Disclaimer: I don't own Fairy Tail.
The candles that illuminated the stands and center ring extinguished with a hush of wind, the wisps of curled smoke from the wicks burgeon until it hung in the atmosphere as heavy drapes. The thin candle stands rattled like ebony bones as they teetered from small gale.
A cardinal cape twirled around the perimeter in the darkness to disperse the smoke, the sound of rippled fabric fluttered in heart beats. The audience was a mix of 'eee's and 'aw's as their vision tunneled and blanked. Their bodies tilted with the suspension of being flung from a slingshot and right back into their seats. Elbows and knees knocked together from the chill thrumming along their spines. Lightning flashed high up in the rafters, irradiating the smoke pulsing along the dirt floor and slithering in between the audience members' prim boots and silken skirt hems. The elder's voice boomed as the antique lights replaced the candles, buzzing with life as they surged to full power.
A single man towered over the audience, the biggest illusion the show had to offer as the man's gray hair grazed the wooden beams of the tent's ceiling.
"Welcome, my children, to the greatest show on Earth."
Ringmaster Makarov bowed elegantly, holding the edge of his deep red cape over the arm held out in front of him. The infamous grandfatherly grin promised just as he said and wrapped his audience in magic. He disappeared in a puff of glittering smoke. The air turned cool and electricity played off fingertips.
The show had begun.
Makarov had conveniently decided the train needed a new set of locks during the scorcher of the century. Which meant Gajeel had an afternoon of sweltering work and bloodied calluses ahead of him. It was nothing short of grueling, but being the man tailor made for the job, the pocket change wasn't so bad. Especially once assistants would only take up space in his way and they left to leave him to his own after a few hours.
Gajeel still felt pressed to make up for what he'd done, but it was nice to actually hear himself think; going off his rocker would be counterproductive to his effort after all this time. He wasn't about to kiss the last year of his life away because of a trivial bout of over stressing.
He joined last fall after ruining the cirque's untouched, unmatched reputation. Gajeel had shred the Tail's tents in promotion of Phantom's bizarre horror show. He did so with twisted pleasure and malevolent inspiration, diving headlong without question.
The destruction set at his feet, he wouldn't soon forget. The front row view of fairies running and screaming, calling out to one another to make sure everyone was safe, spelled absolute chaos in the sweetest form. Smoke hung like musk and the frightened cries were a deranged symphony for his lost soul. The tents writhed and fell with his handiwork, the squeal of metal beams and the splintering of wood shattered the peaceful twilight. They fell as the screeching strings to the percussion of his cold heart beat. It had been music to his sadistic ears. He watched from a hill overlooking the mayhem as the smoke covered the starless sky.
It had been his proudest moment. He had received a hero's welcome and reward, though the sight he'd taken in had counted as treasure enough for him.
Jose had sung his praises and his band of circus villains had clapped him on the back wholeheartedly. Their celebration had trumped their abject fear of Phantom's mightiest card as they congratulated him that night. It was a long time coming for Tail to learn that day never lasted forever and night would always overcome the sun. Only, this would be an endless dark fall, Phantom's looming big top and spiraled tents would permanently block out the cheerful sun and keep Makarov's happy-go-lucky show squished like a roach underfoot. Their canvas would mar the indigo sky rather than ridiculous stars that beamed useless hope into any hearts.
It was poetic horror and he had thrived in that madness, despite his loathing for weak shit like poems. Gajeel scoffed and wiped the sweat from his brow roughly, now it all just left a lead weight rotting in his stomach.
The week had been a bruising blur to his senses, his mind flooded victoriously with drink and hubris. Phantom's chains shook, long since rusted, shook with a freedom and maleficent newcomers poured out in droves to join the blackened ranks. Cirque's were feared once more and he ruled imagination under his iron fist. He was one of few that could actually scare without faulty mirrors and his skill tilted into a dangerous territory with the icy scales that formed to his arms and cheek. The Iron Dragon tore down anyone in his way and Phantom was near closing in on the pitch prophecy Master Jose had told them as bedtime stories.
In hindsight, he should have known. After a week spent with these fairies, it was glaringly obvious what happened why it did.
Jose's nightmarish world ruled for only minutes before the kids Gajeel once viewed as feeble freaks banded together and tore down Phantom's big top and caravans. They fought the night away with the defeat of his ringmaster, knocked down and out without an ironic hope of his own. The fairies left nothing but rags and himself and the rain woman Lockser as mementos of Jose Porla's terrifying acts.
He was without money or food or water or shelter; defeat embittered his tongue, scalded his throat, and soured his stomach. He had had no choice when he got wind that Juvia Lockser sidled up with Tail and the ringmaster himself, Makarov Dreyar, had appeared to make him an offer. The master would scrape his sorry ass off the sidewalk like a piece of chewing gum as a favor to the rain woman. The "yes" sliced his throat with humility and guilt, but everyone had seen through Jose's act and offered his top puppet a new set of glossy strings free of slime and tar.
