A/N: This chapter is one of three that are the climax to this fic.
"I'm going to make you better," the thought passes. He thinks he is doing to right thing. He hops he is doing the right thing.
"The last showing?" She looks at the two tickets, noting the time. They are on the bus, catching the second to last ride that night. "I don't see how it can be much help if there's no way back home after. We'll be trapped."
He groans. The bus drives over a speed bump.
"You didn't think about that, did you?"
He hadn't. The bus takes a sharp turn to the right and Rainy slides across the seat, closer. When the vehicle straightens, he pushes her back over and she straightens in the seat. Once again, he wonders why they are sharing one. Rainy crosses her arms and continues staring at the flimsy red ticket in her hands.
For the rest of the ride, there's little talking. Pietro constantly fidgets. Rainy doesn't look away from out the window. When they finally step off the bus, carnival lights are already strung up and glowing, rides are in motion, creaking and metal clanking, and children are screaming for candy to their parents. The animal attractions have been brought out and there are performers doing small tricks for pocket cash.
There are no lines at the entrance. The bus rumbles back down the road, and neither have spoken still.
Pietro watches her approach the ticket teller and given wristbands of admission. He has his on first; he sees Rainy struggling and takes her wrist in his hand, complying to assist. She still hasn't spoken. She doesn't thank him either.
"What're you thinking about?" he asks, tying her wristband on for her.
When her mouth opens, at first no words come out. "What did he say when you got there? You said that this is a personal appointment."
Yeah, well...
"They said that that's after the show," waves a finger as they enter the carnival grounds.
"So I'm expects to sit through another one of their dreadful shows? How are you to know that they were truthful? Who did you talk to?"
He tries to reason, to insists that it wouldn't be so bad, that carnivals are supposed to be fun, right? But she isn't buying it.
"How disappointing. Still trying to con me out of my money. This time, my time."
"You didn't say this about a con man!" Instead, Pietro has tries looking on the brighter side—this would be more of a challenge for him, the sneaking and the adrenaline—but hearing this, maybe he's getting himself into an even bigger mess. Maybe he should have stayed home.
Rainy responds with a simple, "oh" from over her shoulder. She's holding her sweater balled-up in her arms, leaving her shoulders exposed in her blowy, sleeveless blouse.
"You aren't cold, are you?"
She looks down again. "No," her tone is soft.
He watches her shoulders. There's something sticking out along her right one shoulder blade, something beneath her shirt, something colorful. He isn't going to ask about it. At least not yet.
His tongue darts out. Wipes his mouth with his hand, once.
Mulch crunches under their feet. They approach the entrance to the main tent and Rainy draws back the flap, peering inside. It's dark, the metal bleacher seats rapidly filling as the last of the audience crowds inside, packing side by side. They reminding Rainy of sardines. Pietro hasn't gone inside, and instead, is exchanging money for a large bag of buttered popcorn.
"What do you think you're doing?" she calls.
He turns with a cheek already full. "I'm hungry, calm down."
She glances over his shoulder to see a small boy, maybe around the age of seven, and his parents walking towards a kiddie ride. The mother is holding a small stick of cotton candy stick and the father looks nervous.
"So I got these two tickets," the mutant speaks. "We better head inside because I think the show is going to start soon and I want my money's worth."
"What?"
Pietro blinks. "Did I say something wrong now?"
If Rainy could be surprised, she would have. "You really think I've come here to spend my money again on cheap prizes and waters down soda? They're show is a joke here. The tickets are overpriced and you can see the illusions a mile away. The man in charge here can and will swindle you out of your money for a future fortune after giving you a false reading of when you'll die." Her voice is calm, collects, and slicing. He's frowning deeply now but she doesn't care. "And the cotton candy machines are never cleaned."
Pietro pauses with a fistful of popcorn halfway to his mouth. Now, it lowers tentatively, disappointed. "Well now you just ruined the whole thing. You need to stop doing that."
