IT'S THE MOMENT YOU'VE WAITED FOR

“You all better be ready to go, people. I can’t stay back here and babysit you all night.”

A tall man with sandy hair and the facial scruff to match stands on a barrel, looking out over a small little ground of bustling people. They’re all dressed in flashy costumes, makeup done as needed, glittering away even back here beyond the full reach of the lights.

“Lunath!”

The self-proclaimed leader swings his cane to point down to a younger man standing beside the barrel, the only one not dressed to stand-out, dressed just as anyone his age on the street would, and probably should be dressed. He flinches a little at being called out, flinching back from the cane now mere inches from his face.

“Up to the catwalks! Get the spotlight ready for- Hey, Kvanne!”

As soon as he turns his attention to a different person, Lunath runs off to do as he’s told, happy to no longer be the center of someone’s attention. An older man looks over towards the barrel from across the back area, looking up from polishing the pristine brass buckles on his bright jacket, his dark top hat. His expression is less terrified and ready to work like Lunath’s, instead more calm yet annoyed, clearly used to this sort of behavior from the loud man swinging his cane around.

“I hope you’re ready, Ringmaster. You’re the start of the show. First act is Dolan- Speaking of Dolan, where is he-“

This leader is all over the place, already looking away from Kvanne to search for the next person of his attention. Along the way, his eyes sweep over a set of tall antlers then wander down to the person attached under them. A small woman in a gold sequin showy costume spin-off of an animal caretaker is whispering into a metal cage to a pair of large tigers who seem to be all about listening to her, both tilting their heads and purring like small kittens, rubbing up against the cage so her hand can run along their fur.

“Yvaine, do you have the little beasties ready for Dolan? I realize they’re part of his act, but you agreed to be their handler and, thus, his assistant so his prep work really all falls on you.”

The fawn whips around, back hitting up against the cage, literally looking like a deer in headlights over being called out, both tigers peering around her annoyed, large green eyes locked on the man who took her attention from them.

“Y-Yes! They’re ready! All set! But can we talk about some of Dolan’s methods for his act first-”

“Nope! That’s for you and him to discuss, not me.”

Just as before, he moves on, gray eyes ever sweeping across the chaos as people run to and fro, but there’s a lengthy pause this time, or lengthy for him at least.

He’s completely forgotten what he was doing before speaking with Yvaine, is mind finally out running him.

“Uh-“

“Dolan. You were looking for Dolan.”

A few feet away, a tall woman with flowing white hair in a bathing suit-cut tight uniform stands, stuffing a variety of items into her own top hat, items that have no right to be inside a hat and items that most definitely should not fit in a hat either. Her long rabbit ears flick with each wave of noise the gathering crowd in the main tent makes.

Satisfied with her impossible packing job, she flips the hat onto the top of her head, nothing falling out, somehow. Just off to her side stands a man with blue eyes and dark hair, the two of them an interesting, contrasting pair, but most definitely a pair with how close they stand to each other. Their bright, vivid eyes snap to the man as he now swings his cane to point in their direction.

“Trita, I sure hope you have that smokescreen ready so the transition to the act after you is smooth.”

“When isn’t it-“

“And Dolan, for the love of some form of deity any of us may or may not believe in, please get to your station on time. You’re first, everyone has to go off of you. No repeat of Reach Bay, please.”

With that comment, Trita and Dolan exchange a very knowing look and very suggestive smirks. There was most definitely a reason Dolan was late for that show, but, then again, so was Trita, yet neither seems bothered by that fact. Actually, the man trying to keep them in line seems to have given them an idea, a challenge.

Well, there’s too much to do to be too concerned with their coy little glances, so, speaking of smokescreen to roll over into the act after Trita’s…

“Luna! Where are you-“

Off in a corner, a little shadowed, he can see two forms stacked on top of each other in a way. Upon closer examination, he sees two people, a tall man about his own age with both his long arms extended up above his head, muscles tight and strained. Above him, he’s lifting a smaller person, a woman with her palms flat to his, their fingers intertwined, and her own arms straining just a bit to keep herself in a handstand braced and balanced midair over him. They’re watching each other’s face intently, whispering to each other with ridiculous smiles, neither seeming as focused as they should be considering how easily something could go wrong.

“Hey, lovebirds!”

Reluctantly, the two turn their heads to look at him, the other man pouting, the woman seeming a little more open and willing to listen.

“Luna, you ready? All the equipment stable and in check?”

“Shand and I checked it this morning, it’s good to go.”

As she speaks, she removes one of her hands from Shand’s, holding it out to her side, the two of them shifting weight to keep the balance on only one arm.

Now that she’s brought Shand up…

“Hey, Sandy, try to keep the blood to minimal today, got it? I know you can’t die and all, but you can’t expect Yvaine to patch up you nearly chopping a limb off. You either control the act better or learn how to stitch up yourself. Thank you.”

Until the sideshow, those are all the main acts and he’s done his bare minimal job checking in on all of them and making sure they’re ready. With a shrug of his shoulders, he pulls his pristine suit jacket up, straightening it, pressing it down properly, checking the watch on his wrist as he hops down from his own personal little stage. He taps his foot impatiently, watching the second-hand tick, counting down in his head.

The crowd grows quieter out in the arena area, other people having the same idea as he is, children and adults alike holding their breaths as the final moments just before the show come to a close. It’s nearly tense with how rigid everything feels now but, the moment a new hour starts on his clock, he grins wide, proud, pleased, eager. This is it.

“It’s showtime!”

With a shout, he turns on his heel, taking long struts to the curtain, flinging it open dramatically, a spotlight finding him almost immediately. Good timing, he’ll have to tell Lunath that the beat was nearly perfect, though they’ve all been doing this long enough that he would hope so.

Everyone erupts into cheers and applause, some even whistling as he makes his way to the center tent, waving, turning, twirling, definitely hamming it up, but how could he not? The lights are bright and hot, the colors are saturated and exaggerated, the props all around the rings ridiculous and flamboyant. The tent itself is over-sized but people managed to find a way to fill it, cramming into the rising seats, all eyes focused on him, all faced ready with anticipation, hearts beating wildly to finally see the show they’ve heard so much about, to see rumor become reality.

This is perfect. This is everything. This is showbiz.

His shoes kick up sand as he walks, dirtying his suit pants a bit, but he doesn’t care, he gets it up in a theatrical way, creates his own cloud to ride in on.

And once he’s at the center, all lights but the spotlight on him flick off, demanding attention as if he didn’t already have it all to begin with.

He waits. One beat, two beats, three… He lets the crowd fall completely silent on the edge of their seats, begging him to do or say something, air trapped in their lungs.

Every time he thinks he could get used to this but every time it’s a new rush, a new high. He’s just as excited as the people focusing on him.

“Ladies and gents, this is the moment you’ve waited for.”

There’s the vague sound of Lunath shuffling above that he’s sure only he can hear, the audience doesn’t seem to care.

Here they go.

With an abrupt snap, he turns his back and extends his arms out stretched by his sides and the lights all switch on, revealing the entire floor at once, colors and hues flashing all around, blurring reality, locking the outside world beyond the tent walls, creating a new captivating world inside with them. It’s a world made by their little family just for the pleasure of the audience, or that’s how he imagines it, introduces it.

Creation and world-building, feeding and shaping the imagination of one and all.

And it all starts with one final flick of his cane to the side, the curtains pulling back, Kvanne stepping out to run things from here, spotlight flying over to showcase Kvanne now, allowing the busy little leader to finally slip off into the darkness.

Kvanne ascends to the small stage in the middle of the arena, the centerpoint of the three rings he presides over. His rise is fluid, theatric, but elegant, refined, proper, everything that is a natural part of who he is, brought with him to his stage persona.

The crowd falls silent when he starts to speak. His booming voice and the sound of static, hushed anticipation the only things reverberating in the tent.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to the Fox family circus, full of thrills and chills and death-defying stunts that will leave you speechless and full of wonder. Is it magic? Manipulation? Blink and you might miss it."

The lights are dimming, brightening, colors are flashing and shadows grow and wane in response, all adding to the suspense. Back behind the curtain, off in the wings, Dolan watches for the cue, catches Yvaine's eye where she waits by the cages.

Shand and Luna are wrapping up their warms up in the corner, and they do this every night, all the time, but damn if Dolan's heart doesn't still stop whenever they're up on that platform.

"Hey, you drop her and-"

"You'll kill me, I know the drill, Pops. Thanks."

Shand barely flicks his eyes over at Dolan, putting far more concentration into holding Luna up with one arm, bending his elbow down slightly so, so slowly while Luna doing the same, until their faces are close enough that they can kiss.

Dolan makes a gagging noise, rolls his eyes for good measure like he's the kid between the three of them as Kvanne starts to introduce his act.

All these years of doing the show, and Dolan still couldn't tell you what his brother says to introduce him. He's sure there's some grandstanding, some kind of pun about both ends of the act beings beasts. But Dolan usually spends these last few moments not listing to Kvanne, but watching the tigers.

Their eyes follow his, bright green ones locked onto the bright blue, teeth bared not in savagery, but anticipation. Both parties growl at each other, smile wide, toothy grins. Then the audience starts to applaud, and Yvaine opens the cage door.

The far left ring is always theirs, right by where they wait in the wing. They've worked hard over the years to weed out props, keep the act minimal, focus on the awe.

The tigers come out roaring, each circling the ring from opposite directions, meeting back in the middle like they're working together to stalk Dolan.

He's still got the traditional beastie-taming chair. They've learned over the years that audiences expect it, for some reason just really want to see a chair in the ring. Dolan had fought that for a while, until he'd figured out how to use it to his liking.

He stands on the chair, watching the cats intensely, keeping his teeth bared, growling, with the tigers answering in kind. Once pounces, and the audience gasps when Dolan crouches on the chair and the tiger leaps at him, covers him with its huge body.

There's a few seconds' pause while the audience tries to figure out if they've just witnessed an accident, hanging in the balance between wonder and wonder broken.

Then Dolan stands, one cat balancing precariously, paws across his shoulders, while the other one slides underneath the four legs of the chair, raising it onto its back. The tiger on his back opens its mouth wide in a snarl, lets Dolan grab the fur around its neck for support as he pushes his head into the tiger's wide open mouth and applause erupts.

They go through the rest of their act, the standard tricks, the teasing and the toying, testing the audience between fear and delight. By the time the lights dim down, the place is roaring, but Dolan never has long to bask in it. Yvaine is beckoning the tigers to her, back to their enclosure, and Dolan is rushing for the quickest costume change he's ever had to do. It's worth it, though.

It's always the same joke. Something about now the rabbit is pulling the human out of the hat and it’s always the same confused laughter from the crowd. She can’t even begin to count all the times she’s tried to tell Kvanne to let the joke go, that no one gets it until she walks out from behind the curtain but, by then, it’s too late, the joke has passed.

Years later and no change so she’s probably not going to be able to change it now.

Oh well, the show must go on. The spotlight finds her and boy does Trita own it, giving little turns and flicks of her hips, quite literally showing off her assets, but not the ones people typically associate with the word. No, she’s giving the crowd a good show of her ears and tail, letting them all eye the bizarre features in wonder, enjoying how they whispers to each other, wonder if she’s just dressed like a rabbit or, if in fact, those features are real.

If Dolan’s domain is the left ring, the right is her kingdom and she walks over to it like she’s walking home, gracefully stepping and hopping over the various props scattered about. Once at the center, she rolls up her sleeves, shows the crowd there’s nothing in them, an old magician ritual, and then she takes it a step further, removing her gloves and hat to show they’re just as empty. As she puts her gloves on, she stops after only one of them, taking the other and flicking it out to the side, the flimsy fabric straightening and forming into something completely different, shifting into the classic magician’s wand right before everyone’s eyes.

