Enkindle [en-kin-dl], verb. 1: To set on fire; kindle. 2: To excite to activity or ardour; arouse.
Sweating in the growing heat, Soul was digging as fast as he could, which admittedly wasn't very fast at all, though he'd made reasonable progress, when Black Star ambled up, thumbs stuck in his suspenders and a rather abashed look on his face. "Help?" Soul grunted at him, panting.
"Sure thing. Here, move your slow ass." Black Star snatched the shovel and proceeded to send dirt flying in every possible direction, attacking the earth like a force of nature. Soul stumbled over to a convenient rock and sat down with a sigh, wiping his brow and watching the dappled patterns of sunshine through the leaves, rippling peacefully across the ground, eternally unconcerned with anything at all. "Listen," Black Star said suddenly, still digging, "I should have been watching your back last night. I wasn't thinking straight, with Tsu and all. It won't happen again. I'm sorry."
Soul squinted at him, one hand gingerly to his throbbing head and one on his white-hot ribs, taken aback. Black Star almost never apologized. "Oh," he said after a moment. "Maka got to you, didn't she?"
"Made me feel like a right ass. She's good at that," Black Star admitted rather plaintively, flinging a massive shovelful of dirt over his shoulder and only just missing Soul.
"Mm," Soul answered noncommitally. He knew exactly what kind of sneaky, nosy, prying conversation was coming and he wasn't looking forward to it, to say the least. He wanted sleep so bad he could taste it. Insomnia was nothing new to him, but it had been a hectic day yesterday, and he was bone weary.
"Sooooo, about the bearcat, anyway. You two are getting pretty comfortable, for you, anyhow," Black Star puffed, taking a split second away from his assault on the ground to lift his brows rakishly at Soul.
Soul gave him a half-hearted snarl, unable to muster up anything stronger. "She wants to be friends," he replied morosely.
"You act like that's a tragedy or something!" Another load of dirt shot by, perilously close. The hole was getting deeper and deeper at a fantastic pace. "She's got legs up to her armpits, don't tell me you haven't noticed. She doesn't mind getting her hands dirty neither. Wouldn't think you'd mind being friendly with a dame like that."
"Wouldn't think it was any of your business," Soul shot back acidly, pushing himself upright and waiting out the inevitable spinning of the world around him. "Come on, let's get this bitch buried."
"All right, all right," Black Star said, hopping up out of the pit. "Upside down again?"
Soul bent over and grabbed the ankles of the dead thing steaming in the sunshine, grimacing as tiny bits of charred skin flaked off. The smell was atrocious. He didn't think he'd be eating meat for at least a week. "Always," the madness answered for him, boiling over for a heartbeat. "Always."
"Are you ever going to explain to me why exactly we do this? It's not right to keep secrets from someone you look up to so much!"
"You just don't get the concept of things not being your business, do you?" Soul huffed as angrily as he could. Black Star rolled his eyes, looking disgusted, took the other end of the thing, and together they counted to three and toppled her into the fresh grave, facedown, Soul only just dodging one of her limp batlike wings as she fell. It was better than the corrupted thing deserved, but a corpse looking like that couldn't be left lying about. Evil things, already half-rotted from the inside out, decayed quickly, which was why the grave didn't need to be but a few feet deep. Nonetheless, this was farmland, and not far from several towns. It wouldn't do for some poor country bumpkin to run across the body and get scared out of his skull. Lord Death didn't like loose ends. Soul tried not to think of his boss. He was too purely angry at him right now, after the hellish discussion they'd had that morning. After a small shouting match and one broken plate it had culminated in Lord Death telling him, quite angrily and at a really incredible volume, that Maka's amnesia was for her own good and the good of her father, and if Soul interfered he would be facing severe consequences. What he had left out was whether or not Spirit was even still alive, and it had been that omission that let Soul calm himself. He wanted, furiously, to know what was happening in Paris to Maka's parents. It wasn't right that another person be left orphaned. It was too hard; she deserved better.