"Before, I wasn't able to come here—myself. I don't, can't fathom why. But I am now, and I'm not going to lose sight of my goal now, this place that ruins my life." Her hair is tied in a high ponytail and she is wearing a denim jacket, jeans, an almost scowl on her face. "You're free to leave anytime, whenever you want, Maximoff. This doesn't concern you; you can go and watch that liar of a man if you want."
They hear pony horses, the call of a falcon somewhere.
There isn't a sound that passes between them for a good minute. Rainy sees the gears turning in his head, his look transforms from disappointed to astonished to comprehension, before returning to a deep frown. She sees him finally chuck his fistful of popcorn back into the bag.
Inside the main tent, the lights dim and a tall, round man in a top hat and suit emerges to the center ring, carrying a whip. He throws his hands up and introduces himself as the owner of this carnival, Ringmaster Balzani. His voice booms, amplified by speakers.
Rainy looks off to the side, turns to leave, and Pietro debates.
How long has he known Rainy?—this girl who couldn't keep her mouth shut and who doesn't filter her words. Who has helps him bring up his grades, and doesn't care whether you like her or not. She's truthful, ballsy, belligerent, and unfamiliar, a breath of fresh air—she's cursed and is surrounded by questionable, stereotypically questioning people. She is cursed, and every time Pietro crosses her path, wonders why he puts up with her, why he doesn't just run away and leave her behind and to her own fate. Their deal is done. He doesn't have to keep seeing her to study. He doesn't have to listen to her un-flustering banter. He doesn't need to listen to her story. He doesn't need to care.
He wants to call it charity work, but—
This girl is a basket case. It's probably his own selfishness that led him to stay—he doesn't deny that she has connections, and that she could help him (cheat) ace every exam. But that isn't it. Not entirely.
He, himself, is rude, selfish, inconsiderate, impatient, and oblivious. She doesn't think, couldn't feel, is an open book and a puzzle; she has no regards for other's personal feelings, is conniving, condescending, insensitive, and morally questionable.
Time feels to have slowed down as Pietro watches her ponytail sway as she turns on her heels.
Like her, sometimes he doesn't know why he is here either. He wants to say that it is a kind of charity work.
"Let's go." He grabs her wrist before she can walk off—Rainy is fast but he's faster. "This does involve me now? Where is this ass-wipe? What pile of shit is he hiding under?"
Glancing at his fist around her wrist, she asks what he is doing this time.
"Going to find this jerk. You're on an agenda, right? Let's go."
She needs a moment to gather this, to try and understand his logic for this. "Don't even think I'm thanking the likes of you."
"Don't worry, I'm not. Instead, you should be the one who's thankful."
"...I don't understand that."
. . .
. . .
Meisha sits at her cream-white dresser glaring at er ugly, repulsive reflection in the mirror. This time she isn't crying, isn't bawling or in pain. She hasn't touched the pair of scissors used to tear a two-inch wide gap of hair from her scalp. That she used to self harm. She hasn't seen them in a long while, having placed them back in the kitchen drawer and acted like nothing ever happened. The small bald spot of hair has a fuzz-patch now. from her scalp. She continues to hide it with high ponytails and braided buns.
When she has been crying
Snip
It's the same as self-harm
red pause scene
Meisha glares at herself in the mirror. Takes a wet wipe to her face and, smearing at first, wipes the makeup off that she's worn that day. Mascara borrowed from her mother's bag glossed over peach colored lipstick. Sherry applied it earlier that day, but the strawberry blonde hadn't realized that she couldn't put on the same type of makeup that she uses on another, that different techniques flatter different features. Powder blush and too-light foundation smear the moist cloth.
Meisha throws the used wipe away in the wastebin beside her dresser and takes out another, wiping away the eyeliner and mascara.
She groans. She still has some time to warm up to this. She considers taking tips from her mother.
When she's working on ridding the lipstick, her mother knocks and enters her bedroom without waiting for a reply.
She's shocked, feels intruded, feels suddenly guilty. "Mom?"
The woman's eyes are torn, the sees. They're sad, remorseful, guilty, concerned—then she squares her shoulders, raises her chin. "Meisha, how've you been? ...Have you been feeling alright?"
