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Cirque du Coeur Torve
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Posted: Sat Nov 11, 2006 4:44 am

Rosemary Bats

Username: Rosemary Bats
Character Name: Jessickah Landon
Title: The Unfeeling Masochist
Password: Monkey

Describe their talent/skill/act: After getting permission to perform, she would start with a "minor" (in her opinion) demonstration of her nonexistant pain threshold. Her long, sturdy skull-tipped pins are usually the first item demonstrated, as she sticks them in various places in her tongue, cheeks, hands, torso, and limbs. She uses a small hammer and long, thin nails to pound a nail up into her nasal cavity, and withdraws it coated in blood to show the astonished audience. She also occasionally hammers the nails into the flesh of her calves and her feet (in the spaces between the long bones of her feet), if she takes her boots off. Her curved dagger, a Hindi-looking tool, is often used to make deep incisions across her lower arm, a little below the elbow, to show the audience the whitish flesh beneath before it starts to bleed. She carries a bottle of styptic, which she pours on any wounds that are bleeding too freely, to stop the bleeding before it interferes with her act. She would allow an occasional watcher to slide a pin slowly into her forearm (but would only select people who looked sane and sober to do so) in order to enhance the experience for the audience. She'd strike the flesh of her thighs with the hammer (which would result in a painless but horrible-looking bruise the next day), and perform audience requests, as long as what they ask for is within the boundaries of what she feels is safe for her.

Jessickah's act, once she is promoted and REALLY gets to perform, consists of pushing her body to its limits. She'd start out with the same stunts noted above, but with more severity and varied demonstrations. Other new bits, such as lying on a bed on nails where the nails were far apart and few, or walking on broken glass, could also be introduced. Once these mundane tasks are over, she'd move on to the two "mystic" bits of her act...in other words, tricks that require sleight of hand in order to maintain an appearance of the act actually occurring, and to keep her safe at the same time.

The first mystic trick: sword-swallowing. She would have procured a straight, short, thin sword by now, one with a long thick handle, and she would allow a member of the audience to feel the blade's edge and confim it's sharpness. She would then tilt her head back and appear to swallow the sword, the crossbar-handle balanced on her mouth. In actuality, the sword is a fake, specially designed to retract most of the way into the handle when a button is pressed, and the sharp part would be no further into her mouth than a few inches. Upon drawing out the blade, it is done lightning-fast quickly so as to keep the illusion going, and the button is pressed again as soon as it leaves her mouth to eject the blade. Thus, the sword appears exactly as it did before the "sword swallowing" took place, and the lethal cuts to her esophagus that would have occured had it been a "real" sword are never an issue.

The second act of fake mysticism is a favorite trick from certain places in the far east: needles and thread. She would pop a number of needles, about six or seven, one by one into her mouth, and then place in her mouth a length of white thread. After a time, of working her closed mouth, looking like she's working on this puzzling act, she would slowly pull the thread out, and the needles would be threaded through their eyes onto the white line, kept in place by small knots. The trick to this: the needles she puts in her mouth are inserted into her inner cheeks just under the surface, pushed there by her tongue, and the plain thread she inserted is tucked up by her top molars, between gum and cheek, again pushed there by her tongue. A line already threaded with needles, wound into a small circle for convenience, would have been quickly and inconspicuosly placed in her mouth, under the tongue, prior to the act, and THIS is what she pulls out of her mouth.

Her coup-de-grace: a fellow carnival worker would insert heavy-duty fishooks deep into the flesh of her back, and backs of her legs: the hooks would then be tied to sturdy lines attatched to one wooden or metal frame, and she would be hoisted to hang from them, her arms free to perform additional tricks on her face with her pins at the same time while suspended in midair. This position, in hook hanging circles, is known as the "Superman."

(Just to note: Upon arrival, before receiving an act, Jess would most likely want to assist setting up props and stages for the actual acts upon joining, before getting her own act. Techie and backstage stuff, essentially, though she'd be up for nearly anything, especially if it involved working with the other sideshow "freaks," whom she would most likely look up to and identify with. It wouldn't be a good idea to ask her to help cook for the troupe: she has almost no sense of taste, and would destroy a meal.)

Appearance: Jess has straight blond hair that falls to just past her shoulders, with bangs: the tips of her bangs and the ends of the rest of her hair are dyed black. Her left eye is dark brown; rather than use a glass eye to fill her empty socket, her right eye area is occupied by a purple heart-shaped eyepatch with a skull and crossbones on it. She has three small rings, each with a very small colored bead (light blue, light green, and purple respectively) in her left eyebrow, slightly stretched earlobes (around 14 mm, with black plugs inserted) and rings in various locations on her upper ears. A skull-and-crossbones clip that matches her eyepatch in theme and color is usually in her hair. Her lips sport pinkish lipstick, and purple liquid eyeliner and a dusting of purple eyeshadow, lighter in color than the eyeliner, can be seen on her one exposed eyelid. Her face is heart-shaped, and sort of pretty (if you ignore the scars and lack of a right eye), but not stunning. She is 19 but can pass for slightly older.

She is 5'5" tall and quite slim, but not toned, as she finds exercise boring. Her slender frame is mostly due to her tongue, which suffered severe teething injuries and burn damage from overly hot food and drink: almost all foods taste bland to her damaged taste buds now, and so she eats little. She is caucasian, with Swedish, French and Italian ancestry in her blood.

Her left hand is missing two fingers: the pinky, from the teething incident to be mentioned in her history, and the ring finger, from a game of "five-finger fillet" gone wrong when she was 16. In addition, her arm from just above her fingers to just above her elbow is covered in burn tissue from a hot-water accident. Large patches of scar tissue can be found on her left knee and right elbow; her right knee has many little burn scars, from the time she let her older brother try and put his cigarettes out there. Large, long scars are scattered on both arms and legs; long slim scars are on her face, mostly below the eyes. Although not usually seen, she is missing several toes.

When performing her first act upon her first promotion, and when working around the circus before the promotion, she wears a modified military-style jacket, open to the bottom of her torso where it is closed by one button, the sleeves cut off to just cover her shoulders. This jacket is such a dark green-teal as to appear black at first glance, and has goldtone buttons and ornaments. She wears a bathing suit-style black bandeau top under this, and matching "panties" on the bottom. A loose-fitting brown leather belt holds purple pouches and her implements: a curved dagger, a pouch of nails, a blue-handled hammer, and her favorite items: a series of long, sharp pins topped by little plastic skulls, among other things. She wears purple, durable boots that go a little above her ankle.

I have not devised a costume for her big act after her second promotion yet.

When not performing or working odd jobs, such as when she's alone reading, she dresses casually in yoga pants and a loose t-shirt, with little or no makeup, not caring much about what people think of her appearance.

Personality: Jess is exceedingly outgoing and over-enthusiastic, to the point of being overbearing at times, but not in a bubbly way: when she focuses on something, she is GOING to do it--preferably after dragging a few people into it with her if possible--and jumps into action completely raring to start. She's the type of person who "doesn't know when to quit," and this is off-putting to some. She has a hyperactive, one-track mind obsession with whatever she's decided to concentrate on at a given moment, and can talk about it, literally, for hours. She loves to be the center of attention, and will do practically anything to herself if it's requested, as long as it's not ridiculously dangerous (she won't try to steal someone's spotlight, however, and isn't the "attention whore" some might label her). She's very easily miffed and offended, and forms grudges easily, but is usually harboring no ill feelings toward the person who offended her by the time she wakes up the next day, as long as the 'insult' she took wasn't meant to harm or wasn't that scathing.

Anything and everything morbid fascinates her: she can often be found surfing the internet and looking at sites like rotten dot com, her attention raptly focused on pictures of variously mutilated dead bodies, birth defects, and disease progression. She's apt to do something out of spite, just because she can or because she was told not to, just as when she was a child; however, these incidents are small and few. In addition to being seen as occasionally overbearing, she's also clingy to a degree, and although she's blunt and overly outspoken among people she knows, she's socially awkward for a short time when first meeting people. Jess will state her opinion whether you want to hear it or not, is sometimes (unintentionally) cruelly blunt, and is prone to impulsive acts, swearing, and vulgar hand gestures. She can't stand overly squeamish people, to the point that she will go out of her way to expose them to "gross" things. She's also quite intelligent, and her quick, sharp wit, paired with an occasionally acid tongue, can cause confrontations on from time to time. However, she genuinely enjoys listening to people's stories and would be willing to provide an ear (or shoulder to cry on) to people she doesn't hate. Although she is morbid and dark, she doesn't consider herself to be Gothic, and is usually slightly upbeat, though not actually happy or satisfied with her life currently...the best way to describe this attitude of hers is "I'll go with the flow as long as it doesn't rub me the wrong way."

She would call herself a "sideshow freak" and think nothing of calling her fellow sideshow performers the same thing: she doesn't see why "freak" has to have negative connotations, and she's quite proud to be different than her peers. She becomes furious when people accuse her of 'self-mutilation,' usually to the point of shouting her belief that it's only a form of body modification, such as piercings and tattoos, albeit a bit more extreme. She would be calmer about this accusation when performing: she's very good at being civil, when nessecary, to people she wants to beat the crap out of, when something of hers (reputation, job, status, etc.) is on the line.
Overall, she's a complex bundle of different outlooks, behaviors and interests...and that suits her just fine.

World and History: Jess comes from a "World A." It's almost exactly like the real world we all live in, except very, very slightly behind in time; it would be spring of 2005 in her world when the Cirque recruits her. Some world events have also turned out slightly differently, names of people and places are sometimes different, and the dates of movie premiers and natural disasters and other such things have changed from what we know, among other changes. It's as if this is a world that branched off from ours based on small differences. She comes from the small town of Craugleigh (pronounced craw-lee; its counterpart in our world is actually named Gloucester) in Massachusetts, U.S.A.

"Jessickah" was born Jessica Landon, into a completely normal family: a mother, a father, an older brother. Everything seemed entirely run-of-the-mill, small-town family life until Jessica's teeth began to come in. This, rather than her birth, is where the story really begins.

After a session of teething, as is normal for all infants, her mother retrieved her from her crib for playtime and screamed. Jess had been teething on her left pinky finger, and had stripped it entirely to the bone: tattered bits of her skin and the flesh from the finger were littered in the crib and on her little pink dress, along with quite a bit of blood, yet she wasn't crying in agony or even fussing over it. At the hospital, the finger needed to be removed, and she was diagnosed with "congenital insensitivity to pain."

Basically, this means that she cannot feel physical pain of any sort. Other senses of touch, such as the pat of a hand or rubbing her skin, are felt normally, but her ability to detect changes in temperature was also drastically lessened: this also means she rarely sweats, even in high heat. She also had a slightly impaired corneal reflex, meaning that she might not blink in time to protect her eyes from contact with foreign objects. She could accidentally literally tear off half the skin of her face and not notice until she glanced in the mirror. However, she was lucky: some people born with the condition, which is also referred to as congenital analgia, suffer from slight mental retardation, which was the one part of the disease she did not suffer from. In addition, heat makes her very lethargic, and once overheated her body takes a long time to cool itself back down.

As she grew up, her parents tried to impose a strict behavioral code on her, in order to keep her safe. This turned her into a very contrary child, who would do something she was told not to just because she could. In first grade, she told a classmate she couldn't feel pain. When the classmate expressed her disbelief, Jessica responded by sticking her 'safety' scissors a short way into her right eye and saying "See? I told you so!" Impulsive acts like this to prove her points have always been a problem with her: she didn't even think about the fact that she would lose half her sight by performing this horrid little stunt. All she was thinking about was that someone was calling her a liar, and she would make sure to prove them wrong.

After this incident, which caused doctors to remove her right eye entirely, her parents began homeschooling her (mostly, her mother educated her; her father worked in the office of a shipping and packaging firm for much of the day). They also obtained a glass eye for her that more or less matched the color of her remaining eye. She gradually developed an interest in all things morbid--who wouldn't when they dealt with it as a matter of everyday living?--and started coming up with "routines" to try on herself, to which her older, heavily gothic brother Greg was an avid fan of. She started by sticking little straight pins into her arms and legs, occasionally used kitchen-knives and razors, practiced stitching random parts of her body with a needle and thread, and messed around a bit with lit cigarettes. She also became a voracious reader of horror fiction, Stephen King being her favorite author.

After completeing her homeschool education, she started looking for places to put her unusual "talents" on display. She legally changed the spelling of her first name from Jessica to Jessickah, enjoying the morbid look of the latter when written, as if is suggested sickness. In addition, she did away with her glass eye in favor of an eyepatch, figuring that since glass eyes are usually easily noticed as fake in the first place, she should just stop trying to keep up that image and live with the old injury (it felt less 'fake' to her).

References:
-Concept art of Jess in her first performance outfit, drawn and colored by me (please ignore the lip ring, as I decided against it since drawing this. I also forgot her eye makeup.)
-A real-life picture of someone's pierced ear: this is the size of the gauge plugs Jess wears in her earlobes.
-"Superman" Full-body Hook Hanging demonstration
-Full-body Hooks: Closeup
-Mild Pin Play (Jess would go deeper in most cases, and insert the pin straight in and down, not sideways)
-Wikipedia entry on congential insensitivity to pain, with links to specific stories of people afflicted at the bottom.
-Rotten Dot Com, the morbid site I mentioned Jess visiting to look at dead bodies and birth defects. GRAPHIC IMAGERY is contained there.

prompt response. Jessickah couldn't believe her luck. After all, was still relatively new to the Cirque: new enough to gawk at the acts of the other sideshow performers and hopefuls, new enough to voice her amazement and clap for the stage acts of the long-time performers, and still new enough so that almost all of her work here involved setting up stages and booths for other acts, or helping others with their makeup.

When the Ringmaster had asked to see her talent, she was more than willing to oblige him: she used all of the techniques she had honed while trapped in the suburban, milquetoast purgatory she once called "home." When she had finished, the feeling that surely she had done too much too soon, that the Ringmaster would be disgusted and dismiss her, began to set in...the feeling that he would react as so many had done before, and see her as no more than a revolting perversion of the flesh. Before the feeling of emotional draining even got a chance to stake its place in her mind, however, she was proved wrong.

Now, here she was in a rather roomy temporary booth (one that she hoped might end up being hers for keeps) that had been set up to allow her to test her talent on an audience of everyday people. Indeed, a rather large crowd had formed before her, drawn by the posters that had been put up to advertise her first performance. She could almost smell something coming off them in waves, that not-quite-scent that the everyman emits when eager to witness a horrible spectacle; such as when drivers crane their necks out the window, driving slowly by the scene of an auto accident, hoping to see a mangled corpse or something equally horrid. That's what they were here to see, and godammit, she would give it the way she was supposed to: up-close and personal, not from the cold, impersonal distance of the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen." She delivered that old circus standby in the smooth, unthreatening voice of a diplomat. She wasn't paralyzed by fear: she had practiced in front of her brother countless times, and she only felt opening-night jitters. "I am Jessickah, 'The Unfeeling Masochist', and I would like to welcome you all to my humble display of the manipulation of the human body." Reaching into one of her belt-hung puches, she retrieved her prized implements: long, sturdy pins tipped by plastic skulls. She fanned them out in her right hand like a deck of playing cards: she was nervous, but she would not be prisoner to that, and she managed to keep her hand from shaking.

"You see," she said, addressing the audience again, "I was born with a rare condition that keeps me from feeling any kind of physical pain. Therefore, it's simple for me to do something like this..." She flipped one of the pins in her hand so that the point faced out, and brought it slamming down into the palm of her other hand, which faced upwards. "...and merely go about my business." She hardly heard the gasps and shouts from her viewers: they were melting away like so much wax under the hot sun. There was her act now, and only her act. She felt an inner rush pass through her, driving her to do more.

She drove the pins, one by one, into different places: the flesh of her thigh, the slightly padded curve of her hip, her right cheek. Each was pushed in fast and hard, as she rode her adrenaline rush...and then she realized that she was supposed to slow down after the first pin, to allow the audience to really study her movements. A slight flush touched her cheeks, and she took another pin and slid it slowly into her upper arm, not merely passing under the skin but sending it straight in, as if stabbed by a knife. She continued to smile sunnily, showing the audience she felt none of it, when she distinctly heard a male voice from somehwere in the back yell "Fake!"

She froze at once, and the people directly in front of her looked at each other and whispered. Was this going to be it, then? Was she going to rise like a pillar of flame and be doused to nothing in the same performance? Her anger and no small amount of fear boiled inside her, like a glass bottle overheated and filled with liquid, and she felt the bubbling contents threaten to break that inner bottle and send her out of control...something that would almost certainly get her fired. No, she would get back up and ride the proverbial horse she had fallen from.

"Could the person who said that please come to the front?" she asked in an even, measured tone, perhaps too even. She hardly expected the coward who had insulted her to do so, but when he did, she saw why: he was drunk and swaggering like the c**k of the walk, and probably thought himself invincible. He certainly seemed to find himself witty, in any case. She handed him a long nail from her pouch, and asked dryly, "Is that a real nail, sir? Sharp and crafted from metal, the sort used in carpentry work rather than cheap stage tricks?"

He grunted his ill-tempered affirmative. She snatched it back quick as a wink, placed it point-up in her left nostril, took her little hammer from the belt with her other hand and drove it home. Ignoring the audience's reaction, their outcries of mixed horror, disblelief and morbid satisfaction, she hammered once more, slightly gentler this time. Replacing the hammer in a loop of her belt, she gripped the flat end of the nail, braced herself, and pulled it free with one smooth tug. A long, thin ribbon of blood followed, some pattering to the dirt and some trickling down past her lip. The nail was bloody as well, and she held it out so the people could see before returning her attention back to her drunken critic. "Would you like to test it again, sir? Perhaps take it home as a souvenier?" There were chuckles from quite a few of the other viewers as he muttered some unintelligible excuse and stalked off. Entirely by accident, that short exchange had become the high point of the show, when the hammer and nail act was supposed to be a minor bit; she couldn't top it with the supplies she had handy, and ending the performance quickly and gracefully was her best option.

