***This is a one-off chapter. It is not truly to be read in any order, but we felt it would be best to put this flashback here, in order to clear certain things up. Any chapter with this kind of title marker will be similar in nature and not truly fit anywhere in the story chronologically. Enjoy~**

Lemme give you some friendly advice, kids. Don't become a street performer. Become a garbage man er somethin'... cause then at least you'll be sure that yer gonna eat a decent meal everyday. That and performin' on the street aint exactly legal. Most of the townspeople in Radiant Garden don't seem to mind me bein' here. They seem to enjoy my shows... they're jus' really fuckin' stingy with the payments. Either way, money is money.

Funny thing is, people are either payin' me to stop tryin' to hurt myself, or payin' me to continue... I can't really tell which. Ya see, I'm an escape artist. I can get outta anything and everything. Water tanks, coffins, handcuffs, cement shoes, and especially iron bars. Yeaaaaa... You can see why the local guards hate me. The only ones they seem to hate just as much as me are those Gypsies. And the Gypsies hate me just as much as the guards. What can I say? I got charm.

Placing the metal donation bowl on the ground, I turn to fix the tall wooden crate behind me. The Gypsies are bothered by the fact that I steal some of their favorite show areas. They're performers by nature, traveling across many towns seeking fame... er whatever they seek. None of 'em seem to speak our language, nor do they want to speak to us. They speak on their own terms. Trust me I know. I've tried to bargain with 'em. I mean, after all, we're all brothers in binds when the guards come anyway. As if they could even catch me...

"Hey you! Street rat!"

Right on cue. These guards must really like my shows.

"Heeeyyy Thing One, and Thing Two!" I spun to face the two burly Radiant Garden soldiers behind me. Leaning against the box, I tossed a few long knives in the air, juggling them as I continued to interrupt them. "Care to help me with a show this fine afternoon?"

Just as Thing Two was about to decline my offer, Thing One interrupted him with a quick push to the side. "Sure, we might as well help ya, since it'll be your last show, Street Rat."

"My last? Heh... As if."

There he is again. That fool. Asha knows not why she must constantly check up on him... it is just that... he knows not what powers he toys with. I hid in the secret crevice we Gypsies had tunneled many years ago, peering out from the shadows at this poorly done charade in the distance. Again, the guards harass him. Nothing different than what they do to my people. However, he seems to enjoy making them squirm in the fact that they will never catch him. Despite being a complete fraud by using magic to evade his traps, I've seen him succeed without... He truly is an Escape Artist.

"It's so sweet of ya to help me with my performance. Have ya ever heard of the blade box?" He tosses another knife high into the air and catches it yet again, giving the guards a crooked smile.

"Oh yes. Is this the one where you escape from a box after we cut ya full of holes?"

"Bingo."

"Alright then you cocky bastard. Get in the box! And if ya can't escape then you're coming with us. Deal?"

"Sure. Why the hell not?"

Making deals with guards now... They're too stupid to realize that he can use magic to escape. Although, Asha is curious to see where this is going. They seem to confident in this bet. Stepping out a little further from the shadows, I continue to watch, intently focusing on the events before me. Where is this going?

They bought it. Nice. Handing them the knives, I turn and step inside the box, lettin' out a deep steady breath as they close the door, and force it shut. Performing aint easy. It never was... and I doubt it ever will be. The rush is still the same though, I'm prayin' that never changes either.

Without much warning, the first knife plunges through the box with a deafening splinter. It would have pierced my gut had it not been for the magic I'm usin'. I don't really wanna be a shishkebab... Otherwise I would usually keep the parlor tricks to a minimum.

As another knife plunges through my shoulder and out the other end of the box, I can hear faint mumbling from outside the box. Thank god fer my talents... er satan... er... whatever gave me this. Cause it definitely helps. Somethin' in me doesn't trust what they're doin' out there though. There's twelve of those knives. Are they tryin' to make a pattern with em er somethin'?

Another three knives pierce the box in three separate spots. Luckily this time they don't even come close to my body at all. Heh... they're not even tryin'. Let's see... there's five... six... seven, eight... nine... …. …. ten, and eleven.

