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Clerise was slowly adjusting into her new life at the Academy. Wake up Eat in the cafeteria four times a day (second breakfast-- extra protein shake and an apple before workout), train till her wrists and ankles are bruised, learn what little she can actually absorb via lectures and reading. She practically forgot how to read, definitely didn't know how to study, and was eight years out of practise either way.

As such the acrobat preferred to train, even if it did mean she had to subject herself to endless berating from the Captain.

{[ I wouldn't have to berate you constantly if it weren't for the fact that you are complete rubbish. ]}

Rolling her eyes, Clerise took a deep breathe, red eyes sliding closed as she stepped forward, movements liquid smooth as she intensely focused on simply moving. It was part fight and part dance-- and little did she know, rather close to Jackoeira, the Halloweentown variant of Capoeira.

Balthazar, in addition to being a moderately successful and, really, an almost entirely ordinary Grim Reaper, had been a bit of a dancer-- his scythes were graceful and, unlike his new master, Balthazar was graceful, thank you quite very much. He used it as leverage, and would often combine fighting with dance with the art of Jackoeira.

Most of his finer knowledge was gone, now, but he still remembered the weight of a body moving, the sleek feel of spinning correctly.

It was faded and worn, washed out like the words of a book on a sun-bleached page, and only with Clerise's movements do some of it burble up to the surface in incomplete bits and pieces.

{[ You must be smoother-- Your arms are too weak to hold you up for the necessary duration to perform a kick. You need to build them up, or you'll never be able to hold me and yourself alike, let alone do something with me. Keep your movements steady, don't hesitate. ]}

Unfortunately for Clerise, besides the vague guidance that the hoop sometimes offered her, she was untrained and undirected, unaware of what she was striding for. In addition to that, she was being given pointers for a fighting style she didn't even know existed from Halloweentown, which was based off another fighting style she was unaware of.

It was a lot like trying to learn how to play a song on piano when all you had was the Kidz Bop version on a bad mixtape. So, of course...There was a lot of falling and tripping and eating grass due to face-plants.

A lot of eating grass.

Clerise had been attempting to hoist herself up in a handstand with her right arm, holding her body at an angle for no more than a brief moment in time before collapsing, landing on her a** as a voice called to her.

"Yeah?" she asked, grunting as she stood, dusting dirt off her white coat-- great. It was a good thing she knew where the bleach was, lest she get an earful from the quartermaster fellow. "Whacha want?"

The redhead was mostly in her normal outfit-- white coat with the sleeves rolled up, leotard underneath, thigh high boots. her metal anklets and gauntlets were off to the side, laid nicely on top of what looked to be like a pilfered pillowcase from her room.

"Christ. Why are all of the boys here so young." She wouldn't make the mistake she did with Before and guess his age only to be like, six off.

Red eyes honed in on the juicebox he had-- she was parched. "D'ya have another one of those things?" Clerise asked, gesturing at his beverage.

A "little workoutish" was an apt term for Clerise, in all seriousness. She took pride in her body, in the strength that she had earned from years of hard workouts, throwing herself and others across the sky, contained only by the top of the bigtop tent. She was far from a bodybuilder (thankfully), but still, a far cry from most girls she knew.

As the teen spoke to her in his best I-am-so-suave voice, Clerise acknowledged him with a nod. "I see, you're the baby. Why'd they let you out of the cradle?" Red eyes were sizing him up, taking in the muted browns of his outfit, trying to figure out his weapons.

Of course, her serious face was ruined by the fact that she couldn't contain a singular giggle-snort as the other hunter mildly hit on her, and quickly covered smiling lips with a calloused hand.

Oh, if he wasn't the most precious thing. Clerise didn't really know what guys were like at seventeen, but she had known them back in her sophomore year of high school before dropping out, and he was exactly like she remembered them to be: Thinking started with their dicks first, reasoning second.

Clerise gratefully swiped the juicebox from Dakota's hand, draining it with a single pull. "Listen. Darling."

{[ Darling?]}

"I was mostly raised by sword swallowers and strong men, and a guy that was obsessed with me and snakes in equal amounts, I really doubt your creepy can even compare."

It was a bit of a fib, but whatever. Eight years in the company of a fully functioning sideshow as the other half of her circus troupe's attractions. Either way, she continued on with a wave of her hand, tossing the empty juicebox aside.

"Training. What the ******** else is there to do, besides the obnoxious duties that get tossed your way?"

"You're adorable." She reached out to ruffle his hair, hoping he wouldn't flinch away. He was just precious and there was nothing he could do to stop her from thinking so.

"I absolutely did not," Clerise said, scolding-- "for the first three years." A laugh, brief and mirthful. "By the time I was 19 or 20, though, I thought I could handle him." And oh, how she did. How she did indeed-- but no need to sully the minds of a tiny thing like Dakota.

"I," Clerise said with a flourish and a bow, suddenly poised and full of showmanship. "joined the circus when I was sixteen, yes." Spinning Balthazar on his chain, she hummed a bit. "No worries, it's not dumb...as. Well. It's true. The Circus Vargas took me in, and until a few scant weeks ago, I had spent most of my adult life there."

