Welcome, welcome to the Greatest Show!
This story is a 15 chapters long (yes, I know for me it's actually positively short, I was shocked too) circus au with the Vietnam war and Civil Rights era in the background (it will tread on both subjects from time to time, context oblige). I will warn ahead, it is strictly hayffie and more romance than anything else (well, yes, it has angst too, when doesn't it with me?).
Special thanks to akachankami as always for the beta and to euphemiafleurtrinket for cheering me up when I wrote this story.
I hope you enjoy this little story! Let me know your thoughts!
The Greatest Show
Chapter 1: A Splash Of Red
The knocks on the door were sharp brief and repeated enough times that they were impossible to ignore even through the mist of his semi-drunken state.
Haymitch stumbled from his moth eaten couch to the front door – altogether not a long walk – and tore the door open with a scowl on his face, ready to send to hell whoever had gotten his shack by mistake. Nobody ever willingly came to his house. For one, it was situated a little away from town, for two everyone knew to give him a wide berth.
He was the example. One of the young men who had come back from Vietnam wrong in the head and the point of reference to hold to those – few now – who still argued the war was necessary. His personal story was even worse than a youth tragically cut down by war but he wasn't in a habit of exposing his failures to the public eye. He had done too much of that when he had still been on the roads already.
The woman on the other side of the door had been watching the small garden overgrown with frozen weeds and she turned at the sudden movement. For a moment, his breath caught.
It had been a while since he had seen someone like her. Posh. Pretty. Beautiful. The women in town all looked harried and worried. For their sons, for their husbands, for the country…
Her dress was red and that was what he noticed first because the splash of color was shocking against the flat washed-out winter landscape of North Virginia. Frost was clinging to the small porch's broken banister, the ground was covered in a thin layer of snow, the sky was hung low, heavy with grey clouds… Everything was monochrome. Everything had been monochrome in his life since he had left the overwhelming green of a jungle behind but there it was now: a splash of bright red under the white polar bear fur of an open coat.
Red like the Big Top.
Red like a ringleader outfit.
Red like blaze that had swallowed his whole life.
The dress hugged her torso and spread wild at the waist, as seemed to be fashionable those days – and it was a fine figure she cut, that much he could admit. Athletic.
The coat was a little frayed and given the goosebumps that lined the triangular neckline of the dress, it was open more out of obligation than out of choice. A couple of golden buttons were missing.
Her features were delicate, aristocratic, and her hair was styled in heavy blond curls pinned up on her head. She was wearing make-up, enough that it accentuated her face, not enough that it looked tart, but still a touch more than any other girl he had seen around town. She looked like a rich girl and the stubborn tilt of her chin only emphasized that impression.
Her eyes were blue, blue enough that he got lost in them for a second, and her smile was cheerful, contagious – or it might have been if he had still possessed anything left alive in him.
He noticed all that in a blink of an eye because that was what he was trained to do, drunk or not. It was what he had been trained to do since he had realized he had a gift for observing the little details most people missed.
He spared a thought for old Woof but chased away that thought when his heart squeezed a touch too painfully in his chest. The magician had been ancient by the time Haymitch had taken over and he was pretty sure no other circus would have hired him. More likely than not, the old man had died begging on the streets by now. Most former circus people did.
Haymitch was also aware that he had been submitted to the same kind of inspection on her part. Her glance had been quick but over encompassing. He had been examined from his bare toes to his too long dirty hair – and his two days old white shirt and brown pants torn at the knees had been found lacking.
"Yeah?" he asked gruffly.
A neigh caught his attention and he realized he had been so fixated on the woman that he had completely missed the toffee coat horse tied to the fence. It was a pretty animal. A Palomino if he wasn't mistaken, saddled and everything.
"It is you." the woman grinned before he could linger on the strange thought of anyone wandering around on horseback in this day and age. "Mr Abernathy, I am thrilled to meet you."
She outstretched a hand with more gracefulness than he had ever seen anyone do anything and he stared at it, stared at the long delicate fingers and the telling calluses he could guess at on her palm… The calluses, like the missing buttons and the frayed fur coat, were in total opposition to her posh accent and her Daddy's daughter profile.
"Fan of mine, are you?" he challenged tiredly, crossing his arms in front of his chest and ignoring the hand that still hovered between them.
"I saw you perform once or twice." she confirmed, dropping her hand but not letting go of her grin. It was a little strained now, though. "My name is Effie Trinket and I was hoping to steal a few minutes of your time."
He shook his head. "Not interested."
A flash of irritation crossed her face and then it was gone. Just like that. The smile was back, the eyes were bright and she looked just as cheerful as she had been since he had opened the door. A performer's face.
"Must you be so rude?" she sighed. "Mags warned me you would be difficult but…"
"Mags?" he cut her off, perking up. It had been a while since he had heard from Mags. Someone had told him she had settled down somewhere on the coast… "How is she?" The woman's face fell and there was no pretending to be cheerful this time. He didn't need her to actually say the words. He had known death long enough to know what it looked like. He looked up to the grey sky, eyes dry but a small lump in his throat. "How did she… Was she comfortable?"
He hoped she hadn't ended up on the streets. He hoped she had found the peace she had deserved.
"She was watching the show from the back of the tent." the woman told him. "She fell asleep. It was peaceful. She was with her family."