Once again feeling in control, she smiled more widely, showing her parted teeth. She plucked the pins from her body and placed them back in their pouch. "I think it's time I wrap this thing up, don't you?" She allowed the used nail to drop from her hand and withdrew the dagger from her belt. It was exotic-looking and curved, looking like a very small scimitar. In most cases, she would just cut a little along her lower arm, but decided to try something a bit more impressive in light of the circumstances.

She dropped her voice a little, as if confiding to someone, and leaned further towards the people. "Let's see if I can finish before our clever friend returns, and accuses me of using a rubber knife." More laughter greeted this statement. Even if she had screwed up the whole act, she could always play the people. She knew what they wanted, not in the tops of their minds but the darker, deeper parts they didn't talk about: they wanted to see something gruesome, to be shocked. Once she had shown them some of that desire, she could play them like a violin.

Holding the tool in her dominant right hand, she reached across to press the blade to her left shoulder, and dragged it down her outer arm smoothly to her elbow. A gaping maw of skin and flesh opened in her arm, and she turned, allowing the audience to see the stark whiteness of the tissue within before the bleeding began. She knew she'd need major disinfecting after this, and stitches to hold the wound closed, but it would heal in the end and be just another scar to add to her collection. As the blood started pooling and running, she knew her trial run was up.

"I'd like to thank you all for watching my performance, and I wish you all a good evening!" There was applause, but she didn't pay attention as to how much: as soon as the people had all dispersed to other places in the Cirque, she rushed to the back of the booth, which was dim with shadow, and opened the bag she had placed there. Opening a bottle of styptic by turning the cap with her teeth, she poured it liberally over her self-inflicted wound to stop the blood. "s**t!" she hissed, watching the blood-clotting fluid slowly doing its job, the blood crusting and caking and turning an ugly shade of black. She couldn't risk an infection: she wouldn't be able to feel the pain of one, and if it got bad enough, she could lose that arm--or her life. She would seek out another performer soon to help her treat it, but she was currently busy musing over her act.

It could have gone better, of course, especially if that cowardly b*****d who had dared to call her a fake hadn't been there...but then again, it could have gone worse, much worse: she could have given in to her desire to scream obscenities at him and lost any chance to become a real performer. She recalled her question to the drunken spectator regarding the bloody nail: "..Perhaps take it home as a souvenier?" That tore her jitters to pieces and she fell into a gale of little giggles, her hands leaving bloody prints on her mouth, cheeks and chin as she tried to quiet herself down. She resorted to gripping a fist between her teeth, and when she had finally calmed down, she noticed the side of her index finger had been bitten to the muscle. Again, this was too much. Shut up! she shouted at herself in her head as the laughter continued. Shut up, shut up! The Ringmaster will be by to ask how you did, and if you act like a flippy, laugh-happy little girl in front of him, he'll never take you seriously.

That sobered her thinking, and she sat in wait against the back of the booth, locked in tense thought as she replayed her act again and again. Overall, despite the mistakes, she was pleased with herself, and she guessed that would have to do.

Posted: Sat Nov 11, 2006 5:09 am

Ballentine

Username: Ballentine
Character Name: Sorakai Wongsawanchusak
Title: The Silver Tongue Caller
Password: Monkey
Describe their talent/skill/act: Sorakai has the natural ability to run his tongue, a smooth talker with both the ladies and the men. He loves to be the center of attention, calling out to anyone that will listen to the words that come out of his mouth. Surely if he's screaming at the top of his lungs you have little reason not to look or listen, but his soft voice is just as addictive. He also comes fully equipped with parlor tricks such as juggling.
Appearance:
Gender : Male
Age : 18
Nationality : Thai
Birthplace : Bangkok, Thailand
Birthday : May 9th
Height : 5'8"
Weight : 113lbs
Eyes : Blue
Hair : Black, spikey
Complexion : Tan
Body : Muscled
Notable : Ear piercings, Tongue piercing, and a tattoo on stomach.
Personality: He's a heart breaker. Sorakai is very needing of close physical contact, enjoying to just sit and cuddle with just about anyone. Of course he'd try to get in a grope or two if he can manage. When it comes to making friends he tries to befriend everyone and anyone, giving hugs instead of hand shakes. He doesn't really believe in personal boundaries and will more than likely offend on the first meeting unless the victim is warned before hand that he is really outgoing. He's very opened minded as well and will say what he means, though at times tries to be delicate about it if it will ultimately be hurtful. However don't get on his bad side as he can and will hold a grudge for a very long time. The sight of women crying is his weakness, he too will start to cry if the tears were being shed for his own arrogance.
Likes : Black and Blue. He even fancies pink! Pizza! Rain, frogs and crickets
Dislikes : Cheese, color green and fast food (like McDonalds).
Habits : Drinking, Smoking, Nail biting (sleeping around a bad habit?)
Do's : Can unfasten a bra before the girl realizes it. Plays Rugby. Knows Martial Arts. Can speak Japanese, English and Thai.
Don'ts : Can't swim (he is working on that). Play sports (except the above mentioned). Doesn't do blowjobs.
World: World A - modern day Thailand
History: After the death of his father, Sorakai became a bit of a rebel in the family. He had been strongly attached to his father and with him gone there was a large loss to him. What did he turn to? Drugs of course like some overly depressed teens. His older sister found out eventually and sent him to a center to correct his problems. He hated her for it and still does as he can hold grudges for a very long time. The fallout with his sister was the main cause to his mother haveing a nervous break down. In the end he decided it would be best if he just left the house completely. He won't even admit that he has a sister anymore though always speaks highly of the little brother that he misses. After leaving the house he had little idea as to where to go. What 18 year old did? Sure he wasn't 10 with dreams of running off with the circus, but somehow that is where he ended up. He found the circus and with his natural ability to fit in with a crowd he was quick to make friends with the freak show and tagged along for the ride.
References:
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v115/ballentine/shutensa/roughc-sorakai.jpg
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v115/ballentine/shutensa/sorakaiXel.jpg
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v115/ballentine/shutensa/sorakai2.jpg
prompt response.

The tent surrounds you at all sides, the audience becomes a blur and you are only focusing on your act. This is your first show, well in front of a massive large audience like this. Rehearsal went well, the ringleader even gave you praise. But It's a make or break situation, just one bad move and… Write about your player's first act with Cirque. Do they mess up, or perform beautifully? How does the audience react?
( FYI It's the freak show he will work for, not the main circus )

The lights, the sounds, hell even the smells. Sorakai welcomed them with open arms. Finally he had found a job worth dreaming for. Ok, so it wasn't his dream job but damn it all if he wasn't going to have fun with it! Hours before the gates had opened he practiced behind the freak show tent, almost to the point where his voice was raw. Getting last minute advice from the ring master and a glass of water, he was given the confidence he needed by the older man. He could do this. Hell, he was always the center of attention. Tonight shouldn't be any different.

There was no butterflies in his stomach, nor any stage fright. In fact, if he was anything he was ready to razzle dazzle the crowd. Arms lifted up above his head for a final stretch, his shirt lifting just enough to catch a glimpse of his tattoo. This was it, if he couldn't keep the audience then he should definitely think of a career change... Stepping up behind a podium, he lifted a bottle of water to his lips to wet his whistle before he began.

"Attention, attention! Specially you pretty lady with the blond hair." He winked, leaning forward and tipping his top hat up to get a better look at her rack. Oh yeah, he was pleased.... Moving along, his eyes scanned those that were around him. Only a hand full of people, not quite a crowd but enough to try and fast talk.

"Now tell me..." He kept his voice low, stepping around the podium and onto the small platform he had outside the freak show tent. "But come a little closer so I can hear... Tell me the first thing you can think of when you heard the word freak." His voice was low, but loud enough for the group to hear. He kept his voice that low on purpose as it caused the few to lean in closer, almost to the point where they were shoulder to shoulder in front of him. "So tell me sir, what do you think of?" He asked, leaning in close to a burly looking man.

He refused to answer at first, but a quizzical look from Sora eventually drew out a dull, "Hairy... Or something... Or other. Yeah.. Hairy." A stern nod was given before the man crossed his bulky arms over his rather large stomach.

"Hairy hm? I'd have been frightened if you said fat tubby." He commented, poking the man in the stomach with a long thin silver cane he carried. "But hairy we can do. Hairy we do have. For you see we have..." As he spoke his words, he was twirling his cane around his head much like a baton. "What we have for you sir is the following." Stopping at a small set of buttons on the stage floor, he clicked a blue button and a poster behind him fell revealing an image of a man covered in hair titled 'wolf man.' Sora just smirked as he crouched a bit and made a face much like the one on the poser. "We have the wolf man, who, when he howls, it sends shivers down your spin! And as the saying goes, his bark is much more worse than his bite."

The man looked appaled from the tubby comment, and after Sora finished speaking just turned and walked away. The others in the crowd were glancing around at each other unsure what to do. Sora just laughed. "Well it seems tubby couldn't withstand the pressures of the freak show. You see, this show isn't for those with weak constitutions, nor is it for those of you how laugh at everyone that is different from you!" He called, waving his hand across the crowd that was gathering. "This show! This wonderful freak show is for the dreamers out there! Those with wild imaginations far beyond my own, and trust me..." He paused, smirking at the blond that had stuck around. "My imagination is pretty wild, if you catch what I mean," taking a moment to wink, he turned his attention back to the crowd.

"All of you!" He shouted, raising his voice to draw more in. "You all have dreams, you all have nightmares! Now put those into reality!" Again he moved to the trigger board and pushed a button, this time red in color. Another poster fell, a collage of what could be seen inside.

"For a small fee, just two dollars, you can enter inside my wonderful tent of treasures. From around the world, above and beyond I have collected those things you see behind me and more! The Wolf Man, who I already said has a rather mean bark. The Mermaid, hailing from the bottom of the sea this red head will show you the true meaning of sex under water. I have for you as well, the Girth, a woman who is tree times the size tubby was and yet has a much better attitude! Bring her a candy apple or a fried dough and you made yourself a friend for life!" As he spoke of each person he used the can to point to each picture before moving on to the next. "We have for you the-"

"But what can you do?" A young male asked from the crowd, catching Sora off guard. The man looked pleased with the shocked look he received from the other.

Sora easily found himself and stepped away from the banner and towards the man. "What can I do? Are you sure you really want to know?"

The man nodded. "I do. You work for the freaks, you must be one as well. Right?"

"Unfortunately no." Sora said as he frowned, stepping towards the man and giving him a puppy dog look. "I am not a freak, not as much as I wish it so. You see I admire the unique talents of all those people inside this tent. So much so I'm willing to stand out here and bid you all a welcoming in. One day perhaps I will be blessed with a talent so unique I too can call myself a freak."

Looking out at the small gathering once more, he flashed them all a smile. "We are not here to exploit the looks of these people you will find inside, but to instead show all of you how one persons uniqueness give them the title of Freak. Something that not everyone is able to call themselves."

Moving once more he waved his hand to the entrence of the tent. "Now I welcome you all, to pay the small two dollar fee to enter this tent and meet all those worthy enough to call themselves a freak. Though, for all you ladies out there.. Just give me a little flash of the rack and you can get in for free." Laughing a bit, he was more than glad to step down onto the ground level and begin to accept the money from those who dared to enter the tent.

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Posted: Sun Nov 12, 2006 6:08 am

Sir Deranged Reindeer

Username: Sir Deranged Reindeer

Character Name: Pierre (Poisson) Tonnior

Title: L'artiste d'évasion (The Escape Artist)

Password: Monkey

Describe their talent/skill/act: Pierre is an escapologist who specialises in stunts involving fish tanks and water, hence his stage name, ‘Poisson’, the French word for fish. His favourite escape is Houdini’s famous ‘Chinese Water Torture Cell’, but he does other escapes such as handcuffs, straightjackets, and locked boxes... Although he’s done a few ‘escapes’, which involved rigged locks, or trick handcuffs, Pierre prefers to rely on his flexibility and lock picking skills when it comes to his acts.

Appearance: He’s around 5’11” tall, and slightly thinner than most. He has short, dark auburn hair, and green eyes. Pierre can normally be seen fairly casual clothing, typical of the 1920s. When not performing, he likes to wear his favourite Ivy cap.

During most performances, those involving water, he's seen wearing a men's one-piece bathing suit, with red and white stripes.

There’s nothing particularly remarkable about the way he looks.... For now, at least.

Personality: Having been adept at lock picking since he was a kid, Pierre definitely has a mischievous side to him. He enjoys it when people appreciate a good escape, but the prospect of failure always lingers in the back of his mind, which makes him edgy and nervous before shows. He prefers the company of other’s over the company of himself, and will often cling like a limpet to the first person that he takes a liking to.

World and History: World A, circa l928. Pierre was born in France, but moved to England with his parents when he was still very young. He speaks English well, having attended a British school, however, he does have an accent, which he picked up from his parents.

He first discovered his lock picking talents when he and his friends managed to get themselves locked in a storeroom at school, in third form. Having always had a fascination with Harry Houdini, Pierre was soon convincing his friends and family to tie him to chairs, or handcuff him - performing simple escapes for them. Being a Houdini fan, he was eager to try the famous escapologist’s ‘Chinese Water Torture Cell’ and ‘Milk Can’ escapes. After trying these for himself (he and his friends built the equipment for the escapes themselves), Pierre found a particular attraction to these water-bases escapes, and can now proudly hold his breath for just over 4 minutes. One day, he hopes to break the world record for longest time holding your breath underwater.

References: 1920's clothing, Ivy Cap, Chinese Water Torture Cell, Milk Can Escape. Quick Painting

prompt response. Pierre could feel his heart hammering against his chest, hear blood pounding in his ears. Nerves were always running high before he performed in front of people, but tonight, they were worse. Tonight was his first performance in front of a large audience - in front of people he didn’t know. While the lights were down, he could see the hundreds of people seated around the tent through the gloom.

He’d chosen to do the ‘Milk Can Escape’ for his first performance. For one reason: it was simple. The impressiveness of the escape was all about showmanship, nothing more. As long as he acted well, the audience would enjoy it. There wasn’t much that could go wrong, unlike other escapes that didn’t rely on trickery to work.

The lights came up to reveal Pierre, the ‘Poisson’, standing there in his bathing suit with a nameless assistant, next to a large steel milk can, a square structure of curtains to hide the can behind and several pails filled with water. Pierre smiled through the hot lights - he couldn’t make out the faces of the audience members anymore, “Ladiez and Chientlemen,” his voice with dripping with an almost thick French accent as he announced himself, “Tonight, I vill attempt to escape vrom zis milk can, vich my assistant vill fill with vater in a moment. Now... If you vill, try, and see how long you can hold your breath.” He stood, waiting for a minute, as the assistant poured the water from the pails into the milk can, until it was filled to the brim.

After the minute or so had passed, he could hear the sounds of the audience exhaling - unable to hold their breath anymore. “Not very long, yes? If I don’t make it vout in time... I vill drown to death!” He announced dramatically as he walked to the over-sized milk can, water overflowing onto the floor as he stepped into the can, gripping the edges as he lowered himself down. Pierre waited until the water had stopped overflowing before standing again, motioning to the assistant who was now holding up a hatchet. “Just in case anyzing goes wrong,” He offered the audience a playful wink.

Taking a deep breath, he lowered himself into the milk can, knees folded up against his chest, the lid closing over the top of him, plunging him into darkness. His heart was pounding again with the rush of adrenaline. Despite the fact that the milk can was bigger than usual, it was still a tight fit, and Pierre was glad for the flexibility that he possessed.

Outside of his watery metal prison, the assistant was fastening the hasps with padlocks, clicking the locks closed. The curtains were drawn around the milk can, and the assistant gave the lid two slight taps to give the escapologist the ‘all clear’. Pierre sat quietly, immersed in the water for what seemed like an hour until he felt the time was just right, and took a grip on the neck of the milk can, pushing the trick lid off, as quietly as he could. He pulled himself out of the can, stepping hastily from it, and replaced the lid securely.

The sound of the circus’ orchestra playing suspenseful music met his ears, and he began to pant, as if out of breath as the curtain was pulled back to reveal the soaking wet Poisson, gasping for breath, standing next to the milk can - with the padlocks still attached. He could hear the gasps of a few audience members - just what he’d been aiming for, and a grin spread across his face as he raised his hands to the crowd’s applause, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, “Zank you, Ladiez and Cheintlemen!”

The lights went down, and the performance was over. His first performance in front of a large audience - his first performance in front of people he didn’t know.

Posted: Sun Nov 12, 2006 6:09 am

[ Hot Chocolate. ]

Username: [ Hot chocolate. ]
Character Name: Livia
Title: The possessed gymnast
Password: monkey
Describe their talent/skill/act: Livia’s skill is a cross between rhythmic gymnastics dance and control over a strange orb she can create that she refers to as a will ball, or so she was told. The ‘will ball’ is like a small sphere sustained only by the will of herself and others in the general audience. She can form this ‘ Will orb’ in any size and make as many as she can sustain. Livia learns most of her talents using the ‘Will ball’ from her sister Rina. She already knew the gymnastic skills and dance moves from her days before the circus. Her talent is more suited to younger audiences, or those who prefer grace and poise over adrenalin and oddities.

Appearance: Since Livia is only ten her height only comes to about 55.5 inches. Her hair is lilac in colour like the first bit of light you see as the sun sits too far below the horizon to implement it’s full power. It frames her face in a heart shape, emphasizing her pale blue eyes. Two braids spring from her hair line at the bottom of her parting which is perfectly straight. It continue to her ears and then spill out into two fluffy ponytails on each side of her head. ( Sort of like the girls pom hair style in Durem salon only it doesn’t cover her eyes ) Her skin is sort of peculiar in the sense that although she has a soft natural tan, it looks as if someone blew a gust of chalk dust in her direction and some it stuck to her skin. This gives her the appearance of always wearing light make-up so that she is a subtle tan in some places and paler in others. Her normal wear is typical for a ten year old girl, she likes to wear black jeans with a light pink off the shoulder top and a pinstripe hat that sits on her head deflated. Her circus costume is very elaborate and free flowing. Since Livia’s talent isn‘t as spectacular as some of the others, she relies on visual effect to amp up her act and get the crowd cheering, her costume, of course, has to apply to this optical pleasure as well. Her leotard is pale blue,and has a giant Bow on the back just at the base of her spine, with tails that strech to the floor. she has long pieces of silk that fall down from her arms and a translucent bit of blue fabric runs along the legs of her leotard.