If she didn’t have their attention before, she has it now. This leads her to a large wardrobe which she opens and shows the people is completely empty, even stepping inside to show them it’s sturdy and no way in or out. But now the acting begins and she hops out, shrugging to the crowd, slamming the doors shut and they giggle at the dramatic display over what is essentially an empty box. She points her wand at them to silence them before turning and kiss one door then the next.

Just as people begin to question, she flings the wardrobe open again and who is inside but Dolan himself in a completely different costume. The crowd roars as he kisses at both her ears to mirror her previous actions and then jumps down to join her in the circle.

Everything after that is smooth sailing. She throws knives at him and the crowd gasps, flinches, when she locks him in a box and saws it in half, but nothing gets their interest quite like when she puts him down on a table and removes it from under him, making him appear to be lying on a flat tablecloth… Until she snaps that out from under him too, showing that is lying on air, levitating.

Things only continue just as well from there and, by the time her act is coming to a close, they both step inside a small box, much too small for just one of them, let alone both of them. Dolan hunches down first, completely and impossibly disappearing out of sight, leaving her to wave at the crowd. Trita snaps the wand and it reverts back into a white glove, however this glove is filled with some sort of sand-like material.

After she shows it to the crowd, she strikes it down at the ground to release a wild puff of colorful smoke that covers her entire ring, drifting up and out to perfecting lead the eye up towards the top of the tent but still leaving enough time for Lunath to adjust the lights how he needs for the next act.

Backstage, a larger box pops open and Trita and Dolan both climb out of it together, stifling their laughter over something, but they both take note that Shand and Luna are gone meaning it’s one of the worst parts of the night.

To be honest, Shand and Luna both do the routines that cause the most anxiety. Separately, Shand does his potentially self-harming Houdini acts and Luna has her aerial routine between bars, hoops, and drapes. Together, they’re on the swings jumping back and forth to each other, all without a net.

Trita and Dolan rush over and peek out of the curtain to watch, just like they always do when those two are up next.

During Trita's act, while the audience is enthralled by what's happening on the floor, Shand and Luna both scurry up opposite ladders toward the very top of the tent, up to their own respective platforms where they crouch quietly, shoot each other excited, giddy little looks across the expanse, wait in silence, mouthing funny little things to each other.

This used to be when they'd work out the jitters. Sitting in the shadows of the highest part of the tent, right next to its vaulted top, he'd made faces at her, she'd posed and made kissy faces back at him. They don't really have any jitters to work out any more, but they still like to have fun, play around, act like it's any other practice or warm up.

Then the lights sweep up toward them in long, flashing streams and they stand. Kvanne starts calling out their act, his voice just as sweeping and grand as the lights. His verbiage used to feel more high-stakes before than it does now, too. Tempting death. Dizzying heights. No net.

It's all old hat now, even the lack of a net. It's the most comfortable thing in the world, like rolling over and hugging each other close in the night, or holding her above his head when they stretch.

Still, the crowd doesn't have the familiarity that they do. So when they drop onto their trapezes, get a few good swings going, hang off them at incredible angles, incredible feats of strength in their own rites, the crowd is already mesmerized, caught between uproarious applause and dazzled silence.

So when the show really starts, the air gets electric. They swing up enough velocity to meet in the middle and she swings right off her bar, wrists finding his grip and his wrists finding hers and the first collective gasp of the night goes up. It always makes Shand almost laugh, even in mid-air. They don't have a clue what's coming.

He's upside down, hanging, legs wrapped around the vertical supports like he was actually born a monkey while she makes the whole thing look like an incredible miracle of grace, flipping in his arms, twisting herself, spinning in midair before he pulls her up, contorts his body, spins around, runs through another series of stunts that make the audience stop breathing for a while.

It's what the routine was designed to do- stop all their hearts, make them think at any minute, any wrong move could be the end of them. And technically it could, but they could do this in their sleep by now.

Even with the lights flipping and moving, beams adding to the building drama of it all, their hands find each other, each hold is tight and true and they're the utmost picture of confidence, of trust.

He throws her through the air over and over, earning gasp after gasp as she bends her body perfectly, folds in on herself, climbs up his body and back onto the bar with an easy smile.

Truth be told, sometimes it's easy to forget anyone's watching them at all, the way she slides down to sit across his lap and he stretches his body over her, them sharing the same minuscule amount of space, making it all look easy, like the most intense, death-defying air dance any of them could imagine.

It's easy to forget how high up they are, too. It had been a long, drawn-out decision to forgo the net. Shand had argued that they didn't need it, that they knew what they were doing inside and out. Luna had been less sure, like most of the others, but in the end, losing the net was the thing that had set their act apart from all the competitors. And from there, it was easy to build the unique, beautiful spectacle they perform so well now.

He tosses her one more time and she free falls, catches herself on his ankles and he pulls her up back toward the bar where they stand together, bowing, listening to the deep, full roar of the crowd with smiles that end in deep kisses, only after Lunath has swung the spotlight away from them and Kvanne prepares to bring on the next act.

By the end of it, despite how easy they make it look, they're always heaving, breathing heavy from the exertion but also the adrenalin. It always makes the kisses at the end that much deeper when they part, her swinging back to the opposite trapeze and him descending down the ladder on his side, knowing that somewhere in this tent both Trita and his father are breathing again for the first time since the act started.

As Shand scurries backstage, Trita smacks his shoulder with the back of her hand playfully, mouthing a quick "Good job" to him before motioning him to stand beside her to watch Luna's solo. Shand smirks at her and she can't help but see an air of boyishness to it, boyishness that you wouldn't think would belong on the face of a man that just spent seven minutes straight risking his life and throwing around someone else's for a high-stakes show, but here he is.

Dolan seems a little less amused, only sparing a glance at Shand with an approving nod before his eyes flick back out to the arena where long cuts of flowing silk fly into the center ring and hang, stopping at least ten feet above the ground.

During the setup, Kvanne cracks some jokes about carelessness, of grace meeting death, strength tempting fate, taking a crack against Shand's shirtless form and all his tattoos, Yvaine joining him to create some entertainment by parading a hoard of different animals around to distract the audience from the fabric billowing outside the reach of the lights.

It's just enough time for Luna to catch her breath on her perch high up in the air, now alone. Her solo act is always a little different than her duet with Shand, something about the lack of him there to throw her and catch her, anchor her to the bar, makes it feel a little more somber in her mind. That doesn't mean it's bad, though. She wouldn't trade her role here at the show for anything.

So when Kvanne reintroduces her, calls her some sort of performing songbird, her heart picks up again. She braces her knee against her trapeze to test it like she always does and then drops down, waving back at the audience a few times while she works up the momentum to reach the silk. It always takes three good pumps of her legs and then she's there, reaching out to it, wrapping it around one wrist, pulling herself off the bar, then quickly getting her ankle situated before grabbing the other draping piece.

That alone gets the crowd silent, on the edge of their seats which is amusing considering it's the easiest part, then again they don't know that.

This entire part relies on her own strength and grace which is almost more frightening than relying on Shand's but she always manages. Luna wraps the fabric around her legs to angle herself parallel to the ground, spinning within the fabric, getting it to twirl around itself up at the top but the loose edges down at the bottom flare out into waves of sky blue to contrast her shining teal suit. They all watch in awe as she picks herself up just by the muscles in her legs to grab at the silk above them, separating it just enough to make sure each leg is secured by one separate piece, then she legs the fabric finally unwind the opposite way she spun before, throwing her into upside-down splits as soon as the two pieces are free from each other.

Swinging herself up, she continues mesmerizing them, letting the silk wrap and hug her body, cross over her curves like it's all part of the costume, and she's well aware that there's a soft sensuality to it, but that's part of what makes her routine so captivating. The glittering of the sequins on her costume catch the eye and let it trail around from one bright glitter to another as she climbs higher, flips around, trades off from one silk to the next.  

Every move strategically tangles her further in the fabric effortlessly, letting her spin and stretch, arms moving the fabric out like fluttering wings to add to Kvanne's comment about her being a graceful bird, even in the midst of her quick and suddenly throwing of her legs out, of the contorting and flipping of her body. The crowd is hook as they watch her move around the fabric quickly, dangerously high above the ground.

They must think she's crazy after watching her act with Shand and now this, no net in sight, no safety precaution to be seen, but she doesn't care, she just continues to cause them to gasp, clutch the hand of the person next to them as she throws herself around in wonderfully coordinated movements, building up to the best part of the entire routine and they don't even know.

The idea that something is coming starts to settle in as she climbs all the way to the very top of the silk, right up to wear the catwalk is, sparing Lunath a passing smile in between her focuses pulls of her arms to get her to just the right spot. If this was practice, he'd have water sitting up here for her to take a quick break, but this isn't practice, this is the real deal.

Luna spins the frabric up around her waist and shoulders, pulling almost the entire lengths of the silks up to her and around her, giving a dramatic pause before she pulls her legs from their anchors at the top and lets herself drop. Some person in the audience shrieks a little as she spins and twirls out in the fabric, locking her knees in it at the very last second to stop her momentum, to stop the fall, the fabric tensing and slightly bouncing at the sudden stop.

Her face is just barely over a foot away from the ground with her arms outstretched at her sides, showing off that her knees where literally the only two things that stopped her from meeting the hard ground in a less-than-favorable way and nothing else. Everyone goes wild cheering and, despite her chest heaving after two acts in a row, she smiles, taking Kvanne's hand when he offers it to her, flipping herself loose of the fabric entirely to stand beside him, give a little bow as he makes a comment, then quickly strut off to go back behind the side curtain where the others wait.

It's not her last routine of the night, nor is it anyone else's, really, but the most dangerous part of it all is coming to a close.

When Luna's feet finally touch the ground and her hand is in Kvanne's, Shand feels like he imagines Trita and Dolan must when his and Luna's act is over. Like he can finally breathe again. It's always a double-edged sword for him, watching her twirl endlessly in fabric, stretch her body this way and that, flip over and over and pick up speed.

She's stunning. Every inch of what she does and who she is, arrests him. But there's always this knot in the back of his throat that reminds him that these are high stakes they're gambling with here. Thankfully Luna is damn good at what she does, and he's ridiculously proud of her.

Not so much of all the men in the audience that openly gawk, some that even catcall, while she's in the middle of her routine. The ones that are there for the tight and clinging fabric, how she undulates her body between the silk.

No one gets punched tonight, so that makes it a good night in Shand's book. Matter of fact, once it's over and Shand's shoulders loosen up a little, after he lets the tension of watching fade, Trita pats him on top of the head a couple of times, like a treat for behaving well. It's not every night that he does.

When she finally makes it back, it's like neither she nor Shand thinks anything else in the world exists, and Trita and Dolan step out of the way with a bit of eye rolling so the two can reassume their natural positions all up in each others' space.

She is almost immediately in his arms, legs wrapped around his middle, arms around his neck, so they can kiss, let the tips of their noses brush against each other, press their faces into each other's necks with a bit of shaky relief.

"You really gotta find a new outfit to do that in."

Shand whispers against her neck, a little bit of a laugh in his voice that tries to disguise the fact that he's totally serious.

Luna playfully bats at the back of his head as Kvanne starts to announce Aoife and her tightrope routine. She makes a show of it, letting her elegant theatrics and precision bring a hush over the crowd.

The awe to this act lies in a fact most of the audience wouldn't have believed even if Kvanne had announced it, so with the spotlight on her, Aoife makes a show of wrapping a blindfold around her head to make the audience aware that, in more ways than one, she's flying blind.

While she sets out across the tightrope, arms leveled with no tension, only a fluid sort of determination, Shand plops down onto one of the ragged old sofas they keep in the wing with them. Luna stays straddled across his lap, and opts to keep her hands in his hair too, playing with it and tousling it, running her fingers through it every which way.

He should probably be changing now, but they both know he has a few minutes, and it's not like his outfit from their combined act is much to change out of. He's been vocal enough about it in the past that no one could look over that fact now.

While she plays softly with his hair, he kisses along her shoulder, lips brushing the sheer, shiny mesh, just open enough for her to still feel his breath on her skin as he goes.

