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"Damnit, Greg!" A tired wolf-bunny stumbled out of the way of a stilt walker that arched across his path.

"Slan..." The man sighed, looking down at him with censure. "There's kids here, man... You're still on the clock..." Bending down to a small family with two daughters, he handed them two withered flowers as was per usual at a circus of the deranged and unusual.

Slan merely sniveled, tempted to take his chainsaw to his coworker's nuts. But they were seven feet off the ground and he was barely over five, so he just continued onward with a bitter sneer. After 9 hours it was just not humanly possible to smile any longer. He was done, ******** these kids. Find someone else to be merry with. And he still had hours to go! BLOODY HELL! His feet hurt, he was hungry and these kiids were everywheeere! Pulling and prodding him and asking for pictures! Nuuu!

Finding himself literally pouting at a child holding a macabre clown, he stiffened his lip, ignored the parents' strange looks, and waddled to one of the few concrete structures to waste some time before cleaning could ensue. Grabbing a trash pick and a bag, he juggled with his chainsaw and put it in his locker for safe keeping.

"....." This was the worse part of the shift, but at least it meant it was almost over. Nothing to do but brood and pick up everyone's s**t. And what the balls was so hard with taking your trash.... and oh my gosh! putting it in the trash can!! Ooooo!! Apparently it was gratuitously difficult because most of it was on the ground. Well that was why he got paid the... kinda big bucks. Filling the trash cans as best he could, Slan dragged them to the dumpster and poured them out and continued to fill them back up. "H'ooo ********..." He was not built for this kind of labor. The dumpsters were taller than he was!! Being a good and lifting with his legs like a safe employee, Slan dumped another bin of trash, waiting for the last tinkles of paper and aluminum to cease. He gave it one more jiggle just in case and heard a heavy tunk that tipped the now lighter can over his shoulders and thundering across the ground.

"I swear, if someone threw a baby away again..." Even Slan had to put his foot down on that. There were better places to discard babies, jeez! Scrambling over to the side, he hoisted himself up on an outreaching step and rolled into the filth as gracefully as one could rolling into half eaten nachos. Ugh. Crouching like the stealthy animal he wasn't, Slan slowly and gingerly crunched through the trash. s**t, he hoped he hadn't crushed the kid by rolling on in. "Here kiddy kiddy kiddy...." Shouldn't it be crying? Well if it even was a kid.... or it was... dead. That very thought left the circus performer yowling and flailing back, slipping over something smooth and covering himself even further in the juices of the common man. "H'ogods!" The baby was already stiff and cold and-- "Oh..." It was a bottle.

"............."

Really?

Really?

Siiiigh. Well he felt quite sheepish now. Holding the jar up to the light of a nearby lamp light, he noticed there was still some liquid in it. Was it some kinda booze? It was a really bizarre bottle. Did....... Did the circus sell this now? Some new trinket to help suck the money out of these people? But... it was so.... detailed.... Maybe it was valuable.

He liked that idea better. Peeking above the lip of the dumpster (just in case someone was watching. Staff were pissy about that kinda thing), Slan wiggled his butt up and legs over the side before spilling onto the ground like a bag of dirt.



"Hey, Lulu!" Thank the gods the true weirdos lived at the circus and didn't drive home. She sat at her table, packing up the last of her gaudy and touristy merchandise (tarot cards, crystal ball, all that jazz).

"What can I do you for?" The older woman was a gypsy ....... supposedly, though she did fit the part down to a T. But that wasn't the point. She was the eyes and ears of Makahb.

"When did we start sellin' these buggers?" He waggled the bottle unceremoniously around her before she took from his paws.

"We dun sell t'ese t'ings.... D'is.... ..... D'is is somet'ing precious...." Lulu held it with care, searching the strange symbols embedded or suspended within the bottle, it was hard to tell.

"Precious liiike worth a lot?"

"Precious as in priceless, child...."

"Oh..." Gods forbid he have a lil luck once in awhile.

"D'is.... it... pulses wit' life... wit' energy..." Looking up to Slan with her big black eyes, she passed the bottle back to its owner. "Take good care of it... I'm sure it'll bring you fortune... of some kind..." Her last words elicited a smirk from her thin lips.

"........ Gee thanks..." Life huh?

Slan came home later than usual from the circus. There was a thunderstorm and the big-top had to be evacuated and taken down as quickly as possible. The canvas had a thick coat of lacquer across it to keep the water from soaking in and on the customers, but that lacquer was very flammable as well. And it would only take one lightning strike to turn the big-top into a massacre. And then he'd be out of a job, which was more disconcerting than the loss of a few customers.

And Slan wasn't exactly the best choice for taking down a gigantic tent. He weighed barely over a hundred pounds (his chainsaw probably weighed more) and the ropes to haul the canvas down took at least ten strong men. So, of course, he was stuck directing traffic flow of concerned citizens trying to hurry out before the storm could get much worse. Ugh! Nothing like a herd of scared cattle practically trampling you to escape.

"Eh..." He shrugged. At least he didn't have to keep smiling that day. See? Always find the good in bad. Dumping his pack onto his bed, Slan trailed into the kitchen to find something to eat, but "Good Gods, what is that smell?!" Had he let something spoil? No, he always ate at the circus and just kept canned foods and cured meat and such around his house. Maybe a rat or a opossum got into the house again. Those buggers stink even alive. Letting his nose hone in on the source, he wandered from room to room, cabinet to cabinet until he saw one eeking a foul smelling water.