Personality: Livia is generally a rather optimistic character, however when your talent focuses in you being positive, it’s generally a habit you fall into. Livia is a naive person despite what she has gone through and is an easily trusting little girl. Often her innocence can lead her into meeting the ‘wrong’ type of people. Livia typically refuses to believe that people can in fact be very too-faced and un trustworthy. Her judgment is often clouded by her belief that everyone has some form of good-heartedness to them, and she will be usually be the last to see someone’s flaws. Generally she treats people’s faults as if they don’t even exist, you could leave her standing in the rain for an hour and as long as you apologised and offered her a warm drink the whole matter would soon be forgot. She’s a non-violent person, who would rather run-away than get into a fight. She can be a tad of a cry baby when she wants, including crying, whining and being incredibly stubborn. Her tactic is to sit down refusing to move or lift a finger until she has her way. She’s definitely one of those cute little girls on a commercial who has a big grin on her face saying she wouldn’t touch a single biscuit in the jar, but giggles when her mother leaves to reveal her fingers were crossed the entire time and takes a cookie regardless. Because her talent to generate this ‘will orb’ often revolves around her own will of self belief, it’s easy to see why it is almost necessary for her to contain such a positive image of herself and others so she can perform.
Despite her age, Livia is a very independent child. She doesn’t find the need to socialise as much as others, however she enjoys seeing new faces. A Guardian for her is unnecessary as she relies in her sister Rina than any one else.
Fear isn’t something Livia thinks about too often, also because of Rina. The dark, boogie men and things that go bump in the night don’t scare her one bit. Neither do spiders or snakes, actually Livia has been dying to get a pet albino python; a trait past to her via Rina. Despite her circus home, the only thing Livia can find her self truly frightened of are the clowns. Jesters…sure, side show performers….okay, Clowns…stay out! Even if Livia does know them well back stage, she would rather her friends stay away while their make up is still on. It’s not natural for a person smile that wide.

World and History:
Livia is from world B. The part of world B that Livia is from, is kind of Like Canada in the sense that her world also speaks both French and English, giving her a soft French accent in her words. Mallavaia (The name of her home town in world B ) is actually pretty average. Magick users are common, but none of them use what abilities they have for much more than housework and what technology they do have is only just above average. At the moment Livia likes to believe she has the most high-tech thing in Mallavaia; a pair of contacts ordered in from a more technologically advanced country in World B, that can turn her eyes into neon blue lights that don’t effect her.

Livia’s past isn’t one that she absolutely loved, she doesn’t mind sharing it, just don’t ask instantly as you’re sure to be told to ask another time politely. It’s not like it was world war three or anything, in fact it was rather normal. No demons or anything just as usual memories she just would rather keep to herself to think of when she gets up too early to an empty caravan.
Livia was born to parents Jaquie and Tai Oxler, she was their second born child. Little sister to Rina Oxler. From her birth everything was actually going well, Mr and Mrs Oxler each had lives. Mr. Oxler was living a dream of his, running a bakery and when Livia became old enough Mrs. Oxler went back to her job as a helping hand in the nearest fundraising board. So life was pretty bland. Bills got ahead at times, sometime they were ahead of the bills and life was forever moving. Rina and Livia may have been four years apart, but even if you scoured over the entire world with a fine comb you probably wouldn’t have found two siblings more close. Livia looked up to Rina with unyielding respect and sisterly love, and Rina was so devoted to her sister and held such affection in her eyes it was clear to see she returned the feeling to Livia. Then without so much as a warning, she left. Not left. Died.
Rina drowned a few months after her Birthday, the ordeal hit no one harder than Livia, naturally the closest to Rina.
Rina’s death didn’t impact the family well, suddenly what little cash they already had needed to go to Rina’s funeral. Fights broke out between Livia’s parents over the money problems they were having. Livia, so used to being joyful sank deeper and deeper into the black waves she herself was now drowning in, and she did not re-surface for a very, very long time. Livia was a shell, no light touched her again, everything was meaningless to her. She didn’t even realise when Mr. Oxler moved out and her mother changed both her and her daughter’s name back to Harmon. Friends tried to call, but Livia never answered and eventually everyone gave up on her except Livia’s mother who herself was having the moral trouble of wondering would it be right to send a nine year old to psychiatry? While Ms. Harmon deliberated over this Livia was upstairs lying on her bed thinking. That was when Livia heard Rina’s voice again.

It turned out Livia wasn’t the only one who thought it wasn’t Rina’s time to go. Rina was just as bummed about it as Livia. She believed she hadn’t fulfilled her job as a big sister just yet and she had seen her family all having a hard time, but until now she hadn’t been able to find a way to get in contact with Livia. Rina now shares a body with her younger sister Livia, who honestly doesn’t seem to mind. Often friends who know Livia close enough can tell easily when it switches between Livia and Rina as often Rina will take control of her sister if she knows things that can hep Livia or those Livia cares about. Rina -being fours years older- is more mature than Livia and often knows more about things. Livia and Rina can also communicate inside Livia’s mind, like she can hear Rina’s voice and vice versa for Rina. Often Livia will just sit in her trailer and ‘talk’ with Rina about everything. Rina is the drive behind everything Livia does, including joining the circus. Now that Rina was back with Livia, she could see how bad thing were at home. Both Livia and Rina could feel the thick film of misery around their home and knew that they could no longer stay there. With Rina back in the picture nothing scared Livia anymore and she knew that joining the circus could prove to be adventurous and ,possibly in the long run ,rewarding. Originally Rina was training or trying to help Livia with her ‘Will ball’ abilities and decided that perhaps this might be her talent if ever she needed to use it in the show. Rina still mentors Livia when she practices.

References:
Her leotard is some-what like this only with the bow and it should be pale blue as well as sleevless
Base hair colours
Reference of Livia's costume

prompt response.
Livia stood to the side of the performing ring, she was to be the next act just right after Sam the fire eater, his fire stunts where sure to impress, a hard act to follow for sure.
“Are you nervous my petite soeur?**
Livia jumped as she heard Rina’s voice, she hadn’t been expecting her sister to do something like that, it would distract her from her act. Regardless, she nodded.
She could hear the smile in her sister’s response.

“ Don’t be Livi, you won’t be able to concentrate if you are,”

Livia felt a wave of serenity run down her spine, effecting her whole body giving her a boost in confidence.

“Rina est exact, je pourra faire ceci”* Livia whispered under her breath. This was to be her premier show performing in front of everyone. An Audience, the Ringmaster and proving to everyone who thought she was too young to be in the floor show how mistaken they could be. Livia’s act was perfect…well almost perfect. She had been preparing all day for the right moment, perfecting her costume and skills for the last week. Routines memorised, costume dry cleaned and she had mastered all her moves excluding one. ‘la lumière shinning’*** Her grand finale tactic to truly mesmerise those who sought to be entertained by a marvellous act.

“ It shouldn’t be too hard to get ‘em worked tonight,”

Sam pushed past Livia and disappeared back into the wings, Livia’s heart rate picked up a notch as silence hushed over the crowd whilst the ring leader took center. She geared up herself, putting a harness around her, checking the harness was tight and she was strapped in correctly. Her arms seemed lenient to climb the ladder which led the way to a higher part of the circus tent, and it wasn’t until Rina stepped in that Livia found herself standing at the top awaiting for the Ringmaster to say his last word and exit.

“ Bonne chance Livia, je crois en vous”**** Rina’s voice faded out giving Livia complete concentration.

“ …And now dear audience. I ask you to cast your eyes to the middle of our stage, as we welcome for her debut presentation at Cirque du coeur trove… LUNES BLEUE!,”

The Ringmaster’s foot had barley left the ring when the floor was flooded in a soft blue light. Some guest moved closer to examine what was about to begin, younger children gasp in surprise. Livia attached herself to the side railing via her harness and gave Sam the thumbs up, slowly he began to lower her downwards into the focus of the spectators. Livia was curled up in a crescent moon shape as she was gradually dropped further down. The Blue lights reflective off her leotard and surrounded her body in a bright blue aura. As her feet crept closer to the ground she stealthily began loosening her harness until when she was only a few inches from the base, it was her own arm strength holding her up.

Livia felt her feet touch the floor and let Sam pull the Harness back. Her eyes wandered over the expectant faces in the audience all looming at her.

“Show time,” Rina’s thought woke Livia up from her frozen anxiety and realised she hadn’t started yet. Her eyes closed while Alec- the light and music guy pushed another blue spotlight onto her face and started to played the music Livia had picked earlier. At the same time that the music began, Livia opened her eyes. Their regular colours gone and replaced with a strong blue light shooting wide beams over the viewers who awed at the strange sight. Livia, however, had perfect vision. After all; these were just contacts. The music playing was very soft music creating a supernatural atmosphere.

Livia slowly began rubbing her hand together, the way a child would do when making a ball out of play dough.
“what’s she doing mommy?” A child close to the front whispered to his mother a tad to loudly.

“concentrate Livi, You have to have the will to keep it going. This part is easy,” Livi obeyed her sister, nodding only in consent. Her hands paced fast around and a globe began to form in her hands. Its size grew untill it was about the size of an eight ball and then Livi twisted it in her hands so that her hand which had been on the bottom was now on the top. She stopped allowing the suspense to gather in the crowd and just as the music changed pace to something with a bit more base she threw it high into the air. The crowed gasped as they followed it into the air with their eyes. Down below Livia was using her long sleeves as extension of her arms, her body and movements resembled much like a ribbon blowing unpredictably, caught in the air current. Suddenly the orb split into nine different orbs all the same size spaced in a circle with the ninth orb floating the middle of it. The middle orb was the first to fall.

Livia made a lithe and fluid leap towards it and caught it just in her fingers tips, spinning it down and around her body. It spiralled down and came to stop around her waist, circling her hips as Livia moved. Rapidly the eight other balls originally circling it began to fall just as the one she just caught had. Livia whipped her left hand out and grabbed the one closest to her whilst her arm silks curled around a second one, her right side did the same. Livi spun almost too fast for the stunned faces of the audience to catch, and managed to catch the rest of the falling spheres as well. Of course that was just an illusion, in actual fact she had let the other four ‘will orbs’ descend slightly slower than the others leaving her enough time to catch them all.

I’m doing doing this! Livia said excitedly in her head. She could feel her confidense rising inside her, the crowd gawked at her act with amusement and yes, they where enjoying it! CAN DO THIS! Livia practically said the words allowed. She was loving every moment of this. The experience, the crowd, everything!

“ I told you not to be nervous,” Rina laughed along with her sister. Prouder than a parent on her child’s first day of school Everyone knew you could do it Livia,” Livia knew that Rina was referring to everyone in the audience. She was right.

Livia held her arms flat and leant forward slightly letting the will orbs roll into onto them and spin smoothly along them, just as she felt them about to roll of her finger tips, she turned her arms into a bowl shape and let the globes roll up and down them much like a skate park to gain momentum. NOW! she called in her head once more and let the balls role over the lip of her fingers, before any of them could fall to the floor she began performing cartwheels around the ring, the balls didn’t fall or even move from the direction they were going in. The will orbs rolled up and down the contours of her body while she moved flawlessly for a few laps around. With out slowing a single pace, Livia was back upright and the balls slid up her arm once again, this time Livia let them slide directly back up into the air. Once at their peaks the light suddenly went out.

A few children cried out, obviously afraid, but light was still radiating from the nine orbs which still miraculously hung in the air, and down below of course was Livia.
Livia’s eyes were still glowing the same strange colour as before so you could clearly see where her face was, however her lips, fingernail and certain marking on her leotard and skin, were all glowing neon blue.

“adding glow-in-the-dark aspect to your make up and costume was a great way to incorporate the dark into your performance was brilliant Livia,” Rina complimented her sister.

The orbs suddenly meshed together in to one orb about the size of a basket ball and fell back down towards Livia. As it came closer the orb was growing larger and larger until when at last it fell, Livia was floating directly in the centre of the giant orb now big enough to hold its creator.
The large globe spun in a clock wise direction, slowly while Livia continued a brief Ballet routine inside the bubble as she prepped herself up to perform ‘la lumière shinning’

‘la lumière shinning’ A trick so hard it would require not only her own will, but also some of the audience’s. The giant ‘will orb’ holding Livia would gradually swell and expand until when Livia felt there was no more room on the floor, it would suddenly burst into millions of little pool-ball sized spheres of will, floating around the room just in front of the audience members. There at the very heart of the ring, Livia would stand, the orbs spiralling and surrounding her presence; and when curiosity got the better of her spectators, each member would stretch out to touch one of the orbs in their reach and it to would burst into the tiniest fragments of will and the circus atmosphere would glitter as the blue light reflected of each particle.

“what are you waiting for Livia? ‘la lumière shinning’ won’t perform itself,”
Once again Livia heard the same reassuring smile in her sisters voice, but Livia still hesitated to execute her original trick.

“Livia?… Rina’s voice picked up a octave, a mixture of panic and worry.

I…can’t do it Rina,”

“What do you mean you can’t dot it Livia? Everyone’s waiting!,” her voice was pleading

I don’t think I can sustain that many orbs for so long Rina.

“Yes you CAN! I’ve SEEN you do it before! You need to perform that trick Livia! Although Rina’s tone was demanding, there wasn’t any anger to it. Rina was just trying to put some courage into her sister with strong words.

We’ve only achieved it once Rina, every other time has failed. I don’t want to embarrass myself. Livia could still see the hopeful faces of the audience, she didn’t want to disappoint them by ending with a failed attempt.

“LIVIA! STOP THIS NOW! I know you will carry out this flawlessly!!! Just stop thinking like this. You know you can pull this off, I know you can pull this off and so do they. Stop thinking up here and start believing down here,” Livia felt her sister place a ghostly hand just over where he heart rested. Rina clearly rejected any idea that Livia wouldn’t be presenting ‘la lumière shinning’ and was obviously getting outraged that Livia was.

Rina…I…I CAN’T DO THIS!

The will orb around Livia exploded sending a wave of intense white light out over the audience, all of which turned their heads to avoid being blinded. Livia just looked at the audience, shocked over what the out come had done.

“Run Livia,” Rina whispered quietly to her sister, her voice coloured with disappointment.

When Alec switched the blue lights back on, Livia was back in the wings. Out in the ring the audience clapped and cheered delighted by the ‘disappearing act’ But that wasn’t what Livi had wanted. Not at all. As far as she was concerned that was her worst performance ever.

* “Rina is exact. I am able to do this”
** sister
*** ‘ The shinning Light’
**** “Good luck Livia, I believe in you”

Also anything in Italix with speech marks, are meesages from Rina to Livia. Any italic without speech marks are Livia's thoughts and replies to Rina.

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Posted: Sun Nov 12, 2006 6:12 am

Crazy Sheep

Im sorry if this is all terribly confuseing... im horrible with trying to explaine the mechanics of my brain without giveing people headaches....

Username: Crazy Sheep
Character Name: Nen
Title: The Catalyst(as in Name the Title. Check out the cast section on the front page if you still don't understand.)
Password: Monkey
Describe their talent/skill/act:
Nen has the abbility to create small electrical currents through the water directly around her, due to her genetic structure. In open water this ability is almost completly useless, only allowing her to mabey help her avoid objects in the water, or mabey help her catch prey. But, within the confines of a tank, she can create her own currents, allowing her to create a sort of "water ballete". Sence in the tank, the water is confined, and thecurrents bounce off of the glass walls, she can create whirlpools, and swirls in the water, even controlling small things, such as ribbons, colored balls, or any other prop within her water to aid her in a beautifull, ghostly, aquatic dance.

Appearance: Nen is a very small, lithe girl, but roughly aruond the age of 19 or 20. She is very pale, and looks like she has silvery-cyan glitter sprinckeled over her shoulders, thighs, down her navel, along her spine, and up the sides of her neck. If one pays attention they will see that these are auctaly tiny shimmering scales. Her hair is a soft sage green, cut very short on the sides, and long on the top. ( thing is someone once had a very long mohawk, then started to let the hair grow out a couple inches ) She keeps the long part of the top died a dark dark blue, and pulled into a high ponytail. Her eyes are the same color of the died part of her hair, a soft deep deep blue. She has three marks on either side of her neck, birthmarks actualy that look like gills, but are just dark marks on her skin. She has a tendancy to go barefoot, as shoes pinch the webbing of her feet... sandals are out of the question.
Cold dosnt bother her, so she has a tendancy to wear whatever she feels like, regardless of the weather. She is very short, under 5foot, small enough were she can still wear childish cloths and have them fit her proporly. She is lean and lithe, but she has slender muscels, made for propelling her through the water more then running or lifting weights.

Personality: Micheviouse. Deviouse. Shes a bit of a trouble maker, she is not above a goodhearted prank every once in a while. She is very protective of those she loves, and thsoe she considered her family, and even though she is short... very short... she will still get up in your face. She just might need a stool to do so. Shes also a bit of a goof, though anyone who gets to know her will come to be used to her... weirdness. ALSO, she loves the strangest food craveings, and dosnt seem to understand that people might not like a tuna and peanutbutter sammich.