This is their life, moving from one extreme, from theatrics in front of hundreds, to another, quiet moments pressed together when nothing else exists but the two of them. One extreme fuels the other, really. These moments alone are what they think about, focus on when they're out there. It makes it easy to get to the last stunt, the closing moment, when they know they're coming back together to this.

Outside, they can see the light start to swing, and that's Shand's cue that he's about to be on for the locked tank stunt.

Luna's reluctant to move, but she slowly slides off him so he can change, which he tries to do quickly, without thinking about it much. Most of the more overtly dangerous, stunt-like acts in the show are his. He'd figured it was a good fit, with not being able to die and all. But somehow that still doesn't do much to satisfy Luna.

By the time he gets back, she's changed into her outfit also and the two wait in the wing together right by the curtain, holding hands, for Kvanne to call them out again.

This, in all honesty, is probably her least favorite part of the show. Oh, she loves watching Aoife and how graceful the other woman is, that's not the problem. The problem is when she changes into her frillier assistant outfit to help Shand with his solo routine. It's actually just her usual costume with added flowing pieces of fabric around her hips, some billowing sleeves, and a different headpiece but it manages to change the overall feel of her look while keeping some defining aspects like the color, cut, and where the sheer areas fall.

Yes, she knows he can't die, but she still hates it, hates that he's putting himself through discomfort and pain and living through temporary deaths over and over. Not every practice goes smoothly and sometimes they really do lose him for a moment. Of course, he pops back up like nothing happened, it's the nature of his life and being, but even the split seconds of him being gone like that is haunting enough.

There's no talking him out of this, though. Heaven knows she's tried more times than she can even begin to count, but he always dismisses her. Not rudely, she can't remember a single moment he's ever been short with her specifically, but in the way he always does that lessens the real physical harm hes' actually going through.

And maybe this is all why she volunteered to be his assistant in the first place. If anyone is going to stand beside him, especially during the tank escape, as his safety net, his line of rescue, it's damn well going to be her, she'll act faster than even Dolan could to save Shand.

There is one perk to this routine: They can walk out hand-in-hand and no one questions it because they've already seen the two of them and their aerial duet and now she's his assistant so it just seems to make sense at this point in the show. They make it to the right ring where all of Trita's magic equipment is but now a large tank with a platform surrounding it is displayed proudly for the pair to march up onto.

Shand makes quick work of showcasing the tank, tapping on it, sticking his hand into it, showing the audience exactly what it is in case they couldn't tell, then holding up the large metal chains and leather straps. Then he motions to Luna and hands them all off to her.

They really are a dramatic couple, meant for the stage, how she takes long purposefully strides around him, stretching out her legs, showing them off, for the audience, yes, but also to tease him, just like she always does. Locking him and binding him takes a few moments but thankfully not too long, minus the pause she gives at the last lock by his chest. She always gives this and, though it looks like theatrics from the crowd's perspective, she takes it to look up into his eyes with a worried frown, silently begging him to make it out like he's always done before.

The first few times she had done this, he tried not to look at her face, distracted and embarrassed by how intently she stares at him, but now he meets her blue eyes with his hazel ones proudly, offering her the smallest of confident comforting smiles, letting her see in his eyes that he would lean down and kiss her if they had the moment to spare. It assures her to an extent, just enough for her to turn around with a showbiz smile, stepping to the side and motioning for people to examine him as she pulls on the bindings to show he's secure.

Despite all his grace up in the air, he's the smallest bit clumsy down on the ground so she always assists him in climbing the short steps up to the opening of the tank, reaching her hand in to splash water up onto him playfully.

He, of course, pays her back by jumping right in, sloshing water up out and nearly onto her as she steps back, motioning her hands and arms towards his form in the tank to direct everyone to focus on him. This is also the one time the silence of the audience feels heavy to her, tears at her right down to her soul. She knows it's because they're all on pins and needles watching him, they don't know he can't die, but something about it resonates so strongly with her.

Whether Shand knows it or not, Luna has become a professional at appearing to be looking down directly at him while he's in the tank but she's always looking just off to the side so she doesn't directly see him struggle. She can still see enough to see if something is wrong, but the few times she's caught sight of the panic on his face right before a quick death has torn her up inside more than she'll ever lead on.

With a firm kick of her heel, the lid is on the tank and Shand can begin his own solo.

Its impossible for him to explain to anyone else how peaceful it is in that tank, under the water, where all the noise gets muted, sounds like it’s happening at the other end of a tunnel far from him. It puts him in his own little world where things are simple, where the objective and the consequences are clear cut.

The way the light shines at and into the tank, there’s not much seeing out of it, either. Everything reflects and retracts strangely so that anytime he tries to look out of the glass from the inside, the world is bent strangely, distorted. The crowd ceases to exist.

He’d practiced the escape part of this act out of water, safe on dry land, for weeks before they’d ever even let him try it out in the tank. Its another difficult thing to try to explain, how being in the water or high up in the air is just more natural to him. If he’d tried to explain it, he knew Luna wouldn’t have it anyway. She’s had to watch him die in that tank more times than out of it, so he can’t fault her for that.

But he’s not going to die tonight. It never spoils the act because its a quick transition, seamless for anyone watching and not looking for it. The hardest part is always the coming back, the panic of the situation, trying to get his head clear enough right away to try again and not go a second time.

That being said, the act is half escaping and half breath holding. He’s got a good minute and a half before he ever starts to concede that things aren’t going well, and tonight he’s got his wrists flipped and contorted and free well before the halfway mark, making the rest of the process easy.

Everything is slower underwater, the way his hair pulls across his face in the water when he moves, the way his muscles tense and strain as he wriggles out of the other restraints.

When he’s free, the last effort, one of the biggest efforts, is pushing hard off the bottom of the tank, hard enough to flip the latch and push the lid open. Usually by the end of this thing, it’s the last bit of energy he has. Tonight is no different, but as the restraints float slowly to the bottom of the container, he pushes off, but something snags his foot, one of the chains hooks around his heel.

Dammit.

He’d meant to switch it out for one with smaller links, but it had slipped his mind earlier in the day. Streams of bubbles start to rise from him, but he’s determined not to panic. He keeps repeating to himself what he always does. Come on Shand, what’s the worst that could happen?

The worst that could happen is probably the undue worry held causing Luna right now, so he bends down, fights the buyouncy of his body, and pulls the chain free, discards it, and pushes off again, this time grunting with the force of it, with the spending of energy he doesn’t really have left to give.

When he bursts through the top, he gasps dramatically, usually an element he adds in whether he has to breathe that badly or not, for the sake of the show. Tonight it’s real, and the way that Luna looks over at him as they throw their arms up together, put on their theatrical smiles, says she knows it, too.

Nonetheless, Shand climbs out of the tank, lets Luna wrap the large towel around him and muss a little of the water out of his hair under it for a sweet, tension-relieving moment as they take their bows and head back to the wing.

Their walk back to the wing is calm and professional, the illusion of control and grace, an illusion that ends as soon as they’re safely behind the curtain. Luna grabs the edge of the towel and pulls him by it, nearly throwing him down onto the old couch they call their home, snatching up an extra towel she has the foresight to layout just for this moment. After years of the act, it makes sense.

First, she works on towel-drying his hair, roughly rubbing his head down, getting out some of her tension and frustration with how the act almost went, not even trying to hide the slight tone of revenge behind her actions and, from the way he laughs, he knows it. Good.

“I really wish you’d put in some fail-safe hatch in the tank in case something goes wrong.”

He huffs at the suggestion so she works over his hair with even more force as punishment, not about to have the sass when she’s right and everyone knows it. But the frustration can’t and doesn’t last forever, she’s quickly climbing up to sit on the arm of the couch, pulling Shand between her legs so his head is resting against her chest, the thin costume and even thinner mesh parts unable to dull her fiery skin from his cheek.

“I’m being serious.”

As she whispers to him, she begins to run her fingers through his hair to comb through the knots she made. They do this every night and, while it probably looks like an unnecessary show of affection, which one could argue it is, it also actually serves as a way to dry Shand and his hair faster before their final performance, the unnatural heat of her body working at the tips of his locks in seconds.

Not that it really matters all that much, their last act being a flashy show of fire and lightning, he’s probably dry in an instant out there, but they always use the excuse that he needs to look “professional” to let the others pass by their huddled position without a second glance.

Trita and Dolan watch from the curtain, whispering to each other about the two tangled up around each other on the couch, both having gone through another round of costume changes themselves. She’s opted for something very showy and flashy, something that always gets Dolan’s eyes openly roaming over her because there’s… There’s a lot to look at. The plunged cut of the neck, the high cut around the thighs, he has a bit to take in and she likes it, likes to catch him looking, throw him a wink.

Much to her own satisfaction, Dolan’s shirt plunges too but this is the round of costumes he had decided he didn’t want to glitter and shine, the fabric dark and mostly matte with a bit of a sheen, just enough to catch someone’s eye. Though most of the family had argued against this choice, Trita distinctly remembers not saying a thing against it, but that’s mostly to do with the fact she managed to have her way on his magician’s assistant costume and that one has the man glowing and showing off. So, keeping her mouth shut on this matter was the least she could do.

No matter what the family had said about their choice in costumes for this act, the two are a sight to see as they step out, Dolan in his mostly black outfit and Trita in her pinkish-white attire, making their way back to the left side of the area, into Dolan’s ring which now has two tables set up a bit of a distance from each other with a variety of dangerous looking objects on it. The two are almost too smiley in comparison to the sharp weapons that are methodically place on the tables each of them take their stations by. The glint of the metal is nearly blinding.

As always, Dolan starts, picking up three knives by their handles, tossing them in wide arches above his head, catching one just in time to throw another and so on, Trita standing by with her hands on her hips, just waiting. Nothing quite gets the audience like the first trade off, when Dolan tosses each blade at Trita, but she has no problem catching all three of them and working them up into a juggle over her own head.

It’s the same old questions wherever they go: What happens if you miss one? What happens if it doesn’t turn how you want and you grab the blade, not the handle? Better yet, as they start up their own juggles separately then begin to toss objects back and forth between them for a joint juggling performance: What happens if you throw it wrong and it hits your partner?

They’re probably all valid concerns but not ones that the two of them ever think too much about, they just focus on their part, get everything they’re doing right, then the rest follows. They don’t have to worry about the other standing across from them, they know that everything is under control, it always is. Dolan is precise and Trita is controlled, they never miss, never slip, never even have to look at each other for a signal to move on to the next level, the trust so extreme that it’s almost like they are communicating to each other every move they’re making but it’s all, somehow, telepathically. It doesn’t seem real, like they’re extensions of the each other.

So when the dynamite and torches become part of the mix, the entire feeling of the show does because, now, the audience is at risk and has to rely on this bizarre unexplainable trust, especially when the two of them start side-stepping towards the crowd, bringing the threat closer as Dolan works the fire above his head and Trita works the explosives, only ever beginning to toss them back and forth to each other and mix the two objects when they’re dangerously close to the front row of people. Both of them are openly smirking in amusement as the people nearest them shift in their seats, scream and shriek, gasp and go rigid, especially when the two of them start throwing in some flashy twirls between tosses, flicking their wrists to set the objects spiraling wildly to the other, making everything seem even more high-risk and like they’re not taking the act seriously enough considering what they’re throwing around to each other.

For good measure, Trita even takes it a step further and, while still juggling, begins to step up into the seats with the crowd, not wanting anyone beyond the front row to feel left out even though they probably wish they were. The new angle, how Dolan has to throw up at her, how she has to lean a bit to catch now, how he leads her by tossing a little out to the side so she has to walk along the upper seats and move across everything and everyone, keeping balance while remembering to keep her arms working with the dangerous materials as some people even laughing or crying out of amused fear now.

A little audience participation doesn’t have to hurt anyone, though it most definitely can, and that’s the thrill of it all.