Black Star picked up the shovel again, but Soul held up a hand. "Just a moment," he said, and wobbled achingly over to the disembodied black arm, the one Maka had sliced off. It hadn't been hard to find; the tracks they'd made last night had been obvious enough that a blind man could follow them to the scene of the fight. The creature itself had been easy enough to track as well, the blood trail thick and clear, spattered among the undergrowth like street signs. The monster hadn't gotten very far before bleeding out and dying. He thought of Maka again as he picked up the arm and tossed it into the grave, thought pensively of her still, angelic face held in his shaking hands.
"That's foul," Black Star observed idly, slamming the blade of the shovel deep into the pile of earth they'd build up around the grave and scraping it into the hole.
Soul didn't say anything, though he heartily agreed. He just watched, swaying, until the body was covered and then started trudging back to the circus, Maka's scythe making a convenient walking stick. "Thanks," he called back grudgingly to Black Star, who merely waved a hand in answer.
He tried to breathe in the gentle neutrality of the trees as he went, to drink in the springtime peace. Everything was blooming, sprouting, green and fresh, new beginnings as far as the eye could see. He almost missed Maka's approach, he was so absorbed in the complex melodies of birdsong, but her yelp of joy brought him back. "Eh?" was all he had time to say as she launched herself at him.
"My scythe! My scythe!" she squeaked joyously, one arm around his neck and the other hand latched onto her weapon. "Thank you!"
"Welcome," he muttered, ears afire. At least she'd avoided smacking into his ribs. She detached herself and her scythe and did a ridiculous little twirl, green eyes crinkled happily. Such open, demonstrative affection over a scythe, from a girl with such a confused relationship to physical contact; she must really be enamored with the thing.
"I was just off to find this, I was scared I'd get lost," she confided, grinning hugely.
He nodded, wildly out of sorts, scrubbing a hand through his hair in an automatic gesture of embarassment and then nearly shrieking as he brushed his wound. "We were just burying the dead thing," he said.
She sobered a little. "Oh," she said consideringly. "Um- what exactly did it do that was so bad?"
"Didn't you see it? It was uglier than homemade sin," he said scathingly, examining his head wound more carefully with his fingertips. It seemed to be scabbing nicely.
She blinked at him, then swallowed, looking away and drawing a circle on the ground with the toe of one boot. "I only want to be certain that it deserved to die."
He opened his mouth to answer, then paused. Even a thing as hideously malformed as what she'd killed- she didn't judge it on its outward horrors. She wanted the truth of whatever was inside. He was taken aback by how very much he wanted her arms back around him just then. "It did," he told her firmly. "People don't turn into things like that unless they've done truly awful things."
"Are you sure?" she asked.
"Yes."
"All right, then," she said thoughtfully. "Oh. I have a favor to ask you."
"Lord. What?" He started walking as they spoke. The sunlight was warm and cleanly beautiful, but it was giving him an even worse headache.
She watched him in a sideways fashion, falling into step beside him and looking rather worried. "Are you feeling all right?"
"Been better but I'm not dying. What do you want?"
"Well, only if you're up to it-"
"Get on with it!"
"Fine! Tsubaki- she wants- I guess we're opening for a few days here, for some town a bit north, and she wants me to take her spot in the big top lineup," she said despairingly.
He wheezed out a painful half-laugh, half-snort. "Is that so? A month here and you're all ready to jump in the ring, is that it?"
"I rode before," she said snippily, giving him a thunderous glare. "I think. I mean, I must have, I suppose, and Aka's taken right to it. We have been practicing, you know, almost every day!"
"Really?" He hadn't realized. "Well, that's just smashing, but how does that relate to me?"
"I was hoping you could help me practice," she said, a little shyly. "The big top's almost up, and I want to work through it with the music."
