& hullabaloo !

Once again he holds the sandwich, even moves a little further away.

“Those weird noises…you’re a little creepy, dude. I got the sandwich down there–” He juts his chin further down the street, doesn’t let go of his sandwich at all like he’s worried Mike will snatch it right from his hands.

❂  ☆  ◍  ━━ CREEPY? WELL, THAT’S just a little hurtful. Not enough for Mike to be offended, or to show it on his face -- or even react, really. He just keeps smiling at the strange man and his sandwich.

    slowed  steps   &   even  slower  breathing ,     former  hunter  momentarily  slips  into  to  old  habits   :   careful  footwork   &   ever  watchful  eyne ,   sensitive  to  the  smallest  of  movements .   he  follows  the  head  of  gold  curls ,   silver  crown  tilting ,

  ❛❛   ah  -  ha ,   i thought i saw you !❜❜

     he’s  become  familiar  with  THAT  look .   Joseph   thinks  every  survivor  he’d  come  across  must  have  shown  that   expression  to  him  at  one  point   —   sometimes  he  feels  a   little  more  remorseful  for  the  scare .   it’s   instinctual ,   how  he  jerks  himself  away ,   hiding  their  body   close  to  the  wall .   it’s  understandable ,   the  desire  to  survive .

   ❛❛   you’re the little …   how do you say ,   the acrobate !   it’s good to see you around ,   mon cher ! ❜❜     the  photographer  chooses  to  attempt  a   conversation ,   takes  extra  care  in  ensuring  his  words  holds  no  hint  of  mockery .   although  the  frenchman  suspects  they  would  not  be  in  the  mood  to  entertain  him  in  conversing  as  though  they  were  old  friends ,   his  tone  remains  friendly  nonetheless .     ❛❛   have you just arrived in this city ?   how are you enjoying it ?   ❜❜

❂  ☆  ◍  ━━ GOOD TO SEE him?! Mike nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight of the hunter, his heart still beating in his chest with enough force that he thinks it might explode. His eyes widen, he tilts his head, and he laughs rather nervously -- but nothing about this situation is funny.

It’s... strange, to say the least, that the hunter does not treat him as a child or condescends to him at all. He gnaws at the inside of his lip and attempts a smile, though it is a strange one.

@acrobatiica​ / <3

||  █ ▌— vil blinked, tilting his head as the man spoke. there was a sort of exuberance in his demeanor that vil found… particularly odd, but he wasn’t going to necessarily point it out. he crossed his arms and leaned against the table.

❝ so what you’re trying to say is… you were in the circus? that is your explanation for what you’re calling an outfit? ❞ 

❂  ☆  ◍  ━━ HE DOESN’T EVEN have the decency to pretend to be offended. There’s few things about his appearance that would set him in an angry mood, but calling his acrobat’s outfit terrible is not amongst them.

||  █ ▌— he’s still staring at the drink, he really can’t help it. it’ll probably kill you, mike says, and norton agrees. still, he can’t help but be a little curious, and he’s got something of a sweet tooth, right?

or so he thinks, but as he takes a single sip, never one to turn down something offered to him, the taste sends him into a coughing fit. it’s really just too… too much. flavor, sweetness, all of that stuff.

❝ awful. god, that’s awful, you know that? ❞ he says, making a face once he can regain his breath. ❝ and you’re planning on finishing that whole thing? ❞ 

❂  ☆  ◍  ━━ MIKE SMILES, AND it’s a wide smile -- a toothy thing. It’s not mean, not by any stretch, but he’s definitely not taking anything seriously. “Yup yup! Unless you want to help me,” he says, and pulls the drink back towards himself to take a large sip of it. It’s overly sweet, but there’s something kind of interesting about it, too.

||  █ ▌— antonio is humming. they have taken his violin, but they cannot take the music entirely, so he is humming.

perhaps he can find a replacement here. the precise nature of the instrument does not matter, he could play on almost anything, provided it has sufficient resonance. so perhaps he will find something else.

for now, though, he is humming as he approaches the acrobat. ❝ you… ❞

❂  ☆  ◍  ━━ HE TURNS AROUND, and he tries not to let the surprise show on his face. The inside of his lip is bitten, harsh and almost bloody, but he maintains the same demeanor that he always has. He fidgets, his hands aching a little for his bombs, and he hops on one foot.