After gleefully terrifying the audience for the prescribed amount of time, Dolan and Trita slowly retreat back to the ring, redistribute the wide array of weapons they juggle until they're no longer passing back and forth, each just spinning a wide oval of deadly items over their own heads.

They're in perfect unison, and it's mesmerizing to watch the items flip and fall in perfect time. They're still in sync when, to end the act, they step back and let each item fall, perfectly, in the sand in front of them. Dolan's knives sink into the sand in a perfect straight row, blades down, and Trita's torches fall flame-side down into the ground, hissing and smoking as they go out, emitting a sheet of smoke they can both disappear behind as the crowd finally releases all their pent up tension in wild applause.

Back in the wing behind the curtain, Luna is patting Shand's hair back into place after their final costume change, fussing over each strand to make sure it's back in the right spot after drying it. He seems much less concerned, pulling her away from that task, her face between both his hands as he kisses her.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we hope we've thrilled you tonight, given you a glimpse into our mystifying, death-defying dream world where anything is possible, where your eyes may very well deceive you. If you will direct your attention to our front and center ring, we'd like to leave you with one more act that will make you question nature and science itself. You've been a lovely audience, and we thank you for joining us tonight."

Kvanne sweeps his arm up across the arena, the spotlight following his gesture, to Shand and Luna who are already waiting in the center of the ring.

Luna holds up the long javelin like instrument, each side bundled to act as a torch. She waves it around with flair, showing the audience how bare it is, tapping Shand with it flirtatiously a few times before bringing it back to center, swiping one head across her palm, not even slowing before spinning it in a wide arc so she can do the same for the other end of the torch.

Both light up immediately on contact with her palms, and she spends a few moments twirling it around like a baton, the fire trailing and crackling and sparking, earning some gasps and applause already.

Shand stands back, waiting, cracking his knuckles once with a flashy grin for show, until Luna vaults over to him, fire baton still swirling, launching herself with a backflip into the air high enough that she lands feet-first onto his shoulders, fire still lit and twirling in her hand held high above her head.

Shand's arms are held out from his sides, looking upwards toward Luna as she angles the torch down toward his head, just close enough that some of the members of the audience start to cover their mouths, watch with ever-widening stares.

She smiles down at him sweetly, holding one hand out like she's about to blow a kiss, and then blowing directly down the torch, a burst of fire spreading from top to bottom and then leaping directly into his open mouth.

There are screams nervous laughter but Shand closes his mouth immediately, letting smoke curl up out of his nostrils for a few seconds before he opens his mouth again wide enough to show the flames dancing on his tongue, licking up higher.

Applause fills the tent as he balances her on his shoulders, as she twirls the double-ended torch, completing a series of stunts that make the fire they blow back and forth between the two of them look like some sort ball in an effortless game of catch. He blows it back up her torch and the top end of it explodes into a higher flame, which she twirls around, blows out completely before tapping the torch to her other shoulder, reigniting it by contact with her skin.

She lowers the torch directly into Shand's mouth, lets it rest on his tongue, and he balances the flames from his mouth, the torch burning high at one end and in his mouth at the other. When he closes his mouth around it, and Luna pulls the torch away, the fire is gone, put out, until Shand opens his mouth again and blows a stream of it up into the air at the perfect spot for Luna to toss the torch, let it reignite, and then catch it with a theatric flourish.

They keep up the game of putting out and reigniting until the rest of the crew can remove all the other props, well out of the spotlight that rests on the two of them. When that's through, Luna gets the nod from Lunath up on the catwalk, and she steps down off Shand's shoulder, using his bent knee as a sort of ladder, then back to the ground beside him before extinguishing both ends of the torch with her palms.

The crowds is going wild, clapping and yelling and whistling as the lights go down completely, leaving the tent a deep black except for the last of the embers smothering in the sand at Shand and Luna's feet.

It stays dark for a few long seconds, long enough for the applause to die and the curiosity, the slight trace of fear, to return to the atmosphere.

The first thing that flickers at the very height of the tent are flashes of lightning, sparks of electricity jumping across the poles, the lines that connect them, starting small but growing, bursting with pale blue light that starts to hit the ground behind Shand and Luna, lighting them up in a dramatic silhouette like a strobe light.

Their own act is a hard act to follow and she always gets butterflies at this point no matter how many times they do this and, every time, she has to remind herself that she’s only solo for a short moment, that they’re back together in the routine not long after she begins.

As the electricity cracks behind them, she slips out of sight during the strobing, hiding completely behind Shand using his height to shield her from view, walking with him as he takes a few steps to the side to perfectly align himself at the dead-center of the main ring. As soon as their leading feet hit, she throws out her arms, fire bursting forth immediately, whipping up into wing like shapes behind him like a phoenix, some flames flicking around him. He gives a little turn to show off the display, the fire completely consuming Luna so she can’t be seen, so the flames look like they are actually coming from his back.

People gasp in awe but freeze immediately when he bravely reaches into the hot fire of one of the wings, grabbing hold of something within, something that gives him enough grip to fling the fire out to the side. The wings readjust and take shape into a whole giant bird-like form, like a creature right out of mythology, and he leads it by a flaming wing around the ring, showing people the magnificent beast.

Luna is gone, nowhere to be seen but it seems as if people have all but forgotten her as the bird flies over them, never knowing that she’s actually the flames that reach out towards them and warm their faces. After walking it around, Shand lets it go, the phoenix freely flying all around him specifically, lighting up the outer edge of the ring by tipping its wing down into the sand and drawing a circle to cast a warm glow over him as sparks begin to form closer to him, from him, the fire lighting him from all angles so the people can see how the blue glows out from his veins.

Just when the creature makes its third lap, Shand whistles like he’s calling for it, the bird responding instantly, swooping back to him so he can press his hand to the back of it, send out little shocks and bolts through its wisping flames, crackling out to the tips of its wings and tail, elongated its already elegant features with blue electric decorations and jewelry. He points up and it follows the direction, flapping its wings with a warm wave of air, racing towards the top of the tent, twirling in on itself, looking more like a flaming orb for a split moment until it abruptly lashes its wings back out, posing up at the top, lighting up the entire tent, every corner, every face.

The crowd is silent, dumbfounded, lost in wonder. That’s when Shand’s fist is completely consumed by the blue coursing through his veins, that’s when he winds his arm back and throws it upward, a large bolt of lightning shooting forth at the bird, colliding right into the mass of it, forcing the flames to shoot out in all directions with colorful pops of what can best be described as firework sounds and patterns all across the tent.

Any flame that tries to escape gets caught in a chain of electric charge that spreads across the top of the tent, forcing every bit of the fire to erupt into a showy flash of glittering display that easily reflects in every wide eye that sweeps across the scene attempting to take it all in. It’s impossible to do, but the crowd tries, heads turning this way and that to catch every new burst over the arena.

In the midst of it, a large comet comes fluttering down, slow enough for Shand to position himself under it, let it fall on his shoulder.

The moment it makes contact with his body, it shakes, gracefully lengthening itself, forming up and down in a white ghostly flame in the shape of a woman. As soon as the being’s blue eyes open, the white fire gracefully falls over Shand, down to the ground in a ripple, dancing out across the ground until it slowly disappears on its own, leaving Luna sitting on his shoulder where the spirit had been.

They don't linger in the lights, in the aftermath of the crackling fireworks for very long. The light go pitch black, just enough time for them to slip behind the curtain again, before going up just enough to show the empty rings, the empty platform, the show over.

It's orchestrated to be jarring, to leave the audience with no luxury of time to question, to piece together what they're seeing. It heightens the awestruck feeling of having witnessed a miracle, a supernatural force, the intense feeling of doubting one's own sight, the deep thumping of their hearts in their chest as the looping and twisting and speeding ride comes to an abrupt and jolting end.

It's a little too arrogant, a little too much to assume that the show will be life changing. But they've planned it, down to the very detail, to try and make it that way at least for a little while. To make them all question, chew on that sense of childlike wonder and frustration of not being able to figure any of it out, as they start to file out of the main tent.

If this last portion of the night has been the adrenalin high, the part that comes next is the after party.

They hadn't had a sideshow originally, when the show had been first formed. It was enough to try and keep up with all of their weird acts, their fresh interpretations of them, and trying to make sure it was all done professionally and safely.

But then in time, Lance had seen the opportunity for something more, as he usually does. That wonder, that awe- the way the audience members filter out of the main tent so reluctantly, eyes dripping back to the center ring, wondering if it had all actually been a dream, if such things could actually exist in real life-

Why not charge the extra curious extra to see the dream up close? From the day they'd started it, the sideshow had become almost even more popular than the show itself. Sometimes kids who couldn't afford to pay for either would slip in undetected just to beg for an autograph, to get a chance to tell their heroes how much they mean to them.

The experience is an emotionally-charged one for many reasons. The sideshow is up close, personal, intimate, with nothing but a rope barrier an a few inches' elevation to separate the performers from the line of viewers. There's almost a demand for interaction, for showing off, but at the same time, it's humbling. Of all things, that the sideshow would be where they feel most like gods. But then again, there are always the troublemakers.

But there are those to begin with.

Back behind the curtain, while the din of the exiting crowd fills the background, the whole cast in changing, preparing for the sideshow, while everyone else starts the clean up process. Shand had changed more quickly than usual, is long gone, waiting outside in the empty lot beside the gently swaying tents to watch some of the guests leaving.

Trita had made sure he came and stood by her during Luna's routine for a reason. It's so much harder to single out the men who make disgusting comments, who whistle and jeer at her when she's up in her silks, but Shand is nothing if not adaptable.

There are some raucous laughs off to the side as a small group of young men leave the tent, snickering to each other, making gestures that betray their immaturity.

"I have half a mind to stay for that sideshow, man. The things I'd do to that ass. I just wanna bite it."

The rest of the guys laugh and agree and start down on other rabbit trails entirely, and Shand watches, chewing on the inside of his mouth, hands stuffed into pockets, until they're close enough to pass him.

"You want to bite her ass, huh?"

There's a flat, unamused tone to his voice that hides the real challenge there, the warning.

The group turns to him, and the kid who'd spoken sneers right in Shand's face.

"Yeah, and who's gonna stop me, ballerina boy?"

Despite how much Shand enjoys all the creative comments from people who clearly don't understand the nature of their acts at all, he's tired and the sideshow starts in a few minutes. He doesn't have time to get technical.

So he rolls his eyes, lets out a quick chuckle before he slams his forehead down into the kid's face with most of the force of his upper body. The guy goes down instantly, blood pouring from somewhere on his face, although its hard to tell because his hands cover it immediately.

Normally, Shand would feel a little bad for picking on someone so much shorter than him. But sometimes karma can turn a blind eye to height.

"Why don't you just get up and bite me, tough guy. You'd be surprised how much of an ass I can be when someone gives me good reason."

The kid doesn't get up, just rolls a little in the gravel before pushing himself up at least to his knees while his friends shrink back a little, eyes darting from Shand to their friend on the ground, before a few move to help pull him up.

"Well, then again, maybe you wouldn't be all that surprised. If you want to find out, I'm game."

It's always a bit of a shock how serious, how threatening and intimidating Shand can be when he wants to. That the same guy who grins like a little boy and trips over himself and melts into a marshmallow puddle every time Luna touches him is the same one who looks like he would eat this group of guys whole in a moment if they gave him an opportunity.

It's a staring contest for a few seconds as the offender pushes his friends away, trying to stand on his own, and for a moment it looks like he actually wants to fight, which brings a bit of an amused smile back to Shand's lips.

Before the kid can act on anything, a bright blue shock of electricity jumps up from the ground, writhes up unto this kid's leg and sends him screaming, which terrifies the whole group enough that they're suddenly fleeing.

It takes a lot of self control for Shand to not laugh, so he just presses his lips together and keeps his head down as he makes his way toward the sideshow tent, feels along the edge until he finds the well-hidden seam, and ducks his long frame into it.