World and History: nen comes from a place with seasonal weather, very cold in the winter, very hot in the summer. There are mermaids in her homeworld, though not the beautifull singing creatures we humans think off when we think "mermaid". Her people are large people who look like horrible genetic experiments mixing humans and baracudas. They have rows over razor sharp teeth, and are glittering scales. Their hands are more like that of a platapus, with finger like bones, but covered by thick skin, to formed webbed paddels. They have the ability to speak human tounge, but their interaction is very littel. The only leave the water to have their babys, and so usualy they only meet with human fisherman on occasion.
The Merpeople hunt fish in large pods, useing their ability to controll the water direction aruond them with electrical currents their bodys can generate. These electrical waves confuse the fish, and the currents pushed the confused animals twords nets woven of kelp, then taken back to feed the rest of the pod. The truce between these merpeople and humans are a shakey shakey thing, because once the humans came to the temperate lands they hunted and killed many of them for the large scales wich were often turned into womens jewlery. Even though the creatures themselves are not all that lovely, the scales are a lovely cyan-silver-grey that was the fashion color for several years. Several once powerfull tribes were wiped out. needless to say the merpeople very quicky gained a loathing for humans, and that loathing never realy left.
About 40 years ago, when the last hunt for the aquatic peoples scales took place, the Merpeople fought back. They sunk ships and destroyed towns near the shore. The more violent pods even swam up stream and attacked defenceless towns and communities our of spite. Needless to say, it was a war, one that ended fairly quickly when the main pod desided there had been enough bloodshed and came to a truce with the humans. But a war it was, and well... bad things happen in war. There were many half-human half-merpeople offspring that were begot from prisoners taken or simple abuse that people on boths sides took durring the war. it was soon found out that merpeople genetics almost always overrode humans, and they offspring looked just like their aquatic parents. Those born to mermaids were raised as such, those born to human mothers were either killed, or tossed into the river. The lucky ones from human mothers were resqued by passing by scouts, for the babys do not know how to swim, break useing their gills, or even how to keep themselves afloat. Human and Mer babys develope at the same rate, wich is why they need to go ashore to give birth.
These babys were raised as Merfolk, and human genetics were supposedly lost into the mix, sence they were ressesive. Though, when the next generation started to breed, more human offspring started to pop-up. Children like nen, who looked more human -ugly by Mer standards, but beautifull in an alien sort of way to the humans, more like our view of mermaids then anything else- started to be born. Those with the long flowing tails were usualy accepted as one of the group, but children like nen, their parents had to have fought to keep them alive, for they were a burden on the pod. They had no gills, no long flowing tail, only measly webbing and human lungs.
Nen, who was born to a very loveing mother and father, was raised in relative safety, though several times when she was younger other children tryed to drowned her because of her lack of gills. When she was very very young her mother died, wich left her father to raise her from the age of six up. But being a large strong adult he often had to leave to go fish and hunt, leaving littel, ohh so human nen alone with a hatefull pod. When she was 13 she desided that she couldent continue to try to live with a people who hated her, who wanted her dead, so she left, hugging her father feircely as we went off for the nights hunt, saying that she loved him very much. When he came back, his baby girl was gone.
Nen had swum off in the middle of the night, gone ashore, stolen some boys cloths from off of a clothsline and tried to pull herself off as human. Unfortunatley, her slenderm shimmering face and hair color gave her away, and she was either met with animosity for being part Mer creature, or with envy for haveing such starteling but beautifull color. She spent many years wondering around, liveing the life of a loaner, but as she reached womanhood, it was to dangerouse to live a life alone any-longer. She was 19, or at least she thought she was 19....

References: -shall add soon-(optional, but very helpful)

.PROMPT.

Nen stood a small diveing bored, some 15 feet above a glass tank. Her slanted almond eyes blinked as she looked down at the calm, serene water, there were buckets and several people sitting on the railing of the tank, hidden from view by dark blue curtains. All held something, some with ribions, others buckets of small colorfull stones, even tiny shimmering figurines of fish no bigger then your hand. She took in a deep breath, her webbed toes curling over the edge of the bored. She was clas in a skintight baithingsuit, a color so completly matching that of her skin she looked nude, as if the gentel swirls of dark blue and cyan that curled over the breats of the suit, and around the opening around her belly button, were all that kept her from exposeing herself to the world. She was a small thing, mabey 4'10, 4'9, short but perfectly proportioned, like a tiny china doll.

She heard the announcment of her act book overhead, but it was a bussing in her mind, as if her dainty webbed ears were filled with cotton. The lights around her went off, and the cool glow of the water shone belowe her, lights of blues, teals, greens, and silvery whites started to ebb and flow underneath the water. She knew it was just cleverly rigged underwater lights but it was still beautifull. Gods she was so nervouse. She came to herself with a start, and realised she had missed her cue by half a second already, and sprung herself off of the diveing bored, flipping in the air, entering the water with hardly a splash. On her way down she had taken a deep breath, the clear flaps of skin clamping her nose tightly shut. She swum to the bottom of the pool, the swaying lights caughting the flutter of her scales, her hair fanning about her as she came up to the glass, her hands brushing along the bottom untill she caught the white scarves that had been weighted to the bottom of the pool with gently colored stones.

Tugging them free she swab back to the midpoint of the pool with one gracefull and strong kick of her slender legs, the scarves floating about her like heavely robes. She was faceing away from the crowd, looking over her shoulder, slanted eyes looking at them mischeviously, her hands on her shoulders as if she were hugging herself. She spun, a mear flick of her anckels sending her spinning, the scarves swirling around her like a silken whirlpool. The audiance were watching the gracefull and sleek display of color and texture, were caught up in the lilting music that mimicked the song of the ocean. It slowly encouraged them to sway to the music, watching the alien like images before them. Unseen to the masses, tiny openings in Nens skin opened, no bigger then the size of a pinhead, and let loose a current into the water about her, causeing a whilrpool to amtch her movements, sending her hair swirling aruond her. To the humans it looked as if she had summoned the swirl of movement with her body and her emotions.

Her back arched and one glittering webbed hand reached above her, as if to offer a hand to the surface, her head tilt back, eyes closed as she spun in a circel, slowly being pulled back to the bottom of the tank.

One of the staff members say their cue. " NOW!! " he mouthed to the other on the opposet side of the tank. The other nodded and picked up his matching bucket, and at the same time, the chucked the contence to the center of the whirlpool.

As if she had sucked them down from the world above, vivid violet flower petals swirled aruond her, animateing the swirling water, turning into a tornadoe of color, only to spread out at the bottom of the pool like a parody of the green grasses of the surface world. As the petals setteled to the bottom, she arched her back once again, swimming in a back loop, calling the water with her, the petals flowing un into a ring, like they were chaseing her.

The other pair of staff sitting on the rim of the tank slowly poured their buckets of glittering fake fish into the water.

Nen swam to the sides of the tank, her body moveing in one senus line, the webbing between her fingers and toes flareing to life. Suddenly there were glittering lines of fish, swirling and swaying in darting masses in the water about her, sometimes swooping down to rustel the petals at the bottom of the tank. nen swam to glass seperateing her and the audiance, the front row so close they could touch the tank if the only extended their hands. She tilted her angelic face to one side, smileing mischeviously at them, brushing a webbed hand agains the glass before swimming back to the senter the ot intricately swirlinh mass of fish and flowers. She swirled and spun, useing her own glittering limbs as props, her spine swaying and arching, her body spinning, crateing an alureing show that somehow seemed sensual as well as unfamiliar to those who walked on land.

She could feel her lungs start to burn. She could easily hold hre breath for 15, even 20 minnuts, but she had been under, the ghostly, glittering show haveing swayed they way well on past the 25 minnut mark. She twisted the white ribbons in her hands, her arms flareing out to the sides, her body turning into a glittering silvery cross, create a whilepool once again, flowerpetals swirling up from the bottom of the pool creating a flury, almost violent mass around her, blocking her from view. She kickerd her legs, bringing her to the surface, were she was quickly hauled out of the water before the swirling stodded and the tank would be visible once again.

There was silence for a moment, as if they were not sure if the show would continue on or it realy was over. When the petals and fake fish had setteled to the bottom, the music dieing off with the last cry of a pipe flute, the burst into aplause.

" Thank you, that was The Catalyst!! " she heard from behind the curtain as she quickly made her way down the steps to take her bow. Her tail was streaming around her, her scales glittering as only somthing from below the surface could do. She came out around the corner, to go down the steps to take her view, her heart beating in her ears like some wild drum. it was perfect, she had done everything as she should have!! She was on the last step, almost to the small dias were she wouldbow, whe one webbed foot slipped out from underneath her, still slik with water. She fell, landing on her read with an audiable thunk ' oooooww.... ' she said, her legs curling at the sudden ache in her tail bone. many of the crould continued to cheer, but there wer quiet a few 'aaaaaaaws ' as if she had just dont something adorable, or embarassing. Well.... Almost Perfect.

Posted: Sun Nov 12, 2006 6:14 am

Ogre

Username: Ogre
Character Name: Charlot M'Queen
Title: The Knife Thrower
Password: monkey
Describe their talent/skill/act:

Bullwhip

Performance types

Knife Juggling

Throwing

Performance Types

Sword Dancing

Possible entrance of an assistant player character.

Performance Types

Knife Throwing w/ Assistant

Gender: Male
Age: Eternally Mid-twenties; actual age unknown.
Hair color: Dirty blond, appears almost a muted gray-blond
Eye Color: Murkey blue-green; when he's gone lunar they brighten to an electric blue-green.
Nationality: Victorian Britain
Heirtage: Low-class Cockney
Appearance: Tall, lanky; thin, but well defined stomach and arm muscles; looks like a street thug on the outside, scruffy appearance and very scruffy; he's got a skull tattoo on his right hip; long 'piano players' fingers (might've played if he could've afforded it); slightly pointed ears that give him a fey appearance; handsome, ruggedly good looking. Has definate sex appeal.
Sexual Preferance: Still breathing, preferably. Aside from that, he cares not.
Personality: Charlot is easygoing. He'd rather have a smoke and comment on your beauty, than fuss over where he's gonna get the money to afford a place to sleep tonight. He's got a street arrogance and confidence born of a person who's never really had anything to lose. He values the power of money. He's got an attitude and likes to get a rise out of prudes and 'good' people. Deep down, he's a good guy himself... kinda.
World: World Type A/B: 19th century, Victorian London; The time of Jack the Ripper, Jekyll and Hyde, and 'Spring-Heeled Jack'; Skew that and add in a dozen other things and the fact that all the murders in London were commited by a single figure- notably our lovely knife thrower.
Theme: Historical Fantasy (w/ a Bit of Supernatural)
Shows held here: Often
Background: Ever since puberty he's had a little problem, and no- not what you think. Charlot suffers from Lunacy. It started when he was around 13 years old, when he commited his first murder killing a man on the streets. He didn't remember any of it, and when he awoke he was cold and wet from the rain. He'd run away, scared that whoever had murdered the man he had woke up around would come for him next.

It took several more years for him to connect the peices and realize he had a problem. Unable to stay in one city for too long, he contented himself with traveling and keeping out of the main areas of people when it was close to his 'moon rage'. Sometimes he could get it on the dot... sometimes he couldn't.

His blood is tainted with something- be it a curse or other. He doesn't know why, but he's lived a long time and doesn't age as someone normally would.

He hopes to find a place in a circus and travel, finding a mystic who can help him unlock his bloodline and control his lunacy.
Weaknesses:
1. An addiction to tobacco; he'll smoke anything.
2. Partial to tears. He'll go soft if someone cries infront of him- on the flip side, if he's in a sadistic mood... all it does is turn him on. o_O;
3. He's a silly drunk. If drunk, he gets silly. Singing, dancing, confessing stupid secrets... pushing his luck with 'would-be' lovers. He denies it later, of course.
4. Most of the major vices known to man he's rather fond of.
5. Lunacy: He suffers from lunacy. During the height of the full moon, he goes APESHIT crazy. Possessed by a blood rage, in his past he's commited several horrifying murders. When the phase is through, he has trouble remembering what's happened.. but from his appearance and location he can only assume the worse. Because of this he cannot connect to anyone person or place and is forced to continually move. He's traveled with circuses as a mean to evade police and staying in a crime region.
References: Quest Thread

The tent surrounds you at all sides, the audience becomes a blur and you are only focusing on your act. This is your first show, well in front of a massive large audience like this. Rehearsal went well, the ringleader even gave you praise. But It's a make or break situation, just one bad move and… Write about your player's first act with Cirque. Do they mess up, or perform beautifully? How does the audience react?
Note: If your character performs in the sideshow, just translate the prompt to that. Basically, just play out their first time in front of a real audience.

First Impressions______________//

The faint flicker of light cut the darkness outside the tent like a beacon, making Charlot’s presence known where he stood a few feet from the main ‘arena’. Men, women, and children (mostly the latter two) filed through the scattered tents to their final destination. The largest and brightest canopy sat nestled in the back of the field the circus had taken over several weeks ago. Multi-colored streamers herald it’s location over the much smaller tents that surrounded it like ladies in waiting.

Harlot raised an eyebrow, inhaling smoke and rolling it back through his teeth. The smoldering shimmer of silver caught the sickly yellow torch light that illuminated that ticket booth where their ‘guests’ were pushing to get through. Such a rush to get in, he wondered just how much the ‘boss’ was making off this venture alone. He tilted his head slightly, listening for the announcer’s voice over the sounds of animals and people calling out to one another in the crowds.

Despite his good practice sessions earlier this week and praise from the man on high himself, he was pushed out to work the crowds that lingered outside the main arena. He didn’t mind. The horde of people still outside was still great. The groups that were more interested in the side show than the actual arena and the ones that hated the closed in canopy and preferred to walk around. This was his crowd.

Nestled between the main tent and the sideshow was a 30ft. cleared out space surrounded by rope-tie markers. It wasn’t much, but its intentions were to provide entertainment for the folks coming out of the side show and to lure them onwards to the main arena. Harlot saw it for what it was, a testing ground.

Harlot dropped his cigarette onto the soft earth, grinding the heel of his boot down to snuff it out. It was time he made his way to the performance ring. He didn’t have an official costume yet- part of his test was to make something presentable that still ‘meshed’ with the rest of the place. What he was able to find consisted of a western style gentleman’s coat, black dress shirt, and pants tucked into high black boots. Fingerless black gloves completed his appearance, allowing for his sense of touch to help him in the dimly lit arena he was working in. The only thing vaguely SHOWY about his appearance was the make up. Thick black rings around his eyes filled in. He looked like a wild west bad guy- a little cheesy, but already as he walked to the ring people were looking toward him curiously.

He had a ten minute show, nothing more- nothing less. It wouldn’t be hard. It was the same show he’d done for the rehearsal earlier. A few tweaks to it and a little additional he’d decided to add at the end was the only changes to a flawless (in his opinion) show.

Harlot stepped over the ropes, moving toward a trunk sitting in the middle of the dirt circle. He grabbed a torch from inside, setting fire to the end with his lighter before moving around and lighting the ones that were pressed into the ground to light his work area. Once the ring was bathed in a yellow halo, he doused the one in his hand and began preparing.

Two bullwhips were tied to his belts, coiled like a pair of snakes dangling from the silver clips that held them in place. Some of the curious folk had begun to surround the ring, watching him with large eyes. A large wood board stood to his right, balloons tied to it. He’d done all that the day before- it had been a b***h to blow 50 small balloons up with smoker’s lungs. A large pole sat behind him, running a high line up and over his head. Red roses dangling from nearly invisible fishing line- in the dark they floated in the breeze. He snapped the trunk closed, setting a cowboy hat filled with sheets of paper inside. A paper mache rock kept them from flying away. He cast a final glance toward the main arena, hearing the welcoming roar of the crowds inside that signaled the beginning of the main show.

“Good evening Ladies and Gentleman~” Harlot began, coming to stand a few feet from the ropes that kept them in a controlled little semi-circle in front of him. He flashed a smile, lifting his hands on either side of him in emphasis. “… and welcome to Cirque du Coeur Torve.” The French sounded funny with his accent, but he’d practiced it all night to get it right and not sound like an idiot in the process. Fifty-fifty chance he succeeded.

Harlot kept up a welcoming banter as he walked the semi-circle barrier the crowd stood against, letting them in one a few hints of what his show was. In all actuality he was waiting for the fuses he’d lit earlier to get to the ends of their limit. He counted down the minutes in his head, right hand resting on his hip where one of the whips was located. After making one final round of the people, he turned and made his way back toward the trunk. He heard the warning snap from the fuses signaling their were about to go off and unsnapped his whips, uncoiling them with a flick of his wrists.

In essence, a bullwhip crack is the lash of the whip breaking the sound barrier- faster than a bullet fired from a pistol. The effect of the crack on the crowd was almost immediate. Harlot took one step back, snapping both whips back as the firecrackers he’d lit earlier went off. All around the back semi-circle of darkness came the brilliant flash of sparks as the poppers exploded, shooting shimmers of gold and silver ‘glitter’ into the darkness around the crowd. With timing and accuracy he managed to make it look as if the whip was causing the explosions of light in the sky around the ring. Some were off, but with the loud sounds and the addition of the firework lights- not many were paying attention to his mistakes.

The rest of his show included snapping the buds from the roses suspended from the wire above the crowd, sending petals raining down like confetti; a paper slicing demonstration, showing off the lethality of the whips tip and the speed he could cut the paper; snuffing a dozen candles that were lit in front of the crowd; and the finale, where he snapped the 50 balloons.

All went off without a hitch- except the very end. Harlot had managed to get a good crowd by now. Children were standing against the ropes, small hands gripping the barriers as they leaned forward to watch with dinner plate eyes. Harlot recoiled his whips, tugging a handkerchief from his pocket to run it carefully across his forehead. He took a deep breath, turning back toward the crowd.

“For my final display, I’ll be popping 50 balloons.” He began, coming to stand before the group again. He reached to his belt, unsnapping a pouch full of silver coins. They were specially made, overly shiny like a pirates treasure. He dropped the bag onto the ground, eyebrows raised. “I can snap them in under three minutes- who’ll take that bet.”

The crowd erupted in murmurs, men shaking their head and talking to one another, children whispering to one another, curious about the bag, and women who chattered to one another thinking that was far to fast to be real. One of the men stepped forward, lifting a hand.

