So I started writing this about... a week ago, but I ended up REALLY, REALLY disliking parts of it and basically stalling for like 5 days while I glared at it. So... don't get your hopes too high for this.
Disclaimer: I am not well-informed in the following subjects: Popcorn, history, anything medical related, certain terms? wedding customs in this time, or even what time period it takes place in because I'm too lazy to type into a google search bar. If anything in this story is historically inaccurate, please forgive me.
"I cannot believe you would make such a change without talking to me first." P.T. Barnum fumed. "I built this show with my own two hands, and I gave ownership over to you because I trusted you. Is this how you reward that trust?!"
"P.T., I should think you of all people would be the least likely one to stand in the way of progress." Phillip Carlyle scoffed. "The audiences like it. Anne likes it."
"Anne? Anne?! You run your new ideas past your woman, but not me?!" P.T. pressed a hand to his chest, looking hurt. "I'm wounded, Phillip. You were like a son to me."
"Maybe you should just try it, old man." Phillip teased, offering him a paper cup full of popcorn. P.T. crossed his arms.
"No. Peanuts are what I raised my audiences on, and by my wife I'm not going to stop now."
"Oh, come on, P.T., whatever happened to 'the new and unusual'?" The younger man elbowed him lightly. "Besides, with demand for peanuts going up, buying popcorn instead is a much better investment. And… at this point, I'm sick of peanuts." Barnum laughed, clapping him on the back.
"Alright, that I can understand." It had been two months now since Phillip was attacked on his way home, and Phineas walking him home every week had steadily become less for Phillip's protection and more an extension of their time together. They were in no hurry to get home, and were slowly growing out of their habit of sticking to the more lit and populated streets. They were confident in their ability to fight in the event that they were attacked, or at least look intimidating enough that the criminal element of the city would leave them alone.
As summer turned into fall, the days had gotten longer and longer, enough that their walks home now took place exclusively after dark. Most days there would still be quite a few people milling about, but tonight it was very quiet as the pair walked down a silent street lit by a few lanterns.
"Still, you should at least try it." Phillip nudged him with the cup. "We put melted butter and salt on it. It's delicious."
"No thank you." Phineas nudged the cup back at him. "I, for one, will remain loyal to my peanuts."
"I hope you realize we do still offer peanuts, we just offer popcorn now as well. It's been a hit."
"With the critics?"
"Who cares what they think?" Phillip rolled his eyes. "But, as of yet, I have seen no mention of it in the papers. Perhaps they fear drawing attention to it will only make the crowds bigger."
"To be fair, that's what's happened so far."
"Exactly. Perhaps they've finally learned their-" Phillip thought he finished his sentence, but he could never be sure, as the sound of shattering glass drowned out the world around him and pain exploded in his head.
The next thing he knew Phineas was shouting his name, and he was lying on the ground – since when was he down here? -, his head pounding. Pushing himself up on his hands, he looked up to see four men standing around them, one of whom holding the jagged remains of a beer bottle. That's what had hit him. P.T. was kneeling next to him on the ground, a hand on his shoulder, as he glared up at the men surrounding them.
"We don't want any trouble." He said quietly.
"Then hand over yer cash." The thug with the bottle growled back.
"And valuables." A second thug added. Wordlessly, P.T. began to fish in his pockets for his wallet, mouthing are you okay? as he did so. Biting his lip, Phillip nodded, pressing a hand to his throbbing head.
"Yer watches, too!" One of them men snapped as P.T. offered them a wad of bills. Phillip winced. He liked his watch. But then, he really didn't have a choice. They were outnumbered two to one, and their opponents had the upper hand. Painstakingly pushing himself upright, Phillip reached into his jacket and began to undo the clasp holding the chain of his watch to the fabric.
"He said hand it over!" The first thug snapped, bracing his boot on Phillip's shoulder and shoving him backwards.
"I'm trying." Phillip bit back, shaking fingers fumbling with the small clasp. Slowly, P.T. reached over and helped him unfasten it before handing it over to their attackers. When he lowered his hand back to Phillip's shoulder, the thug's eyes followed.
"Yer ring." He ordered. "Hand it over."
"What? No." Phineas narrowed his eyes. "This is my wedding ring. I'll keep it, thank you."
"We'll take it, one way or another." The man threatened him. "Best for th' both of you if ye just give it up."
"You will not be taking my wedding ring." P.T.'s voice was clipped and dangerous, and he stood up, causing the thieves to lift their fists and weapons, respectively, in a threatening manner. A spike of panic going through him, Phillip grabbed Phineas' leg, shaking his head. They couldn't win this. Even if Phillip wasn't already hurt, they would have little chance of overpowering these stronger, and, in some cases, armed men. P.T. glanced down at him, but his face only hardened as he turned back to the man, clutching the cane in his hand tighter.