She hesitates, suddenly suspicious. "Yes..."
Lie
"Really? Nothing's been going on that you might want to talk about? Like...trouble at school? Boys...? Feelings...?"
Then suddenly the girl's heart is in her throat and her blood is rushing. Meisha freezes. This time, she doesn't reply.
Her mother continues. "Because I have something of yours." She approaches closer and now Meisha can see what is in her other hand. Her mother outstretches her arm and inside her palm are locks—thick clumps of light ginger hair. Her daughter's eyes go wide.
Meisha's initial reaction is to blurt, "it's not mine!" And it's on the end of her lips, her mouth already forming the lie when she stops herself.
"Oh, it's not?" her mother questions, not fooled at all.
The girl's jaw snaps closed. It's a reaching assumption—she is the only one in the house with red hair and it's irrefutable.
But her mother's eyes remain calm and soft and so, so troubled. "Meisha, we need to talk," she calmly orders.
. . .
. . .
Safety is number one
"I don't understand. You actually fell for it and believed that Balzani was going to help?"
They pass a warning sign, one that instructs safety and precaution.
"It was an honest mistake."
As the show under the tent begins, Pietro grabs Rainy's wrist and shoulders his way through a small bustling of people. He drops his bag of popcorn somewhere on the ground. When he realizes that he's pulling her along and doesn't know where to go, and turning and asking her to lead, she does so without a word. Leads them past the ride attractions and further into the back of the carnival.
It's practically night out. Insects are singing, foretelling the approaching darkness. Inky black chases away pink and gold clouds; the sky strains to hold the last of daylight at the very edges of the horizon.
"Do you know where you're going? You said that you tend to forget things. Do you remember what the guy looks like?" he asks, warily. "You know, you could have forgotten or got it mixed up. How are you so certain? How are you certain it's this way?"
Her answer is cutthroat and simple: "You don't forget the face of the person who ruined your life and your family."
Oh.
"You really thing he ruined your family too? How do you even know? You think that it's—-"
"Yes, I'm certain." Rainy steps over a protruding rope line that Pietro trips over. "Balzani—the ring leader—he's worse than you'd imagine."
"You don't think that maybe these thoughts are all one-sided...?" His brow rises. He wants to be skeptical and he doesn't know how much to believe.
"Balzani is the ultimate conman here who swindled all these performers into contracts with no loopholes," she explains in one breath, ombre brown ponytail swinging. "Why do you think the ticket prices were so high?"
"How do you know this?!" Pietro is appalled.
"That's how they trick you. They get your expectations high and they feed you mediocre attractions." She points to a kiddie roller coaster; it's breaks rusted and screaming as it comes to a jolted stop.
He frowns. They round behind a cotton candy stand. "I'm guessing you didn't like the show?"
"I saw every trick coming."
Well then, this is kind of a bummer.
He pulls his hat lower, hiding his prematurely grey hair. "Okay then, where are we going?"
"We're finding the guy who can grant wishes."
She turns onto a path that leads under a makeshift archway labeled House of Miracles and Oddities. As they enter, the attractions change to more personalized tents, some with titles, stage names, lurring attractions, all painted on large cloth tapestries and wood. There's one of a bearded woman holding a hand mirror, one of a very obese balded man, and a sign about a contortionist. Then the miracles oddities became more peculiar as the two journey further into the "house": a painted tapestry of a magician without arms, of a two-heads fortune teller, a sign labeled a "living devil," a shrinking woman with wings given the stage name "actual fairy," a picture of a woman eating swords and titled "the bottomless woman." There's another of a shirtless man with spikes protruding from his back like a porcupine. Another with an elongated face. A sign reading "human magnet."
Pietro's skin crawls.
"Rainy...?" He's becoming more wary, uncomfortable, making sure to stay to her side.
A trio of teen boys exit from the fortuneteller's tent appearing as if they've seen something ghastly, and Pietro can hear the remnants of the woman's voice calling from inside.