Staring in the distance was nothing abnormal for Clive, however. There once was a time where he couldn’t stand still for the life of him, but it’s particular just how even the most concrete-rigid traits can change over time.

Resting head in his hand, he’d look out the shop window, drumming his fingers on the table in the meantime. He wasn’t exactly zoning-out, not now anyway, but to say he thought anything noteworthy wouldn’t be right either. Regardless, he’d hear the other, even if it took a second to realize they were speaking to him and not somebody else. He’d slightly tilt his head, glancing at them, the clock, and then back at them.

“Greetings,” he’d get out of the way, first. “They likely got it from a local business. Fibonacci ’s known for such grandiose furnishings and mechanics — clocks and other gear-driven ones especially.”

Admittedly, he wasn’t sure whether they genuinely wanted an answer or not; it could very well just be a way to point out how… pretentious it looks. He’d answer anyhow. “It doesn’t look properly affixed to the wall, though. I’d not be surprised if it’d fall at some point.”

❂  ☆  ◍  ━━ THE STRANGER’S WORDS intrigue him, insofar as he cares mostly about the inevitable crash that might be just around the corner. He doesn’t really care about fancy or expensive things, being raised in a circus means caring more about things like explosives and reagents or tricks and applause. He does know of a few people who might like to get their hands on something like the above clock, though he’s not thinking of them in this moment.

“Fall,” he repeats, and it’s not so much a question as a statement. This clock could fall, so he could probably get up there to take it if he just had a way to climb. He’s scrappy like that, apt to get in and get out quickly. It’s another perk of being raised as the ringmaster’s son, though those perks are few and far between he does enjoy the few he does have.

There is nothing to fear here, is there?

“yes, hunters too.” he answered patronizingly, finding the acrobat’s concern rather frivolous when the presence of their aggressors didn’t particularly bother him - after all, they were each a source of inspiration to tap into; whatever torment they inflicted, or suffered from themselves, helped him move his brush across the canvas.

“but like i’ve said - it doesn’t really matter. they don’t seem to be interested in hunting us down here. in fact, i doubt our lives are under any threat, unless the very city itself turns against us.”  

rather than offer comfort, the information was given as an attempt to get the man to stop his fidgeting, which was becoming more irritating as the conversation dragged on.   

❂  ☆  ◍  ━━ WHY WOULDN’T Mike be afraid of the hunters, here? He just thinks of this as a bigger map, larger and more space to run and hide; here, maybe, with more than one hunter he will find a few waiting for him ready to--

He pauses that train of thought. Edgar’s words do relax him, even if that’s not their intent. At least he doesn’t think that’s the point of what he’s said, but the point remains. He feels his shoulders sink down as he watches the painter’s expression with curiosity, his weight shifting from foot to foot, still fidgeting. 

    HE HOLDS the book a little tighter. handsy people ( such as himself ! ) did not favour the concept of ‘ personal space ‘, nor did they realise when they had overstepped said boundaries.

    rook did not mind. mike was met with equal jubilation in the form of a smile && tilt of the head, lips spreading from ear to ear. the book did not have words, rather, photographs tucked into the slits of matte pages. it was of a great misfortune that he had lost his lifes work of accumulating photos upon his arrival to spirale …

    but he held hope that it would return. until such a day rolled about, the huntsman opted to rebuild what was possible of it. the city was bountiful in colourful characters, such as the one before him. granted, it was tedious, relying on merely his phone to shoot photographs && print them out at a library after.

  there was no privacy in that. the student very much enjoyed his privacy.

    ❛❛ aah! what a jubilant fellow has appeared before my very eyes. you seem awfully sprightly. it’s infectious. i am rook hunt, pleasure to make your acquaintance. ❜❜ and so he holds the book to his chest with a free arm, extending the other to shake mikes.

  rook was methodical in how he composed said photographs. that, if one were to ever sift through the original copy, they would see nothing but the smiles of adoring friends. the odd && stranger photos were oft kept to random pages in which only he knew the numbers of, or neatly tucked away in the privacy of his own room.