"Ye can't beat us, old man." The third man slurred. Undoubtedly the reason the beer bottle was empty. "What'chu plan to do, hit me with yer cane?" He let out a bark of mocking laughter, which was immediately silenced by the solid-iron handle of P.T.'s cane slamming into his face.
As Phillip watched, his mouth falling open in shock, Phineas spun around with practiced ease, handling his cane like a club as he slammed it into a second man's head. The remaining two thugs, having apparently just realized that their prey was fighting back, let out a battle cry and moved to attack them, but Phineas dodged their blows and took them down as well. Phillip just stared. Clearly this wasn't his mentor's first time fighting from a position of weakness.
Unfortunately, none of the men, though felled for the time being, were out of the fight. Growling and muttering, the men began to pick themselves up, and P.T. hurriedly grabbed Phillip's arm, hauling him to his feet.
"Can you walk?" He hissed. Phillip nodded. Probably. "Then let's go." As they started down the street again, one of the men lunged after them, grabbing Phillip's arm and yanking him back.
"Yer not getting away." He snapped as Phineas spun to face him, a murderous look on his face. "We don't wanna have to hurt ye, give up yer ring and we'll let you go." Phillip could only stare, his head still spinning from the blow. He really should do something to help, but instead of recovering he only felt worse and worse.
"How about you leave now, and I won't have to cave in your skulls?" P.T. snapped back. "You're nothing but a bunch of drunks. "Go home and rethink your life decisions." The man swung the broken bottle in his hand at Phillip's face. Gasping, the young man managed to jerk back enough to avoid a second blow to the head, but a jagged edge of the broken glass caught his face, slicing open a cut across his cheek.
Immediately, Phineas yanked him back, pushing him behind him, but it did neither of them any good as two more of the men tackled Phineas to the ground, one of them pinning him down as the other tried to snatch the ring off his finger. The pain snapping him out of his frightened daze, Phillip kicked one of the men in the head, making him yell and focus on him instead. This gave P.T. an opening to punch the man on top of him in the face.
The man with the bottle took another swing at Phillip, but he stumbled and missed, and the ringmaster tripped him, sending him sprawling to the ground. P.T. got another good hit on his attacker before managing to slip free, scrambling to his feet and grabbing Phillip by the wrist.
"Run." He snapped, and Phillip obeyed, following along behind him as Phineas lead him down an alley. He heard the men shouting after them, but they had gotten enough of a head start that they soon lost the would-be robbers in the maze of streets.
P.T. didn't stop dragging him along for a long time, until long after the men's shouts had faded into nothing. Finally, he stopped in a dark, cluttered alley, sinking down behind a stack of crates and pulling Phillip down with him.
"Let me see your face." He fussed, tugging a handkerchief from his pocket and pressing it to the cut on Phillip's cheek. "How's your head? You took a pretty nasty blow."
"I'm fine." The younger man replied automatically, finding it hard to think through the pounding in his head.
"Phillip, come on, talk to me." P.T. took his face between his hands, forcing him to meet his eyes, then he sighed. "I'm sorry, Phillip. My ring is just a piece of metal, it wasn't worth getting you hurt."
"What? No." Phillip blinked, shaking his head. "That's your wedding ring. That's special. What would Charity think if you lost that? And this is just a scratch."
"No, Charity would understand if I lost the ring, but she would kill me if you had gotten hurt any worse than this for letting it happen." Taking Phillip's hand and pressing it over the handkerchief, P.T. stood up. "I'm going to go try to find out where we are. "Don't leave this spot, understand?" The younger man nodded, and he walked off. Phillip closed his eyes, leaning back against the concrete wall. If he was looking forward to a good night's sleep before the attack, he was definitely looking forward to it now. He was exhausted. But, his head hurt too much, and he was far too uneasy to try and sleep in this alley, alone. He just wanted to get home.
"Phillip." He jumped at P.T.'s voice – he hadn't heard him coming. "We're close to the circus, and that's the safest place nearby. There'll probably still be someone there, right?" Reflexively, Phillip reached for his watch, then remembered what had happened to it and sighed.
"Probably." He confirmed. "Though I'm not sure how late it is. Will we spend the night there?"
"If we must. It depends on how badly you are hurt."
"How badly…? I feel fine."
"Still, I know a couple of the performers have medical experience, if they're there then we can have them examine you."
"Very well." Phillip started to try to get to his feet, P.T. assisting him when he stumbled. "To the circus, then?"
"To the circus."
It looks like this will end up getting just one more chapter before I run out of plot again.
~FFF