"It should be over here," Rainy muses aloud, pointing ahead. "Near the human flamingos if he hasn't moved."
"Human flamingos?!"
"My mistake. Mutant flamingos." She points to a sign that reads "Real dancing plants!" and Pietro scrunches his nose. "No, I lied again."
He glares.
Her pace slows when her destination comes into view. It's a red tapestry hanging high of the face of a man painted on it. The stage name "wish-granter" is written in alluring gold.
"Really? Wish-granter?" Pietro grumbles. "He couldn't pick any better name? Why not genie or magic man or something cool?"
She's staring at a tent nearby. The one that allegedly holds a woman with three eyes. "Because, as I told , he likes to consider himself a shaman."
"Consider?"
She nods.
It's silent, but luckily not awkward.
The carnival is alive with cranking of old gears, corn popping, animals defecating, and Balzani's voice echoing.
Rainy stares at the tent before them. She stares and stares and stares and stares. Pietro wants to ask what she's thinking. To be honest, he's afraid to ask. He's not sure if he would like the answer, if he would be told more information that he probably shouldn't know, that he probably shouldn't get emotional over, that he probably shouldn't worry about because it doesnt involve him.
He nudges her side, asks if she is sure she wants to do this. She only frowns.
"Maximoff, I'll say this once more." He asks "what?" but she continues as if he hadn't. "Perhaps it's difficult to tell from my clothes, but my body might not actually be worth the price you'd pay for accomplicing a crime."
"You and I have two different expectations, I see. You also seem pretty confident. Overly confident." He speaks truthfully, and then switches over to sarcasm. "You're great at persuasion though. Absolutely fantastic. The best. You blow my mind."
"Don't be rude. This is a serious situation—"
"And I'm being serious."
"-—And none of this situation calls for you. So you can retreat back before something unfortunate happens."
But he only glares at her and tells that he's going in anyway. Maybe he could get a few punches in too. She tells him only after she gets her condition fixed. He grins and agrees, flexing his shoulders, his knuckles, makes a show of it. It's mainly to convince himself. They cross the final few feet to stand at the threshold of the Wish-granter's tent.
"You ready?" He looks to her.
She sighs. No answer.
"Well nothing's going to happen if we just stand here," she points. Oddly, that takes some of his wariness away.
The tent is well kept, almost specially decorated, like in some kind hierarchy and this one is near the top. Jewels and beads hang from the ceiling and the smell of incense burning carries on the air.
He takes the first step forward.
A voice inside stops him: "Wipe your feet!"
The teen jumps.
Peering inside, both notice the floor mat on the ground for the first time. The mutant grumbles as he wipes his sneakers before stepping inside.
Darkness
Strangeness
Dangerous to walk around
Mysterious existence
Eye
Finger
Monster
Mouth
tongue
tooth
Nose
Ear
Immortal
A strangely deadened girl
Capulet
My intuition is right now at 10%
The inside is dim, almost completely dark. It doesn't help that it is very close to nighttime outside. The inside of the tent is illuminated by large candles placed at each corner, extras on small side tables. Pietro's vision adjusts and he focuses a woman with a veil over her eyes curled up alongside a man, both sitting on pillows over a reed mat. The man curls his fingers forward, ordering the teens to come inside.
The teen blinks. He feels Rainy stand at his side, solid and calm. It helps a little.
The woman in the short veil shifts, her hand still on the chest of her apparent lover.
"Well, nice to meet you, miss," the man smiles and the teen is immediately suspicious. Pietro notices there are painted markings—tattoos?—near the man's eyes. The mutant also sees that the other wore a sleeveless shirt, and that he appears to like food and little exercise. "I am Halil, the Wish Granter. Anything your heart desires—family problems to resolve; an ex you'd like to forget; meditation to erase the day's troubles—I can grant them all." Pietro could have sworn that the man's grin grows wider, sneakier.
The mutant shuffles.
"Nice to meet you, too. My name is Rainy Capulet. This is my classmate," she nods her head in Pietro's direction, who stands still with his arms at his sides. "He's heard of things about you and came along to see you."