“That’s not possible! I’ll take that bet-“ He son wanted that bag of treasure. He tossed down a couple of dollars, and folded his arms across his chest to watch. Harlot nodded his head, offering them a smile.

“Tch, now I’m nervous… you’ve broken my confidence sir~” He bowed again as they laughed, turning back to the board of balloons that had been moved closer. He glanced over his shoulder, eyebrow up. “Do one of you happen to have a watch- you can time me.”

One of the men beside the better nodded, lifting his pocket watch to begin timing. He grinned at being a part of the show, smiling like a carp. Harlot turned back to the balloons.

“On your mark, sir.” He murmured, uncoiling one of the whips as his fingers flexed around the grip. The adrenaline from the wait hit him, making his heart race with anticipation. He took a slow breath, hand snapping out as he heard the timer call out to begin. If done correctly, he could snap them all in a pattern in just under three minutes. If he messed up, it was over. He pushed the thought aside, concentrating on his task. The people were cheering behind him, shouts a roar behind him.

He had no way to tell what the time was, he just moved with the beats of the whip, counting off the snap cracks as ticking seconds. He had ten left, then five… two- at the last he missed! The whip snapped thin air and behind him the crowd gasped. Harlot snarled, free hand snapping to his belt and grabbing the solid steel blade from his hip. He flicked it quickly in his hand, holding the blade tip for a second before throwing it end over end, embedding it into the board… final balloon snapped.

The crowd was silent for a moment, before cheering again. He’d ******** up, true- but they thought it was part of the show. That’s all that counted. He turned around, recoiling the whip with a regretful look.

“Looks like you won sir,” He called out, reclipping the weapon to his waist and walking over to scoop up the bag of coins. He offered it out to the boy who was jumping at the man’s feet, leaning in close to congratulate him. “Keep an eye on those, hm? They’re lucky.”

The child nodded emphatically, turning to brag at his father at his new treasure. Harlot offered the two dollars back to the man, but was waved off as they left. He shrugged to himself, pocketing it. He gave a final bow to the crowd before moving to repack the trunk.

Maybe he should consider working with knives, too….

Cirque du Coeur Torve
Captain

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Cirque du Coeur Torve
Captain

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Posted: Sun Nov 12, 2006 6:16 am

Rabid Ice Weasel

Username: Rabid Ice Weasel
Character Name: Hadrian Yeck
Title: The Merman
Password: Monkey (best. password. ever.)
Describe their talent/skill/act: Although his stage name will attempt to prove otherwise, Hadrian is no aquatic mammal. He is, in fact, simply a human/aquatic elf hybrid with an amazing amount of lung capacity. The entirety of his act within the freak show tent is to don a prosthetic tail and gills and a pendant containing pressurized oxygen and to swim aimlessly about his tank for a maximum of forty to fifty minutes at a time. His lung capacity, you see, allows for approximately twenty minutes of breath-holding, while the oxygen within his pendant can keep him alive for another twenty minutes.
Appearance: Hadrian uses his natural physical appearance to his advantage. He is, in fact, a full (OCA1) albino with pale pink-white skin, short white hair, and colourless eyes that appear to be pink with mauve pupils. He also, for one reason or another, inherited the odd genetic trait of partially-webbed fingers and a kind of middling almost-pointed ear shape, no doubt inherited from his Elven father. Hadrian is rather buff, but not so much so as to appear steroid-built, and has a small, mysterious scar beneath the right side of his ribcage. All this coupled with his six-foot-two frame makes him appear to be quite the intimidating man.

His costume consists of a prosthetic silver-blue mermaid tail (built predominantly of latex and fish scales), prosthetic gills, and his pressurized pendant. His usual attire, however, is usually a simple t-shirt and jeans with a leather jacket and his ever-present sunglasses to shield his sensitive eyes from the sun. He also owns a tarnished silver necklace, adorned with an antique cross, but that generally stays beneath his shirt.
Personality: Hadrian is a man of very few words. He will listen to you speak and reply when needed, but will otherwise stay stoic and quiet. He tends to want to keep to himself, and gaining his trust is no small feat, but when a friendship is achieved Hadrian will protect his loved ones with his life. Also, due to a nearly-tragic accident involving a terrible leg cramp, Hadrian is a bit of an aquaphobe. Mind you, he is not afraid of the water itself, but simply of drowning. This can sometimes impede upon his ability to stay beneath the surface of the water for as long as is asked of him.
World and History: Hadrian is from the World B realm; Gaia, to be exact. He was born into a rather normal family as such things go in Gaia, although his father left him when he was an infant. His life was fairly pleasant, save the physical and mental ailments brought on by his albinism, and he actually gained quite a name for himself as his high school’s star swimmer. Things cannot stay perfect forever, though, and soon enough the albinoid man nearly drowned. He then began building his lung capacity, training himself to stay underwater for five, ten, twenty minutes without needing another desperate gulp of air. After high school, Hadrian could find absolutely no occupations that met his standards. He was delighted to come across the circus as he did and was more than happy to sign up for a spot in the freak show.
References:
The pendant : [X]

Prompt Response

Hadrian pushed himself up over the lip of his tank, watching for the oncoming audience. The freak tent was oddly stuffy, it seemed, and his prosthetics were beginning to bother him quite badly.

It’s just nerves, he assured himself, Everything is going to be alright.

It was then that he spotted the first small group of people approaching his performance space. It was only a few families with a few small children, but the albino’s heart raced. What if something went wrong? What if he cramped up? What if he ran out of air?! He had no time to dwell on any of these issues. The audience was approaching, and fast.

Hadrian filled his lungs with as much fresh air as he could muster, chest puffing out to some ungodly deformed extent, and allowed himself to drop beneath the surface and sink to the bottom. He treaded water there, waiting to see the eager faces through his thin shield of glass and dihydrogen oxide.

A young couple approached the tank, standing back with their arms interlocked, smiling in fascination. They spoke to each other, but Hadrian could not hear. He dolphin-kicked to the glass partition to try and eavesdrop, pressing his hands against the--OH MY GOD.

A little girl suddenly appeared, bobbing up from beneath Hadrian’s line of sight like some kind of fleshy jack-in-a-box and startling him quite badly. A river of bubbles escaped from the man’s mouth and his eyes widened as he watched them float to the surface.

This was not good.

His attention then turned back to the small girl, peering eagerly into the water, waiting for something to happen. Her little blonde pigtails bobbed as she bounced upon the balls of her feet, grinning from ear to ear. Hadrian smiled to her and once again approached the glass, pressing his hands against it. The child moved her tiny hands to match his large ones, making the scene look for all the world like some kind of cheesy ***** romance movie.

The child’s parents approached, bending down get a better look at Hadrian’s odd appearance. They smiled, he looked up and smiled back.

A few more bubbles escaped his nose.

Had it not been for the initial release of precious air, Hadrian would have had no issue staying beneath the water for another good eighteen minutes. Alas, he had been unprofessional; not paying as much attention to his breath-holding as he should have been, and now the ever-familiar, ever-terrifying tightening sensation began to claim his chest.

The man made a slight gagging sound that no one could hear, and showed none of the profound horror welling up within him. Well, he could always take a puff from his pendant and hope to God it held him off until the next wave of bystanders. He reached to his chest with a deformed hand, clutching for the pressurized pendant that usually hung from a chain ‘round his neck.

“Usually” being the key word.

His pendant was not there.

A new wave of fear roiled up, but Hadrian showed none of it, watching in false amusement as the little girl made faces at him. What could he possibly do to save his own a**? If he tried to breathe under water, well, everyone knew how well that would go, and going to the surface for air was completely inconceivable. His lips moved almost imperceptivity. The pain was beginning to get the better of him. He peered to the surface, then back to the girl. She tapped gently on the glass with her open palm.

It was then that his plan began to take form. Sure, it was probably breaking some kind of regulation, but drowning in front of a 6-year-old was not exactly his idea of a pristine performance. Instead, he pushed back from the glass wall, a smile still sitting playfully upon his lips. He peered to the surface and swam up slowly, leading with his arms.

It took a great amount of self-control to keep his head beneath the water until he once again reached the glass wall. The torturous notion of the air being just above him, beautifully close and ready to be inhaled, was slowly driving him insane. He did stay down, though, and only broke the thin film separating water from air when his hands grasped the edge of the tank.

He then pushed himself up carefully, keeping his motions as leisurely and non-threatening as possible, flopped over the edge, and reached a hand out to the child. She gave a cry of delight and pressed her hand against his damp forearm as the albino inhaled inconspicuously, refilling his lungs with life-giving oxygen.

He then slid back into the water, hovering beneath the surface and smiling proudly to himself. The family showed no signs of knowing his deception, and simply waved as they walked off to ogle the next freak of nature.

Hadrian, now fairly comfortable and incredibly relaxed, prepared himself for the next wave of staring eyes.

Posted: Sun Nov 12, 2006 4:25 pm

Mors the Meticulous

Username: Mors the Meticulous

Character Name: Madeleina Erikson

Title: La Flamme Fatale

Password: (Monkey)

Describe their talent/skill/act: Madeleina has a very odd gift indeed. She is descended from the sirens of old, beings able to seduce men to their deaths. Only… she is not as skilled as they were. Her voice is hauntingly beautiful, yes, but there is something missing from it. She can still stir emotions and senses in people, but her song still lacks something which would otherwise give her control over other’s will. Basically, her voice is weak in comparison to her ancestors. To make up for this severe lack (and to her, it seems like a terrible, terrible short-coming) Madeleina has trained herself to be a wonderful dancer. She usually dances with fire while weaving in touches of her voice to make her performance all that much more powerful. It is even rumored that the fire itself is touched so by her song, and that’s why it obeys her while she dances. Of course, that’s just the locals of her birthplace gossiping.

Appearance: Madeleina is a tiny girl, standing at somewhere not much under five feet tall. One would think this would make her seem childish, yet there is no doubt that she has reached sexual maturity when one can see something other than her height. She has an hourglass figure curvy enough to turn heads-- tiny waist, sumptuous chest, round hips-- and a quiet knowingness to her dark blue eyes. Those eyes are large and tilted, almost Indian, and dark as nighttime seas, framed by inky black eyelashes. Her flesh is pale with an almost blue cast to it, her long hair is thick and wavy and the same inky black as her eyelashes. When performing, her hair is always either tightly braided or in a tight bun. There is something sad about her face, but no one can quite pin what it is.

She has a very odd marking (or, rather, pattern) on her back. It is like a tattoo of silvery-blue fish scales starting between her shoulder bones and widening as it travels down her body. At her hips, it begins spiraling down her legs and curls around her ankles. This is actually a birthmark, a constant reminder of what she came from, the more modern Siren (as opposed to the ancient Greek Siren, which is actually bird-like and not technically a water-being). She typically dresses to hide this, in baggy tops and pants tied at her ankles (she has to do this so that they won’t drag on the ground), though during shows she wears the costume of a belly dancer, usually in sea colours.

Her costume includes anklets (which store matches), a small bottle on a cord around her neck (which hangs down to chest-level), and small batons (which lie against her wrists with the help of armbands and bracelets). She does not wear shoes while performing.

Personality: Despite a rather flashy appearance (well, flashy when she wears something more revealing), Madeleina is a rather quiet girl. She keeps mostly to herself and is very soft-spoken when made to speak. There is something terribly passive about her, almost melancholy. It’s not that she is never happy: Madeleina does smile and laugh (though quietly, of course), she just seems so… so… well, she just seems out of place. She’d rather read than do just about anything else, and she usually is up into the wee hours of the morning, sleeping through the brightest part of the day. Only when dancing or when around young children is she truly happy.

World and History: Obviously, she would be in the B world, that of fantasy.

Her History: The early part of her life was spent by the sea with her grandmother, parents, and three siblings (two girls and one prized boy). Her grandmother was one of the oldest Sirens alive at that time, an Indian/Greek/Italian mix. Her only daughter (Madeleina’s mother) was human, just as her husband (many years dead) had been. Thus, the power of the Siren blood was beginning to diminish in the line. However, the other two girls showed much potential for human-mixes. They did not carry the tail of a full-Siren, but they did have the swiftness in the water and the power of the voice. Madeleina’s brother (prized because of the fact that sons are a rarity among the Sirens, which is why they are considered a dying race) had a gift with instruments and sea-creatures. As the least talented child, Madeleina felt overshadowed by her powerful siblings.

At age twelve, Madeleina requested to go away to school. Her grandmother, matriarch of the family, consented, though she warned the girl that Siren-folk did not usually thrive away from salt-water. Thus did the girl join the “human” world. But as she was a weakling, a sad reminder of the decline of the Siren at home, she was a freak to those away. The first time she sang near un-related humans, she was chased from the classroom for “bewitching” her classmates.

However, she did make friends-- the two closest were a pyromaniac boy named Jasper and his sprightly little sister, Angela. Jasper introduced her to the wonders of fire, teaching her proper handling and all sorts of nifty tricks. Angela encouraged her to explore her talents-- not the hereditary gift of song, but those of written word and dance. When she returned home at age seventeen, she was a much changed-being because of them. They had made her more confident, given her a purpose other than that usually reserved for her people. By that time, people were coming from across the world to court her two hypnotic sisters and her grandmother was training her brother to be the next leader of the family. Her desire to be a fire-dancer was somewhat looked down upon by the family, though they were willing to overlook it if she did her “duty to the family” and married well.

Naturally, Madeleina did not wish to do that, especially since “marrying well” would entail being the second wife of a distant cousin-- “It will strengthen the bloodline, Madeleina.” It was then that she decided to leave home. She told her family that she would not marry Raji (the cousin) and then set out to find something worth doing with her life.

References: http://www.jumpanddance.com/belly_dancing.gif (example of a belly-dancer costume.) (Siren information) http://bestiary.ca/beasts/beast246.htm (I also have a link explaining how she is able to have fire on her flesh… however, I’m not sure whether it violates Gaia TOS.)

prompt response. The crowd was waiting. Their eyes were all on the stage and the silence of their endless gaze was punctuated only by muffled coughs and whispered movements. The spot light was so bright… so very… so very real. There was something in the air… an intensity which tightened her chest and sent waves of nervous energy over her body, leaving her with a fine tremble in her limbs. A cold sweat was shimmering over her flesh as testimony to her stage-fright. Her nervous, fluttering hands ran over the gleaming pattern on her flesh through a slit in the skirt of her costume. She had never exposed herself so, had never displayed herself as a tool of entertainment and she was so very afraid that the audience would reject her.

Perhaps she wasn’t good enough? The ringmaster had said she was lovely in rehearsal, but what if he’d done that to give her a boost of confidence? What if it was all a joke? What if the audience thought she was a … a freak, no-- a dangerous monster bent on manipulating them all for her own purposes. Was that foolish to think? Calm yourself, Madeleina. They know this isn’t a normal show… they expect it.. You’re not dangerous… What if she fell? What if she tripped over her skirt and the tent set on fire and the circus burned down and… all because of her. She wasn’t clumsy, but it could happen. Especially seeing as she was so frightened that she was certain to fail.

Jasper’s words came to her at once. Although he had written them and not actually said them, she could hear his voice clearly in her mind. “You handle the fire like a goddess forged of flame and you dance to shame the Muses. I wish I could see you. Just, have confidence Leina.”

She took a deep breath and, as she did so, heard the end of her introduction. “…The Flamme Fatale!” There came a sudden, eerie calm. It draped itself over her cool, trembling body and sank into her flesh, so that she bold enough to step out onto the stage and smile seductively at the crowd. There was an awkward moment before her music started up, during which the audience shifted and seemed to cough as one. Her voice caught in her throat… and then the flutes began and a song rose inside of her. Tied to a cord around her throat was a small bottle of a flammable liquid. As her torso rocked backward, her hands fluttered up her body and poured some of the liquid over her stomach. It ran down to her navel and pooled there, where she gathered it and spread it over her wrists.

Now came her absolute favourite part of the show. As her voice slithered seductively over the crowd and her body undulated downward, her hands snaked to her anklets, pulling out two slender matches. She snapped upward and struck the matches, fire lighting between them, spreading down to her wrists and burning on the alcohol there without damaging her skin. With a deft wave over her hands as they move downward and the fire is pushed down onto her belly, where it whooshed down her stomach in a terrible blaze. Her voice rose and there was something dark and primeval to it, as though she were an ancient goddess, burning at the stake. Her arms rose over her head, rejoicing in the blaze on her flesh, and she drew out the two slender batons from their places against her wrists.

Her braid snaked around, close to touching the fire, and she spun to keep it away, her arms moving downward, pushing the fire effortlessly off her body as the tips of the batons lit. She began to toss them one-handed, juggling them as her voice rose to a sensual crescendo, her body moving the music, sweat trailing down her body in glowing lines, lit from the fire. She began to move faster, and suddenly the goddess wasn’t so content. The fire… it kept slipping from her hands and only swift movements kept it from getting out of control. Her voice was sharp, like glass down the throat, angry and frenzied. The fire slipped… and she soared through the air after the baton, her body twisting horrifically and so close… She barely caught it in her fingertips… no! She didn’t! It slipped… and the fire… died. The goddess fell to the ground, her body broken, one last, resentful cry forced from her lips. The fire on the other baton glowed, a dying ember… and all was still.

The light died down and there was a moment of silence as the audience took in what had happened. Had she told the story well enough? Would they realize that the goddess was supposed to fall in the end? Had her voice and body told the tale? Slowly, she stood. Her chest was heaving, her body was cold and trembling once more. The ringmaster came forward and smiled at her, putting hand on her shoulder, and the crowd began to cheer.

She’d done it. She’d pulled it off. And there was something inside of her which rose up and took wing over her mortal body. It was the perfect, golden moment, one that she would attempt to preserve in her memory until the end of her days. She’d found her calling.

