Epilogue
It was a week or two later - the Innocent had stopped counting time at this point. Kooza had been restored to normal, or, well, as normal as it normally was. Nobody had said anything to him about going back to the Other world, and so he stayed, and it felt as if he had always been here, as if he had come home. He was happier than he had ever been.
The charivari loved him, as a kind of plaything, and he loved them, more or less. They kept him bluffing, like an extremely large collection of aunts and uncles. He was getting to know the other inhabitants of the realm better too, the daring tightwire artists and the exotic little contortionists and the current trapeze artist, who always gave him a twinge of some not-quite-identifiable feeling. She reminded him too much of Tia.
Christian was right - the Trickster had kept him out of Innocent's way since they had all returned to the realm. But the King and his sidekicks still hung around, goofier than ever, and Sergei and probably-Pete had berated the two of them endlessly for leaving them out of all the action. The Innocent didn't mind, really, though he did sneak off after a while when their insanity got to be too much. The dog had adopted him, and followed him around everywhere. This was the best part of staying in Kooza, really. He had always wanted a dog.
But he hadn't seen the Trickster. He wasn't sure if Kooza's creator was intentionally avoiding him or whether he was just busy with other things, but since that last overly action-packed day, he hadn't seen a glimpse of that red-and-yellow suit. Or the blue and orange one, for that matter.
On this particular day, he was back on top of the tower - which he had since learned was called a bataclan - hanging out almost alone in the tent, leaning against the railing and looking out over the realm, which he now realized was rather small, but in a cozy way. There were a few charivari stretching in the shadows, but mostly it was just him and the bataclan and the stage, which was painted to look like a starry sky. He'd never really had time to look at it before. It was very pretty.
"Why don't you talk?" a voice asked next to him him. He turned.
The Trickster was leaning on the railing next to him, casual and catlike, like they'd spent the every day of the past two weeks together. There was no one else around. It was only he who could have spoken. There was no 'Thank you for saving my life.' No explanation for anything which had happened, no discussion of anything which might happen in the future. Just one small, direct question.
Trickster looked straight at him, unblinking, his face serious except for his blue eyes, which were sparkling, and his neatly painted mouth, the corner of which twitched up. There was no way out, no way to pretend that he, the Innocent, hadn't heard or couldn't respond.
The Innocent thought, and because it had been a serious question, he really did think it out. After a long silence, he said, "Why don't you?"
And the Trickster threw back his head and laughed and laughed and laughed.
The End (or, alternately, End of Part One)
...
A/N: This is the first longer fanfic I've ever finished. I hope you enjoyed it. I know I enjoyed writing it.
Please note me if you have unresolved questions about the story or characters (most of the things which I left cryptic are that way on purpose, but that doesn't mean I won't share the answers with you if you ask).