    ❛❛ fufu. this is a photobook. my lifes work, the original, has since been torn from my very grasp ! non, non, i refuse to weep as i will find it again one day, but … i now opt to recreate it. a lovely hobby, hm? you should pose for a photo sometime, if you please.  ❜❜

    and in typical rook fashion, ignoring questions he didn’t fancy was what he did best.

❂  ☆  ◍  ━━ OF COURSE MIKE is immediately intrigued. How could he not be! This was a loud and exuberant young fellow, a kindred spirit of sorts! Mike was immediately encouraged to lean in, listen to every word, and for once not get distracted by other thoughts that float on by.

He is, after all, always coming up with new ideas. It’s not his fault he’s distractible!

“Photography?” he asks, and he leans in as he tries to get a better look at what the student is holding. Oh, what an expensive hobby. This man surely is rich! Mike does wonder how one has time to fill up such a large book of different images, and what they must look like with different filters and lights. He wonders, too, if anyone would ever want to take his photo.

“--!” as if in answer, he’s asked! Mike blinks a couple times and flashes this stranger -- Rook, as he introduced himself -- a big smile. Bright eyes light up and he feels the urge to bounce on his heels.

“A picture of me?” he repeats, to make sure. Oh, huh! Did he really look so interesting that someone would want to take a picture of him? He does suppose the colors of his acrobat outfit are fun, but he’s just an entry level performer. Bernard never even let him work with anything harder than these very basic juggling balls, lest he hurt himself terribly.

Not that he hadn’t hurt himself, mind you; the point is just that Mike wasn’t a very important member of the circus, is all. Not that he’s about to let this man know.

||  █ ▌— mike morton is a surprise, norton has to admit. he shouldn’t be, but he is. the acrobat has always been a strange one, as far as he’s concerned. unpredictable in a way norton still hasn’t decided if he likes or not.

norton can be unpredictable as well. explosive, even, when his temper reaches its natural boiling point. but he can also be pleasant, easy enough to get along with. it’s that duality that makes him up, characterized by his mood swings.

still, mike morton is here, and is a familiar enough presence for norton to relax a little as he comes over to greet him with a nod and an expression that was just a half-step shy of being a smile. he inclines his head toward the drink in the acrobat’s hand and raises an eyebrow.

❝ yeah, yeah, it’s me. what’s that you’re drinking, there? ❞ 

it looked bizarre, like nothing he’d really seen before. he was curious about it despite himself, though.

❂  ☆  ◍  ━━ MIKE DOES NOT know Norton very well; they’d survived the manor together, maybe shared a meal or two, but the both of them are secretive in nature so they never really got close. That’s fine, though, a friendly face is a friendly face regardless.

He holds the drink up and waves it at Norton, the pink concoction shifting to the side in thick icy glory. “Good to see you too, Mr. Prospector,” he says, a little bit teasing. Of course he’s not going to keep that up for long, he’s not ridiculous to that extreme, after all. Even if he does seem to give that sort of vibe to people anyway.

He just

Pauses. Holds his sandwich a little closer to himself, a furrowed brow his only response before–

“The hell– just down the street. Can you…not make all those noises…and don’t jiggle either…”

❂  ☆  ◍  ━━ MIKE FROWNS, and he leans in a little closer to the food that Badou has. That’s not really an answer, but he stops moving so much.

You are a somewhat difficult person to get along with (42.14%).

This guy looks super, super rich. And French. What he’s holding is more interesting to Mike anyway, it looks like some sort of big book from a library. Not that Mike likes to read -- he doesn’t, the words swim on the pages -- but the colors on the cover remind him of the circus.

He hops up, makes another giggling sound, and beelines straight for the maybe-French-guy.

“Hi, hi! I’m Mike, what’s up? What do you have in your hand? Can I see?”