Maka, the blazing bearcat, moving to his music- no. He'd die, or she would. The madness screamed and screamed and he shifted away from her a little, glad deep down that she was armed at the moment. "I can't. I need sleep if I'm going to play tonight," he said brusquely. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth. How would he survive the show tonight? He'd have to play with his eyes closed when it was her turn. It would be too much. His lifeline to sanity would snap with the weight of his longing. He wondered if she remembered how to dance.
She drooped. "Oh. All right, then."
"You'll do fine," he lied, wishing fervently that he was normal, wishing he could help her. She probably wouldn't, and he didn't know what in the hell Tsubaki was thinking, throwing her into the ring after so little practice. Performers worked every day for years to perfect their arts, to stay alive while defying death, and she would be among pounding steel-clad hooves and atop a thousand pound beast with a brain of its own. He'd never trusted horses; he was definitely a dog person. Anything could go wrong. This was a very, very bad idea, regardless of whether or not she'd been able to sit a horse before. Was this the feeling of being worried for another person? He reached out blindly and put a hand on her unwounded shoulder, giving a little squeeze. She sent him a smile that rivaled the sun, and the madness retreated under its light, a small miracle.
"Thank you," she told him, eyes as brightly green as the infant leaves unfurling all around her. "Do you really think so? I'm so nervous. I want to do well. I feel like I didn't train enough, I don't know, I wish I'd practiced more-"
He lifted a brow at her, lips quirking sideways. "I think perhaps you were a teacher's pet in a past life," he said lightly.
Something flickered across her face, a flash of vengeful fury, but then she smiled again. "Maybe. Maybe I'm just always prepared," she said airily. Her innocent tone aside, he hadn't missed her emerald fire, and he wondered again just how much of their burgeoning backwards friendship was due to her secret campaign to regain her past.
"Of course," he said, a little darkly. Just then a bluish tornado whirled up beside them, settling into Black Star, who was dirty from head to toe, holding the shovel like a trophy over his head.
"Bitch is dead and buried and may she roast in hell forever!" he crowed, and then looked at Maka. "Oh, hello, bearcat. Pardon my French."
She looked confused. "French?"
"Cursing?" Black Star said slowly.
She shook her head, shrugging, lips pressed together. "It's a country. Overseas," Soul put in wearily, not adding that it was probably where her parents were, right now, fighting and maybe dying for all he knew. Every time things like this happened, the tiny stutters in conversations when she didn't remember something everyone around her knew, a thing like shame passed over her like a dark cloud. He hated it.
Black Star made a face and put it out of his mind, thunking the end of the shovel into the ground in time with every step he took. "So Maka," he said slyly, "Soul here always insists we bury those kinds of beasties, the really foul ones, facedown. You know why?"
Soul put a hand to his throbbing forehead in despair when she turned to him, with that secret-hunting curious hunger he was starting to fear. Black Star was using her insane lust for knowledge to find out what he wanted to know; what a shifty cunning bastard. "No! That's so strange! Why?" she said enthusiastically.
"No," he said futilely, and then, "I hate you so goddamn much," in Black Star's direction. The blue-haired boy just smirked at him evilly.
"What do you mean, no?" she protested, sticking a finger sharply into his shoulder. Black Star chuckled at that and Soul growled at him. This was quickly devolving into a situation in which Black Star would get the wrong idea about Soul's and Maka's relationship, which he would tell Tsubaki about, and then Soul would be forced to endure endless lectures from the both of them as they attempted to 'protect' the poor helpless amnesiac from the violent pianist and his rages. Soul hadn't missed the fact that, instead of running off ahead, Black Star was currently staying right beside them rather than leaving them alone together. As if she needed protection! She could probably knock Soul clean out if she really wanted; he hadn't forgotten the right hook she'd landed to his jaw when they first met, nor the challenge she'd issued with such blazing temper last night. "Tell me," she begged, skipping around in front of him and walking backwards to better plead, wringing her hands together. "Please?"
"I hate everything," he said to the uncaring branches arching above him. "Hate you all. Particularly you, Black Star."
