A/N: traveling circus runaways AU! 1900s-ish setting. Not sure how long it will be, but probably around three chapters.
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The carnival arrived with the last gasp of summer, on the very day the leaves began to fall.
It was big news for a small county such as this one. There had been no prior announcement of it, no advertisement in the local paper to promote its appearance, but by noon there were posters in every storefront on Main Street. The traveling show was rapidly became the talk of the town, and not even the Chapman dinner table was immune to the rumors.
"I don't understand how anyone could be entertained by a freak show," Piper's mother said into her wine glass, with a disbelieving little laugh. "As if bearded ladies and stunted little men are anything to laugh over!"
But later that night when she was alone in her room, Piper pulled the handbill out of her pocket and pressed the creases smooth.
'Reznikov's Traveling Carnival,' it read. 'Incredible feats of skill and daring! Wonders, thrills, and amusements galore!'
Piper had thought little enough about it when she'd stooped to lift the paper off the sidewalk earlier, yet now it seemed to beckon to her. Her parents' obvious disapproval only seemed to spur her on, and before she could think the idea through she was already slipping out the back door into the garden.
There was dew on the grass and a slight chill in the air that suggested a change of season. Piper hadn't thought to bring a lantern, but she knew her route well. When she reached the edge of town she had no difficulty finding the footpath that would guide her through the cornfields.
It was the sort of night that she remembered later as a collage of imagery and sensation: the lone oak tree standing in a rocky field; the velveteen caress of wind, both soft and rugged enough to make her arms break out goosebumps; the ineffable fragrance of autumn that began, in the span of a single evening, to overwhelm the dissipating perfume of summer.
It was the sort of night that seemed to invite possibility, to invoked the promise something wonderful.
When Piper arrived at the fairgrounds the first thing she noticed was the way the carnival defied convention. It shunned the usual gaudy reds and yellows in favor of an understated, colorless elegance: the tents were pitch black and splashed with silver paint reminiscent of starlight, so that the canvas appeared to be sewn from the fabric of night itself. The fairgrounds smelled of burnt sugar and woodsmoke. There was a bonfire just inside the courtyard, and beyond it a trio of faintly lit paths diverged into the cluster of tents.
The person working the ticket booth was a slight, dark-haired girl. She was made up not with the usual carnival grease paint, but with cosmetics, like a lady.
"One, please," Piper told her. Then, with a dubious glance at the narrow promenades that wound quickly out of sight, she added, "And maybe a map."
The attendant fixed her with a patient smile. "No maps, hon. The carnival is always laid out differently." Her city accent was quite pronounced; she kept dropping her consonants. "It isn't suppose' to be navigated. It's suppose' to be explored."
Piper cast another glance at the cluster of tents. They seemed to have no outlines, their canvas shapes merely giving way to darker shadows pooling between them. Even the intersecting paths seemed intimidated by their looming aspect—the lamps flickered feebly, their gaslight coronas swallowed up in the gloom. For Piper, there was something both forbidding and deliciously exciting about the idea of losing herself within such labyrinth—of leaving behind, at least for a few hours, the routine rigidity that entrapped her.
"Thank you," she murmured to the attendant, sliding her ticket across the smooth wooden counter and pocketing it carefully.
She skirted around the bonfire in its iron-barred pit and, lured by the scent of cardamom and cloves, made for the pathway to the far left of the courtyard. With her last few pennies she bought a cup of mulled cider. She sipped it slowly as she walked, each footstep carrying her deeper into the maze of entertainments.
Here, again, the carnival managed to defy convention. There were no signs advertising the usual spectacles, no strongmen lifting anvils or daredevils swallowing swords. There were only the dark tents, each one bearing a hand painted sign over its entrance. 'The Museum of Faraway Artifacts,' said one. And just beyond it, 'The Hall of Mirrors.' Piper hesitated on the threshold, but decided to keep walking. It was as though something inside of her was guiding her feet, though she had no particular destination.
The crowed was thin here, but as the path looped around and began to swing back toward the heart of the carnival several children burst out of the tent Piper was passing. They were chattering amongst themselves, gesticulating wildly. Intrigued by their excitement, Piper glanced up to read the sign. It was a simple one, a red rose and a top hat painted onto a white background, and beneath them the words in black read simply 'The Illusionist.'
"Have you seen the show yet?" a voice asked beside her. The woman it belonged to seemed to be the children's' chaperone. Piper shook her head. "Oh, you must!" she exclaimed, her eyes shining in the lamplight. "The illusionist is marvelous."
"Is he very famous?"