Cirque du Coeur Torve
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Cirque du Coeur Torve
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Posted: Sun Nov 12, 2006 4:26 pm

Esopha

Username: Esopha
Character Name: Wing Ting
Title: The Bubble Fairy
Password: Monkey.
Describe their talent/skill/act: Wing Ting blows these phenomenal bubbles. They can be shaped like an animal, brightly colored, or just plain orbs. It should be noted that these 'plain orbs' tend to spontaneously explode, showering the audience with confetti, sparks, butterflies, or colored smoke. During her act, Wing Ting may pirouette or dance in order to add to the show, all the while flicking and twitching her wrists just so, and pressing the buttons along the inside of the bubble wand's handles, dictating what kind of bubble will appear next. Wing Ting would stand in the center of the ring, and remain there until a significant amount of bubbles were produced, at which point she would move around the ring.
Appearance:
Ethnicity/Race: Asian
Hair Color: Black
Hair Style: Short, curly
Eye Color: Brown
Skin Color: Tan/Olive
Weight: 72 lbs
Height: 3 feet, 4 inches

Wing Ting is a very short, 16-year-old, Asian girl. If it's difficult to imagine this, think of 'chibi' style, but without the giant head, feet and hands. Wing Ting is completely proportional. She is 3 feet 4 inches tall, with children's size three feet. She is also very light, barely reaching 72 pounds. Her hair is short and curly, just brushing her chin. Unlike many trendy Asians, Wing Ting does not dye her hair, but she lets it remain in its natural shade of black. Wing Ting generally wears brightly colored barrettes in her hair, which hold her curls back from her face. Her skin color is a tanned olive, and her eyes are brown. Wing Ting is generally seen with a mischievous or impish look to her face, as she is usually up to something.

Her clothes for her first stage will most likely be in more subdued colors: white, olive green, forest green, dark blue. Once she's performing, her clothes will get wilder and brighter. See the reference pics for more information and visual aid. <3
Personality: Wing Ting is a ball of crazy hyper joy. She loves people. She loves performing. She loves everything. An impish, excitable and rather flighty young thing, Wing Ting will be the first to volunteer to do a job, but the last to finish. Wing Ting likes making new friends, though she has a difficulty in losing them too quickly, as she soon forgets her commitments - she has difficulty committing to anything, in actuality. She has a short attention span, but loves coming up with new ideas to bring to the ring. Wing Ting enjoys reading fashion gossip magazines and laughing at the ridiculous fashions of our world. Her world was much more interesting, and people truly expressed themselves. If there's one thing that Wing Ting stands for, it's self-expression. Wing Ting tends to do this in the loudest manner possible - let's all pray she'll learn subtlety. Wing Ting wonders if she will ever be able to return to her world, if only to see it for a short time and buy more effective batteries. Though part of her longs for familiar territory, there's always that nagging voice in her mind that whispers of adventure, and Wing Ting is more liable to listen to that.

Wing Ting is flighty, as I said, and that makes her slow to promise or commit. She's rather selfish, especially with material possessions, and childish at times. In addition, Wing Ting is liable to invade other people's personal space or play with their private possessions. She's a bit of a magpie, and enjoys collecting sparkly objects. She can't stand her ground at all in a physical confrontation (so threaten to beat her up if she steals your stuff), because she's easily intimidated by people who seem larger or more powerful than she is, and thus she avoids physical confrontations. However, Wing Ting will hold on very tightly to an ideal to the point of being absolutely, hair-pullingly annoying. Wing Ting does exist mostly in a state of denial, unfortunately, and she daydreams quite frequently. In addition to being in denial, Wing Ting doesn't understand people very well, and has trouble reading body language and other nonverbal communication. Wing Ting is also hurt very easily on an emotional level, and most of the time without good reason. This is because she's never had to interact with many people on an intimate level and she's prone to hurt feelings or get hurt herself. Strangely enough, Wing Ting has a penchant for revenge. It's unclear why; perhaps because once she has enough time to recover from a stressful situation, she feels secure enough to do something about it. She's terrified of heights (to the point of bursting into tears), and prefers watching her creations spiral out of sight...with her feet planted firmly on the ground, thank you very much. Wing Ting is also terrified of monsters and the dark, so she avoids the freak show as much as possible. Wing Ting doesn't really mind the freaks, so much as the yucky, scary tent and the act they have to put on, with all the screaming and carrying on. She knows that they're really nice people, deep down.

Contrary to what many may believe, Wing Ting isn't completely bubble-headed. She is very good at memorization and hand-eye exercises - one of the reasons she is capable of making her bubbles, as they require her to both memorize different combinations of button-pushing and handhold squeezing. Wing Ting is also exceptional at mimicry, and will more often than not use this skill over and over in a most annoying way. Wing Ting is a hands-on learner, to the dismay of many a passer-by, because her rough draft bubbles tend to explode and set things on fire.
World and History: World C-ish, because it's Sci-Fi. There are no monsters, though.

Wing Ting came from a world very much like Gaia (world class C), except the fashions were louder, the signs were brighter, and people were crazier...and shorter. MUCH SHORTER. This is because the big problem with this world is food is getting scarce. People don't have the organic resources they need to grow tall, so they've been getting shorter and shorter for centuries. Wing Ting isn't that short, actually. She's rather average-height. Most people in her world are about three and a half to four feet tall. However, there are the occasional freakishly tall people who tower over the populous at 5 feet.

Wing Ting's world is a little different than ours, or Gaia's, because it's very technologically advanced. In this world, time travel is a casual pastime for indulgent socialites, biologically engineered kittens are common, and robots crank out hot, techno tunes on the sidewalk. Wing Ting grew up in the most urban part of this world, a clean, white alabaster-like city that beeps and boops at you as you walk by.

Occupations in this world are different from ours: the most common are technos, petty laborers or craftsmen, the least common are MegaFrames, who run huge computer networks. Coders are the in-betweeners.

Technos make various luxury goods, such as those bioengineered kittens, as well as music players the size of your pinky, chocolate trees, and music you can eat. A techno is what Wing Ting was training to be when she decided to join the circus. Her ring would have probably been made by a techno, though individually, rather than mass-produced: hula-hoop like bubble wands that produce butterflies are rather common in Wing Ting's world.

She studied for many years under a petty techno, and she learned to make bubbles via the electronic, hula-hoop shaped bubble wands that the techno had invented. These wands were not functional until Wing Ting fiddled with them a bit. Unfortunately, fiddling around and making bubbles was all she was good at, and the techno quickly disposed of her. Wing Ting earned a menial living performing on the streets, but part of her yearned for something more. When the Circus rolled through, Wing Ting decided to see the performance. She was enchanted by the lights and the glory, if not the heights, and decided to stay. Wing Ting says the reason is because she was missing adventure and flavor in her life, but she says this rather vaguely. Perhaps the reason isn't one she's willing to share yet.

Wing Ting is also a bit vague about her family life. She doesn't remember her mother or her father very well at all, and can't conjure up any memories of a childhood - happy or sad. Her earliest memories include working with the petty techno, and he never asked her to call him, "Dad" or "Father," so Wing Ting has decided that he doesn't count. Her lack of memories puzzles her greatly, as everyone seems to have a past but her, and Wing Ting is liable to shy away from the subject.

[SPOILER ALERT: The bubble wands? They were never hers. She stole them, and was running from the police when she saw the circus. She was able to lose them in the crowd, but she knew that she couldn't go back to street performing...at least not in her world. She left her world that night, because she had stolen something that, in her mind, was rightly hers. Remember I said, she's very selfish when it comes to her personal possessions? It's hers, she worked hard for it, and YOU CAN'T HAVE IT. Oh yeah, and she's a clone - hence the lack of memories. xP ]

References: Hair (except it's black): X
Costume Color Palette (for later reference): X X
Casual Clothing Style/First Stage Clothing: X X

prompt response.

The tent surrounds you at all sides, the audience becomes a blur and you are only focusing on your act. This is your first show, well in front of a massive large audience like this. Rehearsal went well, the ringleader even gave you praise. But It's a make or break situation, just one bad move and… Write about your player's first act with Cirque. Do they mess up, or perform beautifully? How does the audience react?
Note: If your character performs in the sideshow, just translate the prompt to that. Basically, just play out their first time in front of a real audience.

Wing Ting stood behind the thin tent wall thinking to herself that there was far too much sick going on in her miniscule stomach. She could feel the crowd on the other side of the canvas, their cheers getting louder and louder as the Ringmaster gave an introduction. The tiny girl clutched her bubble wand fiercely, terrified. It was her introduction the Ringmaster was giving. She was going in the ring! It should have excited her, but it didn't. All Wing Ting could feel was dread. It was the black kind of dread that liked to walk up casually to your heart and stomp on it while no one was looking, and then run away, cackling madly.

"I feel sick," She said under her breath, hoping that an experienced performer would come to her rescue. However, under her breath was rather like under everyone else's feet, and no one had ears on their feet. At least, no one in the main tent. The freakshow would probably have at least one person with ears on their feet, but Wing Ting hadn't been there recently.

The stagehand - one of the newest members of the circus - grabbed Wing Ting rather roughly on the arm and dragged her towards an opening in the tent, where a triangle of light could be seen. Wing Ting knew, once she stepped into that light, it was go time. No stopping. No looking back. The audience would be able to see her, and she would have to perform. "I'm going to be sick." Wing Ting choked, staring at the triangle of doom.

It was no good. She heard the Ringmaster's voice raise in volume, pitched so it would soar over the stands of spectators, "Wing Ting, the Bubble Fairy!" As the crowd erupted into applause, Wing Ting could only think of thousands of man-eating beasts lining the stands, ready to gobble her up as soon as she came too near. She took a breath.

She took another breath, and stuck her hands in two of her bubble wand's handholds, at the 2 o'clock and 9 o'clock positions. She took another breath. Wing Ting stood like that for a moment, staring at her wand, her body shaking with adrenaline. And then, she charged into the triangle of light and threw up the wand into the air, smiling brightly at the audience. The audience clapped a bit, and then stopped. Silence quickly filled the void.

The walk to center-ring was never so long. Each time she took a step, she felt as though she were dragging her feet through cement. Wing Ting had to swallow twice because her throat felt like sandpaper, and her eyes were watering from the bright lights. They had never been this bright before. The Ringmaster still stood in the center, his arms thrown out, holding half of the audience's attention. The rest of the audience was focused on the tiny figure approaching them. In two more steps, Wing Ting was standing next to the platform that was the center of the ring. Normally, a performer would simply step up onto it, but a special set of stairs had been added to the back for Wing Ting. For some reason, seeing this suddenly made the dread in her heart lessen. The Ringmaster gave her a little encouraging smile as he backed off of the platform, and patted her head. At least, Wing Ting thought he did. He might have accidentally smacked her when he lowered his hand.

She brought her head up, and the stage lights hit her face. She could feel her heart pounding in her ears. Her knees were shaking. Wing Ting brought her wand high above her head, and then to the start position above her right shoulder. She took a very deep breath, steadying herself, and then squeezed the hand holds. Lights along the wand's surface sprang to life and danced about, pink and blue hitting the girl's face. Wing Ting could feel the relief wash over her. At least that worked all right. She squeezed them a little harder, to feel the reassuring buzzing that vibrated through the hoop when it was ready.

She squeezed a third time, and a filmy, reflective substance washed across the space within the wand. Wing Ting swallowed. "Here I go." She whispered, absolutely terrified. She jumped up and brought the wand swooshing down, the bubble blossoming behind the wand, a bright red color. "Something simple first." She instructed herself. "Bring the wand up and around-" It followed a quick right-left-right-left spiral from hand to hand, Wing Ting grabbing the hand holds and spinning it as the bubble spiraled up and up into the air. She broke off quickly, flicking her left wrist. The corkscrew-shaped bubble remained suspended in the air for a moment before it began its slow descent towards the audience. Wing Ting held her breath. If she got it right, the bubble would pop and shower the audience with roses.

She watched as a single child, no more than five or six, reached out his slender, innocent hand and touched the bubble.

And then, with a sound like a dying elephant, the bubble exploded in a fury of red and gold sparks and let out a stench so vile that half the audience fainted right then and there. Wing Ting's mouth dropped open.

"Bubble made a fart!" Squealed the child, his face bright with delight. Wing Ting wished that she could sink down into the floor and never, ever come out. Ever. She swallowed heavily, ignoring the scent (it was something like dead fish and rotting cat livers, she thought) and grasped the 3 o'clock and 4 o'clock hand holds. She held the wand in front of her and quickly brought it up and down in a zigzagging motion. Hundreds of little heart-shaped bubbles were produced. They spiraled towards the audience, and Wing Ting was relieved to see signs of delight showing on their faces. A few even started clapping.

Wing Ting took a bow and was rewarded with even more applause. She remained bowing for a few more moments, only to collect her thoughts. She had a bad first try, but it was all right. She was doing better now! It was just like performing in the streets, except with a lot more people and lights. In fact, Wing Ting could even venture to say that she was doing very we--

A woman screamed.

Wing Ting's head shot up, and she gasped again at what she saw. The bubbles hadn't exploded, they had ignited, and they had taken a few of the audience's clothes along with them. Several people were out of their seats, stomping ferociously at their own pant leg, or simply flailing about, unable to do anything about it. Wing Ting quickly brought her wand back up and zigzagged again, this time producing little star-shaped bubbles. These moved quickly over the audience and burst, dousing them with icy-cold water. A cry went up - and then the audience calmed again, wondering if this was all part of the act.

Wing Ting was shaking now. She was getting it all wrong! What if the Ringmaster never let her perform again, and she was stuck moving crates and sweeping up animal poo for the rest of her life? She frowned, and then twirled her wand in one hand, snatching the 6 o'clock handhold.

She would make the Ringmaster include her in the next show. She would be so great, he couldn't say no! Wing Ting held the wand high above her head and spun it over and over and over like a baton, switching handholds and rapidly pushing the three special buttons on the side that gave the bubble its shape. Slowly, the bubble above began to take form. It was a dragon: a vast, blue-green dragon with huge teeth and a spurt of flame coming out of its mouth. Wing Ting wasn’t supposed to do animals in this show, because they were hard, but she had to finish her performance well if she wanted the Ringmaster to even sniff at her.

With another twirl and a quick twitch, the dragon was complete. The audience stared, completely in awe, and Wing Ting felt her heart soar up into the sky. It was perfect! Completely life like! Each of the scales glittered individually! The flame sparkled and sparked! Its eyes blinked-

...it's eyes blinked?

Wing Ting gripped her wand and watched, horrified, as the dragon suddenly began to move. Entranced, the audience began to clap, and then to applaud, and then they were on their feet, cheering and screaming. The dragon roared, and the audience got cheered even louder. Wing Ting just watched, her pulse racing. The dragon lowered its head and exhaled, sending sparks and flame onto the first row of audience members. The stands erupted into chaos as the dragon let out another feral roar.

Wing Ting didn't stay to watch. She jumped off the platform, her fear of heights forgotten, and ran back into the relative safety backstage while several big, muscley people from the earlier acts rushed on to try and subdue the dragon. The Ringmaster was there, behind the canvas wall, to greet her, a handkerchief covering his mouth and nose. "An interesting display." He mused. Wing Ting winced and closed her eyes, waiting for the lecture. "Good job."

"Good job?" She asked, opening a single eye. Was this a joke? A trick? Had the Ringmaster, after days of threatening, finally lost it? Was he going to shoot her then and there?

"Oh, yes." He took away the handkerchief and Wing Ting could see that he was grinning. He was grinning. "It was quite...memorable. If you will excuse me," And he rushed into the ring, leaving a dumbfounded Wing Ting behind.

She cast her gaze down towards her wand. It was still in her hand. She quickly turned it off and sat down, watching as several singed strongmen exited the ring. One of them glared. Another smiled. She looked back at him shyly, bringing her knees up to her chin. It wasn't that bad, she thought to herself. And then she remembered the child. "The bubble farted!" Wing Ting smiled.

Posted: Sun Nov 12, 2006 4:27 pm

AnrieTalis

Username: AnrieTalis
Character Name: Udajit
Age: 18, soon to be 19
Title: The Snake Woman
Password: Monkey
Describe their talent/skill/act: Is a natural contortionist, she may also include tumbling or dancing in her act, though it all depends. She also has a great reptile affiliation due to her nature.
Appearance: A head taller then that of your average woman. She has fine snake scales instead of skin, that has the same characteristics of a sunbeam snake, but paler. She has long black hair that is somewhat umkempt, but in a stylish way that works for her, thought is it up or in a braid/tail when she is proforming. Her eyes are the only thing that show true color, they are a golden bronze.
Personality: She can be rather shy and timid at first, she may even get a little jumpy when people she hardly knows touch her, but once she gets to know those around her and her surrounding she become a rather good friend to have, also this makes it more comfortable for her to work. Though her nature is half snake, the other half may take over now and then, causing her to be either predatorily, cold hearted, or seductive, though her memories of it will be blocked out or she'll denie it all happened.
World and History/World type B: Her world looks like that of a prehistoric Earth, with chains of islands forming along the equator with one main land mass where everything happens. Udajit is a dieing race that were ment to protect the world, but is now hunted down, sold off, or killed at birth. Udajit was a lucky one being stollen and sold off too many different home, businesses, till she ended up at an somewhat "entertainment" establishment. She was put under the care of a lowly tumbler who saw Udajits natural ability to bend and twist her body into and shape or form that her body allowed. While she was off the owner would beat her, though that would stop as soon as her care-taker would show up, that or when she was around and audience. Later on a scholar came around wishing to learn about Udajit and her kind, learning little he still came to everyone of her shows, falling in lover with each other everytime he came, and the they hatched a plan to get her out. It worked, be he was killed by the owner and she managed to get to a city, where she proformed odd jobs till she saw the poster that had large bold letters writen on it "Cirque: du coeur torve", interested she went to where the poster stated they were holding a circus.
References: Quick Sketch
Writing Prompts:

Promt Response:

Udajit clung to the poster, like it was a life saver, perhaps it was, she walked quickly to the site, large tents were up, lights and sounds were a little daunting, but she continued on towards them. She pulled her cloak tighter around her body, then she looked at the poster again and followed to where it said auditions were, this was her one and only chance to get away from here. She got in line where many others were, she was schoked at how many there were, but she believed she had a chance, just as everyone else felt they did.
She got to the etrance at last, there were many people yet, and now even more behind her.
"And where will you be?" ask a rather friendly voice.
"Pardon me?" Udajit stutered out.
"Freak show or the main show?" the person asked again.
"Ummm, not sure really." she thought about it herself."
"That's ok, just tell me your talents and maybe we can sort them out on were you fit best. Is that ok with you?"
Udajit nodded, and took a deep breath before stateing where her talents were.
"I am a contortionist, that does some tumbling, and I also have reptile affiliation."
The person nodded taking it in, then smiled at her.
"Well that sounds like the main show to me, unless you were born different. Were you?" they asked.
"Well I have skales instead of skin, and my eyes are like that of a snakes."
"Hmm, well it does come down to your dicision, whatever you feel comfotable with really."
Udajit took a second before she came to her conclusion, though she asked a question that had just been tugging at her mind first.
"Would I be able to change where I wish to proform later on?"
"Yes. No. Maybe. You'd have to ask the Ring Leader for that."
"I see, well then perhaps then I'll take the main show."
"Lovely! Take the exit to the right, and it'll lead you to the wings and then you're in the spot light."