"What did I do?" Black Star said, blinking in exaggerated innocence.
"Please," Maka whined.
"If it will shut you up," Soul bellowed. "Then fine! It's just a thing I heard a long time ago. It's nonsense."
"Pleaaaaaase," Maka said again, still walking backwards and miraculously not tripping on anything.
"It's an old story," he said ill-temperedly, still holding his ribs, walking faster and trying to ignore Black Star's obnoxiously satisfied face. "That whole biblical tale about the end of the world. Once everything ends the dead are supposed to start walking again and go after the living that are left. So the truly evil get buried facedown, so when they try and dig out, all they can do is go deeper. They used to bury witches that way."
Maka went very quiet, staring off yonder with a contemplative expression. Black Star whistled. "That's morbid," he said, eyeing Soul sharply. "How have you been feeling, anyway?"
Soul knew exactly what he meant, and debated for a moment, but then decided to tell him the truth, shooting a glance at Maka's faraway face before he could stop himself. "Bit better," he said shortly.
Black Star hummed thoughtfully, copying his quick look at Maka, who was now had her head tipped back and was frowning straight up at the clouds as she walked, still doing that uncanny thing where she didn't trip or take a single misstep. Her boots swished through the forest litter just as surely and strongly as the boys', but her hips swayed in an unmistakably female way, and Soul got lost for a spell before shaking himself back to reality. "That's good to hear," Black Star said, seriously, rubbing his upper sleeve, under which his lone tattoo was usually kept hidden from those who might recognize its symbolism, even this far from his homeland. Tsubaki had cried soft tears the entire time she'd inked it into his skin on his fourteenth birthday, but he'd insisted; he had said he didn't ever want to forget the things his bloodline had done. He and Soul shared their lack of family, though at least Soul's was likely still alive somewhere. Which scenario was better, Soul couldn't rightly say.
They both fell into their respective memories for a while, lulled by the whispers of the trees. Whatever Black Star was thinking about, it wasn't pleasant, judging by the glint in his eyes. At least he'd stopped getting raging headaches whenever Maka appeared. Soul was similarly wrapped up in morose contemplation. A month ago, before his tiny bearcat appeared, he would have thought that three more years of life was being optimistic, would have thought that Lord Death would be putting him at rest soon. Now, though, he dared to think that just maybe he might be able to squeeze a few more years out of his rotting brain before he lost all humanity. It was wonderful and terrifying, fresh hope blooming where the old had died long ago. The effect she had on him was like nothing he'd ever come across, unexplainable but undeniable.
She spoke, then, quietly, and he remembered with an unpleasant jolt that she was only an unwilling visitor here. He couldn't allow himself to get acclimated. "So it seems I'll be performing tonight. Any advice?" she said to both of them, eyes trained on the sharp, colorful points of the tents peeking out from above the treetops in front of them. They'd been busy burying that thing for longer than it had seemed; it was going on noontime now, and in just a few hours, the grassy clearing beside the tracks would be a buzzing hive of activity. Even now, Sid and Kilik would be in town shouting and proclaiming, handing out flyers, drawing in the people, and everyone else would be preparing for the show. They'd only be doing half the usual set up, since they were only staying here a day or two, but it would let off some steam for everyone nonetheless, and make the rest of their trip to Brooklyn easier.
"Just stay calm," Black Star told her. "Even if you make a mistake, none of the rubes know what you're supposed to be doing, so they won't even notice. Tsubaki's act is good that way. If I miss the target, even a moron knows, but you've got a lot of leeway. Just keep smilin'."
She sighed gustily and gave a small grin. "Thank you. I suppose I should go start getting everything ready. You know I'm a tad angry at Tsubaki for pushing me into this?"
Black Star chuckled at her, twirling the shovel deftly. "Nah, she wouldn't ask you to if she didn't think you could pull it off. It's just that we need a few people on guard duty tonight still, so Stein and Marie will be busy, at the least. We have to fill the time up in the main show or people will start askin' for admission back."
