and fabricating concept of knowledge and wisdom was not entirely lost upon humans if not greatly fractured in this time. Where in the past the human mind simply revolved around survival, now could focus on adaptation and self-preservation; however, now armed with the literary genius and tactical awareness to do so. To deny that this woman here could not fight a war that had been placed upon her with no weapons would be the same to say that she was nothing other than a mouse caught by a cat. That was not the case. Granted, the end result would be as Morgan would want; there was no denying the Ringmaster when he had set his eyes upon a prize that he would fight to the death to obtain. And she was that prize now. Her sallow looks only shrouded from him the impenetrable spirit of a strong and brilliant woman. Every word that poured from her mouth simply filled the Ringmaster with excitement and anticipation. It had been so long...oh so long since someone was able to match wits with him on this level.

He had nearly forgotten what it was like to be challenged on a level that made him truly think. Physical altercations and blackmail had been all but used up on previous contracts. But it had been an incredibly long time since someone had challenged him on such a personal and intellectual level. His mind had clearly been on obtaining her powers at the beginning of this match, but after seeing that beautiful and seductively brilliant brain Morgan now knew that he had to have both. Her mind and her power. She was entertaining. She would continue to provide him with hours of amusement. She would be his new favorite toy. He had watched her reaction with shrouded glee, enjoying the torment as she was forced to back up. The Fool's piece had done enough to distract her pawns long enough for him to illicit a reaction, a way to break through that icy shield that was keeping him at bay. It had fractured, sure enough, as she stepped back into his wall of books, knocking a few free from its carefully planned structure. Though, he did not bother as he was more interesting in her actions following. He had accomplished what he needed; she was now unable to block herself from him save for piercing frigid words he longed to her crawl out of her throat. He was done and proverbially slapped the illegal token off of the playing board as he waited with bated patience as she plucked from the floor a book he had only just recently obtained. Now, he would play by the rules to end this wonderful game. He had to. If he broke the rules now while she was still focused on the form and status of the game, she would be able to blink away without a second worry and he would be left without a partner in which to complete this game.

The Picture of Dorian Gray. He had only just bought that book and hadn't been able to delve too deeply in the pages of text since the death of Ava's father. Morgan had become the primary caretaker of the child and had found that getting any time to himself to read what he wanted was near to impossible. And by the time the tiny girl managed to fall asleep curled tightly against his chest, he found that the fatigues of the day would simply snap him from the realm of consciousness and drag him deep below into its warm embrace before he could even finish a chapter. She was scrambling, looking for any sort of concrete formation of rigidity of which to grab and steady herself against his offensive onslaught of words and suffocating aura. As it were, she was nothing short of a Pandora's box of surprises. He watched with intrigue as her eyes seemed to find that steady ground and grasped on some sort of solid foundation as her eyes betrayed the inner workings of her mind. Whatever she was thinking about had sparked something in her and in an instant, she switched from a frightened little mouse to that cold calculated serpentine form once more.

"God is inviable." The moment the words slipped from her lips, Morgan's face creased with a smile. How awfully delightful this woman is...It seems my typical droll does not work with her... And if he had believed in the concept of star-crossed lovers, Morgan might have believed to have found that in this woman. Everything about her was beyond what women of this day and age had been bred to be. She was regal, elegant, and her mind was a delicious feast of thoughts and words that simply sent electricity through the Ringmaster. As she continued to speak, the Ringmaster eased his stance and his expression lingered dangerously close to fondness as she reprimanded the Ringmaster for using such poorly thought out logic against her and he couldn't help the sharp chuckle that escaped from him. How utterly brilliant... And when she spoke of her mother, oh how the Ringmaster nearly shuddered at the pure spite and forsaken way she scolded him. She was truly and magnificent creature and he had to show that at least, in this sense, he respected her. By offering a simple sign of absolution by raising his hands, he gave her a subtle nod of his head in respect for her wishes. “You have my word, my lady.”

When at last she turned to him, her eyes filled with strength and resolve, Morgan could see the subtle signs. The match was very nearly his. He took a deep breath to still the rapid beating of his heart now as he had to clearly struggle to contain the excitement of this moment. She was so close to being his. She would be his property, his plaything, his worst adversary and he could not wait to call her his own. Morgan's eyes trailed down her figure, his golden eyes following the length of her arm to where her hand now lingered out in the emptiness between them. The edges of his smile threatened to widen, nearly reaching from one ear to the other. He had to control himself. "A simple touch, you said?" Morgan's flew back to her face and he gazed at her for a moment longer. She would not flee. No. Morgan could see it in her eyes. She was resigning to her fate. But she was still playing the good fight. The entire match that had been played had been one of gives and takes, and as it were, they each had an impressive list of small victories. By forcing Morgan to come to her, she would be gaining the last tally mark on her list. So be it, Morgan thought to himself as he raised his chin and proudly took a step forward. /She could have this last victory...since it would be the last time she ever did it again, Morgan thought as he closed the gap between them. And before reaching up for her hand, he gave her a gentleman's smile. “A simple touch...that is all.”

And without wasting another valuable move, Morgan plucked his Black Queen from the board and slammed it against the White Queen, knocking her from the board and scattering her pawns. The moment Morgan's hand grasped Alaiza's, a terrible and fierce smile practically split his face in half as he gripped her tightly. “A simple touch and now you're mine.”

[Scrivener_Lost]

⊱⊱ Cirque de Tromperiexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

✦ Just A Man - Part 1

The beast heaved and lunged underneath him, its massive muscles moving smoothly beneath tawny skin as it surged sharply to the right nearly throwing the man from his saddle. Veins bulged as red hot blood pumped through him, driving him forward with a powerful urge that was purely primal and overwhelming, massive tendons flexing visibly from his neck as he tossed his head into the air and tossed it from side to side. A sharp whinny echoed through the forest as thunderous hooves cleaved away at the soft dirt underneath, throwing up massive chunks of wet dirt behind him as the beast coursed through the trees like lighting, darting from side to side to avoid every obstacle that threatened him. Foam flecked his hide and his wild brown eyes were wild, yet focused as he bolted to the left to expertly avoid low branches. On several occasions, the massive equine beast had perhaps nearly thrown its rider, but the man controlling his tumultuous movements was no normal man and perhaps, it was that abnormality that kept the two connected on a nearly spiritual level. There were no mistakes in his movements, even as boulders as twice as large as the massive stallion popped up from sharp declines like deadly fists rising up in the air threatening to smash his powerful legs into oblivion. 

But with each rock, he would easily avoid is as if it were merely a mirage and simply sail right over the top of it, or ease by it, grazing the rider's knee upon the rocky surface. For every log that aimed to block his path, he simply flew over it like an eagle easing upon a breeze and for every bush that popped up, he simply blazed through it like bull charging into a failing wooden fence. For miles now they had ridden hard and fast, the man upon his back encouraging him with yips and hollers, his heels digging sharply into his sides. With reins in hand, the rider helped to control the stallion's movements, but had left nearly every decision to the wild beast, trusting in the animal to feel out the fine essence of nature and blindly allowed it to take the best course. But there was no denying the connection between the beast and the man. Both could feel it; a purely spiritual connection in which they could each feel the beating of their hearts, the symphonic tune of their minds, and the very essence of their desires. Together, they were one creature, of one heart and mind. And in this moment of pure adrenaline and euphoria, the rider and his stallion cared little for the world around them as they chose an unbeaten course and charged through the landscape. There were no words that could be used to describe the utter pleasure that was wrought from this unregulated and unfledged moment of pure wild desire to simply run.  