Immediately, the world is different. The lights are low and red-tinted, fog curls around everything like it's the middle of the night in some sort of fever dream. He stands to full height again right next to Luna, and clearly it's not the first time he's used his secret entrance.

From the other corner of the room, Dolan frowns disapprovingly at him. Well, Shand can't really see his father's expression, but he knows automatically what it is just from practice. All he can see is Dolan and Trita's eyes from this distance, glowing in the deep red light.

He turns back to Luna and grins as she frowns, reaches up to brush something off his face.

"What, did I make a mess?"

“No more so than usual, I guess.”

Luna wipes her thumb across his forehead, pulling it back to examine the red glisten on her skin now, sighing out of her nose at the fact that she can’t tell if it’s Shand’s or someone else’s.

Which would be worse? Shand can handle his own, she should really feel more pity for whoever was so unfortunate enough to grab his attention, but it’s always more of a feeling of dread for Shand than anyone. It may seem selfish of her to say, but she doesn’t really care who Shand decides needs a swift beating for the sake of other people, just for him. Like with the tank routine, she knows he can’t die, but he can still very well feel everything.

That moment of panic she saw earlier tonight says just as much and she doesn’t want that for him, she’s never been alright with him in the way of danger and she never will, all his arguments and excuses be damned.

“I don’t understand why you can’t let what they say go. I can’t even tell who says what when I’m up there and the comments are about me. Do I like them? No, of course not, but they’re just comments, right? Just words.”

She lets her hand slip to cup his cheek and she can feel a small little crowd begin to form to watch the growing display of affection. It always happens, it’s a lot of the reason people pay to come see everyone. Pay to see your hero if you’re more innocent minded, pay for a steamy show if you’re not so ashamed. It doesn’t matter, everyone is welcome. That’s how Lance had described it.

For as interesting of a person as he is, no one can ever doubt that Lance has done almost more for this show than anyone and he’s the reason it’s turned such a profit in a relatively short time. All his connections were useful, sure, but it’s really more about how his mind is always turning, he’s always planning, grinning to himself every day as a new idea comes to mind.

His pick-pocketing during shows helps, too.

At first, Luna had been strictly against the idea of a sideshow in the sense of what kind of “show” Lance had proposed a few weeks into its initiation, but, over time, the idea of being so openly close with Shand had grown on her faster than she’d care to admit. What helps is when she has a particular reason to be this close, like tonight with how she’s worried over him. It always makes things appear more natural.
Not to say the moments they randomly decide they have to be feeling each other up aren’t natural, they’re as common as any other, but, for curious eyes, the soft gradual build up pulls at curiosity more. It’s almost as if they’re watching a play or an opera right in the front row seats.

Across the tent, the glowing red eyes flick off of them, temporarily disappearing into the shadow before they reappear, looking at the blue set beside them. When Trita opens her eyes, she’s smirking at Dolan, patting his shoulder, trying to distract him.

“Calm down, you’ll ruin our corner of the tent scowling like that and I really don’t want to hear it from Lance later. Shand is fine and that’s all that matters for the moment.”

He reluctantly looks away, turning his frown down to her, obviously upset she’s so willing to brush off his son’s actions. It’s a common discussion, actually. Dolan seems to think she doesn’t take Shand seriously, treats all his serious offenses like he’s no more than a small boy running around the yard with a stick after being told not to.

Her counter argument: Dolan is more prone to respond emotionally whereas Trita can remain composed. It doesn’t mean she isn’t thinking some of what he is about any given issue, but it means she can refrain from reacting immediately as opposed to Dolan who will rush out the first second something happens. And she loves that about him, she loves that he can just pick himself up and go, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t overthink something to death like she does, like every move is a tournament of chess, but, at the same time, there needs to be some brakes to it.

Especially involving Shand and even more so concerning Shand with Luna. To be honest, Trita hadn’t expected Dolan to take such a fondness to Luna, had expected him to be a little more protective of his son in the two’s relationship, but no one, other than Shand, is quicker to run to the fire bird’s defense than Dolan. At one point, Trita had jokingly called him “Dadlan” and, while he didn’t seem to appreciate it, she still thinks it in the back of her mind and he can’t deny that he acts fatherly towards the girl.

Maybe a little too much so considering Trita had to throw a pillow halfway across a room right in his face as he decided, randomly, one sunny afternoon was a good time to have the birds and the bees talk with her. As if the girl hadn’t already had some scamp’s hand prints and trailing mouth all over her way before. Dolan had been a little late on the draw with that one.

“Don’t look at me like that. This is our favorite time of the night and I really don’t want to have to beat a smile into you.”

But the smirk on Trita’s face says the exact opposite and she is very interested in doing just that, not even trying to hide from him how she licks slowly at her lips or how her eyes flick across his outline in the shadows they’re tucked into. Not that she could even if she wanted to, the strategically placed lights above them only highlight how her eyes roam.

"Yeah, just words."

Even with her hands cupping his face and her eyes staring intently into his, her up on tippy toes to get close to him, his eyes still flick sideways, watching the growing crowd.

He's never been traditionally uncomfortable with being watched, stared at, gawked over. He's understood from a very young age that the nature of his being, who and what he is, makes him a spectacle. The circus had just been a natural fit as far as channeling that into something less oppressive, more affirming.

But then again, it had probably pushed him into some overcompensation, too. In light of eternity, where everything becomes small and meaningless in the context of forever, the best thing left to cling to is the drama of the moment, sensationalism, shock. Trying conversely to fit the scope of eternity into a moment.

Nobody sees that underlying motive when they file into the sideshow and stare openly, mouths hidden by hands, at all of the tattoo covered skin, the piercings, where their hands fall on the other's body.

Obviously, the majority of sideshow viewers come not for the purest of reasons. The sideshow makes most of its money off the basis of its subjects willingness to objectify themselves. Clearly, the figures behind the rope don't mind, using it as their opportunity to extend their own acts in just a more sensual way.

But the natural consequence of that is the comments, and often even more, that follow them from the main tent to this small one. And even though Luna gives him a similar pep talk every night, Shand can't help but let his jealousy get the best of him.

Although, he's already drawn blood tonight, so maybe he'll be able to tone it back the rest of the time.

The crowd is just about at capacity, and Luna is gearing up to give a little bit of a show. She'll usually whip some fire up and he'll chime in with his lightning, giving small pieces of an up close and personal, casual version of their finale act.

But there are some men near the back of the crowd smirking, eyes roaming up and down, and even from this bit of distance, Shand would have to be an idiot not to know what they're looking at.

So he pulls Luna back close into his space, her body pushing up against his, until she's looking up at him, head tilted back just enough for him to lean in and kiss her, forming this dramatic silhouette in the red light that elicits a few squeals from the more romantic of the sideshow goers.

Dolan and Trita have never been slackers when it comes to the touchy feely part of this show, but it still makes Dolan roll his eyes and murmur a bit under his breath at Shand's reaction to any and all of Luna's admirers.

They're young and hell are they in love, but he also knows they tick differently as a couple, much differently than he and Trita do.

It's a strange distinction because one might automatically assume Dolan and Trita have been in love long enough to be comfortable, to have a level of trust that prevents them from too much jealousy. But between Shand and Luna, it's different than that altogether. The best way Dolan knows how to understand it is that Luna would rip herself apart with her own hands for that boy, and vice versa. They need each other.

Dolan and Trita had been whole, at least in their own terms, long before they'd met, and they could survive without the other, but it would be intolerably dull, a stupid move. And the game they play with each other at the sideshow reflects it.

They've never talked about it, but it's an unspoken between the two of them that this is their time to do whatever it takes to see who gets jealous first. Trita will wink to anyone who singles her out, Dolan will make that intense eye contact and bite his lip, see which one can garner the most attention from onlookers before the other one snaps.

Come to think of it, they play a similar game in most other areas of their life together. It's kind of the rhythm of their relationship. Pushing each other further, harder. Most of the time, it's for fun because it's just the nature of their personalities. But often, it makes each of them better, too.

Luna had been ready to back away, to flick her hand, hold a flame, show it around for the small gathering group to see, having figured the small little talk was enough but apparently not. As soon as he’s hunched over her, the minute his lips press against hers, she loses her concentration and the temperature in their corner rises quickly, enough that people look around at each other, hoping for confirmation that they aren’t imagining things.

That’s when the ends of her hair, the strands that have naturally fallen out of their pins, begin to wisp around and dance like they’re flames themselves, then the actual fire catches up, lighting at the base of her neck then flaring out all down her spine. The crowd gasps, taking a step back at the heat but they’re still smiling, thinking this is some part of their small show.

It’s as good an intro and any. She lets herself get lost in the kiss for a long moment, bringing her hands up to his jaw and neck, some people taking glances away from the growing affection they’re giving each other, but not for long. When her hands slip off of him, there are nice hot red prints on his skin, prints she motions to with her finger to draw attention to just before ducking out of his arms, twirling to face the crowd with a smile.

With her palms facing the ground, she snaps a few times to a beat, counting in some song that never comes, just the flip of her hands upwards, a flip that ignites two fires, one hovering and moving between each set of her fingers as if living, slithering snakes. People begin to press against the rope more, trying to get a better view of the fire, a better view of her hands, see if there’s some sort of machine under her sleeves hidden away, though they clearly are having a hard time explaining the burns her skin has left on Shand even if a machine is the case.

Trita takes Luna’s snapping as a cue for her to begin her night as well, leaning over to place a quick, forceful kiss right on Dolan’s jaw, teasingly passing the “signal” along. Then she’s gone from his side, walking to the edge of their slightly elevated stage, swinging her hips one way then back, letting her arms sway with them to emphasize… Well, her.

It’s almost too easy doing what they do, too easy to run her fingers through the length of her hair while subtly rotating her wrist so the white strands catch the light, keeping her eyes barely opened to save some of her entertainment value hidden until just the right moment.

A few men begin to gather, pushing to the front, grinning and elbowing each other as they notice her get closer and, from there, everything is a cake walk. She sits down right on the rope, closing any distance there may have been from her and the crowd, letting her legs cross in just the right way so that the high slit of her dress falls and exposes her entire leg.

The man closest to her face lets his eyes trail down to the scene she’s caused, looking at her pale skin, but she’s at just the right height to tuck the tip of one of her long ears under his chin and pull his face back up. When he does, he’s greeted immediately by her hypnotic red eyes.

“And who are you?”

This was clearly more than this poor man thought he was going to get, he has to take a moment to collect himself but he doesn’t dare more his chin from the touch of her fur.

“A-Anthony Riker.”

Trita chuckles, mostly to herself over how panicked but excited he looks, not understanding why she’s giving him so much attention but willing to go with it.

“What a handsome name. Fitting, isn’t it?”

He’s even more content to listen to her smooth, low voice, let her ear trace all up and down his jaw, flick up against his cheek every so often.

All these acts serve a double-purpose, though: They give Lance more time to waltz casually around the crowd. He walks up behind this poor Anthony, flashing Trita an amused grin over the man’s shoulder, one that she has to fight rolling her eyes at or else she’ll give them both away.

Luckily, Lance is only standing there for a quick moment before backing out of Dolan and Trita’s crowd, waving at the two of them, flicking a brown leather wallet in sight just for them to see then tucks it away into his jacket.

Traveling on for more captivated viewers, he slips through a small opening of the sideshow tent into a darker, smaller section. Yvaine sits at a small round table, colorful smoke filling the air, incense burners scattered all over the small space. Various crystals gleam in the dull, well-placed light, but the real star here is Yvaine herself.

She sits up straight, green eyes bright as always but they contrast wonderfully with the black tent around her, her long red hair sprawling around her like a cape, framing her glittery gray, tight dress, matching fabric draping across her antlers, accented by hanging gold jewelry and gems.

The fawn looks completely unreal, a painting of a tarot card brought to life before their very eyes. To Yvaine’s credit, here in this tent, she speaks smoothly, confidently, you would never know she was the same girl that stuttered over herself hours before to ask a simple question about her job.