"Guard duty? Are there more of those things?" she said, brows drawing together. She didn't ask why they were stopping to perform, so suddenly; it was obvious. It was as much of a need as breathing to the circus folk.
"Probably not, but you never know. This many people all together, it's just smart to keep an eye out, even with me around to protect them! Everyone knows I'm invincible, but it's policy, you know?" Black Star puffed his chest out ridiculously at his boast and Maka only just hid her smile.
"Ah, well, I see." They drew closer to the tents and she trotted off, waving with her good arm. "Wish me luck!" she called over her shoulder.
"Luck!" Black Star roared after her, waving back ferociously with his whole arm. She giggled and disappeared around a corner. "So do you believe all that? About the end of the world, burying the dead facedown?" Black Star said suddenly.
Soul thought about the dead blackened thing, digging blindly, ravenously forward as the world above burned, cracking earth and stone between her gray gravestone teeth, and shuddered. "Not really," he replied, ice in his spine. "But, you know, why risk it?"
Black Star gave a rather grim laugh. "I suppose. God knows we've seen enough shit happen already that I never thought would. Hope your girl does good. See ya later!" He took off like a whirlwind before Soul could do more than just begin to curse at him.
Three hours to showtime, Maka plastered herself to Aka's side, grooming him compulsively to the sounds of the gathering crowds, even though he was clean as a whistle, gleaming like a brand new penny. She looked at the saddle Tsubaki had given her to use tonight, wild roses and swirling vines embossed beautifully on the dark leather, and felt sick, nauseated with fear, With every passing moment it got worse. She wasn't prepared for this, she hadn't practiced long enough, and she was nearly certain that she was a person who liked to be fully in control, fully ready and entirely confident, before doing a thing. Aka flicked an ear back to her lazily, buried up to his eyes in hay, as she murmured to him, trying to calm her own nerves more than anything else. It wasn't working. She was vaguely considering running when Blair materialized, leaning a hip lissomely against a bale of hay and crossing her arms, which miraculously succeeded in pushing her breasts up even higher. "Hello there," she positively purred, tilted hazel eyes alight in a way that put Maka instantly on her guard.
"Hello. Why are you looking at me like I'm dinner?" she said warily.
Blair snickered at that, for some reason. "Oh, honey, I don't think you're my type. I hear Tsubaki's put you in the ring tonight?"
"Yes," Maka moaned, pushing her forehead against Aka's smooth neck and slinging an arm over his back. "I'm going to fall off and be killed, or I'll just faint in front of everyone."
"You're doing us all a real big favor," Blair observed, spreading a hand out and examining her scarlet nails critically. "Stein and Marie have another one of their mysterious assignments tonight. It seems we need extra security. Strange, no?"
Maka eyed her uncertainly. She had no idea whether or not the entire circus knew about the nighttime escapades of her friends, and she didn't know if she should tell anyone. She really should have asked Tsubaki to explain a little more clearly, but she'd been so focused on getting her scythe back that she hadn't thought to do so. Finally she settled on a noncommittal, "Yes indeed," and left it at that.
Blair smiled, ripe cherry lips curling lavishly. "It's rather a big deal," she said, with such overly saccharine tones that Maka immediately started shoving her brushes into her grooming kit and turning to escape. Blair reached out and linked arms with her before she could do so, nearly mashing Maka into her aggressively displayed cleavage. "We need to celebrate! To give you a proper welcome into the performing arts! You're all grown up now, you're going to do so well! I'm just so happy for you!" she squealed, starry eyed. Maka could only hang her head in defeat as she was dragged away. Aka watched her go, giving a final snort before returning to his dinner and abandoning her to her fate.