For nearly two hours the stallion and its rider had charged through the empty stage of trees and thick underbrush, dodging the wilds and escaping the reality they both shared. And for the pair, there was nothing in the world that could stop this raging inferno that was of the wild call that pulled them both in. But where the rider was an immortal collection of energy and pent up flight, the beast that undulated beneath him was beginning to tire. There was no denying the fire that was still stored in the horse's belly, but the rider was more aware of his draining reserves than perhaps the animal itself. As they charged blindly around a massive aged tree, the horse and its master nearly ran into a wall of impenetrable steel, a massive steam machine to be exact. With mere seconds to make a decision, the beast chose to leap between the coupling that latched two aged cars together, the very tips of his hooves  grazing the steel claps which initiated a spark. The horse gave a tremendous bellow as the rider barely had enough time to tuck in his elbows and knees as the beast leaped into the middle of a ring of compacted dirt, churning up dust in a terrible cloud as it circled the area twice before surging off to the right. The rider gave a mighty laugh which had been swallowed up by the sound of the pounding of hooves and the cries and grumbles of men as they had to dodge the raging beast. He was surprised the horse was still going at this point since they had reached home. But it appeared the beast had other thoughts in mind as he charged through several rows of clothing hung from wire, ripping from them several sheets. The cries of women fluttered behind the wild haired man as he glanced over his shoulder, his long ebony locks long since having flown from its restrictive red ribbon. A wild smile was on his face now as he turned his golden eyes forward as the tawny stallion sharply edged around a group of people practicing juggling, knocking one man over and nearly toppling a three-man pyramid. “Ha, ha! That's it Circe! Show them who is boss!”

The large horse whinnied in reply, tossing his cream-colored mane in the air as he sharply careened the back side of the steam train now, charging down the length of the track until he erupted from behind the train and leaped over several kegs, his hooves once again throwing large clumps of dirt about like mini-cannons that threatened to pelt those who were smaller in the face. Across the settlement once more and  straight for the large fire-pit; the massive stallion Circe lowered his head and pressed his ears back as he gained a massive amount of speed. The rider pulled himself close to Circe's body and pressed his knees and elbows into the muscle-bound flanks. “Do it!” And for a moment, the horse and rider were nearly a blur as the beast made the massive jump over the stony pit and easily cleared it, sending concussion waves through the dirt as the horse landed and continued to canter along. A roaring laugh came from the rider as he patted the thick neck of the horse. “Now that was a jump...” The horse gave a soft snort as he slowed into a slow circling scratch, ambling its way towards a large water trough. 

The moment the horse plunged its foam stained muzzle into the water, the rider dismounted and pressed his hand against the beast, both completely and utterly winded from the escapade. His long ebony hair was in complete disarray now, strands plastered to his face with sweat and stuck in the corners of his mouth. His long-sleeved white shirt had been rolled up to his elbows to try and keep cool, but it did not do much hence the appearance of a large wet spot that trailed from his neck down his back and under his arms. The pale man wore a simple pair of black riding boots in which his brown trousers had been tucked into. The man who stood now at the side of the sweaty shaking equine was a far call from one named Morgan. But strangely enough, they shared the same name. Pale golden eyes traced over the hulking horse's form as he finally caught his breath, pulling against already open collar, several buttons already having been undone. “That was good run my friend.” The man spoke calmly and softly to the horse as the animal continued to drink, swishing his long tail in response. Morgan offered the beast a smile before moving to the trough where he retrieved a small pale which contained two different types of brushes. He moved back to the side of the horse and reached down to place his hand gently under the chin of the horse, the beast responding by lifting its head. “Come now, let's get you cleaned up.”

The circus grounds were now alive with the disgruntled words of stagehands and performers as they began to clean up the rather rancorous activity of the Ringmaster and his large lumbering beast. The dirt that had been churned up had to be pressed back in place to avoid tripping hazards and small scrapes from nearly being pummeled into had to be attended, many sour looks being shot at the Ringmaster's back as he attended to the large horse. It was common knowledge that the Ringmaster had a fondness for horses and horseback riding, but the last few months had seen the pair nearly destroy several stages, injure several people, and on more than one occasion, ruin several loads of laundry. In all the years of being the Ringmaster, Morgan had not come upon a horse that was able to keep up with the abusive and unruly ways he treated the steeds. He had wanted nothing more than a horse that could he could demand and receive execution from. That was until he bought Circe for the circus. But upon bringing the horse back to the Cirque, they found that the horse was a troublemaker and had far too much energy. So the Ringmaster had taken it upon himself to will the beast to follow his commands as a way to simply get it to cooperate. But as fate would have it, Morgan had found a fellow wild spirit in the horse and the pair immediately became a force to reckon with. It had been a long time since Morgan had found an animal in which he had found such a connection, but now it was undeniably true. Morgan had actually found an animal in which he adored.

Filling the bucket with cold water from a well just a short distance away, he approached the large beast and began the routine by taking the bit and tack from the horse's mouth. "You were brilliant today, Circe."

Maiya had been getting fitted by the tailor, who was creating a new outfit for her as knife thrower instead of a temp damsel in distress. Little did she know how tight fitting the outfit would turn out to be, but regardless, Maiya was glad to have a little one on one time with a woman who had been around far longer than she had. There were so many unique and amazing people in the circus, it was nice to be amongst people who felt so much more like family than her own family did. Plus, the traveling and ability to woo over people for one night stands was also a pleasantry in it's own. However, the seamstress was someone who the new knife-thrower had little time to actually get to know on a personal level, so this was a great moment for that.

"So, Janet, you've been here longer than me." Maiya began as the woman started her measurements. "What would you say about Morgan?" It was more a personal inquiry than just a conversation starter, however in this situation it doubled as both. Tape measure was cold against the brunette's skin, but she tolerated it without much a reaction aside from small goose bumps creeping up at the place of contact. 

"Well, I think underneath the harsh and rude exterior. A kind person hides. It's just a matter of unwrapping the rough edges to get to the core inside..." She said as she jotted down the new knife-thrower's sizes then moved onto the next body part to be measured. "I feel like he's similar to an artichoke. He's rough, got pokey edges, but on the inside is a delicious heart. After you peel back the numerous leaves and clean away the hairy interior. No one in the cirque has got to that point yet. I am certain it's there though." The woman explained her odd affinity towards peculiar foods. Though, this was one of the few references Maiya understood. "Especially with how he is with his newest steed, I'd definitely say there's something wonderful under the surface." She concluded as she scribbled down some more sizes. It was with that sentence the cogwheels began to turn in Maiya's mind. Perhaps she needed to request the Ringmaster to take her out on a ride? It would be some quality alone time, plus, they would be in such close proximity to one another it would be pretty enjoyable. At least, that was what Maiya hoped. 

The rest of the time with Janet was fairly quiet, the seamstress finished writing down her notes of various sizes and lengths for Maiya. The two browsed through a variety of fabric colors and picked out the ones that would help bring out the hues in Mrs. Seilouen's hair and eyes. It was just a matter of time until the outfit was prepared. Though, since that was all that Maiya had been scheduled to do for the day due to her being the back up knife-thrower, she went on her way to seek out Morgan and Circe. 