"Oh, I daresay not. But she's very talented. If I didn't know better, I'd think it was real magic!"
She, the woman said—that was unusual. The magicians Piper had heard of were all men, and if women played a part in their shows it was only as the assistants whom the tricks were enacted upon. But come to the think of, Piper had yet to see a man featured in any of the entertainments. Even the people working the booths were women. It was passing strange.
Piper glanced at the sign again, and felt inside her chest a sort of tugging sensation, as if this were the very tent she'd been waiting to find. The mouth of it yawned open invitingly, and Piper ducked inside.
The show began in absolute darkness. Piper sat in the very front row, peering through gloom to try and catch a glimpse of movement. There was a sound like someone striking a match, and then a flicker of light that expanded rapidly into a steady flame. As the flame grew brighter it became apparent that it was cupped in the palm of a pale and slender hand. There was no torch or candle of any kind—only the fire itself, glowing brightly in a cradle of bare fingers.
With a sudden flash the flame exploded in a shower of violet sparks. Piper gasped and applauded as the illusionist closed her fist to snuff out the fire. The audience clapped its approval, and Piper could hear a scattering of excited whispers behind her. But when the lights came up to begin the show in earnest, the illusionist's appearance shocked her quite as much as the opening trick.
She wore a maroon tailcoat of crushed velvet, with a lace cravat at the throat and a single white rose pinned to her lapel. Her dark hair was swept back and pinned beneath the brim of her black top hat. Despite the masculine costume the illusionist's bearing held a grace and poise that was not the least bit boyish. She gazed at the audience from beneath heavy lashes, her green-grey eyes lined dark with kohl.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she greeted. Her voice resonated with a low and heavy timbre. "Everything you are about to witness happens exactly as you see it. There will be no smoke, no mirrors, no trickery."
She laid a delicate emphasis upon the last word, looking out at the audience with one brow raised as if daring them to disbelieve her.
"The currency we deal in tonight is magic, pure and simple."
She withdrew a pair of gloves from her pocket as she spoke, still staring idly at the crowd. Her gaze slid sideways until it met Piper's, and then seemed to linger; she began to pull the gloves on, sliding the white silk up the pale skin of her wrists. The gesture seemed intimate, almost seductive, and for a moment Piper quite forgot that she was only one among the crowd. Then she remembered, and a flush crept up her neck. It was stiflingly warm inside the tent—or so it seemed to Piper as she felt the color rise in her cheeks.
"What you are about to see will require your very careful attention," the illusionist said evenly, and Piper, for one, was all too willing to give it to her.
Over the next half hour the illusionist put on a show that seemed to delight everyone in the audience. She made doves disappear from their cages, one after another, only to uncover them from behind curtains and beneath tablecloths and even inside of one startled patron's hat. She invited audience members to withdraw cards from a deck, and correctly guessed which ones they'd selected. What mattered most was not the tricks themselves, but the convincing way she managed them. She performed every sleight of hand and misdirection with a grace that left Piper breathless.
Had she watched the tricks a little more closely Piper might have spied the false bottoms on the bird cages or realized that actors had been planted in the audience—but she didn't. She was too focused on the illusionist's movements, on her confident manner and the intensity of her expression. Truthfully, Piper preferred the naive belief that the magic was real. She didn't want something so beautiful to be cheapened by the notion that it was mere illusion.
At the end of the show the magician clicked her fingers together and produced a red rose between them. There was a round of charmed applause as she held it aloft. She looked out at the crowd as if she were searching the audience for someone specific. Then, with a sprightly leap, she hopped off the stage and walked the narrow aisle until she was directly in front of Piper.
Up close the illusionist's gaze was even more arresting. She tipped her hat politely with one gloved hand, and with the other she held the flower out toward Piper.
For a moment Piper entertained the notion that the entire show, every trick and manipulation, had been done to impress her—her, and nobody else. The thought was nonsense, of course. The illusionist probably did half a dozen shows a night. Still, there was something in the intent way the woman was staring that made Piper feel singled out; special.
The illusionist's mouth twisted up at the corner. She gazed at Piper with an expression akin to smugness, as if she knew the content of her thoughts.
"Thank you," Piper murmured, accepting the rose and holding it delicately by the stem.
When the show was over Piper was loathe to leave the tent. She wanted to sit there awhile, basking in the afterglow of the illusions and the way they made her feel. The crowd filed out until Piper was the last left inside, sitting with her eyes closed, holding the rose beneath her chin to breathe in the delicate fragrance of it. She wanted to stay longer, if not here then simply elsewhere in the carnival. It smelled so tantalizingly of autumn, of memory and change and adventure, and she wanted to lose herself within its elegant maze.