Blair's wagon, still on the tracks, was a vibrant, autumnal orange, as bright as one of her tigers, with a cheerful, mossy green roof. The inside was much less innocent; it looked like a brothel, Maka thought in dismay, looking around with apprehension at the crimson silks draping the walls, and at the floor, which was almost completely covered with humongous overstuffed pillows. The sweet smoky scent of incense was thick in the air and there were clothes scattered everywhere, most of which barely looked like clothing at all. She was so bemused by the place, by the way scandal simply oozed out of every corner, by the complex arcane-looking charts tacked on the walls, that it took her a moment to notice Tsubaki sitting on the fluffy bed, cast stuck carefully out in front of her, and Mira Nygus, bandages wrinkled around her long-lashed eyes in a smile.
"Help me," she said immediately to them both as Blair dove into a corner, clothing flying up in all directions. "This is your fault," she added to Tsubaki, who shrugged, palms in the air.
"I'm sorry! But this will be so good for you, you'll love it once you're out there! You'll really be one of us," she said fondly. Maka stared at her, catching the hidden meaning. Tsubaki was doing this, not only because it was needed, but because it would make Maka more trusted among the circus folk, which meant more independence, which meant more chances to find out who she was.
"Thank you," she said, heartfelt, touched at the actions this soft-spoken, gentle-hearted girl, who'd welcomed her with open arms.
Mira went over and sat beside Tsubaki, flinging her long legs up on the bed and crossing her arms behind her dreadlocked head. "This is so damn comfortable, Blair," she said happily, wriggling luxuriously down into it.
"I'm aware. It's useful, too," Blair said with a saucy wink. She held up something horrendously yellow and glittery to Maka's front, tilted her head consideringly, then tossed it aside.
"What's happening?" Maka said edgily, shifting towards the door.
Tsubaki laughed, soft chiming mirth. She was wrapped in the most beautiful garment Maka had ever seen, a kimono of dusty dove-colored silk, stitched with coral camellias, a single white crane raising its head and wings proudly on her side. Tiny pink tassels dangled from the edges, emphasizing every motion she made. It was easy for her to force Maka into playing dress up! Anything Tsubaki put on became even more lovely just by proximity to her. It wasn't fair. "You have to look the part," she said gleefully. "You're going to be so beautiful! I can't wait!" Behind her, Nygus started laughing out loud, probably at the look on Maka's face.
Maka gaped at them and then dived at the door, just getting the heart-shaped knob in her hands before Blair deftly reached up and slid the lock closed. "No no no," she chided, waggling a finger. "Bad girl!"
"I can't wear the things you two wear," Maka sputtered, looking between Blair and Tsubaki helplessly. "I'm all- I don't look like you two do! I'm all- I'm not- no!"
"She's right, Blair, she isn't going to fit into anything of yours," Mira drawled, yawning. "I brought you one of my old ones." She flapped a bandaged hand.
Blair pouted a little. "But this was all my idea," she said petulantly.
"You can paint her," Mira offered, sticking a finger under one of the pale bandages crossing her forehead and scratching.
Blair tilted her head, then sighed. "Fine, I suppose." An instant later, she was back to bouncing perfumed excess, snatching up the parcel beside Mira and ripping it open. Shreds of brown wrapping paper wafted to the floor as she held up the outfit. "Ooh, I take back everything, this is just adorable!" she crooned.
"It's been in storage but I think it will do," Mira said, yawning. She looked very lovely, as always, but rather tired.
Maka took a deep breath before looking at the outfit. "That's not terrible," she said at last. Blair handed it to her with a small, pretty scowl wrinkling her delicate features.
Mira smiled at Maka again. "I thought you'd be nervous enough anyway. The last thing you need to worry about is displaying your bits to the crowd. It's comfortable, too, you can move in it."
"Thank you! Really, thank you." Maka eyed the tiny, rejected scrap of lace Blair was looking at sadly and said again, in passionate relief, "Thank you!"
"Any time," Mira replied cheerfully. "Now come on, girl, let's get you prettied up. You'll like it when we're done, I promise. I'll keep these two in check." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at Tsubaki and Blair. "Face paint last, outfit first," she said in a businesslike fashion.
