Mystere Du Le Kooza

Warnings

*Mystere and Kooza belong to Cirque Du Soleil. This story is loosely based on Alan Wake. WARNING: Light, one-sided slash between Trickster/Moha-Samedi

Moha awoke in his own bed once more. It was still night, yet something felt different. The warmth of Trickster's arms still ebbed through, floating around him like the warm desert air…

As he arose from the bed, he realized his white shirt, magenta knickers and official costume ensemble had been replaced by a black button shirt, pink vest and bow-tie with black khakis and sneakers with magenta laces. Where had his original costume gone?

AND WHO HAD CHANGED HIM?

Not even wanting to think about that last question, he grabbed his bowler hat, which fortunately had NOT been tampered with, and headed out the door.

As he made his way to the band's balcony, he once more stared at the tower now in the middle of his stage. HIS stage, not the striped trickster who dared to enter his world, act and call himself friend, and now invade his personal space and domain!

Moha-Samedi climbed down the tower with his naturally practiced balance and talent, hitting ground with rehearsed caution. As he examined the tower up close-the curtain drawn over the entrance, the two stair cases leading to the sides, the balcony where the musicians of Kooza must have sat due to the various assortment of instruments-and wondered how it got there…and how to get it out.

"You're still an idiot," a familiar voice suddenly rang from behind him.

Moha-Samedi whipped around to finally SEE the owner of the rebellious voice; a young, punkish looking acrobat woman with long, blonde, red highlighted hair and a Ruby acrobat's costume. What appeared to be a heart-or was it half a heart?- Decorated the chest of the costume.

"You-YOU! You gagged me and knocked me out the night before!" Moha-Samedi angrily pointed at her. Normally, he wouldn't point or scold a woman, but in this case, she HAD taken advantage of him.

"Oh please, you SO deserved it for helping her continue to brainwash my boyfriend!"

Moha blinked, "help who-brain-what-who-now?"

The girl sighed, "The Trickster, I'm his girlfriend."

"Wait-you're his girl-then why is he bothering to…"

The girl raised a hand, and for some reason, Moha instantly fell silent against his will. Did this girl have some form of authoritive power as well?

"I'm Kooza's trapeze artist-REMEMBER THAT." She said the words forcefully; she was obviously the type who would rather be bossing than get bossed around. "Second, he is NOT himself. That's why he's ignoring me, that's why we came here, THAT'S why he keeps coming onto YOU-which is actually not surprising, since he told me he was bisexual*-but he's not doing this CONSCIOUSLY-which is why it's all your fault."

Moha pointed to himself, confused and dumbstruck- "I'm sorry-WHAT is my fault and WHAT is Trickster not doing consciously?"

Trapeze sighed, "Coming onto you to merge the worlds together, it's the craziest idea he's had since letting the innocent-an outsider-come into Kooza to become his protégé!"

"Innocent?"

"The innocent, y'know, you saw him and that jumbo-sized toddler of yours playing together the night YOU first WROTE US into here?"

Moha nodded, but then shook his head, "Wait whoa, BE KIND REWIND….what do you mean I WROTE you into here? I haven't written…"

Suddenly, Moha remembered…his hand, holding the pen…writing in rhythm of Trickster's voice as he slowly faded out of consciousness…the twenty pages he had written, yet never got to read…

Moha put a hand to his face in shock… "I forgot all about that…how did I forget?"

Trapeze sighed calmly. As usual, her patience was thin, but at least he realized the full extent of how all this was happening…almost.

"Look, your world is apart of our world now…meaning Trickster can control it just as easily as ours. Since you wrote these realms together, you've got to try and write them separately again, got that?"

Moha-Samedi shook his head, "but why can't I just stop writing? I still have writers block, and that only cleared up when YOUR Trickster helped me!"

"Yeah, but your gonna have to clear it up and write it yourself, because if you stop writing, then if the ending of the story is reached before it's finished, these two worlds will fall apart! Not just from each other, but COMPLETELY OUT OF EXISTANCE! HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW THESE THINGS?"

Moha flinched, she was extremely angry now… "Ok, I get it! Sorry…but what about you? Couldn't YOU help me?"

"I'm not a writer or creator, I'm a creation! Besides," she hugged herself, looking away sadly, "someone has to make sure SHE doesn't make him do anything to hurt himself…"

Moha-Samedi shook his head, "Why aren't you supporting him then? You're his girlfriend! Besides, how do you know he's not himself? Aren't you happy to be here?"

Trapeze glared at him, "you know, you ask WAY too many questions…but if you must know, unlike anyone else, he gave me my own brand of free will, so I KNOW HIM. Also, no offense, but if you must know…"

She stomped the floor of the Mystere stage with her bare foot, "I need less friction if I were to perform here! This floor is WAY too sticky!"

Moha shrugged, "well, our artists need A LOT of friction to perform here, so they-well this is a little embarrassing-but they scrub the floor with soda** every night after performance."

She blinked, "really?"

Moha shrugged once more, "Oh, by the way, who's this SHE you keep talking about?"

Before Trapeze could answer, her eyes suddenly widened, looking above his head. He turned around to where she was looking…

The skeletal, femme-fatal Brian le Petit, chainsaw hands glistening in the night lights of the stage, sat poised on the wall, hollow white eyes staring into them, a mad, rag doll grin torn right through her (its) cheeks.

Trapeze clapped her hands and immediately grabbed the trapeze that magically floated down from the ceiling. In a definite 'you're on your own' gesture, she grabbed the trapeze and flew into the air.

Moha-Samedi panicked. He was alone with this…thing, whatever it was, with no cane or means of self-defense what-so-ever. He was trapped, no one to support him…

Suddenly, Moha felt his body launch off the ground backwards, right into someone's arms. The creature, which had started to launch itself forward with a terrible shriek, suddenly flinched as a hand of blue fire thrust itself in its direction, sparks of light wounding it. The creature instantly fled the scene, smoke still tainting its features.

Moha-Samedi found himself looking up at his savior…and wishing he hadn't. A familiar pair of blue eyes, the Trickster's smile gleaming down at him, practically sent Moha's legs nearly buckling under him…again.

"There now, my handsome Narrator, you're perfectly safe. Now…SLEEP."

The world went black…AGAIN.

*The fact about Trickster being bisexual is not exactly a fact…unless you count THIS story. Well, that's it for now. Next chapter coming RIGHT UP! (snap!)

**The Coca-Cola-soda scrub-down fact…TRUE! Look it up!