She had been waiting for a few minutes now, she could hear the audience applause from the last show. She took a ceep breath and watched the last contestant walk off, out of breath and smiling, they were not much older then she was.
She took her cloak off, quickly did her hair, and put on her mask, maybe here she could learn to break the habits of wearing this old thing.
She walked out inot the single spot light, her heart pounding and her breath quick.
She still had time to turn around and leave, but that would prove what every body that had treated her like dirt was right, she was nothing with no where to go in life.
Some props were on the main stage are, she could work with this, it's nothing new, just a different area, different people running the show, but the people watching were all the same, their reactions were what mattered.
She suit shimmered in the spot light, to late to turn back and leave.
The music started, she leaned back until she looked at the through her legs, a slight gasp and a minor applause, she crossed her legs above her head and started walking forward on her hands. She reached a platform, uncrossing her legs she jumped up, landing on her feet firmly, she started to lean forward while lifting one leg till her fingers touched the floor, one leg pointed to the roof of the tent. Clapping went trough the courd, she felt a bit more at ease and went flowingly into the next possition.
She now put her weight onto her hands and lifted her other leg, going a little faster now, both legs were up in the air, then fell to a split. She brout them forward, and started to let herself down till she now rested on her lower arms. Her feet were dropping to the floor, forming a wheel, till she quickly stood up, rather normal towards the audience. The clapped and whooted, far better then that shack back in the no-where town she once lived. She looked a bit forward and up, a hanging hoop, she had been practicing on one back in town, though she never made it that far. She started flipping forwards towards it, and pushed from her hands, her feet and legs went through without touching it, and she manged to grab it and the last second. The hoop now swung back and forth, she swung her legs forwards and up then split them once again till they were firmly pushing against the insides and pulled herself up. She now sat there doing the splits in the hoop, she carefully mover her body till she was facing the side, leaned back and grabed the hoop, she sat still for a few seconds to catch her breath and let it sink in the audience.
She let herself down in the same fashion she got up, she needed ans ending.
She did a a few more forwards filps, made a mis-step but landed in a way she could save it. Her chin and chest flat on the ground, she raised and lowered her legs till her fet touched her head, arms behind her to keep balance, there was her ending, and she was smilling like never before.
They whistled and clapped. She was surprised, if this was just a audition, she couldn't wait to see what a big show would be like.

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Posted: Sun Nov 12, 2006 6:57 pm

Mimiru_13

Username: Mimiru_13
Character Name: Akki Frost
Title: The Contortionist
Password: Monkey
Describe their talent/skill/act: Akki can bend her body in every which way imaginable.
Appearance: She is about 5'6", with short lime green hair tied back into two ponytails. She has extremely pale skin and deep emerald eyes. She usually wears a thick layer of purple lipstick, and black eyeliner. She wears thigh high striped socks every day, as well as the same old tennis shoes that are two sizes too big. When performing, she wears a dark crimson "onsie," as she likes to call it. When not performing, she wears a short orange and black skirt, a black tee-shirt, a black top hat, and a red tie. Her wrists are always covered in studded collars, and her neck has several heavy chains dangling from it. Her ears are peirced seven times, her nose once, once on each eyebrow, and once on her lip. She has tattoos all over her back from the harsh times in her life, reflecting upon her tough upbringing. She has a thick Irish accent that sometimes affects how she speaks to crowds in negative ways.
Personality: Much to Akki's dismay, she is usually a happy person. Though she may seem as though she's a dark and dismal character on the outside, inside she is as giddy as a school girl.
World and History: Born in Dublin, Ireland, she was mistaken for dead at the age of twelve when she was in a horrible car wreck. Nobody thought she would survive, and she was in a coma for around three weeks. After she woke up, her parents noticed a sudden dramatic change that they immediately didn't like. They kept her in a small, dark room until she turned fifteen, when she finally got up the courage to escape and live in a refugee home. While in the room, she was left with two bowls of food and a bucket of water per week, and spent her lazy daytime hours reading books on the art of being a contortionist. She honed her skills between beatings, when her parents weren't around.
By the age of seventeen, she was known around the country as the most flexible woman anyone had ever seen. She was still dirt-poor, and decided to try to get a job at a circus to put her skills to good use.
References: I currently do not have one, but I'm making one as we speak.

prompt response.

Akki walked out onto the stage with a determined grin, her stride long and dainty. Then she noticed the amount of people there, and became frightened. She stood nervously in front of the crowd, the sea of faces staring intently at her. She swallowed a cry and forced herself forward, calling out hoarsely in her thick Irish accent, "I, Akki, am the one and only Contortionist, and I thank ye for coming."
A large woman with an unusually red face, laughed as she said this. Akki looked, worried, straight into the woman's eyes, and she stopped laughing.
Akki proceeded on with her act, small beads of sweat beginning to collect upon her forhead. Her lime green hair stuck to her scalp, and she tried with no avail to flick it away from her eyes. She bent her left leg all of the way back and brought her foot up past her head, the numbness of the act slowly seeping its way through her thin body.
She continued. Eventually, she performed some of the first poses she had ever done; the lower half of her body looked as though she were kneeling, but her torso twisted at an odd angle to make her upper half look as though she were laying on her stomach. She did the classic pose where her head and upper body sat on the floor, and her lower body curled around to put her feet, facing forward, in front of her face. She even stood on her hands and bent her body into a Z shape, making the audience clap and cheer in awe. The two-hundred and seventy degree splits made a few of the audience members whisper nervously to the people next to them.
Then came the hardest thing Akki had ever had to do. She lay her stomach on the ground and lifted her legs up into the air, following them with her head and her hands as she kept her stomach on the ground. She held them together for a few seconds, until the worst thing that could happen did.
She faltered.
She had held on for too long, and her back suddenly made a sickening cracking sound. She let go of her feet and fell forward, face first into the dusty stage. The audience gasped, but otherwise remained quiet as a medical group assembled onto the stage. It felt as though someone had just stabbed her in the back with an unforgiving saw-toothed blade, and she couldn't move at all.
My career is over... she thought silently to herself as the medical team placed her carefully onto the stretcher.
The team brought her backstage and placed her, still in the stretcher, onto the floor. They twisted her back until it cracked again; this time, to her relief, it was numb, and the pain had ceased. The ringleader came back in and smiled at her.
"Akki," he said in his gruff voice. "They're chanting for an encore. You think you can do it?" She thought for a moment, then nodded. She walked back out onto the stage under her own power and stood out in front of the crowd with the same determined grin she had entered with. The audience cheered.
"G'marnin'," she said at last, after the clapping stoped. "I'm Akki, and I'm the only contortionist this bugger's got. You're in for one hell of a show."

Posted: Sun Nov 12, 2006 7:40 pm

Taichou

Thank you for your time in advanced for even opening the PM, I hope to not bore you... But here it is.

Username: Taichou

Character Name: Marien "Maxem" Mulligen

Title: The Spark

Password: Monkey! (But is subject to change, oh my~)

Describe their talent/skill/act: Maxem, being a slightly destructive thing, specializes in fireworks, explosives, and just about all other things that go boom. She tends to hide in the background behind curtains during her spectacles, watching as her pyrotechnics light up her audience's faces or provides a stunning backdrop for the talented members of a troupe. Being more of a support than a requirement, Maxem tries her best to bolster any coworkers while still keeping her own esoteric flair that shows her personality behind them. Her skill ranges from small roman candles and sparklers to accent a stage to full on night scenes that illuminate entire cities.

Appearance: Maxem has a short stature, maybe 5'4 at best, but what she lacks in height she makes up for in curves. She is not a small girl by today's standards, and has a proper, full figure. Her face is more long than round, with grayish blue eyes, a handful of freckles, and a prominent nose. Her hair is a strawberry-blonde mess of curls and reaches to about chin length, with whisps of bangs that brush the tops of her eyebrows. As far as fashion goes, she contradicts herself at every turn, in demanding to wear luxurious wigs and corsets, but then pairing them off with welder's goggles and a good pair of leather gloves to protect her from her profession. When at work, though, she usually looses the wigs and tends to keep to more simple and less expensive fashions. Being a proper lady, though, will constantly require to wear full skirts.

Personality: To suggest every element of Maxem's personality will be a hard task to complete, and I won't even try to get it all done.
She's a bit neurotic, in the sense that she has failed to properly mature into a useful member of society. Sure, she can live on her own, but don't very well expect her to do a good job of it.

She's impulsive, selfish, immature, conceited, and a bit of a nymphomaniac. Rather than actually following through on the things she says, though, she usually becomes flustered and stops whatever it was that was going on right before it gets to anything serious. In short, her bark is far worse than her bite, if she even bites at all.

She is fairly easy to sway to a certain viewpoint, and tends to not use the brain she was given, because, by golly, is it a lot easier to just have someone else tell you what to do, rather than think for yourself. Despite being so subservient in most circumstances, she will have fits of extreme egomania that eventually die down and leave her exhausted.

When she does seem to have some confidence, or she has a set goal in mind, she can become fairly manipulative, with carefully planned body language and speech patterns to try to trick or coerce people into giving her her way. The amount of success that these techniques have are usually dependent on just how turned on she can make her victem without actually having to promise 'favors' in return.

World and History: World A
It was a warm and sunny afternoon in a small, mining town found on the outskirts of a desert. Women were visiting over cups of tea, and men were working in the mines as their children ran free with nannies and nurses chasing after them in an attempt to restrain the little ruffians.

One such ruffian was the heroine of this little story, and she was currently hiding behind a pile of tailings, watching as the men unloaded crates from wagons and carried them into the mine. An abandoned crate filled with red sticks was sitting dejectedly as the man who was supposed to be carrying it was explaining to his wife why he could not go fetch the kids, as he was currently supposed to be carrying a crate of dynamite into the mine. It was at this opportune moment that Maxem struck her prey.

Running like a tiger about to kill a field mouse, the stick was in her hands and being smuggled from town as fast as the girl's five-year-old legs could take her. Once she was sure that no one would find her, she sat down timidly and demurely, trying not to dirty her skirts anymore than she already had during the escape.

Now at this point it should be noted that this sleepy mining town had a town dog, which was taken care of by a good many members of the community and seen as the mascot of the town. This dog's name was simply "Dog", as no one had been creative or passionate enough to think of a real name for him. Dog was well loved by many of the townsfolk, and had a home in the sheriff's office as the town guard.

Returning to Maxem, it is now an opportune moment to record that Dog had been following her for quite some time, and was keen for a good time playing with her.

She paused a moment, before looking in her lap to find the red stick. It was a peculiar stick. On one end it was just a normal cylinder, yet on the other a string was projecting out of it. 'Rather peculiar,' Maxem thought to herself, 'but nothing too strange, the string must be there to use as a handle.'

With the analysis of the stick done, Maxem tossed it to the horizon as far as she could, making sure that Dog would be far away and take a long while to come back, because she rather disliked the way he smelt. Before the awkward stick could even reach the ground, however, Dog had caught it in mid-air, his canine teeth piercing through the wrapping and destabilizing the already unstable dynamite even more before the stick finally decided it wanted nothing more to do with life and finally just blew up. Of course, Dog did not feel the same way about life, and rather enjoyed it, but the stick of dynamite figured that Dog's opinion didn't much matter and blew him up too anyway.

It was at this moment that Maxem had seen her first explosion. Despite, of course, being soaked in dog blood, and having a good many number of dog teeth in her hair, she was still rather pleased with the loud noises and bright flashes of light that resulted from Dog's death, and rather hoped she could convince her father to buy her another dog that knew that trick, because it was highly entertaining.

It took about a week of explanations before Maxem would actually realize that the stick was the one who was doing the exploding, and the dog was just an assistant of this trick. This triggered mass delight in the little girl, because it meant the dog blood and dog teeth everywhere were not a requirement of explosions. Needless to say, she decided to learn more about these magic sticks with strings hanging out of them, which set forth and odd chain of events that would throw her the idea of perhaps joining a circus.

References:
Face (Without Freckles)
Top
Skirt
Shoes
Goggles
Gloves

Prompt Response: Her fingers twitched as she reached for her match... Two more beats, she thought to herself, blowing a strand of hair from her face. One more.... And with the final beat sounding, Maxem quickly lit the match against her boot before sending it to the well measured fuse. She watched as the fuse burned away exactly as it was timed to, and with a fluid motion, set off two more in a similar manner.

The curtains opened, and an empty stage greeted a curious audience. Some had skeptical looks on their face, wondering where the acrobats or lion tamers were, and others were patiently waiting with hope that something would happen.

And something did.

As the first fuse reached it's limit, a large flurry of coloured lights overwhelmed the stage. As it fizzled out, where nothing once stood was the ringleader in his prime, waving graciously and hamming up his intro. After a loudspeaker introduction of his importance, two more roman candles and sparklers flanking him went off, drawing any straying eyes back to the center. With the majority of her job done until the finale, Maxem heaved off her goggles and gave a satisfied, if almost arrogant, glance to a man cleaning the nearby horse stalls.

"So? Was that awe-inspiring or what?"

"I didn't see..." He paused, and she gave him a look of Incredibility, "As I was cleaning these here stalls."

This led to a bit of sulking and some muttered insults that we need not get into, but shall simply state that Maxem was clearly not pleased.

For the remainder of the ringleader's show, whatever it may have been, Maxem sat impatiently behind the scenes, tapping her boots against the dirt and pestering everyone who happened to go by for their opinion of her work. She would deny any accusation that she was particularly nervous, however it was fairly obvious that she was. What seemed like hours finally passed, and the young spark finally got her chance to bring out the big guns. However, what with all of her sulking, the big guns were not yet prepared when they needed to be.

"And now~" The ringleader's voice boomed from the stage, snapping Maxem into attention and sending her sprawling to her rockets, "Please enjoy the rest of our stars~" With this finally being said, the ringmaster spread his arms wide with a grin from ear to ear, expecting a large round of fireworks to go off and light the entire stage, where the rest of the acrobats, clowns, ballerinas, and all sorts of performers had assembled in the dark of the opening act. The leader stood in his cheesy pose for a few moments, his facade nearly ready to crack as the suspense mounted in the crowd of whether or not anything was going to happen, before finally, abruptly, a single flair went off above the stage, giving a small red glow to the assembled crowd for only a moment, and causing even more interest from the viewers. This was followed then by a barrage of explosives, sending rapid and brilliant flashes of light both over the actors and the audience that seemed to cause the entire stage to tremble in awe of it's radiance. Clearly, she had redeemed her timing error by using a good deal more rockets than required.

The show proceeded as normal, if not a bit awkwardly, and Maxem tried to calm her near-heart attack with a nice spot of tea and a few biscuits.

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Posted: Mon Nov 13, 2006 3:06 am

[ astra ]

Username: [ astra ]

Character Name: Alina Sozonov

Title: Alina the Blazing Blades

Password: monkey

Describe their talent/skill/act: Alina's act consists of many different tricks involving metallurgy and fire. She dances with swords and various other small edged weapons tied to metal cords. She also dances and juggles with he weapons while they burn. She can swallow swords up to a rapier size as well, though she may not be able to master swallowing flaming ones till she has gained some considerable amounts of experience.

Though Alina can dabble into the tent performances, and indeed her first show was in the tent, she prefers the sideshows. Her power of flames are much more fascinating up close, when people can see her fire dancing as it truly is: art.

Appearance:
Despite her Russian heritage, Alina's looks are slightly contradictory. Her hair ranges from deep orange to vibrant blonde, the colors coming in choppily, eerily similar to flames. She wears it in many plain styles, most often enough cut short to her chin, to keep them out of the flames. She has a pale skin tone that has been browned to a tan due to her excessive amount of time outside. Her eyes are a muddy blue green, and has three black dots tattooed in an arc below her left one. Alina's build is average, if underfed. She has almost no chest to speak of, much to her chagrin.

Despite her lack of figure, Alina usually wears a leotard. The colors vary, but are always bright with metal trinkets hanging down from her waist to a few inches above her knees. She wears black gloves that go up to her mid forearm, to protect her skin from the fire.

She was not always skilled. When she was training, Alina often burned herself. Her arms are scarred from it, as well as several other places, though luckily none were severely disfiguring. The worst is likely below her right collarbone searing down to her breast, a deep burn from when a burning weight hit her.

Personality: Alina is, by nature, a snarky person. She takes every chance she can to say sometime vile, because she knows she can usually get away with it. She will restrain herself in the presence of those who rank higher than her, but she’d be the type to blow a raspberry at them behind their backs.

Alina enjoys action. Her philosophy consists of ‘doing’ and preferably not thinking at all. If she can, she avoids thinking about consequences, and blames her type of show. She claims that if she were to think about the finale instead of the actual act, she would falter and burn herself again. It's easy to say that Alina lives for the present and the present only. She has been employed in several circuses, often rotating around them, knowing that she was skilled enough to get taken in.

