~O~
Within the dark confines of a large tent, a man stood in the middle of a vast performance ring, one that was surrounded by empty seats, seats that were normally filled with unsuspecting people. The man lifted his hands above his head and pointed them towards a chair that rested not too far in front of him.
The chair seemed to tremble for a moment before gradually ascending up into the air. The man focused on keeping the object aloft, but a bout of coughing caused him to lose concentration, which resulted in the chair falling to the ground. Now, a pile of shattered wood laid in the center of the performance ring.
The man sighed in aggravation and glanced down at his hand; his palm was flaked with tiny drops of blood. Unfazed by the sight, the man simply wiped the blood away on his black pants. "How are things going, Ringmaster?" a voice crooned from the shadows. Slowly, as if peeling away black curtains, a woman stepped out from the darkness. She had long black hair with white streaks that fell just below her waist, and exotic green eyes. "Can't you see that I am busy, Mirage?" the Ringmaster asked in annoyance.
For him, now was not the time to be bothered. Mirage smirked and began to circle around the Ringmaster, much like a lion does to its prey before taking it down. She pouted her voluptuous red lips and said in fake guilt, "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you." Ringmaster scoffed and turned to face her. "Please, save your sympathy for somebody else," he snapped.
Mirage smirked, oddly pleased with herself by getting the Ringmaster so worked up, but her smile began to vanish, and her red lips fell into a thin line. She walked up beside the man and reached out, taking his hand in hers. He didn't pull away. On the Ringmaster's hand, Mirage saw the remnants of dried blood on his palm. "So, it's nearing that time again, huh?" she asked darkly.
Ringmaster freed his hand from her hold and walked towards the center of the performance ring. "It appears that way. This body of mine is finally wasting away. I have to admit, though, it's served me rather well the past few decades, but humans just aren't as durable as they used to be. They're becoming soft, and I don't need that," Ringmaster said as he stared down at his hands.
The skin on them had started to wrinkle like old leather; they were no longer the hands of the youth that he had stolen years ago. Mirage gracefully strode up to Ringmaster and placed a hand on his shoulder. She traced her long, well-manicured nails along the fabric of his coat sleeve.
"Shall I call up the Troop and let them know of our impending journey?" she asked, her voice dripping like liquid silk. Ringmaster shrugged her hand away from his shoulder; he didn't like Mirage being too close to him when his powers began to weaken. "Please, call them up, but do make sure that the Scouts find a good location this time. I really don't want to have to go and find a new body within five years like I had to do a while back," he said with ire rising in his voice.
The body that he had chosen to take hadn't been as adequate as he thought, and because of that, he had had to go on the hunt for a new one much sooner than desired. Mirage nodded and bowed slightly. "Of course, Ringmaster," she purred, "I will make sure that they find a worthy location to set up the tents." And with that, Mirage left out of the room, disappearing in the shadows.
Ringmaster narrowed his eyes at the darkness, waiting to see if she would remerge like she did at times, but after several minutes of nothing happening, he took his gaze away. He then made his way towards the broken chair in the middle of the performance ring. Ringmaster stared down at it for a couple of minutes, then raised his hand again.
The shattered pieces of wood shuddered for a moment, then began to fall back into place as an invisible force repaired the broken chair. Blood dripped from the Ringmaster's nose from the effort he had to put forth to use his powers. Something as simple as fixing a broken object shouldn't have even required the same effort needed to lift a finger, and yet, it felt as if he were doing something extremely strenuous.
Once the chair was fixed, Ringmaster lowered his hand and dropped to his knees, just barely catching himself with his hands. He panted heavily and stared down at the small puddle of blood that had fallen from his nose. In the blood, he could see his reflection. His face was no longer young and smooth, but wrinkled and old; he looked at if he were a hundred.
I'm going to need to find a new body before the week's out, or else I'm going to wither away, he thought grimly. The idea of turning to dust caused the Ringmaster to shudder. He had been alive for far too long now to mess up and lose everything he had worked for. With joints that felt ancient, the Ringmaster painstakingly made his way back up to his feet. He then slowly left out of the tent he was in and stepped out into the cool night air.
Around him, similar tents were set up. They all were pitch black, much like the night, and had little, black pennants that fluttered in the wind at the top of each one. This was his Circus, his greatest accomplishment in all of his years alive on the Earth, but there was also so much more to it than met the eye.
He wasn't the only one that had been alive for a long time; all of the members of the Cirque were the same way, but they stayed young by different means. While the Ringmaster had to obtain a new body each time his old one wore out, the performers obtained their youth through the audiences that filled the tents at night.
But none of this would be possible with Ringmaster. If he were to vanish, to turn to ancient dust, then the rest of the Circus would crumble with him, for it was his power that held it all together; he made it possible. As he walked through the Circus, he watched as his performers dismantled tents and packed them away. Soon, where the Circus once stood, would be nothing but an empty field.
They would leave no trace of their presence behind, except for maybe a flat patch of grass or two. That was how they worked; show up, perform, and leave. Once they got what they needed, which was the energy from their audience members, they had no reason to linger about. No, none of them were in this Circus to make money; they were all in it for immortality, everlasting beauty and youth.
And what better way to go about it than this? Ringmaster continued to walk through the tents and stopped to watch as performers loaded equipment onto an old-fashion, steam-powered train that was black as coal. Traveling by train was still convenient for them, seeing as hardly anyone ever traveled by train anymore, so they had little fear of being stopped or checked by security, unlike planes, which were nightmares to get luggage through.
Plus, Ringmaster wasn't very partial to flying, so it all evened out in the end. "You really should be conserving your energy, Ringmaster," Mirage purred from the shadows beside him. Ringmaster narrowed his eyes and said sternly, "I'm more than capable of walking." Mirage rolled her eyes and said, "I wouldn't be so sure about that, old man. That body of your's is withering more and more with each passing minute. It won't last much longer if you keep abusing it, and if you cease to exist, then we all cease to exist."
The Ringmaster narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. He knew Mirage was right, but he wasn't about to admit it. Instead, he turned on his heels and said gruffly, "Get to work. Help with loading the tents and props. I want this train out of here by morning." He then walked off without giving Mirage a chance to reply back. Ringmaster walked until he reached the tent that he lived in.
On the outside, it looked like any of the other Cirque tents; solid black. But on the inside, it had none of the chairs or a performance ring. Instead, it had a small cot, a desk, a several trunks for storing clothes and costumes for shows. He strode across the tent and stopped at a particular chest, one that had previously worn outfits hanging out of it.
He bent over and tossed the clothes back into the chest and closed the lid to the container, and even doing something as simple as that was starting to get difficult. How much longer do I have before I won't be able to move at all? he thought to himself as he took a seat on his cot. As he sat, his bones popped and groaned; it never ceased to amaze him how suddenly and quickly a human form deteriorated once it reached its expiration date.
Ringmaster laid back on his cot, knowing that, with the way his body was going downhill, he'd probably have problems getting out of the cot when he woke up later. It didn't matter; he was exhausted.
His ailing body was starting to lose energy, and he had a feeling that he might have less than a week to find a new body. Time was now of the essence for the Ringmaster, and if he didn't find his new body soon, he and his Circus would be no more.
Story title based off the song Circus for a Psycho by Skillet. The introduction to my Halloween special is up now! I know I said it would be up yesterday, but I just couldn't get anything written that I liked (I actually scrapped about three different ideas before calling it a night). But in the next chapter the Brawlers will make their entrance. I hope you all enjoyed this first chapter, so please read and leave a review on the way out. ~Copperpelt~