BABEQUEST

[1] "Hey," she says as I walk over to her. "Welcome back." "Thanks." I sit down next to her, grateful for the company of someone who won't immediately overwhelm me with questions or criticism. "Your hair's gotten long." "Yeah, my girl thinks it looks good," Philine says smugly. "Stopped cutting it a while back. You don't know her, by the way. She's not from around here. I raise my eyebrows at her. "So she doesn't exist?"

Philine winks and lifts her knife to her mouth. I watch with curiosity, then growing realisation, then abject horror as she bites down on it hard. The shining metal crunches as she chews it with all the casual confidence in the world.

[2] I can't stop watching. She doesn't break eye contact as she swallows without difficulty, and almost looks surprised at my reaction. "I'm a sword swallower." She phrases it like it answers any question I could possibly have. "You... When did you start eating..." I'm struggling to process what she's saying. "I don't think you have to actually eat it." Philine is looking at me like I'm insane. "I have an iron deficiency." In a growing state of shock, I reply, "That knife looks like titanium." She stares at me blankly.

[3] In a hasty attempt to realign myself with reality again, I change the subject. "I'll be working with you in here, on and off," I tell her, trying not to look at her knife as she tucks it into her pocket. "Bronwyn doesn't have much else for me to do." "Nice. I heard about the cabaret stuff. Was that what you ran away to do?" "God, no. I got the vigilante bug. Thought I'd try and even out the playing field a little, kill a few tyrants, that sort of thing." "Cool." Philine glances over to her left as a middle-aged man holding a strange instrument starts walking over from the group of bards. "You seem way more calm, now. It's nice." "Thanks. It’s fine that you eat knives now." "Yeah."

[4] The bard has reached us now, and he takes a seat next to me as he speaks. "Are you Babe?" he asks, shifting his instrument so that he can sit comfortably. It looks like a combination between a lute and a piano. "I was told to speak to you." I take a moment to assess him. Philine doesn't seem uncomfortable with this guy's presence, so he's probably been in the circus for a little while. It's likely that either she or Bronwyn told him who I was, and I figure that he's probably not a threat. "That's me," I confirm, flicking my still-damp hair out of my face. "Who're you?" "Gavin Gladewalker," he introduces himself, accompanying his name with a short piano melody. "Head of music. I'd like to talk to you about what music you'd like to use for your performance tonight."

[5] "Nice assumption there," I scoff. "I'm not on until tomorrow." "Oh?" Gavin tilts his head to the side, regarding me as though he's trying to figure out if I'm joking. "Bronwyn told me that you were quite eager to get started, and to expect you to come by today and speak to me. You're on after the theatre act." A hint of panic rises in my gut as I realize I never actually asked Bronwyn when I was going to start. "When did she tell you that?" "Last night," Gavin answers, and I groan. Of course she told him last night. I should've known she'd get me with something like this. She always does. "Alright," I sigh begrudgingly. I guess I wasn't doing anything tonight anyway. "What've you got?" We talk for a while about my act, and he seems very excited when I tell him about my magic outfit. Philine listens in as Gavin shows me some of his music - a huge range of pieces, almost all of them channeled magically from other planes or warping sounds that his instrument makes. He calls it a lukey, and after using it to play me a good deal of his own original music, we narrow it down to four songs.

[1]  After some deliberation, I decide to head straight to the stage. I'm not going to let an outfit someone else designed carry the whole show, and besides, I need to figure out how I'm going to use it.

I finish my business and towel myself dry, hanging my wet clothes on a rack nearby. I am not surprised to find that Bashan's clothes don't fit me well.

[2] This’ll do.

[1] "Thanks," I eventually tell Yugo, reaching up and undoing the back of the choker. It comes apart easily, and quickly I'm in my old clothes again. "I'll be on tomorrow, if you want to see it in action." "I've seen enough." Yugo seems to immediately lose all interest once I remove the garment, turning back to her work. "Don't fuck around with it and I won't need to repair it." "I won't," I say pointedly, annoyed at her rebuff. "And I'll perform beautifully in it. You'll wish you'd have come. Maybe I'll never wear it again." "Wear what you have now. See how far it gets you." Once again, I find myself unable to think of a witty response. Chagrined, I turn around and stomp out of the cabin, Bashan following behind me with a quick wave to Yugo before we exit.