She cleared her throat a bit, looking awkward for once. "Sorry, didn't mean to ramble at you, brat."

At the mention of the division leaders, Clerise just nodded. "Yeuup, but just my own, no one else's. Clarice seems right fabulous, though. What's the matter with Death, eh? Never seen that guy afore."

They weren't THAT different in height; in her heels, Clerise was a good 6'1", which made maneuvering around Dakota's height that much easier. The redhead merely waggled her eyebrows at the boy, lips curving upwards into an easy smile.

"A good girl never kisses and tells, does she now, hm?" Not that she was good or a girl at all, these days, but what was a little white lie between palsies? "Also, some other ladies don't take kindly to that question. It goes in the "do I look fat" category. The answer, however, is twenty four. Twenty five pretty soon, actually, now that I think about it."

"I was a trapeze artist, ********," Clerise said with a laugh, smacking Dakota on the arm, hard. "I used hoops, every now and again, but never as part of my own show."

A look of nostalgia crossed her face-- the only thing she missed in the world was flying. Without even looking at Dakota, she waved a hand in his direction. "Yes you are. That's fine, you can be a brat. Embrace it. I am a brat and I'm probably older than you, so."

She grinned Dakota's oblivious reaction to the division head. "Yeah, Clarice is my girl~ Never met that other guy tho. Whass wrong with him?"

Clerise just grinned, feral, at Dakota with a hand on her hip. "HAH. I can be, when I want to," she said with a shrug. "What, do you want the intimate ******** details about how it felt with his big, tattooed--"

She couldn't even finish her sentence without snickering. "I'll spare you. Really."

At the compliment paid to her, she rolled her eyes. "********, of course I'm not. Nor do I think twenty ********' four is that old-- but I'm just sayin' other girls might think different." She poked Dakota in the forehead. "Just because you're a teenager doesn't mean you can't fit in with the grown ups. Don't worry about it."

Oh, but then he asked about the circus some more. The dreamy look came back. "It's terrifying. It's why I keep my hair short-- get it caught in the bar as you fly....and you're dead. But...it's so ******** SATISFYING. I've done both, but mostly swinging across the bars--"

At the assertion from Dakota that he wasn't a brat. "You take everything too sensitively about your age, dude. Grown men can be brats. For instance, Caelius sounds like a ******** brat as well."

It was kind of cute, really, in that puppy dog way. He was trying so hard to be grown up-- but Clerise could respect that. Understand that.

"Listen. Take it from someone who also hung out with people in their mid twenties and thirties at your age-- the more you bring it up? The more people will remember. Just do your part, work your ******** a** off, and you'll be golden, capische?"

Clerise just grinned impishly back at the other trainee, hands in her pockets. "It was. From base to tip. Impressive. Terrifying, at first, but impressive." She mock whispered at him with a wink-- "And he was good!"

At the question about LOVE...

The redhead laughed so hard she doubled over, grasping Dakota's shoulder to brace herself. "Oh, honey. No. No, no, no, absolutely not." She straightened up, waving a hand, determining whether or not Dakota could handle the truth, but honestly, he'd done a pretty good job so far.

"No, my first love was a few years later. And it wasn't love, but loves. As in plural." She straightened up, her smile still plastered on her face. "Their names were Erik and Danica, a married couple. Yes, it was mutual."

She left it at that.

"Well worked, huh," the acrobat said with a grin, lifting her shirt to pat her near washboard abs. "You're not scrawny little thing yourself. Keep up your training and you'll bulk up nicely." Clerise clapped him on the back with a good amount of force.

"Ahh, well. Whatever, ******** that guy. Sounds like a doucher. I figure we're at a disadvantage, but...I'm going to make myself "

When Dakota talked about his age, his demeanor changed. "No one will fault you for it. I'm sure some bitches want their knight in shining armor." She cocked her head at the last part. "Oh? Do older women intimidate you? Or do you just want more young, impressionable flowers to prey upon?" Of course she wasn't serious, and winked to prove it.

"Oh, the CIRCUS. We did. Both troupes had the knife swallowers, only my first one had a bearded lady. Fire breathers, lion tamers, clowns-- of course, and the carnies with the games part of the show, and--"

He had really gotten her started.

Clerise just waggled her eyebrows at Dakota's wonderment regarding the tattooed man. And then hid a genuine smile behind a hand as he looked absolutely baffled by her polyamory.

She could explain the nuances at a later date.

"You'll grow out of eating everything under the sun soon enough. Another two years and your metabolism will even out a little bit."

Oh, and then Dakota talked about his type.

Sorry--Types.

"Oh be still my beating heart, baby boy," Clerise crooned, curling a finger at him. "And that's just a term of endearment, so don't get uppity on me." Finger wagging ensued, before poking him right back.

"Fire breathers," the acrobat crooned. "And fire spinning. Licking flames all across the ground, lighting up the dark tent--"

She stopped short, eying Dakota with wariness in her red eyes. "I don't remember. Young," is all she says, and leaves it at that. "And you?"