Maka stood there, feeling extremely young, Mira's outfit dangling from her fingers. "So what did you do when you performed?" she asked in a desperate bid to change the subject.
"I was just Sid's assistant. Got tired of being second fiddle, and performing was never my thing anyway. I started building props and what do you know, I'm damn handy with a knife and a hammer," Mira said, grinning and cracking her knuckles. "Come on, strip down. We're all girls."
"Oh-oh," Maka said in distress, feeling her cheeks turn hot. "All right, I just- please don't laugh at me. I don't do this kind of thing. I don't wear makeup and fancy clothes. Not even before, I don't think." Had she, before, been this kind of girl, the type who wore sequins and glamour, who rouged her cheeks and batted her lashes and kicked up her high heels? She strained, clawed at the brick wall so hard that pain almost buckled her knees, but she still couldn't say. It was only instinct that told her this was new territory. Most girls grew up learning these things from their mothers, didn't they? But then, her instincts also told her that she didn't know her mother well at all. Her heart grew a little heavy at the murky remembrance.
"Maka, it will all be all right. We don't mean to pressure you, I'm sorry," Tsubaki broke in gently.
Mira tilted her head and regarded her, dark eyes deep between her snowy wrappings. "The Dire Circus is a place where you can be anything you want to, regardless of what you were before," she said after a moment.
Maka considered that, looked at the outfit again, looked at the stunning women surrounding her, and gave in. She wanted to be a part of this circus, a part of all the dark glamour, the sly glittering artistry. She wanted somewhere to belong. "Fine," she squeaked, reaching for the first button of her blouse. She'd chosen one that buttoned right up the front, like a man's, because it was easier to get on and off without aggravating her shoulder. It was a wise choice. Tonight would be hard enough on her shoulder. She'd just have to go easy on it.
"I truly think you're going to surprise yourself. You're a smart girl, I can tell, a real live wire. You've got the snap and sizzle circus folk need. It'll go fine tonight," Mira said, helping her remove her shirt with cool deft fingers. No one blinked an eye at the bandages shrouding her shoulder, which told her everything she needed to know about just how deep the violence went in this circus- but she didn't have enough room in her stage-frightened brain to pry into that just now.
"You're going to do just wonderfully, I know it," Blair added, beaming in an almost motherly fashion that contrasted oddly with her lush purple waves. She then proceeded to peer thoughtfully down at her breasts and adjust them upwards, which somewhat ruined the maternal effect.
"I agree!" Tsubaki said happily, clapping her hands together.
Blair and Mira surrounded her, buttoning and tucking and adjusting, fingertips dancing over her skin in a feminine ritual as old as time, while Tsubaki advised from her post on the bed, until finally they stepped back, looking identically pleased. Maka blinked down at herself and shivered, not because it was cold, but because she felt unbelievably exposed, and at the same time, like she was wearing someone else's skin. If she were to look in a mirror, it would be yet another new girl staring back at her, and her life was crowded enough with ghosts as it was. "This?" she whispered, smoothing a hand tentatively across fabric that made her think of the fireflies. She wondered, suddenly, achingly, if her soup-making smudge of a father would be proud of her, if he missed her as much as she missed him.
"This," Mira echoed confidently, a brush full of something glossy and dark held steady in her capable hands. "You're a vision, doll, the crowd's going to roar."
The stark red mask was ever so slightly uncomfortable, as always, bumping the bridge of his nose and pinching his ears. It took a moment of wrangling to fix the tie in the back, to push it to a position where it wouldn't bother his scabbing wound. He took a moment to look down, to examine his reflection in the still water of his washbucket. The mask was fitting, plain and anonymous, the bloody lacquer the only sign as to what lay within him, and his eyes were hidden in shadows.
He put his head down as he worked his way through the crowds, following the silver, empty gaze of the skull sitting proud atop the biggest tent. He paused for a moment, to watch Black Star juggle four daggers with one hand before a wonderstruck gaggle of kids, laughing uproariously all the while, and then moved on. No one bothered him, a standard side effect of the mask, and in no time at all he was in front of his piano, fingers electric atop the ivories. "Hello. I've missed you," he whispered to it, burning up, and then started to play, launching into the notes with a feeling like coming home.