[1] As soon as the two ends of the fabric touch, they knit together beneath my fingers, and suddenly fabric starts to web down my body, my clothes disintegrating beneath the garment forming itself around me. For a moment, it seems formless, like a sheet hanging over my body - but then it shimmers, and it begins to sink, and I can see the fabric turning almost powdery as it becomes a rich black velvet. A collar rises around my neck, and what is now a robe extends down to my feet with a deep V exposing a red bodice. I'm thrown a little off balance as my boots are replaced by red heels, but I'm too shocked by the sheer power of this outfit to really notice.

[2] "Good," Yugo says candidly. "Your original clothes will re-materialize once you remove the choker." I peer at myself in the mirror nearby, unable to hold back a satisfied grin. I look incredible. Better than any outfit I've had before. They'll have to cancel the rest of the show to make room for me.

[1] "Um." I shift uncomfortably, given no comfort by the shrug Bashan makes when I look to him for assistance. "What about the different fabrics?" "I've told you your options," Yugo says gruffly. She doesn't clarify any further in the seconds that follow, just looks right back at me. I avert my eyes, caught off-guard by how blunt she is. When I used to perform, it was purely so that I could eat when there weren't enough jingling pockets to empty. Most of my performances had depended on what was necessary; sometimes it was a hall that wanted something relatively classy and clean, and sometimes it was a bar that happened to have a crowd of bored folks and a big enough table. I'm used to staying versatile and in control, though it's applied itself more to my more recent career of hunting powerful, evil people that seek to hurt the innocent. I take a moment to consider the situation I'm in right now. If I had to describe that in one word... "Unpredictable," I finally choose. "Mostly because I want to see what that means."

[2] "Come here." Yugo leans down and looks for something in one of her drawers as I walk over, curiously craning my neck to see what she's doing. As soon as I'm within a metre of her, she straightens up. Her hand shoots out toward me, too quickly to dodge, and she grabs hold of my wrist to pull my arm closer to her. I yelp and pull back as she positions a small needle in her right hand. "What are you doing?!" I shout, trying frantically to yank my arm out of her grip. "Let me go! I'll kill you!" "You won't," Yugo says exasperatedly, focusing on holding me down. "Stay still. I just need a little blood." "Fuck off!"

[3] Yugo presses my arm hard against her table and jabs the needle into my wrist in one swift motion. Blood blooms from the tiny puncture wound, and I struggle against her iron grip as she closes the wound with a muttered spell and the droplets of crimson circle around the needle for a few moments before seeping into it and staining it red. Distracted now, she lets me go and casts a forcefield over her immediate area as she turns away, preventing me from doing anything to retaliate. "It won't work without your blood," Bashan pointlessly informs me, smiling apologetically as I turn to glare daggers at him. "I don't like giving up my blood when I don't have to," I gripe as I walk back over to him, rubbing my wrist as though it hurts. It doesn't. "This is bullshit."