Just like with the other girls, men are openly letting their eyes trail along her bare arms, shoulders, and neck, but there’s an, overall, different air to this part of the show. She takes a lot pull from an ornate ivory pipe, blowing pink smoke out of her mouth slowly, staring at a shallow crystal bowl with not even an inch of water on the table between her and her current guest, eyes jumping from one flash of sparkle to the next.

“I do not believe that outcome is the ripple of the water I see. Fate has something else in store for you.”

The woman across from her leans forward, her hands wringing at her skirt, silently begging for more. Lance could care less what Yvaine sees, though, he’s more thrilled to be weaving in and out of the line forming to meet with the fortune teller, patting people’s shoulders, making small talk, being as friendly as ever.

Kvanne stands close behind where Yvaine is seated, eyes roving over the interior. Granted, even though this partitioned-off area is smaller, it's also darker, and people still try to squeeze in over capacity to observe what Yvaine does without necessarily having to participate.

He makes note the moment Lance slips in, giving him a stern, grandfather-like look despite the fact that Lance is all grins, slipping behind one patron on to the next. Lance usually has a smile on his face, the poster boy for show biz, but by the little spring in his step even while he's not on display, it must be turning out to be a good night.

Kvanne doesn't let his sights rest on Lance for too long. His objective here isn't to watch the man pickpocket their crowd to death. He keeps his arms folded across his chest, shoulders straight and pulled back, the perfect picture of intimidation serving as her body guard.

Because despite the confidence with which Yvaine puts on her show, tells the customers their fortunes, it's only because this is her element. She's easily the softest, sweetest, purest member of the circus family and can be prone to scares, to being upset by some of the more rowdy members of the audience.

She'd never told him or anyone that, of course. Nor had she asked for a bodyguard here in her dark, smoke-filled room. But Kvanne had been doing a routine walk-through of the sideshow one night and noticed the terror-stricken look in her wide eyes when one of the men behind the rope catcalled at her. She'd looked like she was going to get up and hit the ground running.

Since then, he's made it his job to be standing here behind the chair waiting for her before she even gets here. Just to give the crowd an incentive to stay in line and give her some peace of mind.

Back in the main section of the tent, things are slowly but surely turning into a light show, a fire display. It's clear that they've thought of everything, created some attraction for everyone. Because the distinction between the two sides of the room is obvious.

Where Shand and Luna are making the red-lit walls glow and flicker and crackle with their sultry show, Dolan and Trita are working the shadows with the confidence that makes their audience wonder which side of the rope is actually under surveillance here.

While Trita continues to fiddle with random men's coat buttons and let their fingers graze across her fur, Dolan leans across the rope inches from where Trita is sitting to take the outstretched hand of some crazed female fan. He lets his lips rest on her hand for a quick moment in a kiss, letting his gaze shift over to Trita as his tongue darts out across the skin for just a split second and the girl looks like she's about to go and meet her maker.

But it's across the room where the real adrenalin seekers go, all the ones still trying to figure out the technical aspect of all Shand and Luna's displays. He's got her in his arms now, her legs wrapped around his middle, his back to the crowd so all they can see is his back, the tattoos lit up in the dim red glow, Luna's leftover handprints across the back of his neck, her chin resting on top of his shoulder, her finger up to her lips.

Then, a crackling noise makes the tent shake, and the audience shrinks back a little, not expecting it, whereas clearly all of the performers are. Suddenly, there's extra light adding to the red spectrum as blue light starts to emanate from Shand's body, outlining all of his veins, pulsing with his heartbeat until even his bones are lined with a fainter version of his light blue light.

Sparks are jumping from his skin onto Lunas, and she leans her head back a little like she's enjoying it, like it tickles her skin, or like she's basking in sunlight. The crackling noise gets louder and louder, the light climbing brighter and brighter, until there's a sound like a lightbulb exploding near the ceiling, a quiet hum, and then nothing, just the same dark red light across the place.

The audience tries to get their eyes to adjust to the dimmer light again, and most do, just in time to see Shand turn his head a bit, nip at Luna's neck, her ear.

"What do you think they'd do if we ducked out right now, kept the party going.... elsewhere?"

Shand laughs a little right into her ear with the hot whisper, the hot breath, and all the audience can hear is his low chuckle, her giggle in return.

The sideshow goes about how it always does, glimpses of things that probably should not be seen, moments of intimacy exchanged that are typically suited for private rooms.

Shand's back and arms proudly showcase many new little burns, many memories of Luna's hands, marks that she now kisses over apologetically. She knows it doesn't bother him and, in the moment, it doesn't cross her mind either, but afterward, when she can see, it makes her heart sink just a bit.

The rest of the crew, even Lance included, is busy packing up the sideshow, making sure things are locked down for the night, but Luna is preoccupied kissing at the burns on Shand's back. He had been previously picking up trash off the ground to help but that task is completely forgotten and was the moment her lips made contact with his skin, the moment her hands began to ghost over him, gently trace along the tattoos and scars, handling him like he's the most fragile precious thing she's ever been blessed to hold.

"I'm sorry."

Her voice is a hushed whisper against him but it's not Shand who responds to her first.

"Don't worry, he probably deserved it."

Trita calls from the other side of the tent where she's installing the locks around the light fixtures, her outfit all disheveled and out of place on her shoulders, marks along her neck but definitely not burns.

She lost the game tonight, she'll be the first to admit. When a woman started getting a little too happy with Dolan's actions, started pulling at his shirt, popping a few buttons of it, well... Trita had to step in then, of course. Who was going to protect Dolan from the little wannabe harlot if not Trita? It was her duty.

The woman didn't even have a chance to react, Trita had smacked at her hand that quickly, shoved the woman back with a hard and swift slam of her hip. After that, the crowd really got a show, really got to see some groping and quick, skilled hands.

Even Dolan seemed a little surprised by the sheer force of Trita's lips and teeth along his collar, the intensity of her glare, not only at the crowd, but up at him. It didn't take him long to fall in line after that.

"When all of you are done, we need a family meeting, my dears."

Lance stands at the mouth of the tent, eyeing both couples with an obvious pout that clearly shouts "lecture incoming."

However, two people are missing from this main group to hear the announcement.

Yvaine is still back in her tent, carefully packing some of the more valuable crystals and props into a lockbox, being extra cautious as she moves around in the enclosed space to make sure her antlers don't hit and break anything.

Kvanne calls for her attention but she doesn't turn, just holding her hand up over her shoulder to take whatever it is he's trying to hand her, too afraid to turn around and accidentally smack him.

She loves this family so very much but she always has to be so controlled around them. Once, she accidentally hit Dolan during his practice with the tigers and she had never been the same since. He said he was fine, Trita laughed and joked about it, but the little cut that lingered on his cheek for the next week was enough for her to pull in on herself and be hyper-aware of every turn of her head.

Thankfully, Kvanne seems to understand her hesitation and fear, gingerly handing her a cloth backfilled with the smaller gems.

"Thank you. You don't have to stay, I understand picking up all these ornaments isn't funny, but I really do appreciate you helping."

Kvanne watches Yvaine as she moves, and even as she tries to move in small bits, in a forced, restrained sort of way, he can’t help but see how much elegance she still exudes.

It takes him a moment to remember that she was speaking to him, and he looks down immediately, despite he fact that she’s looking away from him, as he feels his face get warm.

“Uh, no, no, it’s no trouble at all. I’m glad to be of help.”

They spend a few more moments packing strategic items away. Thankfully they’ll be in this town for a while longer- its only the first night of their stay here. Otherwise, this process would be a lot more time consuming.

After they finish locking down all the valuables into a large trunk, one much too large for anyone to move on their own, Yvaine tries to survey the room to be sure they’ve gotten it all, but the right, controlled, jerky movements of her neck tell Kvanne it’s not as easy as she’d hoped.

“We’ve got... uh, all your gems off the side table near the door. There is a lamp left, but I️ think that’s one of the ones that stays. Everything off your main table is cleared off except- oh.”

Yvaine does look slightly off to the side now, to her main table where she’s stationed for her sideshow. They’ve gotten most everything, except, in some quick act of overlooking, her scrying  bowl with its few inches of water.

She reaches for it, eyes down and almost looking embarrassed, but before she can, Kvanne takes a deep breath and stops thinking, lowers himself into the chair directly across from where Yvaine is standing, on the other side of the table.

“I️ know it’s been a long night, but... what would you say to telling one more fortune?”


Shand rolls his eyes at Lance, knowing that he’s about to pick apart every portion of the big tent show and the sideshow. To be fair, the guy is a perfectionist if not a visionary and every time he has a suggestion, they all listen up. But sometimes the suggestions come with too much energy behind them, when the performers themselves have none left to listen with.

Lance removes himself from the doorway, and the other low follow him with sighs, reluctantly. Shand has just enough time to rest his hand on the back of Luna’s head, pull it gently forward so he can kiss her forehead.

“Stop saying sorry. I️t never bothers me.”

And despite her never actually saying what she’d been sorry for, he knows. Every time she gets a little too hot in the sideshow, in more ways than one, she gives him these puppy eyes after, big blue and sad, full of regret, as she touches gingerly over every burn she’d left on him.

Truth be told, when they’re in there, hitting on all cylinders, it doesn’t feel like burns at all. With the electricity coursing through his body, every mark she leaves on him is just cause for more shivers, more trembling, more want. More than he can sometimes deal with in front of a crowd. That’s his only complaint there.

Honestly, she’s probably been too wrapped up in her own guilt to ever notice how much he loves parading around the day after without a shirt on, taking every excuse he can find to discard his, so her handprints and lip prints are visible all over him. He can’t quite explain it, but it’s a warm, proud feeling of them belonging to each other that he’d gladly take even if it was excruciating.

As they all follow Lance out of the tent back toward the wing of the larger one which functions almost like a breakroom, Dolan grins a little too mischievously and Trita whirls around to look at him.

Its still dark and hard to tell what’s going on, but it’s fairly obvious that he’s pinched or touched somewhere somewhat surprising at the moment and is currently gloating, just an extension of their little game. If Shand and Luna transition from their steamy side show into gentle, longing affection, then Trita and Dolan are exactly the opposite.

It had only been a few months ago that the whole place had voted unanimously that they should not be allowed to have a bed frame at all, that for the sanity of the whole family, they’d just have to put their mattress right in the ground. Because after hours, after they’ve worked themselves up in the side show, its only downhill from there. Into all hours of the night. Loudly.

The four of them flop down onto the old couch, somewhat squished but quickly making up for it by arranging themselves more comfortably, Luna sitting high on the back of the sofa with Shand’s head between her legs like she’s sitting on his shoulders and Trita reclined in Dolan’s lap like he’s some kind of throne. Dolan, meanwhile, inhaled deeply and cocks his head at Lance like he’s trying to summon the last of his patience for the night.

“Alright, Lance. Tell us what went so horribly wrong this time and be quick about it. Some of us have got stuff to do.”

Yvaine's hand stops just a short distance from the crystal dish, eyes snapping to Kvanne's face in surprise like a person who thinks they must be reading the situation completely wrong.

"You want a reading...?"

Why on earth would he want a reading? This is... Well, this is Kvanne, he's always been so sure of himself, so calm in the face of the future no matter what it may or may not hold, nothing deters him from his goal. It's something she adores about him.

Here she is, flightly, scared, timid, any small thing and she curls up to hide or gets ready to run, always needing people to help her even though she tries to never ask them. Shy as she is, she's not stupid, she can tell the others notice all these weaknesses about her and feel the need to compensate for them, it's why Kvanne stands guard during her individual show, but she never asks them to do these things for her.

It's all unlike Kvanne, he can handle his own and then other people, too. They're nothing alike and she loves and respects that about him.