What the hell?! He ran back to his room to get his chainsaw, just in case something popped out. H'okay. "One... two... three!" He flung the door open and was hit a dirty wash of water. "Bloody hell!" How does--

The bottle!



It was.... full. And why were there fish in it!? What the hell?!?! Ugh! How could something smell so bad? It was like the dregs of a swamp were dredged up and dumped into a bloody bottle. "Ew..." Pulling the jar out of the cabinet with a towel, he quickly scampered outside and put the jar in the grass. Oh crap! Would it attract vermin.

Next stop! The outhouse! That would protect it right? Well it better cause he was tired of worrying about a glass jar and wanting oh so much to just crawl into bed. "Alright, well, good night ya stinky bugger..."

This endeavor was turning into more of a pain than it was worth.

"Slan!"

It had taken them awhile to finally realize it. The last weeks had started rather pleasant actually despite their newfound problems. A fluke in the weather was a wonderful reprieve from the dry and harsh summer heat that roasted the audience and performers even during the nights. It had even rewarded them with a boost of sale the first few days. And then, about the second weekend, this dreary cold was overcome by the oppressive heat and turned the pleasant big top into a humid cesspool of sweat and mud and all other kinds of nastiness. The moisture clung to everything in the circus. The bleachers, poles, stages, everything was always wet. They had to announce the cancellation of the tight-wire performances because of the safety issues, and even some of the acrobats had injured themselves from slipping across stage.

There was still no hope in sight as the warm muggy humidity began to collect on the canvas of the circus and produce mold that ate away at everything it encountered, especially the storeroom of food for the customers and the animals that were housed on the premise. Everything was rotten and that smell! It was like raw sewage. It smelled similarly to the stale stink of his house that one time. The staff was beginning to talk of a plague, or a curse. He just assumed it was bad luck, it happened to everyone eventually, but….

“Slan! Stop ********’ gawkin’ and help!”

“Wh—What am I supposed to do?! I’m not one of the animal trainers!”

“Then help somewhere else…!” With that, his co-worker sprinted off to give the animal tamers any help they could get. Five of their elephants were imprisoned by a crowd of staff, trying to control them and lead them out of the big-top and away from this sinking environment. It all started from a slip of the lead elephant as its heavy forelegs began to sink deep into the softening earth. The stage and even the heavy masts that kept the circus canvas strung up began to slowly drown into the greedy earth. In panic, the elephants began a frightening rampage that left the entire circus deafening with cries from the beasts and humans alike as many of the audience ran for their life.

It seemed Slan’s duty was once again to keep the crowd calm and help everyone out of the big-top. He felt rather frustrated that he was only good for one thing, but he supposed it was better than trying to confront irate animals that could toss you around like a ragdoll. Yeah, he preferred the crowd.

And then the real work began as they had to scramble to take down the canvas and poles before they lost anything to the mud. It was grueling work and he didn’t get home until the sun was already coming back up. At least he didn’t have to work tomorrow, he thought wryly. Or any day soon for that matter until the ground hardened or they found a new location.

“Pain in the a**…” Slan mumbled right before he lost his balance with a surprised shout, landing hands first into a pit of mud. What the bloody hell? He rescued his leg and took another step, only to find himself back to square one again. This couldn’t be! His property was like a wet marsh! And that smell! That… smell. Why was this happening?! Gods, he wondered if it really was a curse. But what would curse him, honestly? It seemed so ludicrous.

Who would curse him?

That smell.

That smell!

With a few desperate grunts, he left his chainsaw to the mercy of the earth and climbed and crawled to the back of his house, completely sodden with mud by the time he finally reached his outhouse in a heavy pant. He was greeted with a familiar rush of fetid swamp water as he opened the wooden door. He did his best not to be grossed out by being doused with his own waste, but he was covered in sewage and mud already, so it evened out really.

And there sat his abandoned bottle, its inhabitants swimming furiously back and forth as light invaded their long dark isolation.

“Been quite the brat, haven’t ya?” Slan’s only reply was a drop of water that squeezed out from the seal and dribbled down the oblong glass. So, what was he supposed to do, apologize? He couldn’t help but snort having even contemplated the idea. Though, it was just as ridiculous as a bottle turning the ground he walked on into a soggy sea because of its ire. So it really wouldn’t kill him to start appeasing this… thing if it did have a consciousness. “I’m…” Bloody hell, he felt silly doing this. “I’m sorry I left you out here. If I bring you inside will you stop?”

No answer. Had he really expected one? His furry paw grabbed the bottle by the stopper and, with a bit of hard work, turned back around. It was still a trial to get back to his door. He had hoped the thing would just make the ground hard again, but guess it didn’t work that way. Peeling off his costume on the back porch, he left the clothes to spend the night outside before he padded gently through the house so as not to dislodge too much mud onto the floors until he got a proper bath.

He used the same towel from his bath to wipe down the wet bottle, surprised that the smell didn’t cling to it as fervently now. That was quite a hopeful sign. Even after he let the towel fall, he kept the glass tight in his hands, drumming his fingers gently across the cold surface. He finally concluded that if his house was sinking, the best place to be was beside the bottle, because if that ******** took him down he was taking it down with him. Course maybe the bottle would like that.

“Ugh…” Whatever. It was seven in the morning, he was going to bed now. He’d see what tomorrow offered.


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