Regardless of the reason, he’s staring, and has been staring intently at the wall with the large clock -- something ornate and shiny, which might be why he’s been looking so intently --  for about five minutes. It takes another few seconds before something snaps him out of his thoughts and he looks startled, and then just shrugs, and turns to the person closest to him.

"Woah! Hey, do you know where they got something like that up so high?”

“morton.” he eyed the man - taking in the outlandish outfit first, then the fidgeting, before finally resting his gaze on the other’s face -, and let out a noncommittal hum. “and what does this make you? the fourth? the fifth?” crossing his arms, he clicked his tongue. “not that the number matters, since games don’t take place here.” 

then, as if only now deciding to acknowledge the other man’s questions, he gave a light shrug. “i’ve been here for a while. as for the exact number of days - i haven’t been keeping track, since it’s not like i’m hard-pressed to return to the manor.”

and why would he, when the only reason he ever accepted the invitation was to find inspiration - and there was still much to be inspired by here?

“a few of the others are here as well, though i’m sure you’ll run into them soon enough.”

❂  ☆  ◍  ━━ MIKE KNOWS THAT Edgar is... Edgar probably doesn’t like him. He doesn’t really care, though, because this place is new and scary and he doesn’t want to feel alone.

So instead of leaving him be, he frowns. “No games?” he repeats; he sort of guessed that already, but it’s nice to have confirmation on the subject. He hops on one foot and tilts his head as he listens, before snapping his fingers. “More of them? Huh? Oh, wow, like, all of us, or a few, or...” he pauses, and the realization hits him in the face.

   You don’t know what it is about Fibonacci that drives you to visit as often as you do; maybe it’s the buildings tall as the sky or the curiousity that is the contrast between each floor in them ( some clean, tidy, upper-class – others less so ), but you find yourself by the canyon a lot more than you look at your own ward. It’s such an interesting structure. You stick around the surface, most of the time, only because the people in the tall buildings are weird wherever you go; residents of the upper levels give you weird looks, noses turned, and even the lower parts have their own reservations for strangers.

   Not that the surface is a perfect balance, either. People seem to have their manners and common sense, but it seems not everyone has gotten the memo – there is an angry resident heckling someone in broad daylight, and you have the feeling this is not a normal quarrel between people who know each-other. You should walk away and leave them to resolve it, but you don’t – the confrontation looks very one-sided, and the person being heckled looks very familiar, so you ignore your instincts to leave well alone and approach. You step by his side, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder, and look towards the angry man facing you with a practiced lack of emotion.

   “I’m sorry about this, sir,” You don’t know what you’re apologizing for, but apologies placate people easier than a lot of other things you could say. “We’ll be going now.”

   Morton. Morton. That was the name, you’re sure, though you don’t remember having talked. You don’t leave any room for response before you steer him away, your pace brisk, not unlike a mother taking an unruly child home after misbehaving in public; except you are not there to mother a grown adult, or scold for something that really was not your business to get involved in. 

   “I thought you might need an out of this. Unless you weren’t done with that conversation there, keep up with me, alright? Those kinds of people will follow you to finish it, unfortunately.”

@acrobatiica​ liked a starter call !

❂  ☆  ◍  ━━ HE DOES NOT know how he got into the argument. Mike sometimes says things -- whatever crosses his brain, really -- and other people don’t like it. That’s not what happened here, but when Mike first got accosted by the other man it’s what he thinks happened.

Mike is weird. That’s one thing he’s known for a long time. It’s nothing that he does not understand and know and live with every day, but it’s also not something that troubles him. At all. He doesn’t have issues with who he himself is as a person, but it seems others do not like his flighty demeanor and his constant lack of tact. Moreso, however, people hate when Mike laughs when it’s not appropriate to laugh.

He might just be walking about and hear himself giggle for no apparent reason. It’s always a sudden burst of sound that leaves his mouth and causes him to smile. It’s not accompanied by happiness, it’s just a laugh. That’s all it is -- and that, sometimes, is enough to piss off strangers.

Mike’s blue eyes are wide and his hands are raised as he looks at the man. He’s thought Mike had laughed at him and no, he hadn’t, actually. He’d laughed because of some reflex in his unconscious and hadn’t actually noticed the stranger at all.