Of course, she would never tell him that, never so openly, so bluntly. But, just as always, he doesn't move, just sits in the seat across from her as composed as ever, waiting. She hesitantly takes her seat, watching him, waiting for any sign of this being a prank, though she knows he isn't one to actually do something like that.

"Alright. What do you want to know about? Anything in particular?"

Reaching into a sash on her hip, she pulls out three small match-like objects, each with a different colored end, followed quickly by her ivory pipe. There's no color pick to be had yet, she has to wait for his specifics to get the right color, but all the while she's watching him, blushing an insane color of red seeing him sitting so close to her with his full attention directed at her, it's like she forgets to breathe.


"More like do someone."

Luna mumbles to herself, muttering right into Shand's hair as she leans forward to rest her chin on the top of his head, and the comment earns quite the snicker from him which shakes her.

"You-"

Trita points to the two of them from her throne on Dolan's lap, a sly lopsided smirk on her face before she even really starts.

"Are completely right."

The honestly makes Luna's face turn light pink and Shand seems nearly offended below her, offended that Trita would talk so openly about having sex with Dolan, like it's ruining Luna somehow, even though almost everyone knows he got to that long before any of this.

Dolan is the only one who doesn't know, though it's really more that he tries to ignore it, huffing irritably at Trita's confirmation to Luna's joke.

"Oh please, stop acting like the girl doesn't know what sex is. Even if the two of them hadn't done anything yet, I would think the entire world would know about it at this point with how loud we get."

Just for good measure, she shifts her hips right up against him, clicking her tongue in satisfaction at hearing his breath catch in his throat, trying so very much to stifle the moan threatening to rumble through his chest.

Lance, on the other hand, is not here for any of this right now, clapping his hands to regain their attention.

"Okay, first of all, the big tent perfomance was fine. Not our best, but it was fine, good enough. No, we need to talk about the sideshow. For starters, you two-"

He flicks his cane to Luna and Shand seconds before his eyes every fully shift over to them to alert them that they're up first.

"What was with tonight, huh? So incredibly lackluster. I think I only saw your side of the tent fully light up, what was it? Ten times? That's kinda low, what's wrong? No more spark between you? I'm telling you, I'll gladly take Shand's place in all of this if things die down too much. And you two-"

Again, he moves the cane, motioning to Trita and Colan now.

"What's with the overdose of vanilla tonight? Dolan, you never took your shirt off and, Trita, you never eve brought the whip out. All it takes is one crazy woman tearing a few of Dolan's buttons and you decide to screw your act altogether? Really? I expect more of the two of you."

Kvanne notices right away how flustered she gets, how unsure she seems when she sits down across from him, which is not like her at all, especially at this table. Had he misspoken? Should he have let them finish up packing and then went back in for the night? Was this a mistake?

He actually tenses to stand up, to apologize for being so forward, so inconsiderate, but something in her eyes stops him. She's already reached into her pouch, and something about the way she sits, despite the jumpy way she speaks, doesn't say unwillingness at all.

So he sits back again, trying to hide his confusion, his inner battle of whether to stay or go. But he started this, and at this point, it would be pretty rude of him to call it off.

He tries to think of how to answer her. What does he want to know? Well, a lot of things. But none that he could ask her specifically for. If it had been anyone else, he could have freely asked about his future- namely, the degree to which Yvaine was in it.

But frankly, he doesn't believe in future telling or fortune telling, so he wouldn't have gone to ask anyone else. He just believes in her.

So he nods slowly as he tries to piece together his response before opening his mouth.

"Just... tell me whatever it is you see. I'd be very interested to know."

Shand is groaning at Lance, letting his head fall back against Luna's middle like an exasperated child, and Dolan and Trita are both immediately protesting at the same time, too.

With his head angled back against her, Shand looks up at Luna, her head hanging over him, their faces close again.

"Did you hear him? He said there was no more spark. Spark. Ha. You get it? Like the sparks. When we do the- yeah, the sparks."

He snorts a little through his nose, trying to relieve his own frustration in appreciation of what was clearly not intended to be a joke.

"I'd like to see you try to light anything up on sheer force of will alone."

Shand pulls his head away from Luna's body so he can roll his eyes directly at the manager, who arguably is probably his best pal. They have funny ways of showing it, and the argument could be made that sometimes, they're too similar to get along too well, but it only makes things more entertaining.

"Next time you want a live porno, you gotta ask for a porno, Lance. Big boys have to use their words to get what they want."

Now Dolan is whipping his head around to glare at Shand, like he's the one stealing Luna's innocence now. Trita seems interested though, leaning forward as if she's mentally taking notes.

"Let's all be really honest with each other, is this just because you didn't hit your personal wallet quota for the night? Because if so, that seems to suggest a skill diminishment problem on your part, and not any of ours."

Dolan leans back a little with brows furrowed, keeping his icy gaze locked onto Lance despite how Trita plays with his shirt, pulling it open and surveying the spots that are now missing some of their buttons. She looks like she's a little regretful that she hadn't brought out the whip, that she's not looking at skin marked up with it now.

"Laaaaaance. Ruuuuuude."

Shand bursts out, uncharacteristically agreeing with his father.

"Maybe we should have an opposite night and make you like strip and pole dance while we take wallets, huh? You thought of that, oh great innovator? Entrepreneur?"

Luna's got her fingers running through his hair now, and despite starting to really get into it, he knows now it's only a matter of time before he falls asleep sitting up with his head lolled back onto her.

"Anything? Most people don't really ask for vague general future tellings but I'll see what I can do."

Yvaine gives a quick little nod, mostly to get herself into the right headspace for this, to refocus. If she's going to read a fate for Kvanne then she's going to do it absolutely right, no less. This has to be perfect.

She rolls her bare shoulders back, sitting herself up straight, striking the green stick right against her antlers, producing a lime sparkling flame that she quickly transitions to her pipe so that matching colored smoke can begin to roll. As the small area around them begins to take on the bright smoke hue, she takes what's left of the match and carefully sets it right into the middle of the water, letting it sizzle out before she turns the pipe over, pouring a small pinch of the herbs onto the surface around the floating burned stick.

It's then that things get extremely quiet, that Yvaine brings the pipe up to her mouth, slowly inhaling it as she watches how the stick and flecks of spices act, how the crystal dish shines under them, Kvanne's reflection in the bottom of the bowl, all of it. It's difficult to take every shift and detail in but she seems to be getting it all, her green eyes remaining transfixed on the small scene, though she does find herself distracted every so often by the way she can see Kvanne look up at her from time to time by his reflection. It makes her heart throb, longing to look back at him even though she knows it could only be a moment before she has to look away shyly.

It would be so worth it.

"I see... I see that, though there appears to be some stressful times quickly approaching your life and the lives of the people around you, that you will come out on top, end up happy. Your life will be... Well, it doesn't seem possible but the length of two lifetimes, somehow. In that time, you will find joy and rest, lose it, then reunite with it after some time. I see the fox family growing together for a great many years to come, through several generations. You already have Aoife, that's true, but I see another family in your future. You're..."

It's hard to continue at that point, hard to continue reading on, hard because he's smiling, he's laughing, he's sitting next to the love of his life looking out on a yard of small children more relaxed than she's ever seen him.

But she can't see who this woman is, who has made him this way, completed his life. All she can see is a form, all she can see is that, whoever it is, it doesn't look like her. Granted, it doesn't look like anyone, really, but that typically means it's a person Yvaine has yet to meet or meet anyone who looks like the vision.

That doesn't mean she can just stop, telling someone's future is never about her, it's about the person on the other side of the table so, even though it hurts, she smiles softly, watching the match sink as the vision fades.

"You're happy."



"Oh no, I met my quota, you ungrateful demons. Who pays for our food with the wallet money, huh? That's right, that's what I thought."

At this point, Lance is really losing the four of them. Luna is resting her cheek against Shand's head, lazily stroking her fingers through his hair, yawning quietly, hunching on him limply.

Trita is halfway turned to Dolan now, casually just working his last few buttons open, agreeing with Lance that it was, in fact, a shame Dolan's shirt never came off tonight and she's determined to fix that right this second, though she does spare enough attention for someone other than the man under her to speak.

"If you met your quota then what's wrong?"

The question sets Lance off, exaspparates him, makes him throw himself down onto a couch opposite of them with a hand dramatically thrown over his eyes.

"Meeting quota isn't good enough. I want to take more. I caught at least ten people not paying attention to the sideshow tonight. Ten. That's ten wallets I don't have, ten packets of potential money to buy things, things not in my possession. Your job is to distract the people so I can take what they don't even know they miss."

His eyes snap back to Shand, wiggling his eyebrows for a moment suggestively, letting his gaze flick back and forth between Shand and Luna, just as content to stare at either currently.

"And I said I wanted to distract people, not give them a free trip to paradise. I've already told you, I'm too much for any normal man or woman to handle. Thanks for thinking of me, though. Maybe you, Luna, and I can do a performance together around that idea."

Winking, he blows a playful kiss to the two of them, smirking as Luna sleepily looks up at him in confusion but Shand just scowls, not wanting to have that discussion with her.

"....happy?"

He works hard to keep the tone of his voice even and cool, so as not to add any undesired emotion, undesired reaction to the mix. His first reaction is to say, is that all? Happy? But he stops himself short. That would sound so ungrateful, so arrogant and rude when the last thing he would ever want to do is belittle her or make her upset.

"That's... nice."

He makes himself smile up at her. She's stayed so incredibly vague, but then again, that has probably been his fault. She'd said people don't often request general readings, and it's been a long night. He decides for certain now, this has been selfish of him. He shouldn't have asked this of her.

Still, he watches her face closely as she peers into the bowl, something in her eyes warring, then changing as things seem to fade for her. When she looks back up at him, he makes sure his smile is wide, genuine, not disappointed like he feels.

"Thank you, Yvaine. I know it's late and I'm sure you're very tired. I appreciate that you would indulge me."

He pushes his chair back a little and stands, now suddenly realizing there's an awkward feeling. Like something more should come here. Like in the version he'd played over in his mind, she'd seen them together, and now he'd be holding her hand across the table, maybe kissing it, sharing how long he'd been admiring her from the background.

But it's empty space instead where she looks tired, upset somehow, and he feels the same. So he just bows his head slightly and sweeps his arm toward the tent flap.

"Should we join the others?"


Shand keeps scoffing at Lance's rants in between his yawns. It's not like he can really argue. He was going to start in on how they pay for his wallets with all their flirting and grinding and parading about, but none of that really bothers Shand too much, except for the energy all the light shows take up.

The younger two really do seem like they're about to fall asleep on each other right there, while the friskier two at the other end of the couch seem like they're going to just rip each others' clothes off and get to it while still in everyone else's presence.

"Lance, buddy, pal, why don't we just cool it with the mad materialism for a little bit? What we've got running is good. We've got each other. Ten wallets isn't really gonna make or break us, is it?"

Shand's voice is lilted and a little stumbly, like he's a small child who's already half asleep, and that much may be true, evidenced by the fact that he can barely keep his eyes open. He's got his head laid over on Luna's thigh and his arms wrapped up around her ankles and they look like they're moments from becoming a tangled up sleep pretzel.

Dolan raises one eyebrow at Lance, as if the idea of verbally agreeing with Shand is enough to kill him, but he doesn't exactly have an objection to his comment, either. Of course, the work Trita's doing at his shirt is far more interesting than any of this, so he doesn't pay Lance much of his attention for long.

At the precise moment that Lance is sure he's lost all of them, Lunath ducks his head back through the curtain, pushing the bridge of his glasses up with the eraser tip of his pencil.

"You're gonna have to help me with the book tonight, because remember when we pulled from our traveling funds to add that extra stop in at the end of the month? Well I can't get it to balance anymore and I'm about to tear the page out."

His face is crinkled in frustration but he can't help but still be utterly nonthreatening, little tufts of chestnut hair sticking up in strange places from where he's probably oblivious been rubbing the top of his head while doing the math.