If she does not get her way, Alina gets very temperamental. She will continue to go to those higher than her if needed, whining and pouting to get her way. If this fails, she plots revenge after cheerfully forgiving them in front of witnesses.

Alina's greatest strength is her arrogance, and her greatest weakness is, as well. She is oblivious to anyone disliking her and detecting sarcasm if directed at her. She assumes everyone loves her and that something is severely wrong with them if they don't. Alina also has a phobia of sheep, to the point of where she will not go anywhere even in the same direction as the petting zoo. If presented with one, she will lose her cool entirely, likely screaming and fleeing, bowling over anyone in the way.

World and History:
World B.

Alina is a single child, raised by two parents in slightly less than modern Russia. The closest word for it is steampunk: mixing steam technology along with magic. The magic in her world is closer to a subtle manipulation of elements. She must work with, rather than forcing, the materials at hand. Those that practice anything diligently gain a bond with it.

Musicians grow close to their instruments, not only gaining proficiency with it but the ability to channel more than purely notes through it. Those who work with the earth learn to work with it rather than against it: and Alina is no different.

Her parents made their living deforesting the western fronts of Russia: burning to make room for those who were nature inclined, and could make things grow in harsh lands for a hefty price. She has been exposed to the flames for all her life, and grew up watching them dance without her on the forest's edge.

She first danced at thirteen, with rope with a rock tied to the end. The next month she used a dagger doused in oil and set it on fire, after attaching it to a chain instead of a rope. She got her first sword when she was sixteen. Alina didn't think to combine her lessons in swordsmanship with her dancing till she saw a fire dancer with her own eyes at a local fair. When she was nineteen Alina started combining her talents shortly afterwards.

At twenty Alina joined a circus, sending money back to her parents when she could. From there on out, Alina of Blazing Blades moved around every two to three or years to a different circus, where their crowds still saw her as new and fresh.

Alina is now twenty four, and with two previous circuses under her belt and offers from countless others. She joins Cirque because she sees it as a challenge: a new circus with a big name, where else to truly make herself?

References:
http://i51.photobucket.com/albums/f395/gewaltspirale/stuff/alina.jpg
Very open to interpretation :]
fire dancing: http://www.homeofpoi.com/lessons_all/teach.php/1_2_2
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fire_dancing
http://www.videos.houseofrave.com/Raving_with_fire(www.HouseOfRave.com).mpeg
http://www.houseofrave.com/glowstringing-video-fast-poi-with-fire.html
http://youtube.com/results?search_query=fire+dancing&search=Search

prompt response.
The tent surrounds you at all sides, the audience becomes a blur and you are only focusing on your act. This is your first show, well in front of a massive large audience like this. Rehearsal went well, the ringleader even gave you praise. But It's a make or break situation, just one bad move and… Write about your player's first act with Cirque. Do they mess up, or perform beautifully? How does the audience react?

Noise. The constant roaring in her ears, the decibels increasing by the minutes. Alina stood in front of the hundreds of people who had come to see her. With her head bowed and the crowd’s noise rolling over her in great waves, Alina of Blazing Blades, fire extraordinaire breathed. Despite quiet words of encouragement from the ringmaster before the show, she felt unprepared. It was too late now, though, to back out.

A dark and heavy tune overtook the tent, and with it Alina snapped into action. The people quieted, simmering down to a dull roar as she swung her blades in wide circles. She leaped deftly towards the crowd on one side, her swords swooshing through the air, cutting close enough to nearly put a gash in an audience members face. She stepped back and crossed them in front of her, and struck them against each other, the crowd gasping as they lit up.

Alina breathed deeply: she had to focus—one wrong move and she was gone, burnt up in the high temperature flames. With loose wrists, Alina swirled them about, moving purely by intuition. She walked calmly towards the other side of the tent, face blank. She threw them in the air, juggling the two with ease. Alina brought them above her, twirling them in opposite directions as the fire began to change colors, swapping from green through violet in smooth shades. Stopping her juggling, Alina thrust them into the dirt beside her, and the rapiers shot off sparks in broad arcs around her, forming a vibrant circle of blue and pink.

She heaved, listening to the crowd roar. She sighed, and pulled her swords out of the ground. For a headlining show, Alina hoped that she had done okay. The crowd was loud, but she had heard it louder. She passed the ringmaster as she went 'backstage,' who nodded curtly, but said nothing. His eyes spoke well enough, as Alina sat on a bench and buried her head in her hands.

She would get better. She would prove herself. She had to.

Posted: Mon Nov 13, 2006 3:07 am

Aki Ana

Username: Aki Ana
Character Name: Nagindra
Title: The Serpent Totem
Password: Monkey
Describe their talent/skill/act: Nagindra is the name given to man and serpent as one...a combination of the exotic snake charmer, Nagi, and his serpent, the terrifying Indra. The bond they share is that of equals, much to Nagi's dismay.

Small colorful snakes twine continuously around Nagi during the show; two around his neck, one holding back his hair, and one that occasionally slides up his nose and back out his mouth for shock value. While lesser serpents are utterly subject to Nagi's commands, Indra holds a will befitting a thirty foot anaconda. That said, their act is an unpredictable one.

He pretends to control Indra through the melody of his curved pipe, while in truth he is usually scrambling to adapt to whatever actions she wishes to take. Until his relationship (or agreement) with the serpent progresses, however, Nagi would hardly be worthy of the spotlight. Upon his world the bond between man and serpent is absolute, eventually uniting the two lives into one. Nagindra obviously has a long way to go.

Appearance: Indra, the serpent, is a thirty-two foot adult anaconda...marbled with scars and swamp colored patches. Occasionally Nagi will adorn her with careful patterns of paint, or tiny jewel adornments.

Nagi himself is striking, a young Totem with a shaved head and topknot of dark hair, rich bronzed skin, and elaborate makeup. He is reminiscent of the djinn in legends, though most of his appearance is derived from the garb from his humid home world. Loose fabrics of vibrant jungle color swath his form, a deep v-cut exposing his sundark chest. Shining makeup in purples, greens, and golds outline his eyes sharply, and etch iridescent scales along his neck.

He carries a curling horn pipe, with a gilded mouthpiece. The haunting notes of the instrument are powerless, though 'instrumental' in his act.

Personality: There is some common ground between the Serpent and Totem. Both are cursed with a stubborn nature, and a ridiculous amount of pride. This pride is largely unfounded, but that doesn't seem to matter to Nagindra.

Nagi is usually a rather curt and distant man, holding himself aloof no matter his status. A few drinks is usually enough to change that, but the Totem rarely indulges. Indra's affiliation, and Nagi's status as a Totem, depends on his solitary existence.

The pact between Serpent and Totem is void, should either take a mate. Indra seems to know this as well, and is unnaturally sweet to females of Nagi's species. She will literally go to lengths to draw them together, and tempt her Totem keeper.

Though it goes unspoken, for obvious reasons, Nagindra has only one goal. Both wish to excel, and prove their scornful elders wrong. Unfortunately, they also share a lack of faith in each other...which makes every act a breathtaking gamble.

World and History: World Type B: The home world of Nagindra is a sprawling lattice of rivers and jungle...steaming greenery cut through with wide murky waterways. The only true predators, man and serpent, have formed an uneasy truce over the years.

A Serpent will devote its life to a Totem as long as the Totem places no other above it. This is a symbiotic relationship that benefits both, and such partnerships are arranged carefully for strategic compatibility.

Nagindra's partnership, however, formed as a result of too much rum.

Both Serpent and Totem had always imagined ending up with someone more...impressive. The mortification of facing their respective elders drove them from the village, and the Cirque presented itself as a timely option. Until one can find way to tempt the other into breaking the oath, Nagindra will strive to earn some well deserved glory.

References: Artistic freedom! Woo!

Prompt response:

The crowd was silent, all eyes fixed upon the massive bronze urn. A thin plume of incense rose slowly from the mouth of the metal jar, curling in the harsh light of the center ring.

Sitting cross legged with deceptive calm, Nagi raised the pipe to his lips. It was closer to a hunter's horn than a flute, the gilded mouthpiece pale against his rich skin. With a low, heavy note he broke the silence...beads dancing and rattling against the smoking bronze with the rumbling tune.

Nothing.

A few drops of sweat glimmered upon his head, which was shaved but for the topknot. Small red serpents coiled around Nagi's neck in agitation, thrumming with the slow music.

Switching to a different note, something more urgent, Nagi squinted at the urn. They'd practiced this! Music, then entrance! Despite his tropical origins, the lights suddenly seemed much too hot.

His note wavered, and the crowd began to murmur. She wasn't going to emerge! Any moment now, the Ring Master would yank them from the spotlight. The thought of humiliation brought him to his feet....just as Indra's head rose from the pot.

It was like watching an alligator rise, and rest with just its eyes above the waterline. The great serpent barely peered from the urn, shockingly large, dark tongue testing the incense heavy air.

A gasp rippled through the audience. This wasn't merely an illusion. The beast was real, and only a few simple notes subdued it! On his feet, dust hemming his bright and loose pants, Nagi swayed to remind his uncooperative partner of the act. Music, entrance, then dance!

It seemed Indra had other ideas. Coils spilling over the sides of the jar, the beast boiled outward...head rising in a majestic curve as the faint of heart began to scream. Nagi motioned them to silence desperately with one hand, but his 'spell' had been broken.

As always, there was no spell...the bass notes of the song were simply accessories. Indra was finally willing to play along, it seemed, and she hissed in warning before she struck.

Unknown to the audience, Nagi the Totem held no fear. He scrambled to adapt to his partners sudden twist out of confusion, not desperation. Indra shot forward and snapped the horn from his hands as she coiled around it in a false fury....swallowing the instrument as the crowd clamored and surged. Sure enough, she turned towards the audience next, and cut swiftly through the dust of the ring even as Nagi rolled back to his feet.

What the hell was she thinking?!

He didn't have time to reach her before the hit the crowd. Wrestling was out! Only one option left, and it sent him cringing. Audience participation.

Lifting his voice in the first deep note, Nagi motioned desperately to the seats to the east. The got the picture, picking up the tune even as he turned to coax the next note from the northern section. Within moments, the crowd was shouting the simple charm melody...scared and skeptical and utterly delighted.

The biggest miracle of all was that Indra decided to play along. Moving slowly now, weaving in tune to the notes, the Serpent allowed herself to be gracefully subdued and made her way back to center stage...following Nagi's curt gestures. Coiling into the massive urn, the beast treated the audience to one last tongue flicker before descending back into the dark.

The Totem dove for the lid, clamping it on before Indra could change her mind. For a heart stopping moment, the ring was silent....before the crowd burst with cheers.

Stunning spectacle! Near distaster! All in all, not a bad first show. Nagi took a bow, mopped his forehead with a brightly colored sash, and patted the side of Indra's huge jar in praise. The Ring Master's voice echoed for miles.

Nagindra, ladies and gentleman! The Serpent Totem!

Cirque du Coeur Torve
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Cirque du Coeur Torve
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Posted: Mon Nov 13, 2006 3:11 am

Tuari

(I hope it was okay to cut and paste from my quest thread, I edited a little to make it flow together)

Username: Tuari
Character Name: Phillipe LaBauve
Title: The Firedancer,
Password: monkey
Describe their talent/skill/act: Initially: NOTHING! Secondly: fire dancing… then eventually fire eating and breathing.
Appearance:
Phillipe's mother was a Creole slave, his father a French Creole making his features a mix of both European and African, striking and angular. Unnaturally white and partially braided, his hair is a little longer than shoulder length and pulled back into a high spiky ponytail. His skin is a warm caramel color during the day but at night, the light of the moon will reveal his true nature, his color turning warm to ashen. Eyes that are normally pale brown turn a day-glow sickly yellow in the moonlight. Phillipe's body is long and lean, like a runner's and well toned from years of labor. His hands are long, thin fingered. Overall his movements are deft and articulate.

His performing outfit is a simple pair of black flame resistant loose pants, black armbands and sometimes a short shoulder-shrug that tied around his middle.

Personality: For the most part he is dour, a solemn young man who behaves like an old but noble curmudgeon. Once he warms up to someone he'll show a different side of himself, one with a dark sense of humor and soulfulness. His temper has a shorter fuse than most, he's set off easily and has resorted to fistfights when angered enough. He despises know-it-alls. Anyone who treats him as less than an equal infuriates him.
Phillipe has a great deal of personal pride combined with self-loathing. Because of this he has difficulty accepting criticisms or instruction.

He tends to get blindsided by women. He looks upon them as innocent and helpless creatures that need protection. It's easy for them to take advantage of him. That being said, he also does not look upon women as his equals. Due to the absence of his father, he still holds a grudge against him, though Phillipe believes he dealt with that particular demon long ago. For as much as he hates being one of the unliving he fears death far too much to take his own life. The prospect of the afterlife...or lack thereof, in his case, chills his him to his core. His Christian faith, once a comfort, only causes him dread and guilt.

World and History: Type B - A mimicry of New Orleans in the 1700s. Ripe with slavery, the steam engines, death and in some cases rebirth. The world is a dark reflection of ours where voodoo and death magic lurk in the dark alleys and swamps.

Phillipe was bone to a Creole slave woman named Marie LaBauve. His father was a white Creole whose brother owned a plantation outside of the city New Orleans. Growing up, Phillipe was well educated in both in scholarly pursuits and as a workman. As he had a calming way with skittish horses so he was trained to shoe them as a blacksmith. His father rarely invested free time in him.On Phillipe’s 18th birthday both he and his mother were emancipated. His mother began a tailoring service in the city but Phillip remained behind to continue serving as a blacksmith on the plantation…..a decision that later led to his death.

The plantation owner’s daughter, Caludette, took a fancy to her slightly older cousin, Phillipe. They fell in love and carried on their illicit affair in secret. Their relationship was eventually found out and in a fit of rage Claudette’s father had Phillipe drug out of his home and beaten, with every intention of hanging him. In desperation Claudette turned a farmhand’s pistol upon herself in a dramatic bluff trying to get them to stop. A farmhand tried to wrest the gun away from her and she accidentally shot herself. Phillipe was hung without mercy and left to dangle in the woods.

It was in that deep cold night that his body was stolen away. Days later Phillipe rose again, bound to the will of another man…

Note: Phillip's state as a zombie gives him no special benefits other than a powerful resistance to death. As in, he cannot be killed by any ordinary means and he will live until someone makes him stop living. The man who created him did imbue his gris-gris with a resistance to fire so he could continue his work as a blacksmith but nothing more.

References:
Concept Thread: http://www.gaiaonline.com/guilds/viewtopic.php?t=6409705
]X[ ] X[ ] X[ ]X[

prompt response.

It was his intensity that held the audience still. Something in the stiffness of his gait and the way his muscles move just under his skin hummed with an unearthly energy. It offset his lack of stage flourish with an edge of serious that hushed the whispered voices. In his head he told himself he wasn’t nervous….no of course not, he wasn’t nervous at all. His hand, stretched out before him while cupping a honey-slow lick of flame, didn’t tremble at the hundreds of eyes upon him. But inside his chest he felt his breath stutter. He was topless, something he felt uncomfortable with but was safer and more….appealing, so said the others. Phillipe fought off an angry scowl at the memory. His scars were dramatic but nothing he took pride in but…to stay with the Cirque? He’d have gone naked.

Stepping through the darkness of the ring, only the flame in his hand lit the way. It cast golden shadows up his face and on the ground around him. The deep beat of the drums started so softly even he didn’t hear it at first and his cue snuck up on him. The poi had been hidden in his other hand and went unnoticed until the moment he dangled it above his flaming palm, lighting it in a flash of white fire.

Ah. The burst of flame that would draw the audience in.

He clenched his burning hand and the flame extinguished as though it had never been there. The poi dropped suddenly from his grip until it dangled low, a slow swing starting like a pendulum. The swings became wider and wider until it arched overhead once….and fell like a plunging comet. It was that movement that threw Phillip into motion. The force of gravity pulled at him and tugged his body along a course that was led by fire. He spun, the ball of flame slipped under his feet as he jumped and scattered sparks along the ground in its wake. With a dip his free hand brushed the ground and a second poi was added, joining the first until it too burst into flames. It was a flawless transition and Phillipe had to smile tightly with pride.

With the second added, the excitement grew, the two flames orbited him like shooting stars, the wild beat of the drums now keeping time to his movements. There were moments where the course of the flame would slow almost dangling in mid air, and others where they would race as he twisted his body to follow their arc. Their movements controlled him as his controlled them. The flames reflected the pale sheen of sweat that covered his body, accenting each muscle as they bunched. His simple black pants billowed against his legs, beginning to cling as even his legs grew damp. It was these times that Phillipe left behind everything. There was no audience, there was only him, the burn of energy and the crackling-hum of the flames.

Dropping to his knees the chains and wicks spun over him and he arched his back until the ends of his hair trailed in the dust. In a haze of light, the flaming wicks sparked against the ground around him, coiling and dancing like a cyclone of fire. His strength was ebbing, the sweat ran down his neck and the burn of his muscles strained his lower back. It was time. With a lunge he arched back up and sprang to his feet, his final trick at hand. With a leap he was airborne, the fire spinning around his body freely as he tumbled and rolled. It was a spectacular, but in Phillipe’s mind it was flawed since the final transition to slow the poi destroyed the flow of the flip. He did it anyways, determined to do it sooner and better next time. Landing with a stagger he stood straight at the sound of the last drum. With a curt bow he turned on his heel and marched to the curtains. It was only then he realized how badly he wanted out of view….

He didn’t stop once the curtains hid him from the audience, he stalked past the other performers, brushing off their congratulations with nods or a flick of his hand. The applause could be heard even as he strained to escape it. It wasn’t until he plunged into the cool night air that he finally stopped.

Staring up into the moon he felt his knees begin to shake.

Welcome to Gaia! ::

Gaia Guilds

Cirque du Coeur Torve

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