This time, his master casually left the steel cross bar in his tainted hands.
Phantom had been an illusion, a short-term burn against the lush hills, while Tail was kaleidoscopic pinstripes housing magic hidden in illusion. To the man's utter shock, he learned magic breathed and lived, thrived, under the patched canvases he had once tore down. It was because of Tail that he was given the freedom to stretch his legs, put to use the secret of handling and manipulating iron. Gajeel Redfox threw swords; kept them balanced and managed precariously in his unarmed hands for crowds of hundreds in Tail's traveling magic show. His daring grew with each holler and screech of encouragement or shock at the dangerous antics.
That had been simple.
It was all jake, ditching the luminescent mirrors and trapdoors and hidden fraying ropes for the real tricks. Gajeel hadn't disappointed his new master in the least, his act was eye-catching and suspenseful, just so. He had never been fond of the word 'juggler', as it brought to mind bowling pins and children's toys rather than his collection of sharpened blades. But the point was moot, because he would throw and catch and throw and catch to make his own spot in this cirque. He was a quick learner compared to the rest of the first of Mays.
The real dare was convincing the rest of Makarov's offspring that he belonged, that his worth could surpass just filling up seats as a way to make up for what he had cost them. The roustabouts gave him the most grief, especially two beanpoles he remembered from the night he had attacked. The main cast of fairies simply ignored his existence as a completely non-violent favor to their master.
He couldn't blame the lot, they had every reason to spit at his feet. If it hadn't of been for Lily and one fearless Cana Alberona in the market for a worthy drinking partner, he would have left for greener pastures after he deemed the debt repaid. The disdain and loneliness was more than deserved, but he'd rather wallow in it far away from their cutthroat eyes.
To his great surprise, the grandson had cornered him and admitted to being present at one of his last showcases in Phantom. Laxus Dreyar was hardly ever impressed, usually apt to admit he was, on the rare occurrence. He offered Gajeel an underhanded compliment nonetheless, if only for the chance to leave colorful promises should the man betray Tail before he went his way in a shadow of suppressed static.
One night after a handful of months spent at the ricketiest table in the farthest corner, he got looped into one of their backwards brawls and before he knew it, Elfman was slugging his shoulder and commending him for manly sportsmanship. It was definitely no red carpet and he had been sure the shoulder was dislocated after the friendly pat, but Gajeel would take it. After that, it became paramount to become one of them and make up for what he done.
Gajeel stepped back to observe his work on the fifth lock, with eight or so more to go, his hand ghosted over the part of his jawline that nearly got dislocated in that brawl.
He accidentally caught the eye of the tiny girl with wild cyan locks that cowered in any shadow less than a day later. He distantly remembered her fleeing a tent with two other men and an elephant the evening he attacked. Bruises and a few strips of gauze were still scattered across her pale cheeks and wry arms. The runt had dared to square her shoulders and welcome him to Tail. Every eye in the joint had been on him, looking for any reason to say he'd overstepped some bounds. Gajeel had kept his mouth shut tight, trying to think of the proper response. In the end, he had defeatedly broken that unnerving eye contact that pierced right through him and muttered a 'thanks' so she'd go on her way.
Gajeel Redfox would be proud of this slew of misfits with affinities beyond the five senses, and, in turn, he would make them proud. The promise was not breathed aloud, only whispered to the bare bones of his withered and dreadful soul. He would pour every ounce of his blood, sweat, and tears into initiating himself amongst them, if only to justify one Levy McGarden's sincere and trembling salutation.
She didn't strike him as one to waste her words, and he was adamant not to be the reason she did.
"Gajeel."
Speak of the devil, she appeared around the corner from his set up, cheeks flushed and chest heaving from the run over to where he was working. Gajeel shook his head and raked a dirty hand through his tangled hair to pull himself from the deep train of thought. He met her eyes after his had refocused, not missing how hers flashed with mirth. No doubt he looked a spectacle after working in the stifling locomotive.
"Mirajane sent me over to get you for lunch."
"Do not take it to heart, petit moineau. Gajeel has always been a fair bit more 'hammer and tongs' than most." Lily cast a sidelong glance in the elephant rider's direction.
The small girl had shyly slunk up to the edge of the big cats' cage while the animal tamer had been feeding and brushing them. He was attending to Carla, the white lioness, when he finally noticed her. She had been reluctant to interrupt, despite the gentle smile on her mouth at the sight of the usually temperamental lioness purring and stretching with the brush's ministrations.
If anyone could give her even the slightest insight into the walking, talking, contrary piece of scrap metal, it was Pantherlily. It was a well-known fact that the older man regularly gibed his once-charge about coming back to him, so if anyone were to give her anything more than 'just leave it be, Levy', it was definitely the man who had taken care of the aforementioned iron-will. Of course, he was informing her with what she already knew.