Kvanne seems… Upset. No, maybe not so strong a word, maybe it’s more let down, disappointed, crestfallen? Any one of those or maybe all of them.

A small part of her wonders what he was expecting. When you ask for the entire vague sweeping notion of the entirety of someone’s future, you don’t exactly get a chance to see or even look for the details of every year that makes up a lifetime, you just get a general picture.

A larger, more experienced, part of her knows exactly what could be bothering him. It happens all the time: You tell a man there’s a spouse and family in his future and he instantly just wants to know what his wife looks like. Is she attractive? How attractive on a scale of one to ten? Can she cook? What does she do and what can she do? Granted, some women ask the same but, in all her years, it’s mostly been the men.

But Kvanne never struck her as that type of man, or is it maybe wrong of her to assume that being generally concerned with the base physical attraction of your future spouse is shallow? If Kvanne is inclined to want to know the physical appearance then she’s inclined to believe she’s the one in the wrong. Kvanne is never wrong, he’s always been vastly more knowledgeable than her so she must have the immature thinking.

Even so, what is she supposed to tell him exactly? There was no clear image of the woman by his side, just a mass of fuzzy gray where a person will be. Still, the thought of him being even remotely put off by her reading fills her chest with a strange emptiness she can’t explain, she has to fix this.

“I… I don’t know if it means anything coming from me of all people with all my deer features, but your future wife she… She’ll be very beautiful, you’re very lucky.”

It takes a lot to work through how that entire string of words stings her, stabbing right through the emptiness that had been forming before to the point she’s not sure which one is worse. Admitting that she’s well aware she’s not… Meeting most, if any, beauty standards hurts a bit, though that’s a familiar pain. Nothing will tear a person down faster than confessing their feelings, placing their heart out in the open, and being turned away because of things they can’t change, because they’re a freak. Not many men want to actually be with a woman with antlers, deer ears, and fawn legs. And don’t forget the odd brownish gradient to her skin, the white spots that dot the darker brown areas, that’s just icing on the cake.

Well, scratch that: Men have made comments about wanting to be with her but only for a night, just to see what it’s like, they don’t ever want to stick around. Imagine living the rest of your life with someone like her?

Somehow, Trita had managed to find someone that very openly embraces her rabbit characteristics so Yvaine knows it’s possible, but also knows that’s… That’s just so extremely rare. So, admitting that to Kvanne, this human man she’s been secretly taking shy glances at for years now, hurts because, though he’d never say any of this, he’s probably thought it at least once.

But then to have to swallow those feelings that compel her to grow flustered whenever he’s around, to blush if he pays her any attention, to wish him well with someone else, albeit someone else probably better suited for him, is to push her emotions back and stomp them down even more than she does on a daily basis.

It's almost more than she can handle standing here but she has to keep it together.

To distract herself, she reaches for the crystal dish quickly, standing to put it away in the lockbox, water and all, finally shutting the lid to it and closing it up for the night.

“Thank you for letting me take a glimpse into your future, it was wonderful. I don’t always get to have such nice visions.”

As the two enter back into the main tent, Kvanne stepping to the side and pulling the opening wider so Yvaine can more easily slip inside without having to worry about her antlers, Lance passes by them with a huff, pointing a finger at them and wagging it like an angry mother.

“Nice of you two to show up. I’ll give you two notes on the sideshow separately, right now the adults have things to do. Go run and play.”

Though the words are very condescending, his tone is light as always, meaning little to none of the insults he throws around at any given point. Even so, it’s hard to miss the sound of something deeper, something a little more strained as he ducks behind a dividing curtain with Lunath.

“He seems upset.”

Luna mumbles into Shand’s hair, letting her head slip down the side so that her lips can press against his cheek, lazily moving her mouth to kiss his face in a slow circle, tired eyes flicking to follow after Lance as he leaves.

And she’s right. Lance walks with Lunath to a large but cheap poker table where papers are strewn about. The young man is usually so organized so this clearly must be a bad omen to how the books are balancing out. Lance tosses his cane to the side on a chair, yanking his suit jacket off to throw over it, rolling his sleeves up and readjusting his suspenders.

“Alright, kiddo, let’s see what ya got.”

This is Lance’s least favorite part about running the show so one can imagine his joy when they picked up Lunath who had a passion and knack for keeping the books, but, recently, it’s become too much for the poor guy to handle alone so Lance finds himself back in this room

Lunath's hands alternate from his mouth, where he's absentmindedly chewing on a nail, to his hair, where he's rubbing his own scalp in some sort of oblivious soothing mechanism. Every now and again he reaches up with the eraser of his pencil and pushes his glasses back up. The glasses are definitely too big for him.

"I don't know what else to tell you, it just won't work."

Lunath makes a show of pushing some of the papers across the cheap green felt toward where Lance is studying them. There's an air of giving up, frustration, that manages to never quite turn into a bad attitude. It's clear the kid is just fed up.

"And while we're at it, can we talk about that spotlight up there? That bulb is getting waaayyy too hot. I'm sweating bullets up there. I think we need to spring for one of those new more efficient ones. Hey."

Lunath pokes at Lance's shoulder, being completely ignored in favor of the scrawled-on pages.

"If the books aren't going to balance, we might as well run with it, right? Get me a new spotlight bulb?"

There's a bit of an impish pleading to his voice. He's clearly been a part of the Fox family for long enough to pick up on some of their bad habits.

With Lance gone, the couples on the couch are free to freely ignore him, and Dolan and Trita are up and gone so quickly, it seems like they were almost never there to begin with. Obviously they're on to better things.

Shand and Luna linger though, draped over each other, halfway to sleep already, both so tired that they seem perfectly content to drift off right here as they are.

Shand is pressing sleepy kisses into Luna's thigh where his head is cradled and she leans over his head, tousling with his hair and kissing him wherever her lips happen to land.

They're talking in low, whispery tones, things that probably aren't very coherent sentences, but they amuse each other all the same. Hushed, slow giggles and stretchy yawns that end in goofy smiles.

But before too long, Shand decides he wants to be able to stretch out properly, which isn't something his long frame can do many places, especially this sofa. So he twists, turning himself to face her so he can pull her off the back of the sofa, swing her around so she's laid across him and he can tote her, piggyback style, off to one of the nearby tents.

These aren't nearly as showy- they're really not showy at all. Small ones set up close by simply serve as their own private places to sleep, or rest, or just get away from the noise. Of course, Shand and Luna had balked at the idea of having tents separate from each other.

From day one, they'd been inseparable. Like they were attached at the hip. And everyone had known from that moment that there was something more there than a deep friendship, a caring sibling relationship.

They'd worked against themselves, really, on that one. They'd been in love longer than either of them had known, but insecurities and doubts and at times even self loathing had kept them apart.

Once that dam had burst, though, there was no going back to how things had been before. Nothing, no one, could keep them apart any more.

Shand pulls back the tent flap and it's already dark, shadowy, cozy feeling. It's only a few steps before he reclines back on the bed gently, Luna underneath of him and a little higher up, so he can lay back against her.

There's a serene moment of her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her head rested on top of his, and him rubbing gentle circles into her knees before they both drift off.

“Kid, we’re about to start rolling into debt here, forget breaking even.”

Lance’s eyes shoot up over the top of the paper, focusing on Lunath and the sudden attention makes him shrink back just a bit. A bit of guilt builds up with the response, though.

When Luna had wanted a new costume, Lance bought it. When Yvaine needed more gems, Lance bought them. When Trita made a fuss about her magician’s tools being old, Lance bought more. Granted, he has done all these things for the women of the family, usually being a little harder on the men, tougher for them to persuade, but, still, it would be wrong to do all of that and not cave in to one of the two requests Lunath has had since joining the family.

And both his requests are so practical. His first one had been the set of glasses which are so obviously too big but they’re the pair he wanted, and now this, a damn lightbulb. God, it makes so much sense, it’s so practical.

Lance pinches the bridge of his nose, acting like he’s really debating it, really struggling with his answer, hearing Lunath shift in his seat on pins and needles.

“Uuuuugh, alright on one condition: We figure out how to move the money around so the debt only lasts for the month and we can pay it back next turnaround. Got it?”

He flashes a grin at Lunath before tossing the papers in his hand back across the table, reaching to grab a new stack from Lunath’s disorganized pile of work.

And, mostly, other than the two trying to make numbers work, the night drifts by smoothly. Well, other than a few… Dreams.

It’s not a perspective Yvaine is used to but, here she is, standing in the crowd during their show, but she can’t see a thing happening in the ring. Based on the comments of the people around her, Dolan and Trita must be putting on the magician act so it’s still rather early in the performances.

But why is she here?

A tall man stands in front of her, being the main source of her obstructed view, and she wants to speak up, ask him to either duck just a little bit or ask him to describe what she sees. Every time she opens her mouth, no voice comes out. It’s probably for the best, she’d feel awful ruining his experience just because she doesn’t have visual on the show. Besides, she’s part of this family, she knows the acts nearly by heart. It’s best to let him enjoy what he paid for undisturbed.

The spotlight sweeps over the crowd and it… Flickers? It’s not supposed to do that. Lunath takes such good care of it, the moment there was a short in any wire, he would have fixed it. No, maybe it’s just her, maybe she blinked and her mind just played a trick on her.

Right?

Then, she hears it. Kvanne’s voice washes over the crowd, demanding silence, commanding people to listen as he introduces Shand and Luna’s aerial duet. He’s a show-stopper himself, his voice smooth and as natural at the center of attention alone just to speak as anyone else is during their routines. It makes her heart flutter a bit to hear.

Now she has a little bit more of a desire to see what’s happening and, given that it’s just an introduction, people wouldn’t be too upset with her asking them to move the smallest step. She finally works up the courage to tap a finger ever so lightly on the man’s shoulder.

When he turns around, the fluttering of her heart stops. His silvery-green eyes meet hers and there’s an overwhelming sense of dread she feels from seeing them focus on her, from seeing him look directly at her, seeing him look over her face and take in her features. He’s trying to memorize her, she knows that look from Trita, but Trita never looks so… Menacing while doing it. This man is taking her in for some dark intent that makes her skin crawl, makes her drop her gaze and shrink back.

That’s when she sees it: There’s a wrench in his back pocket. Who brings tools to a circus-

The spotlight flickers again, Lunath shouts, and suddenly Kvanne’s voice sounds tunneled, far away, distant, and things happen in slow motion. A collective scream begins to sound through the crowd as the massive light fixture drops from the catwalks, plummets down. The man finally steps out of the way enough for her to see, right at the worst moment, right when she can see who the light is dropping down on.

Yvaine shoots up out of her bed, heart pounding, head spinning, sweat dripping down her face. Her entire body hurts and aches as if the light had fallen on her, there are even tears slipping out of her eyes, tears she slowly touches then pulls her hand back to examine. Moving quickly, she stands from her bed and walks over to the other side of the tent, to a small table with a much smaller version of her crystal bowl, wiping her finger along the edge to force the tear to pool and slip into the shallow water.

But nothing happens after. No matter how long she stares at the glass, no more comes to her. No matter how much she begs, pleads, hunches over and glares at her own reflection desperately, the vision never gets any added detail.

It’s never a good sign. She’ll have to warn someone tomorrow. Kvanne? Lance? Both of them? Maybe even Lunath? Are they even going to take her seriously? Probably not but she hopes they do.

Wait… Tomorrow?

Checking a small clock, she sees that it’s already early morning, barely even 4am, roughly when she would normally get up, nightmare vision or not. It can’t be helped, she has a job to do so, sighing, she grabs a long robe off a hanger and shuffles out of her tent, quietly making her way outside towards the tent that serves as their kitchen and dining room of sorts.

It’s what she does every morning, she has to wake up early enough to get breakfast ready for everyone and everyone wakes up at a different time so her best bet is to make sure she gets up before the earliest riser, that way everything is just as ready for them as it would be for the latest sleeper. Her hands take a little longer to get motivated today, however, though it’s to be expected after a dream like that.