She tried to be hasty, however with the hoof prints and all the kicked up muck and dirt from the Ringmaster and his steed, it was definitely a bit harder than she intended. Having to swerve around the various handymen cleaning up the mess and the sudden bustle of activity around the place. Maiya had actually happened to get to her destination without too much dirt kicked up onto her outfit from the ground. Though, she tried to discard the annoyance since perhaps her timing was just right with the arrival with the man. Coming up to Morgan and Circe, a smile sat on her lips. "I see you had a fun venture." Maiya commented as she rose a hand to rub the horse's mane. It was a beautiful horse as much as it was a muscular beast. Something she could definitely see Morgan's own being in. Especially with how over powering and imposing the black and grey haired man was.

She wasn't entirely sure on what way was best to try to improve her standing with the man. For it seemed since the day their threads of fate first collided, the two had a rather rough start. No matter what sort of advances she tried to make, he always managed to shut her down. The only time she felt she advanced with the man was the time she snuck into his office and he berated and yelled at her, and somehow she had managed to charm herself out of his bit of rage. Feeling as though she was starting on a higher ground this time, by initiating conversation after he went out and enjoyed himself, she still wasn't sure if this was the proper way to win the man's heart. Perhaps, she needed to instead take a more food oriented approach, by offering the man various sweets instead of just showing up in his office.

Her mind was all over the place, but she still managed to try to keep a calm exterior. The temptation was huge for her to reach over and grab the man's a** accompanied with an 'a fine horse for a fine a**.' and a wink. Though, she knew that plan would crumble before her. So, she tried a much calmer front not so covered in innuendos. "Would you mind taking me for a ride someday?" Was what she decided to switch the conversation to instead of the first instinct.

The moment Maiya had spoken, Morgan froze in mid-motion of placing the bit and tack on the wooden trough. He stayed like this, every ounce of him tensing up like a snake coiling in upon itself, his fingers closed around the leather and metal. After a moment, he glanced over his shoulder to the woman, a deep and terrible scowl replacing the softened features he had adopted earlier. His back was to her even as she approached the horse, her hand trailing through the long coarse hair that flowed from the beast's large neck. He watched her with cautious eyes, his lips strained tightly over his lips as if he were trying to constrain angry words that threatened to burst out. His fierce golden glare stayed on her, watching her every movement as she completely obliterated any sense of the massive personal bubble the Ringmaster had constructed around himself. The woman frustrated Morgan to no end and that was no surprise to the girl either as he had made it adequately and frequently clear. She was a strange and unnerving, but brave. Or daft. Or both. And that was one of the many things that upset the Ringmaster. Ever since their first encounter when he had ripped her soul from her, the woman had been an abrasive and persistent creature that Morgan could not wrap his mind around. It was as if she /fancied/ the concept of pushing Morgan to his limits as he often found himself at wits end with her. And perhaps that was what truly frustrated him; that he could not figure her out. 

When it came to women, Morgan had adopted the mindset that they were fickle creatures. Easy to manipulate and even easier to frighten. They were a delicate gender that had heightened emotions and a tendency to cry at the flip of a switch. But not Maiya. She was a strange thing with even stranger ideals and habits. She had become a persistent thorn in Morgan's side and the Ringmaster found himself growing increasingly frustrated with the woman. But it was not entirely a malicious feeling despite the outward appearance of it all. She frustrated him in more ways than one; primarily those being that she for some reason or another found it quite a game to chase him like some animal in heat. The second was that she had quite the tenacious attitude when it came to Morgan's temper. She was perhaps the only fool who had braved his anger and managed to make it out unscathed, even if Morgan himself could not understand just how that had come to be. She wore him out like a jabbering child to a parent and simply hearing her voice made the Ringmaster tense. 

His glare lingered on her as he continued to keep his back to her while he strung the bridle against the trough and moved to take a brush from the bucket of water. Starting with the horse's muzzle, Morgan wordlessly continued to frown in her direction as he worked to clean the foam that had stained the horse's face. When he finished one side, he moved around the front of the horse, who was now content to simply stand patiently as the Ringmaster worked on him, occasionally swishing his tail back and forth to swat away flies. Morgan disappeared behind the opposite side of the horse and the brushing resumed. When Maiya did not take hint of the dismissal on Morgan's part, the Ringmaster let out a heavy breath. "I would not let you ride with me even if my life depended on it," Morgan grumbled from the other side of the massive beast. "Besides...I've seen your work with the horses...and there's not much to be said of it," Morgan continued to growl, squatting down to rinse the brush in the bucket before standing back up. There was a heavy silence between the two only broken by the whinny of the stallion and a snort. "Do you even know how to ride?"

Her approach was not working. He seemed just as grumpy as any other time she tried to approach the man. Acting like a child who had just had their toy taken away and shared with another kid. The man clearly was unhappy about her approaching the horse, and even seemed to be using it like a barrier between the two. A silence that rang out between the pair was tempting for Maiya to make a comment and break the awkward quiet. However, instead she just let the man bask in it. If he wanted to play the pouty game, she'd try to mirror it. Maybe that'd be more effective? Her hand continued to bury itself within the hair of the mane, moving it and was even tempted to braid it. Though, she was well aware that any altering of the beasts' appearance would cause the frown on Morgan to deepen. 

Feeling the daggers the man shot from his eyes, Maiya still continued to stay at the side of the horse as he cleaned it. He was very obviously avoiding looking at her, or if he did it was partnered with that frown. Perhaps the whole phrase, out of sight, out of mind, was what the Ringmaster was practicing. Then when the man reached the other side of the creature and began to clean it's side, she heard words. Though, they had been spoken in a mumble as to her being unable to hear what he had said. Right when she was about to question what exactly he had said, the grumpy man spoke again. Another comment to emphasize his distaste. He was right though, Maiya was not particularly elegant on horses. In fact, her lack of practice made so she was often flopped around horrendously, barely holding onto the creature. Which, was why their last parade had gone down in ruins. 

She was exceptionally grateful that she'd be a knife thrower instead of a damsel.

"I know how to sit on them." The Knife-thrower commented. "That's why I requested you take me on a ride. That way you'd manage all the controls, while I just sit and enjoy." -- while you enjoy the feeling of my breasts on your back. Was the other half of the sentence she opted to drop. Afte rall, at this point he wasn't screaming for her to leave. The silence may have been a little awkward but it was certainly more tolerable than "GET AWAY FROM ME WENCH." or whatever other shouts he often made as she tried to advance. Walking around the horse, she crossed her arms. "Do you want any help?" She offered, since standing around chatting with the man didn't seem to go anywhere, Maiya figured that assisting might be another good approach. 

It was really hard not to make sexual comments with the man. Especially with how he kept popping up and down to get water on the cleaning device. It would be too easy to make a comment on how if he wanted to bounce up and down, the two could do that together on a mattress. Or even more so how she wanted to make a comment about figuring out the man's own horse power in the bedroom. 

"No, I do not want your help." The answer was shot at her hot and full of spite as he continued to keep the stallion as a barrier between them. He did not understand why she simply insisted on bothering him when she had clearly seen how elevated his mood had been earlier, which as of this moment was clearly turning sour like an apple left out in the sun. A heavy silence fell again as the Ringmaster continued to tend to the business of the horse, keeping his hands and mind occupied on the beast rather than to pander to Maiya's bothersome presence. But after a moment, a curious pause came over the Ringmaster as the sound of the brush scrubbing through the coarse horse hide came to a slow pause. He frowned deeply as a curious thought entered his mind. He would never tire of the solitude of the equestrian arts and the unbridled primal energy that came with it. He had enjoyed being around the impressive and majestic animals since childhood and could remember the lessons he had taken with them quite fondly. But what sort of new experiences would come with if he had someone to share that with? Morgan felt the muscles in his face tense as he sourly chased the thought away. No. I don't need anyone. The Ringmaster continued to slowly brush away at the beast for a few moments before he sighed heavily. He rested his forehead against the quivering hide of the horse for a moment before he heavily patted the well-muscled beast before slowly creeping around the backside of the animal, his hand never leaving the creature so as it let it know where he was at all times. He glowered terribly at Maiya now, his hair still in complete disarray and ringlets forming in the length as he allowed it to remain wild. 