Damn... this parlor trick is getting' hard to keep up. What are they doin'?!

"Hey! What's the holdup?!" I manage to holler from inside the box.

A wicked laugh erupts from behind me as the final knife is stabbed into the box. Through my right eye no less. I shouldn't have said anything... it only made it easier fer them to find where my head was.

"Alright kids, ya had yer fun. Now it's time fer me to blow this joint..."

The box jerks forward slightly, making me jump by the sudden force of it.

"Not this time, rat."

What I can only imagine was a foot connected with the back of the box with such force that the whole thing toppled over. The crate slams hard onto the ground and a sharp pain erupts in my shoulder. Shit. The knife in my shoulder lost its displacement. Another kick to the box sends it over the curb. The one in my leg plunges straight through. I cry out in pain as I use what I have left of my focus to displace as many of the other knives as I can before its too late. Last thing I heard before my vision went white was a very... loud... scream.

Asha promised herself that she wouldn't meddle in the affairs of this fool. But what else could I have done? The poor sod was going to be killed, if I didn't step in. In fact... maybe I am too late. The guards turned tail and ran as soon as they found their feet grasped by the fingers of the dead. Good. They will pay.

Using a nearby knife that came from the box, no doubt displaced, I pried open the lid. Gods give me strength... I've not seen a worse sight. Mustering as much strength as I could, I pulled his limp body from the box and hoisted his arm over my shoulder. Lucky for him, my home was not far. Tearing a piece of cloth from my skirt, I did my best to press the fabric on the wound on his face, to attempt to stop some of the bleeding on the trek back to safety.

His eye likely will never heal. Voodoo magic can only do so much.. The wounds on his shoulder and leg will leave terrible scars, and take much time to heal, but those are much less severe. He will heal. That is... if Asha can get him back before time runs too short... If Asha hadn't been there today, not much would be left of this fool.

Thus is a rule one must learn to live by... One must never perform alone.

It feels like... There's somethin' stuck on my waist. In a drugged haze, I tried my best to push whatever it was that was on top of me, off. Raising my left arm to do so sent one hell of a pain through my shoulder though. I grit my teeth and struggled to keep from crying out again. Did those fuckers take me to jail? ….How did I survive...?

I reach my other hand up to my face, trying to find where the worst of the damage was. My eye is covered in a neat bandage... but... how? A stern hand slapped mine away from my face. Who?! Startled, I struggled to focus my only good eye on the figure sitting in front of me. Correction: The figure sitting... on me.

Now, on a normal day, I might've reacted a bit differently to a woman jus' sittin' on me, pinnin' me to the floor with my clothes torn up in various ways. But... er... given the circumstances... I... er... I don't even know. There she was, arms folded, brow furrowed, painted face and all, glaring at me.

"W-Who.. er... Wh-What... uh...h-hi?"

"Staring. Are we?"

My face went red. Er, at least I think it did. I don't really know, since I'm not sure if I can even feel the right half of my face anyway. I frowned, and immediately regretted that decision. Letting out a wince, she continued to scold me.

"And why in the world did you think the stunt you pulled today was a good idea?"

"Why in tha world do you care?! Yer a Gypsy right? Don't you all hate me er somethin'?" I growled back at her. Not that I entirely meant to... but I jus' couldn't help it bein' that every part of me hurt.

"You should never perform alone. Ever. Even children know this." She sighed and shifted her weight on my waist. Oh god can you please not do this, lady? Not now... And where are yer clothes? Did I die? Is this hell? ...wait... Do I hear chickens?

"Asha greets you, Xigbar. You need not say much now, since your wounds will take much time to heal. We shall have plenty of moments to speak. As for now, Asha will remain seated here in case you try to pry your bandages off in your sleep again. If this doesn't work..." She pulled a skeleton hand from a pouch over her shoulder, "Asha has other means of making you stay put..."

Oh alright. I lose half my fuckin' face. My soul was probably on its way to hell when a voodoo babe took her skeleton buddies and retrieved it from the void. And now she's sittin' on my lap. Half naked. And there's chickens. …. …. … There jus' had to be chickens.

…

…

..

One sounds pretty close to my head too...