But if she stayed out all night her parents were sure to notice, and they'd be furious with her going out so late without a chaperone. The thought struck her hard and fast, and the very air around her seemed to lose its enchantment. She stood and laid the flower down upon her vacated seat, where it looked at once quite forlorn and ordinarily. Piper felt she must appear the same, dressed as she was in her drab, sensible clothing, so representative of the mundanity to which she must shortly return.
With a sigh she forced herself to leave the tent, to return the lamplit pathway outside and begin finding her way back to the carnival gate.
She hadn't gotten far, however, before she became aware of a pair of footsteps mimicking her own, keeping step just half a pace behind her. She paused and turned about to face whoever was following her.
It was the illusionist. She was still dressed in her performance costume, the white lace at her throat contrasting sharply with the dark shade of the tent under which they stood. Her eyes were, if anything, more luminous, more mesmerizing than they had been earlier. Piper felt the breath leave her lungs and waited in mute surprise for it to return.
"You enjoyed my act," the illusionist told her—not a question, but a casually offered statement.
Piper nodded. She couldn't think of what to say. There didn't seem to be any sufficient words of praise she could offer.
"You're not going to ask me to reveal my secrets, are you?"
"No," Piper said shyly. She could have elaborated, could have told the woman that she preferred to believe in the fantasy of true magic rather than the reality of manipulation, but she didn't. She only smiled a little in the lamplight.
The illusionist's laughter was a warm, low chuckle. "A true believer! I like that in a woman. Have you seen much of the carnival?"
"I'm afraid I haven't the time," Piper replied, her cheeks tingling warmly.
"Nonsense."
"No, truly," she persisted, with a shake of her head. "I'm not supposed to be out tonight as it is. I have to get home."
"Nanny waiting up for you?"
"Something like that," she murmured. It did seem rather pathetic, spoken aloud like that. What a dull person she must appear, especially in the eyes of someone so extraordinary.
But if the illusionist thought her silly, she certainly didn't show it. "I have one last trick for you," she said.
She held out both of her hands, displaying her empty palms to Piper. Then she passed one smoothly over the other, revealing as she did so a small black card, effortlessly conjured. She handed it to Piper.
'Special guest admittance,' it read in silver ink. In very small print on the bottom corner were the letters A.V.
"A.V.?"
"My initials. The Illusionist is just a show title. My real name is Alex. Alex Vause."
The name sounded strangely clipped. Piper didn't know any other women named Alex; but then again, she didn't think she knew any women quite like Alex either.
"Piper Chapman," she offered in kind.
"Hmm. Piper Chapman." Alex said the name slowly, with a sly sort of smile. "Come back tomorrow if you'd like to see more of the carnival. I know quite a few of its lesser-known attractions. I could show them to you, if you'd like."
Piper found herself blushing again. It wasn't every day that she received such propositions from strangers, particularly strangers as mysterious and fascinating as this one.
A strand of dark hair had come loose from Alex's plait. She brushed it away carelessly, her white-gloved fingertips tucking it back behind her ear. She was looking at Piper expectantly, one thin, dark eyebrow raised in question.
"I'll try," Piper told her.
Alex grinned again. "If you do, you'll know where to find me."
She gave a parting wave and then, as if to prove that her familiarity with the carnival was not an idle boast, she stepped off of the path and wandering purposefully into the darkness. Piper watched the tails of her velvet waistcoat dissolve into shadow until she was out of sight. Then her lungs seemed to expand at last, letting out the breath she'd been holding.
The moon was shining down through a gap in the black canvas. Beyond the painted silver stars the real ones glittered faintly. The summer constellations had shifted, giving way to a less familiar sky, and moments later Piper was walking beneath it through an open field. The entire night felt like something out a dream, and Piper's feet fairly floated with the thrill of it.
But as she grew nearer to home the dream became more distant. When she slipped at last through the back door of the house it was as though she had woken entirely, and the entire night was like a fantasy half-remembered.
The house was quiet; mercifully, it seemed her parents had never woken to find her missing. She tiptoed up to her bedroom, casting off her dress and changing quickly into her night clothes.
But then Piper remembered the card the illusionist had given her, and fished it out of her pocket. She tucked it into an old hat box and slid it underneath her bed for safekeeping, like a delicate secret. With a pang of regret she thought of the rose she'd left behind, imagined it withering there on the bench beneath the tent.
Oh, how she wanted to go back for it now! How she wanted to wake up in the morning and be somewhere else, where magic was real and the world she lived in was a bad dream easily forgotten.