"Have you truly never ridden a horse outside of the Cirque before?" The question was produced slowly and suspiciously. He had known the woman long enough now to know there was always some ulterior motives in her words and actions, but even he  could be taken for surprise when given an especially unique situation. For Morgan, it had always been commonplace that women knew how to properly ride a horse despite any sort of class restriction. For the most part, horses had still been the primary source of transportation and even if the developed world relied on machinery to transport goods for long distances, carriages and wagons were still preferred to iron creatures moved by steam and coal. So, to come across a person who did not know how to properly ride, well...it was a unique situation and one that Morgan found extremely intriguing. She clearly wants something otherwise she would have left by now, Morgan thought to himself as he continued to stare at the newly appointed Knife-Thrower. He continued to cautiously move closer, like a creature who had found some strange new smell and was warily attempting to seek out its source. But the scowl and pensive glare were still plainly exploited on his face even if his voice was tipped with genuine curiosity.

Maiya knew that the man would deny her offer, which was why she wasn't too surprised. With the man still continuing to use the horse as a barrier, she decided that circling around the beast was a lost cause. Therefore, she just let the man do as he wished behind the creature. The silence befell the two of them yet again, however there was a weird feeling that crept into the pause. It wasn't the thick heavy unvoiced anger she felt, it was more a weird underlying tone of curiosity. However, she left it be. It seemed to work a bit better when she let the man have his odd silences. No matter what tones were laced between them. Then, the man spoke, and she realized why she felt the odd curiosity. It was the first time Morgan had actually questioned her outside of "'why are you here?"' or "what do you want?"'. So the inquiry was something far from what she was expecting. 

She had been in a position where she could see Morgan's facial expression - which was still his usual. However, the words felt entirely different. At least, as entirely different as Maiya could say it was. "I haven't." She stated simply. Arguably, she's ridden a horse but, not an actual horse. More or less the horse she rode was a codename for another object. That wasn't up for conversation at the moment though. "I've rode in carriages, and wagons. Never the horse itself." She added, in case the man misunderstood. While a lot of her life was spent walking through the city on foot. Occasionally to visit relatives when she was in her youth they'd go on a carriage ride or a wagon ride. 

Her hand sat on the horse as she remembered an incident of her childhood when she had managed to fall out of a wagon. Maiya had been terrified of the beast that hauled it for awhile, but eventually she was able to overcome the terror. She had probably managed to injure the horse more than herself, since the creature had been running to fast and hit a rough patch of ground that caused the youthful version of herself to spring out and roll beneath the horse. Grabbing it's tail as she fell she never got ran over because the beast skidded to a stop upon feeling the tug at it's hair. The heavy thud of hooves, and loud noises as the beast stood up on it's hind legs and let out a sound that even further emphasized the situation. 

Shaking her head, she was brought back to the sight of the beautiful horse before her and the Ringmaster still somewhat happily scrubbing at the creature. Blinking a few times, Maiya was tempted to leave the man to his own entertainment, but she got him interested. Leaving the conversation right when the man had begun to inquire into her own habits and what she has and has not done was a moment she couldn't just abandon. She needed to soak up the spotlight, keep him interested and wanting more information from the woman. This was to her benefit, she couldn't just drop it. "Why do you ask?" She decided to add after the brief silence.

He was painting a target upon himself and he knew it. He had inquired upon the woman and that was like dangling a piece of red meat in front of a hungry carnivore. He /knew/ it would be trouble to ask questions, but he had been genuinely curious as to how a person could have never had the experience of riding a beast as impressive as the one he attended now. The moment she had answered him, Morgan regretted his decision and had gone back to brushing the horse and would have been content to leave the interaction at that, but then she had continued with an inquiry herself. The Ringmaster chewed on the inside of his lip as he kept his attention on the equine, his mind racing with all of the different possible escapes. He would simply shrug her off and let her go on her way or he could offer a cruel set of words to chase her away. He could simply take the horse back to the animal cages or he could even just drop everything and walk away without a single word spared between the two. Or...I can show her... For what kind of person would one be without trying at least everything once? Being able to move as quickly as a horse with all of the power and might that it offered was a feeling like nothing else. The unrestricted primal urge to simply move as fast as possible, throwing caution to the wind, and being free; it was truly a piece of wonder that Morgan felt every person should experience at least once in their life. 

But what would mean I would have to let her in...let her get close... He shot a glare of distaste her way, his eyes darkly judging her as he took in her body language and the disarming look in her eyes. Yes...she clearly wants something... And Morgan suspected it had something to do with getting close to him. Close to his secrets. The memory of her sneaking into his office was at the forefront of his memory and that was perhaps the primary source of the childish pouts he was assuredly portraying at this moment. She wants to exploit my secrets...she's like a damned snake...the very serpent that had gotten Adam and Eve expelled from paradise, Morgan thought as he continued to brush the horse. He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he had not noticed he had been dragging the coarse brush down the stallion's hide in the same spot and finally, Circe had stomped in aggitation, snapping the Ringmaster from his thoughts. He looked back to the tawny horse and patted his rump softly. "My apologies, Circe..." He dropped the brush back into the bucket as he turned towards Maiya now. 

If she was truly curious as to why Morgan had inquired and was simply not attempting to keep him from finishing his task; the Ringmaster half considered quelling her curiosity, but he was wary. He did not like people who tried to exploit him and this woman clearly had ulterior motives. Though, perhaps he could use this as a chance to prove to her he was not a man to be messed with. Yes...I've an idea... Morgan's entire body appeared to relax as he crossed his arms over his chest, the shirt tugging open at the chest from the lack of buttons. A smirk fell across his lips and he let out a huff. "Alright...how about we go for a ride then?" Without waiting for an answer, the Ringmaster pushed past her to the bridle and tack he had just removed from the horse. The moment he lifted the bit, the tawny stallion's ears flicked forward and dark eyes focused on Morgan as Circe gave a curious snort. Morgan turned to the large horse and smiled softly. "Well my friend, it appears we've got one last run for the day," he spoke gently to the horse. Circe happily obliged and lowered his head so that Morgan could slip the bridle back into place, tightening the staps, and drawing the reins over the beast's head. Then, without missing a step, the Ringmaster expertly mounted the horse and turned a cold gaze to Maiya. He considered what he was about to do for a moment, a breif flicker of hesitation flicking across his expression before he reached out to her. "Shall we then?"

Maiya continued to monitor the man as he seemed thoughtful for a moment while he tended to his horse. What he was thinking, she wasn't entirely sure. The delay between her question and the answer definitely hinted towards some sort of serious thought rattling his brain. Still, she had no idea as to what it was. Especially since the next set of words that came from his lips was not an answer to her question, it was a statement to the horse. The new knife-thrower was aware of the fact that the Lion tamers usually spoke to the animals because they could understand them, but she felt it was a bit strange for Morgan to talk to his horse. Especially with more kindness than he showed the typical human. Regardless, she waited with her eyebrows raised as he spoke again, offering the ride. /Success!/ Popped into her head as a smile formed to her lips in quick speed.  "I would love to." Maiya stated her simple smile shifting into a toothy one of pure excitement. 