"Ah, I see..."
Partially taken off guard by how polite and sincere she sounds, Pietro looses his composure for a split second. He doesn't know that the woman in the veil catches it. She whispers in a foreign language to the Wish Granter's pierced ear.
"Halil," Pietro butts in. "Around two years ago, this girl—-"
"Three years," Rainy corrects. "And please refrain from saying 'this girl.' That's rude."
"Then what would you want me to say then?"
"...An unfortunate casualty."
"This unfortunate casualty that we know," he repeats in a drone. He's nearly rolling his eyes but doesn't want this creepy couple to kidnap him.
"Don't use such a robotic tone. Say it properly." Rainy's head is slightly tilted.
He sighs, still facing the couple. Pietro whispers, still clearly snark and no longer paying attention. "This casualty that we know—-" He earns two fingers to his eyes when he suddenly turns back toward her, as Rainy had been ready and prepared with fingers outstretched.
While cursing and holding his eyes in pain and accusing that she has meant to poke his eyes out, she replies that rude comments are an eyesore.
"In any case," she continues, turning her steely gaze to the man sitting on the pillows. "Who's she?" The girl points to the woman in the veil.
The woman leans forward, beginning to stand. Stopping her, the Wish Granter insists she remain sitting. She spits for Rainy to watch her tongue in another language. The man tells Rainy that the woman isn't a part of this conversation.
"So, no one major?" Rainy asks.
The woman bristles.
The Wish Granter laughs. "You got a mouth on you, don't you, young lady?"
Rainy ignores it. "So anyway, I was told that you can help me."
He leans back on his pillow seat. "Well, that's what I'm here for."
"Like I said before: I'm Rainy Capulet. Exactly three years ago I came to this carnival and went to see you after watching the main show with complaints about my home life."
"Sorry ma'am, I don't remem—-"
"I came to you with two other girls: one with red hair, one with bushy black. I was wearing this necklace with this picture inside it. You wanted it instead of money." She takes her golden necklace from around her neck and opens the locket to show the picture inside. Pietro couldn't deny that the man's eyes do glint, as if suddenly finding treasure. "I came here for help. Instead, my wish turned and backfired."
Pietro begins to worry. His eyes darts to the man who is squinting now, studying, judging Rainy who stands firm with unwavering guild. Tension passes in wavelengths. The Wish Granter tells the woman beside him to leave, that this is business matters that need to be handled alone. And she is reluctant at first, but he orders her once more and she rises to her feet; Pietro sees that they are bare. As she walks by, he notices that she's inches taller than he, and the mutant can swear, is more than certain that he sees a third eye under that thin veil, one centered and above her first two, situated on her forehead.
Eye
Strangeness
He swallows, remaining silent.
The Wish Granter stares at Rainy minutes after his lover leaves. Finally he shrugs. "Sorry miss. The only one who can help you is yourself."
Immortal
Mouth
Monster
Pietro looks to the girl beside him. He doesn't dare move from his spot or open his mouth. He feels a breeze from outside, faint, against the back of his jeans. Having been the victim of Rainy's wrath once before, the mutant only grows concerned—concerned of what she will say and is to happen.
Her tone is cut, stony. "I've been fed that stage line by many other people. All of them were frauds. Don't tell me you're just like them, Wish Granter?"
Pietro almost jumps when the man laughs. "You're feisty, huh? So straightforward." And it's like he's studying her. Not quite judging, but not quite honest either. "Did something bad happen to you?"
Rainy isn't smiling. Pietro isn't sure if he's ever seen her smile. She doesn't speak either.
"Well, anyway," the man continues, slapping his knees. "If you don't tell me, then there's nothing to be discussed. I keep secrets well. It'll be alright..."
Something doesn't appear right and seems...off. And then it hits him. Now, Pietro could put a finger to the man's look: the smile of a deceitful, conniving man. A liar.
Rainy had been right, he realizes.
"Here, let me give the gist of it," the mutant begins.
"No need for that. I'll do it myself." She steps forward. "I can speak for myself."