"I don't believe he likes me very well."
"Moineau, I do not think he likes anyone very well." His warm laugh fed relief to her, a giggle bubbling up her own throat at the lighthearted jab.
"Ah, but he does like you."
"Not always, especially when I'm 'nagging him like a damn housewife' about his dirty laundry lying around our quarters." Lily finished the brushing and affectionately scratched the cat's nose as she nuzzled her head into his palm. "Take Carla for example, she bats Happy 'round like a ball of yarn half the time and ignores him the rest. But, at the end of the day, he is still her companion and she cares for him. Like Gajeel, Carla has her own way of showing friendship."
Sensing his name being said, the lion sprawled out in the corner of the cage lazily lifted his head and looked toward his caretaker's direction before he yawned widely and laid back down to resume his nap. The lions were something else to watch; nobody ever knew if they would play or fight that day.
Levy crinkled her nose with amusement and hummed in agreement, because Gajeel never pretended to be the social elite and it was obvious he still felt a bit like an outsider to the rest of them. However, a little reward for her endeavor would be appreciated once in awhile.
"It just takes time, moineau."
"I guess you're right."
"Ah." Lily nodded once and collected his things back into a pail. "What has discouraged you this time?"
The tall man stood back up in time to see the girl's easy going expression falter and her brows furrow at his question, a tiny growl squeezed past her tightly drawn lips. "That jerk shooed me out of the big top as if I were an errant child after I tried to get the stands and ring ready for tonight. Nobody's ever stopped me before….Nor did they ever tell me I was too scrawny." Her nose scrunched grossly in annoyance at the term she dreaded hearing the most. She huffed and hunched her shoulders, irritably crossing her arms over her chest and childishly kicking at the straw by her feet.
Her advisor chuckled deeply and resumed packing up for the afternoon, "I see. Petit moineau, are they not assisting Laki in raising the new beams? They needed to be repaired after Natsu scorched the last ones down to toothpicks. I think Gajeel might have sent you away more as a precaution to your safety than as an insult to your size."
"That may be so, but my script could have helped still! Some faith would've been appreciated." Levy willfully clenched her hands. It was unfair the way she was treated because of her size! "I can look out for myself, thanks."
"It's a shame." Lily smirked and replicated the odd laugh of the man they were discussing.
Levy deflated, averted her gaze, scraped the toe of her boot into the dirt, and mumbled, "What is?"
"You'd both get along swimmingly as you're equally stubborn. Regular two peas in a pod you two would be." Lily stood from his crouched position and rolled his eyes, wrinkles of jest crinkling the skin at the corners of his eyes. True, they were completely different kinds of stubborn, but it was all for the same outcome. Levy McGarden planned to weasel her way into a friendship and Gajeel held her at arms' length because the thickheaded fool believed he hadn't made amends for his sins just yet. They had it in their heads that they each had best interests in mind. A thought that never failed to have him snort derisively.
Levy scoffed and touched her hand to her chest, affronted, "That's hardly a fair comparison, I'm not nearly as stubborn as that mule."
"Stubborn enough, moineau." Lily wiped his forearm across his brow and offered her a teasing smile.
"I think I'm beginning to understand why Gajeel appears so exhausted after talking to you," the elephant rider deadpanned and allowed her hands to fall defeatedly to her sides.
"All the more to have in common with him then. Tell him I send my regards when you start the club." Lily grinned broadly, Gajeel didn't stand a chance, anyone could see it from a mile away.
"Pantherlily, you're something else." Levy shook her head at the man and let the laughter bubble from her throat, she couldn't even pretend to be a little bit cross with the man. Unlike Gajeel, he was all too easy to get along with. He'd been there when Makarov had taken her in and she'd been nothing short of crestfallen when he didn't pick up with the cirque after the off season. In all those years, Lily hadn't changed one bit from the man that would cut up jackpots as he cared for scraped knees and elbows.
Lily walked up to her and lightly ruffled her hair, "That's what they tell me, little one. That's what they tell me."
-Slang
jake: all right.
hammer and tongs: with great force, vigor, or violence.
-Circus vocab.
clown alley: (title inspiration) the area just outside of the big top where the clowns wait to perform or relax after working the ring.
big top: the main tent in a circus where the performances take place.
cross bar: a central rod attached to a control bar held from above by the puppeteer.
First of May: a rookie circus performer who is trying to learn the ropes during his first season under the big top. The term originated years ago when many circuses began their traveling schedule in early May.
roustabout: a circus laborer.
cut up jackpots: tall tales about life under the big top. To "cut up jackpots" is to tell these stories.
-French:
petit moineau: little sparrow.
A/N: The ideas for this AU have come from various points, namely one liners that pop into existence at midnight, Miss Mungoe's handle of writing these characters in the early 1900s, The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern, and always loving life in circus shows.
It takes place in the turn of the 20th century, no definite year.
Updates will be weekly.