Her eyes followed Morgan as he walked over to gather the gear for the horse. The horse seemed to react to the Ringmaster's sudden change from cleaning him to gearing the stallion up. Which caused another verbal response to the horse. However, Maiya had no time to nit-pick at him since she had at least advanced in spending time with the man that wasn't in a negative note. She continued to watch and study as Morgan slid the equipment onto the horse, tightening it where necessary and making the beast look ready for an adventure. He mounted the horse with ease, although she was sure that was contributed to his height making it much smoother for him to slip his leg over and onto the horse. Then Morgan looked down at her from the back of the horse before reaching his arm out to her. The smile seemed to widen somehow, as she nodded and took his hand while trying to climb onto the back of the horse. 

Mounting the horse was clumsy, at best, but she managed. It was very clear by how rough it was for her to get onto the back of the beast that she was very unfamiliar with exactly where to sit on it. Opting to sit behind the Ringmaster, she struggled to see past him. While it was disappointing, she was still in very close proximity to the man, and that was enough for her. Releasing a huff of air, she looked up towards the back of Morgan's head. "Well, I think I'm sitting on him right?" She stated, with a questioning look on her face. 

There was a soft and foreign sound that sounded something akin to that of a wicked chortle and a condescending laugh that came from the man as she asked her question. It was innocent enough as she had already explained her lack of experience with horseback riding, but it amused him all the same. He glanced over his shoulder slightly, his long tresses still untamed and unruly from the first ride still plastered to his face from sweat. The sharp and mocking gaze that came from his golden eyes peered at Maiya with a less-than-supporting look as he took up the reins and gave them a gentle tug, Circe giving out an excited whinny as the horse lurched backwards, practically throwing Maiya from his back. Morgan let out a dark chuckle and he turned slightly. "Its best if you hold on," he warned. He righted himself once more before he reached back and took her wrist and pulled her forward sharply practically slamming into his back, forcing her to wrap her arms around his waist. Yes, the Ringmaster hated physical contact with anyone, namely the Knife-Thrower, so this strange and unforseen motion would more than likely befuddle any sane person who knew him. But since it was of his own volition, the Ringmaster cared little about the consequences. With another pull on the reins, the large burly stallion tossed his head into the air and turned sharply before pawing at the ground anxiously. The Ringmaster leaned forward slightly and whispered something to the horse before sitting straight. "Let's go, Circe!" He called before kicking his heels against the horse. The tan stallion reared up and the Ringmaster released a hearty laugh, this one full of wild enthusiasm and pure glee as the beast's hooves cleaved into the ground before taking off. 

It was very clear from the start of the ride that Morgan was trying to scare the living daylights out of Maiya. The horse moved with a speed that would not typically be expected f a horse this size. But it was evident that one of the many reasons why Morgan adored this horse was purely for the raw power and speed of which Circe was capable. Not to mention the agility he was so blatantly showing off now as Morgan pulled the reins tightly to the left, the horse careening around a collection of trees. They were in the forest once again as Circe powered through the underbrush, the tawny beast listening to each and every command, no matter how absurd and dangerous it seemed. A wild and crazed sneer was sewn into Morgan's features as the Ringmaster pulled out every known trick he could think of to shake the Knife-Thrower's cocky and confident attitude. He wasn't terribly worried about her falling off or losing her balance; if she did it simply meant she was not worthy to even be spoken to by the Ringmaster. Circe darted sharply to the right and leaped over a shallow ditch, the landing was rough and violent as he continued to run madly through the obstacle. Morgan would cast a curious look behind him to see if Maiya had been shaken up and if she wanted to relent to the madness that was of this horse and this man. Even if she had shown any sort of weakness, by now, Morgan was far too excited to cease his torment.

No. He would not stop. Not until Maiya relented from her incessant and obsessive desire to drive him crazy. No. He would frighten her before she could get to him. Circe lunged sharply to the right once more before suddenly digging his massive hooves into the soft dirt, nearly throwing both the Ringmaster and the Knife-Thrower from his back. The elated cackle that came from Morgan clearly claimed that he was far from upset with the horse's reactions. Instead he tapped his heels into the beast again and the horse shot off in another direction. For each wild and crazed manuever, Morgan was shouting commands to the horse. His voice was loud and commanding as it echoed through the forest. "Hup!" "Ho!" "Hold, Circe, hold!" It became a constant and repetitive taunt, simple vocal commands that Maiya could hear and discern as the Ringmaster's attempt to get her to give in. Break her down. Make her cry like the pathetic woman she was. Finally, as they eased into a long clear stretch that lead deep into the darkened forest, Morgan glanced over his shoulder and glared at Maiya. "Have you had enough?"

[Scrivener_Lost]

⊱⊱ Cirque de Tromperiexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

✦ Just A Man - Part 2

She was surprised the man warned her to hold on, after all that meant contact and she knew he wasn't fond of that. Particularly with her. Though, she listened to his warning and wrapped her arms around the man. Maiya was glad that she did, because the force she felt the beast below her move was something that caught her particularly off guard. In fact, it made a scream escape from her lips as the movement occurred. When she requested a ride on the horse, she did not mean one of such intensity. No, what she wanted was a simple stroll amongst the forest, definitely not this.

Not to mention, that the almost terrifying laughter that escaped the Ringmaster as he weaved between the trees and seemed to be having the time of his life. Maiya, was definitely not. Her arms were squeezing the man so tightly, and her face was pressing against his back as hard as she could. Red eyes were concealed behind her tightly closed lids as she waited patiently for the end of the ride. However, she still managed to stay on. Which was only thanks to her tight grip. Due to her arms being wrapped tightly around his body, she was also capable of feeling the movement of him when he seemed to glance behind to see if she was enjoying the ride - at least that was what she assumed he was doing. Then when the horse leaped over something, the brief pause into the air and not the moving and flexing of muscles was a nice change of pace. However, it ended much too fast.

Then there was a jerk of the horse beneath them, a terrifying moment where she felt like she was going to slide off the back of the horse, but that only caused her to tighten her grip anymore. For, if she was going to tumble off the beast, the Ringmaster would go along with her. She heard the sound of his cackle - his crazed laugh. Why did she even volunteer to go with this clearly mad man into the forest on the horse? He was exhibiting signs of insanity, and she had ventured into the woods alone with him on a horse. This was definitely not turning into the romantic walk in the forest she had hoped the ride would be. As they came to the clearing, she loosened her grip on the ringmaster, and sat up straight. While, yes, it was time spent with Morgan, and yes, it was clear she did not enjoy it. When he asked if she had enough, she almost felt like it was a challenge of endurance. 

Therefore, she had to rise to the question. No matter how much she regretted it, she couldn't back down. "No. That wasn't so bad." She stated, though she was clearly shaken and not in her typical state of beauty and confidence. Her hand was still resting on him, partially wrapped around him even though she had pulled away from being close to his body. Maiya balled up the fabric beneath her hand so that the horse wouldn't do too sudden of a move to throw her off. She tried her best to not appear weak, though she wasn't entirely sure how well that was going for her.