And that was the best one could ask for when that time came. Haymitch was intimately acquainted with the feeling. His hand ended up on the right side of his stomach, as always when he thought about that, the phantom pain in his side woke up where a cutlass had gutted him to an inch of his life.
"She was a great lady." he commented, bowing his head a little. "Greatest aerial artist I've ever seen too."
"That she was." the woman whispered and then shivered when the wind picked up. "I do not mean to intrude but would it be possible to move inside?"
"She trained you." he ventured because the calluses on her palms… It was distinctive.
He completely ignored the other question. He didn't receive people in his house. It was barely a house. It was a shack he rented for far too much money, a money that was getting harder and harder to come by.
"I… Yes." she confirmed and the bright smile was back. "You would not have heard of me, though, I do not think. Our circus is young still and…"
"Who are you with?" he cut her off.
He knew most circus' owners still in business. Times were harsh. The war, the cinemas, people… Circuses were a thing of the past for most people, not modern enough. You had to be daring to exist nowadays, special, noteworthy…
"Capitol Circus." she answered.
He frowned and waved a hand in the air. "Never heard of it. Who's the owner?"
"Me, actually." she replied after a beat.
He almost burst out laughing. "'Course you are. Explains everything. Let me guess, sweetheart… You were bored and Daddy's money was just burning through your pocket so you thought… Hey, why not buy a circus, nothing can go wrong with that…"
She recoiled a little, losing her cheerful expression for a resentful one. "You do not know anything about me. Do not presume."
"I know owning a circus is more than just a passing fancy." he sneered. "It's not just a business. It's people. People who depend on you. People you can't let down."
"Yes, I suppose you would know all about that." she retorted.
And he shut up.
Because she was right.
He had no right giving out advices about running a circus after what had happened to his.
"I'd say it was nice to meet you but I ain't big on lying." he spat, moving back inside.
He tried to close the door but her red heel quickly shot out, blocking it.
"I am looking to hire." she said in a rush. "With your experience… We could use you."
"Use me?" he chuckled. "For what?"
"You had multiple acts, if I recall right." she shrugged. "Throwing knives, magic tricks, ringleader… I am interested in any of them…"
"Must be desperate then." he snorted.
"Circus as a form is dying." she declared bluntly. "And, as you said, I am responsible for my people. With so many young people away… I need help and Mags insisted you would know what to do."
"Mags was wrong." he spat. "I'm retired."
A flicker of despair passed over her face and she fished a folded paper from her coat pocket before thrusting it at him. "Please, at least come and watch the show. You can… You can tell me what you think. If you will not join us, perhaps you can advise me as to what needs changing?"
"Here's some advice: go back home. You're in too deep, Princess." he mocked.
"Weren't you too once?" she challenged. "When you took over The Quell Circus, you were not any more ready than I am. You did it because someone needed to, that was what Mags always said. Well, I did the very same thing and I am hoping… I am hoping you will help me."
"You're a stranger." he snorted. "Why would I help you?"
"Perhaps because we can help you in return." She looked him over again and smiled a sad smile. "You have been away from the circus a long time, Mr Abernathy. Isn't it time you come home?"
She took her foot back and sauntered down the broken steps of the porch. He wanted to slam the door shut, to block out the red splash of her dress on the white grayish landscape, but he couldn't look away. He watched her hop on the horse – and she made it look as if she had been born doing just that: hopping on horses, barely using the stirrup – and he watched her gallop away. She was not even bothering to hold on to the reins, her arms were stretched wide on either side of her as if she was embracing the wind or life itself…
A show for his benefit, he figured.
He was shaking his head when he finally closed the door.
He dragged himself back to the couch, crumpling the leaflet in his fist without even looking at it. He poured himself a drink, his hands shaking so much half of the terrible moonshine spilled next to the glass. He only felt steady once he had a couple of glasses in him but it wasn't enough to stop the intrusive memories.
As if Vietnam wasn't bad enough on a daily basis… But it wasn't the jungle and the dead kids that were haunting him now. It was the cheerful music and the cheers of a crowd… The casual familiarity of traveling companions… The laughter and the knowledge that whatever happened – that whatever had happened in that goddamned war – he always had a home to return to: under the spotlights, in the middle of the ring, with his mother hastily sewing a missing button on a costume backstage and his brother running around proudly displaying his clown make-up, with Mabel already clad in her sparkly outfit stealing a kiss from him before their act…
Isn't it time you come home?
He would have liked nothing else but his home had gone up in flames years ago. It was ashes to the wind now.
And yet he found himself smoothing the crumpled leaflet, taking in the colorful advertisement… Come to Capitol Circus! All Family Shows and Events! The Greatest Show On Earth! Two nights only!
He tossed it on the coffee table, unable to explain to himself why he wasn't simply throwing it in the trash. It remained there, a blotch of color in the decrepit living-room, and he stared at it. He stared at it past the time the show would have started and he told himself that was it. One night out of two gone. The morning after next, the circus would move on as circuses were prone to do and that would be it.
That life was gone and it was never coming back.
Sooooo what did you think? Are you curious? Will Haymitch give in or will Effie have to come back for some more convincing? Is she flamboyant on horses or what? I want to hear everything you have to say! Let me know!