The time passed quickly, as it always did, and yet beautifully slowly. He caught sight of Tsubaki, sitting primly in the front row, two crutches leaning fornornly beside her, and spared her a nod, having finally realized why she was pushing Maka into the ring so soon- to help her gain the freedom to find her past. The rubes trickled in, filling up the seats, until he was surrounded by a solid mass of humanity, punctuated by the constellations pricked into the canvas. The air was thick with whispers and excited chatter, packed with the surreal. It was intoxicating, heavenly travel through sound, and he shut his eyes to bask in it. Behind the mask, he didn't have to fear sharp whispers or screams. All he had to do was smile invisibly when he heard them wonder at the endless, deep, darting music. At least he knew for certain he was good at one thing in his life.
He closed his ears to Lord Death as he played ringmaster, still angry, and for a moment the music went wild, but he calmed himself and reined it in, restrained it. The dogs came in, pushing each other in strollers, dressed up in polka dots and hats, and then Black Star appeared out of nowhere, knives bristling from between every finger of his closed fists; they slashed through the air so fast they screamed, and every single one hit the bullseye. He did it again, and again, barely looking, and each time they were within a hand's span of each other, clustered so tightly that their hilts brushed. He did a victory lap around the ring that was mostly cartwheels, flexing his arms, and then sprang over the ring's fence to elbow his way to a seat beside Tsubaki.
Blair slunk in next, hips swiveling outrageously, to her usual accompaniment of shouts and raucous wolfwhistles, blowing kisses as she cracked her whip. Her lions loved her, worshiped her, did everything she asked even as their massive teeth caught all the light, and her oldest tigress leapt through burning blazing rings as if it bored her; the flames were less bright than her shining fur. She returned to her mistress with lazy grace, and her hungry gaze quieted the shrieking crowd. Soul riffed on their feline movements, fingers flying, heavy primal accompaniment that suited their regal viciousness. Blair led her cats out like a queen, leaving the black whip lying in the center of the ring, a clear signal. She didn't need it. The crowd ate it up.
There was a pause, then, only a few seconds, and none of the audience knew enough to notice the delay, but Soul did. He knew, he knew who was coming, and his throat closed around his strained breath.
When her copper horse trotted in, ears pricked curiously at the crowd, gait more of a nervous Pegasus bounce than anything respectably equine, he barely recognized her atop the beast. Only the flash of her evergreen eyes put air back in his lungs as she swept by, divine, a valkyrie set aflame. Red and amber and deepest black flared up around her, shreds of cloth licking tenderly at her bare creamy thighs. Her lips were dark, the color of dying coals, and she was gloved to the elbow in silks no less black. Winged thumbprints of slick scarlet edged her eyes, panda prints of otherwordly richness, and a wide collar of chunky golden chains spread over her shoulders, clanking in time to her mount's proud steps. He knew that the bandages were hidden beneath it, covering the wound she'd gotten defending him, saving him, and something happened then that hadn't happened since he was a child. He watched her tear around the ring, teeth bared in a wild smile, riding backwards then forwards then rising to her booted feet as if gravity had no hold on her, and then he missed a note.
FOOTNOTES
1: 'Live wire' means a lively, energetic person, about the same as today.
2: A 'rube' is technically an unsophisticated person, usually from the country, but it can more specifically be a term used by circus folk for the people who attend their performances, even if they're from the city.
3: The ringmaster is the person who announces each act, though Lord Death only speaks at the beginning of the main show.
4: 'Equine' just means horse or horse-like.
Author says: Here you go! Hope you enjoy! I promise you lots of juicy information about Soul's past within two chapters at the MOST, but possibly next chapter. Just depends how things develop. Thank you so much for reading/reviewing! :)