The Ringmaster was practically gasping for air as he awaited Maiya's reply, his lungs screaming in agitation from the yelling and hollering he had been doing all the while controlling the horse below him. When the woman strapped to his waist denied the clear signs of distress, the Ringmaster felt his face twitch in annoyance and the mocking snarl that had been on his face eased into one of bitter frustration. He took several deep breaths, his whole body moving with the motion as he turned away from her like a chid frustrated that he had lost a squabble. Circe whinnied and tromped about in the dirt impatiently as he awaited Morgan's command. The Ringmaster, however, was debating now as he chewed on his bottom lip. Should he continue and hope the woman relented? Hoped that she would give into his demands of being left alone and secluded? Or should he give in now, drop her in the middle of the forest, and simply ride back to the grounds without a care in the world. Though, while the second option seemed to appeal to him more, it would not look good for the Ringmaster of an infamous circus to simply drop his performers willy-nilly about in random places. Though technically, he could simply call her back and make her walk the entire way. In the same hand, Morgan could not stand the thought that this woman could /possibly/ be able to withstand the typical crude and unjust ways he treated the people around him. If she could deal with the madness, then she was perhaps stronger than any known force that Morgan knew. 

And it was that thought, that chilling thought that a woman could possibly best him at his own game made him grip the reins in his hand so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "Fine, so be it." The words were growled so slow and dripped with such threat, even the horse appeared to pick up the change in the Ringmaster's intent. Before, it was just play. Now, he was out for blood. He offered a dark chuckle before he reached to the horse and patted its sweaty hide. "Alright, let's really give her a show." And with a powerful kick to the horse's ribs, the trio shot down the long clear stretch. There was a different feel in the movements of the horse now. There was no longer an air of demented fun. No. Now there was nothing but dark intent and pure speed. Morgan began to whisper to the horse, giving him hushed words of encouragement. He repeated it over and over as Circe picked up speed, the wind howling around them now as Morgan's long hair whipped violently behind him. The forest around them became a blur as the large horse moved impossibly fast now, appearing more like a golden phantom as he sped through the unrestricted stretch of land. Morgan's words were growing louder now, repeating with more ferocity and volume as Circe began to reach his limit, foam flecking his face and sweat glistening from his body. 

It was impossible for the horse or the Ringmaster to truly control the wild beast now as it sped without hesitation and when it seemed there could be no possible limit, no end to the ceaseless speed, the trees suddenly ripped apart to reveal yet another long stretch of clearing. However, it was not a simple stretch of land where trees had forgone growth. Instead, a massive chasm stretched out before them like a terrible snake, winding back and forth with sharp hungry teeth that lined the ridge. Just on the other side, another packed wall of trees. And before them, nothing but the horse and a few seconds to stop before they surely went headlong into the open mouth of the earth. But Morgan was far too gone now to see the danger as he continued to push the mighty beast to its limit. "Go! Go! Go!" He was commanding the horse now. The beast tossed his head from side to side, wild eyes practically pleading the Ringmaster to allow him to stop. But the crazed man would not let the beast relent and he pushed harder, his voice cracking with the effort of conjuring what little strength the horse had left. There were mere minutes, then seconds, and then...

Nothing as the horse had no choice but to jump. For a long and terrifying moment, gravity was null and void as they shot through the air, nothing but angry spires of rock reaching out to grab them like a hundred little teeth that wanted nothing more than rip into them. The pair were momentarily weightless as they sailed over the gasp and for a mere moment in time, true glee crossed over Morgan's face. Then, the jarring impact of their landing was felt and all at once, the lost moment in time was back and they were once again connected with the earth. For several long minutes both the Ringmaster and his horse did nothing but swallow large gulps of air and when at last he seemed to recover enough, Morgan turned to catch what he hoped was utter terror and defeat on Maiya's face. 

Maiya wasn't quite sure what she was volunteering for when she had stated she it was not enough. Though the way Morgan responded signified that she was not in for a good time. While her cocky nature would make it near impossible for her to just step down from the terrifying experience, she was still somewhat afraid of what adventures the two of them and the horse had coming for them. Why did I think this was a good idea? She thought again, as she tightened her hand around the ball of fabric of the Ringmaster's clothes, though once the breeze of the increased speed began to generate, she merely pressed herself against him once more, hands tight around him. Though, this time his hair was blowing right in her face, so even if she had /wanted/ to see something - she couldn't.

As they traveled though, she began to become a bit more curious as to what they were galloping towards. Was there an obstacle course? Perhaps that was why Morgan was trying to push for so much speed and force out of the horse. So, very carefully, Maiya pushed the Ringmaster's mane out of her face by wrinkling her own face, and minor assistance with one of her hands. Though, when she had only one hand wrapped around Morgan, she was increasingly scared. What if the horse had jumped over something, or what if he hit a bumpt that sent her flying from the back of the stallion? Luckily, none of the two scenarios occured as she brushed his hair from her face and returned her arm to it's previous place. One of her eyes was tightly shut, while the other tried to get a view of what exactly was going on.

Needless to say, most of the scenery was a blur, so she simply returned to having her eyes shut. Though, the chanting coming from Morgan was a bit offsetting, and she still didn't understand why the man spoke to the animal. Then, weightlessness as the three of them soared through the air. However, this felt much longer than the previous small jump. No, this felt like they were soaring between ledges? Her eyes flew open, and she leaned away from Morgan as to get a look as to what was going on, sitting there staring at the back of her eyelids was not a pleasant way to spend time, especially with a man who often acted as though he hated every soul around him. As she looked down below, she saw something that was even more terrifying than the horse ride with the crazed man who laughed eerily. She saw the potential to fall to her death.

It was surprising when the trio landed, and she wasn't sure if it was her own telekinesis that made the three reach safety. However, she was glad when the hooves of the beast smashed in the other side of the canyon. The landing was the roughest part of the journey - as the impact from the weight of the beast against the thin legs couldn't have felt good. In fact, she hoped the combined weight of them all didn't break the poor creatures' limbs. When they landed, all three of them seemed to be surprised. There was a silence. Releasing her grip from Morgan, she hopped off the horse to take a peak at his legs. She wasn't sure how well stallions were at bracing for a fall like they had, and while the beast wasn't hers' she was still concerned about the well being of the animal. 

The Ringmaster watched as Maiya hopped off the horse, his own chest puffing in and out dramatically just as the horse's sides expanded and retracted with each desperate breath. At first, the Ringmaster could only watch in mild curiosity as the woman inspected the horse. It took him a true minute to realize that she was genuinely worried about the condition of Circe's legs and he had to remind himself that the woman did not have a significant appreciation for horses to know that it would have taken a greater force to hurt an animal like that. However, he found himself wondering just how affected the beast was and as he turned back, he placed a hand against the horse's neck and leaned his torso down. "How are you friend?" The horse snorted and bobbed his head as if to answer Morgan. After a moment, the ebony haired man released the reins and dismounted the horse before he began to inspect the large creature himself. As he ran his hands gently over the horse's body, he felt a twinge of guilt as he realized how much abuse he had truly put the horse through. Circe had already been winded by the first wild ride of the day and then Morgan had taken him out a second time. But worse than that; he had pushed the stallion to his utter limit as could be seen by the way the horse shivered as the fading adrenaline began to leave his body with a thick sheen of sweat covering his golden hide. The horse seemed to flutter about on his legs now, perhaps out of pain or simply out of pure fatigue. Either way, it was clear that Circe was ready for a break. 

The Ringmaster looked just as winded as his steed. His hair was in a matted mess, several long curls plastered against his face, cemented by the sweat that covered his brow. His shirt was close to tatters as several branches had reached out to grab it, ripping several large gashes along the sleeves and his shoulders. Even his riding pants appeared to have become the victim of careless direction, a large rip now opening at his right knee and several small lines revealing his left shin. A few leaves had been caught in the belts that adorned his boots, not to mention tangled in his ebony locks as well. And where his shirt had been previously drying from the first ride, now nearly the entire length of his back was covered in the darkened evidence of sweat along his spine and as well as from under his arms. A soft hue of agitated pink had also fallen on his pallid cheeks as he moved to the front of the horse and held Circe's massive head in his arms as he soothingly stroked the long face of the beast. "I apologize friend. I should not have pushed you so hard," he spoke calmly to the horse. Looking back to Maiya now, the Ringmaster frowned, or rather, /pouted/ as he realized the woman appeared to be relatively unscathed, at least, by Morgan's standards. And it made his mood sour knowing that she had survived the insane ride. "And you?" The question was curt, precise, and without true emotion. 

After hearing Morgan speak to the horse again, Maiya could only shake her head. 'He speaks to the horse more than he does to me.' She thought irritated as she still continued to monitor the man. Upon inspecting the pair and how gross they seemed - coated in sweat - Maiya discovered that she had also gotten a bit damp from the moisture off how tightly she was clinging to the Ringmaster. It was an unpleasant feeling, and one that made her want to go back to camp to wash as soon as possible. Her arms had received a few minor cuts from the branches whipping into their bodies, for the most part the black and grey haired man had been a meat shield for the woman, as he seemed to be the one who was on the receiving end on most of the branches due to the cuts and destruction of his clothes. His outward appearance had changed dramatically from his normal up-kept one. If anything, she had somewhat accomplished what she had sought to do - Maiya did see a different side of Morgan. A more crazed one, sure, but it was more emotion than he typically released. 

Then he asked her another question. /'I think that might be a new record, three questions in one day.'/ She thought sarcastically as she crossed her arms across her chest. "I'm alright." She stated. "You don't look in too good of shape though." Maiya remarked, wanting to ask if his hair did that after a wild night in the sheets, but, she resisted. Her red-stained eyes looked to his lips when she saw the pout. Though, she wasn't entirely sure what he was pouting for. "What's the matter? I'm sure Janet can patch up your clothes when we get back to the train." She stated blinking a few times, thinking that the Ringmaster was concerned about his state of dress. The Knife-thrower would have offered up sewing his outfit up, however she was a lousy seamstress, and therefore often avoided the task. 

What an oblivious sow! Morgan thought as he ran his hands absently down the horse's muzzle, still caring more for the animal in his grasp rather than the woman who was his ward. He wondered...no, he knew she could be daft at times, but was she truly that oblivious to his intent with this grand show of insanity and power he had just put on? He had ruffled his feathers, making himself appear to be more threatening and dangerous, and the whole event had simply sailed over her head. And he was not used to that. For every time he had put on a show of exemplary power and fortitude, he had always received the reaction he wanted. But not this time. Not with her. And it frustrated him to the point of losing control of his own expressions as he glared at her like a child who was being forced to share a prized toy. And indeed he was being forced to share with her; a part of his weakness, that being unable to deal with someone who ignored him. He had always been granted his desires and he did not respond well to denial. And though he had never asked anything of her, he had set out to take from her what he wanted: compliance and submission, and not this pandering to her curiosity and absurd lust. But no. She either simply chose to ignore his cues or she truly was daft. Stupidity was one thing Morgan did not know how to deal with it. And when he came across something he could not understand, then he treated it with the same disdain and disrespect he would as if someone had personally insulted him. Right now, he felt like Maiya was insulting him. She was insulting him and he was unsure of how to deal with it.

"That's...ah...never mind," he grumbled, turning his golden eyes back to the large horse. His look began to move from frustrated to concerned as the large horse continued to pant. He ran his hands down the equine's broad face for a moment before he let out a soft breath. Taking the reins into his hands once more, he began to lead the horse now away from the crevasse and into the wall of trees. He shot Maiya a look before continuing on. "Coming?" Caring little if the woman was actually following him or not, he pulled the horse along as they disappeared into the thick of the trees. The trio walked into the silent forest, the horse offering the only reprieve from the silence in forms of huffing snorts and the gentle swishing of his cream-colored tail. This section of the forest appeared to be relatively strange and new in terms of what they had been riding through just moments before. Where the previous collection of trees had been primarily tall pines and evergreens, this section seemed to lay claim to a large collection of aspens with white speckled bark. Even the undergrowth had been traded from thorny brambles to thick leafy bushes covered in berries. Instead of a jagged landscape littered with boulders and downed trees, the ground beneath them was smooth and even. 

As they walked, the Ringmaster continued to toss worried gazes to his dear Circe, giving the tired horse a soft and comforting pat against his neck. It was wonder as to why the Ringmaster was still forcing the clearly fatigued horse to move, but it was apparent that where ever he was leading them, he has been to before as he carefully navigated through the trees. They walked for quite some time, ten to twenty minutes of slow, but careful footfalls marking the soft dirt until at last there was a sign of his intended destination. The scent of wet dirt wafted through the bitter scent of musk and sweat, a delicate aroma of flowers also coming to light as they neared a bright haze of sun that cut through the dark canopy. Walking into the bright light, a new clearing spread out before them and with a few steps, they had landed upon a gentle decline of sand that dipped down into a pond set up against a small cliff. From the outcropping of rock came a tumbling waterfall that fed the pond with clear and crystalline water. The pond itself surprisingly clear as one could easily view into the dark depths that had been carved out by the constant torrent of water. It was vast, at least twenty to thirty feet wide and was easily seven to eight feet deep at its greatest depth. Long thick vines of white flowers hung from the rocks and where vines did not grow, bright green moss dotted with small pink petals covered the moist stones. It was nearly perfectly oval shaped, the wide scooping shore covered in a perfectly sandy beach with only a few cattails to dot the sides. Several large aspen trees surrounded the clearing and a single, behemoth sized oak rest along the top ridge of the cliff, offering a shady reprieve from the burning afternoon sun that warmed the sand. 

Walking deeper into the clearing towards the clear water, Morgan lead Circe to the cool shade where the horse needed little coaxing to drink from the water's edge. The Ringmaster seemed oblivious to his state of clothing as he gently tugged the beast into the water slowly, taking great scooping handfuls of water and splashing it on the tired horse as it drank. When the horse eased into the cooling waters of its own accord, Morgan was nearly knee deep before he opted to retreat back to the shore for a moment to removed his riding boots, casting them to the side before he pulled up the pants and rolled them into a tight neat plait at his knees. Standing, he brushed the sand from his pants before rejoining Circe in the cool water, wading into the clear water where he resumed pouring the water into the horse, and pouring it onto the equine's neck. "There...how is that? Better?" Circe lifted his head and whinnied as if in agreement. Turning to look at Maiya now, Morgan let his eyes study her for a moment before turning his gaze back to the horse. "You should drink some water..." He suggested, his voice still coarse with use, but relatively light in comparison to his earlier tone. 

As Morgan started to remove his clothing, Maiya could not stop her usual nature from escaping. Curling her bottom lip over her teeth, she bright her hands up to her face then let out a wolf whistle for the Ringmaster. While sure, he only took off his boots and revealed his legs, it was still less clothes than the knife-thrower had usually seen him wearing. "Take some more off!" She cheered before sitting down on the ground, watching Morgan tend to his horse.

Morgan's brows knit tightly together and he immediately shot her a hot gaze of insult. "Do you have no pride as a woman?" He snapped. He turned his gaze back to Circe as the horse busied himself with drinking water, but Morgan could not stop his eyes from dancing back to the woman. Why is she just sitting there like a scullery maid? She's so odd.. He thought as he rolled his eyes and shook his head. He ran his hands through the silky mane, his fingers untangling the knots as he tried to keep himself busy to avoid investigating the woman as if she were some strange and new thing for him to explore. There was no denying it. She was odd and /quite/ unlike any woman he had known. She was not refined, definitely not ladylike, and had the manners of a sailor that had gone too long to sea. Not to mention, Morgan already knew of her particular romantic tastes and so it confused him why she would even make a comment like that. That's all she did. Confuse him. And at the same time, he could not help the growing curiosity that was biting at him as well. Sure, it was frustrating that she wanted nothing more than to know his secrets, but why? She was like a curious child who was poking around in a forbidden cabinet. They cared little about getting caught as their mind was simply enamored with the idea of finding whatever called to them in the first place. 

Morgan huffed and once again took to disappearing to the other side of his horse, using it as a shield to block the woman from seeing him. He would not dare call it "hiding" as the feared Ringmaster of Tromperie hid from no one. He simply did not fancy the idea of the woman cat-calling to him and watching him as he bid care to his stallion. Though, he could not help as his mind wandered back to the horse as he now was aptly content in the cool water and growing anxious. The horse was now wet, but free of the sticky sweat that had covered his body. It was in this moment Morgan felt how terribly sweaty he was himself. His white blouse was sticking to him uncomfortably and it was beginning to make him itch. He sighed irritably and cupped his hands into the water and poured the cool liquid down his neck. But it did little to appease the heat that gathered underneath the fabric. He let out a breath of frustration as he pulled at the already loosened shirt. As he considered simply pouring water over his head to cool himself, it began to dawn on him that the trip back to the circus grounds would take a significantly longer trip as he would not dare to push Circe to jump the cavernous maw again. The trip would easily be doubled and if he wanted to make it back in relative comfort, he would have to cool down before embarking on the lengthy trip. I am deeply regretting bringing this woman here now... he inwardly grumbled as he peered over the back of the horse to Maiya before dipping back behind it. 

Had the woman not been present, he would simply take a nice long cooling swim while Circe gathered his strength again. However, that would require him to completely undress in her presence and that simply would not do. As he contemplated his options, he was hardly aware of the horse growing tired of simply standing in the water as the beast began to mull about looking for plants to eat. With Circe standing here, I can at least relieve myself of this shirt... And before he could think better of it (as the itching and dinginess of the shirt were getting to quite an irritating crescendo) Morgan pulled the shirt off and let it fall into the water. He was hardly aware now as Circe simply ambled away to eat long weeds that were growing on shore as the Ringmaster stood (unaware) fully open to Maiya's view. His back was partly to her as he leaned forward into the water, letting the cool water roll over his arms as he held the shirt underneath the smooth surface. As he let the water swallow up the fabric, Morgan let out a calm breath before standing back up, holding the damp blouse in his arms. But he was still not cooled and even with the absence of the shirt, he was still itchy. He continued to scoop handfuls of water and pour it on himself, but that was only a temporary fix. As he turned back towards Circe to place the shirt on the steed; flicking the water from the shirt, he lifted it and only then realized that the horse was gone. 

As Maiya watched the Ringmaster rise and fall behind the horse, she could only arch her eyebrows in curiosity. 'What in the world is he doing?' She thought watching the man disappear behind the stallion again. Obviously she had the idea that he was taking care of the horse - which wasn't out of the ordinary from what she could tell. He was probably talking to the beast; saying how he wished the entire circus was full of them instead of icky humans. Though, why did he keep peeking over it? Did he think she would just disappear? Was he making sure she was still in the same spot and not sneaking behind him to push him in the water? While the idea was tempting, she stayed still - and quite frankly when the horse began to move she was glad she did.

When the vision of the Shirtless Ringmaster became apparent; her eyes widened and she perched her chin on top of her hands as she took in the sight. Maiya was definitely not expecting the prude man to actually listen to her advice and strip. While she was mainly seeing his back, she couldn't help but notice how eerily pale he was. Though, it was to be expected with how much he always ensured nearly every inch of him was covered. Plus, with it glistening from the water he was splashing on it, it definitely made the terrifying ride to this point worth it. Dropping her jaw open, she was going to state some more words to the man - compliment his a** (though she'd rather do that by grabbing it) or simply another whistle. However, she knew if she did either of those things - the man would realize he was exposed and would probably dip back into the water again. 'Maybe we'll have a little fun in the water afterall.' She contemplated. After all, if the pair of them were wet and in the water it would be much harder for him to hide. Plus, then she could put her hands on him. 'Maybe in a bit.' Maiya decided, as she continued to stay still and watch the man, her mouth forming a mischievous smirk.

"C-Circe?" The Ringmaster dropped his arms and quickly found the horse far from him on the shore. The tawny stallion lifted his head, his ears flicking forward curiously as the Ringmaster called him name. But deciding that Morgan was better left in the water, he continued to merrily eat his way through a bunch of tall grass. A flash of red crossed Morgan's face, both out of embarrassment and irritation. He called the horse back to him once more, but the animal seemed quite content to ignore the man as he dismissed him with a flick of his tail. Now, he was left defenseless. He began to wring the shirt between his hands as he realized now that Maiya was staring at him. He scowled terribly at her, but appeared to be unsure of what to do. He was still far too sweaty for his own liking and the woman was enjoying the view far too much. He was left in a conundrum now. Ignore the woman and continue his cooling ritual or act like the proper gentleman he was, replace the shirt, and walk back to shore. His huffs and growls of irritation could be heard over the gently tricking waterfall and he began to mumble, his words broken up between snorts and grumbles. "...should have never done this...foolish...damned woman..." He had reached his conclusion eventually and he sighed in irritation before dramatically throwing the shirt into the water in a fit. Turning away from her, he glared over his broad shoulders at her before leaning forward and throwing his long hair into the water. He brought his face to water level before splashing the cool water. 

After thoroughly dousing his face, neck, and shoulders, the Ringmaster stood, his long hair cascading down his back as well as a plentiful amount of water. In the cool relief of the water, he had almost forgotten about the woman ogling his form. Almost. Turning slightly to face her, he reached up and pulled his hair up a bit to reveal the nape of his neck before running his hands down the length and draining the excess water from it. Dropping his arms, he strode forward and plucked the shirt from the water before approaching the shore, the water and gravity working together to lower his slacks enough so that his hips were clearly defined. Free of the water now, he picked a location on the shore, a few feet from Maiya, where he dropped to the sand and sat, the water reflecting the sunlight as he rested in comfort. Physically, anyways. He still cast wary and accusing looks to the woman as he could only imagine what was going through her mind. On second thought...I don't want to know... 

"You would be wise to keep your mouth shut about this," he warned before leaning back on his hands and lifting his chin slightly so that the sun could dry him.

Sadly,  the man had noticed her and glared at her before any of her evil plans  were put into place. So, she continued to sit, watch, and enjoy the  show. While there was distance between her and the Ringmaster, she still  was able to see the hint of red spread to his face. Maiya also noticed the moment of hesitation before he continued his task. However, she thought she could make out his lips moving and stating something. Though, she was sure it wasn't important. Deciding to enjoy the scene, she started clapping quietly, to show that she was very much enjoying every moment of it. A large smile graced her face, and her eyes continued to study the curves of his body. His thin shape, broad shoulders, and overall attractive shape was definitely some nice candy for her eyes.