[1] I scramble for something to grab onto, something to haul myself back up onto my platform of pride and immutable self-confidence, and land clumsily on derision. "God, they're still so fucking petty," I mutter, pushing some meat around my plate and glancing over at Bashan for a reply. He seems embarrassed, almost; he's stopped eating his food with such gusto, and gives me that same expression of forced positivity. "Yeah, I guess," he concedes weakly. Frustrated, I give up, and we fall into silence as I eat what I can of my food. I don't want to believe that there are people that didn't already hate me out there thinking that I burned down part of Lonford Circus for my own personal gain. I did it because Ringleader Smith was treating people unfairly, rolling in money while the rest of us starved, carving his castle out of our bones. If I hadn't killed him, they'd all be dead. How could they blame me for saving their lives? Even if they had to rebuild, wasn't that better than being slowly murdered? I viciously stab a piece of meat and rip it off my fork, chewing angrily. Why doesn't anyone get it? Why is it always me that has to fix their problems? Before I intervened, we were all miserable and hungry and sick. I'd admired Ringleader Smith, seen him as family, feared him as family. It wasn't easy or convenient for me to confront him, and it was harder still to leave everyone behind and have the blame pinned entirely on me should any nearby city's guard get involved. But it didn't matter, because I burned a few things down in the process. It was for them, not me. Why doesn't anyone get that? I grit my teeth, looking over at Bashan again. He's finishing his plate off, his tail flicking just a little in response to the tension emanating from me. I force myself to try and think about it from his perspective. The fire was probably pretty scary for everyone, especially the newer folks. A hint of guilt curls in my chest as I realize that it was likely terrifying for Silvy, who'd been something like 10 or 11 years old at that point. They'd been trying to get away from that sort of shit when they came to Lonford.

[2] My irritation is starting to give way to shame. Unwilling to have that conversation right this second, I push my plate away and stand up. "Sorry for getting in a fight so early," I mumble as Bashan follows my lead. He grins at me, more genuinely this time, and pats my back. "You've got MANY more to come," he jokes, walking in stride with me as we head out the door. "We should find you a new outfit." I cringe as I look down at my clothes. Juno wasn't wrong. My shirt used to be a LOT less stained. "Yeah, alright. Let's go."

[1] I glower at Juno before stomping back over to a clearly intrigued Bashan, unfortunate enough to be followed by the tiefling. They sit down with purposeful grace as our food is brought out. A pile of spiced meat is sat before me by a very swift server who's gone by the time I look up. Bashan is already unabashedly tearing into his food, earning himself a look of repulsion from Juno. They sniff contemptuously at it, wrinkling their nose.

"You know that comes from animals, right?" "I'M animals." Juno huffs. "Clearly." "I'm a tabaxi. And we're ALL technically animals. Alive things are animals." Bashan looks contemplatively at Juno. "I thought most people knew that." I butt in before Juno can argue. "I didn't invite you to sit here. Go away." Juno rolls their eyes, gazing at their fingernails. "Nobody has to invite me anywhere. I'm a welcome presence everywhere I go. Because I don't ruin everything for everyone."

[2] Oh. They're pissed at me about something specific, and I'm guessing it's the fire. Why won't people leave me alone about it? "I made shit better around here," I insist, annoyed at their tone. "Look at this. Look how much happier everyone is, except you. I made this happen. What've you ever done? A few flips on a swing?" "We had to pick up the pieces of what you burned down," Juno says matter-of-factly. "But yeah, things were fantastic when you murdered our ringmaster and left us all for dead. How brave of you to disappear and leave it up to Bronwyn to console everyone, rebuild the entire sideshow, and now demand that she pays you good money to do something you're not even good at." Their gaze bores into me, openly contemptuous. "I don't know who the fuck you think you're fooling by pretending you're into the financier for his looks, but maybe you should try sucking up to him when you don't smell like shit and aren't covered in filth. It's not a good look on anyone, let alone you."

[1] I rise from my seat, sauntering over to Salome with complete confidence despite my less-than-perfect appearance. He watches me with some apparent caution, seeming a little surprised as I lean against the counter next to him. "You're a handsome new face around here, huh?" I coyly remark, flicking my hair out of my face. "Pity you weren't here a few years ago. I would've made it my mission to get to know you." A small smile plays at the corners of Salome's lips. "It is a shame," he agrees in a quiet, low voice, before turning to the mildly irritated server. "Coffee, no sugar." "Got it," they reply, a little too brightly. I glance her way to acknowledge their clear signal for me to stop flirting on their counter, then promptly ignore it. "Heard your name was Salome. I like it," I say sweetly, enunciating my next words clearly. "Rolls off the tongue." He laughs, moving away from the counter as the server loudly taps their milk jug against the wood. I follow, standing off to the side of the counter with him. "It's Sadhir," he corrects me, a subtle pride in his tone. "Salome's my surname, though, so you're almost right."

[2] "Sadhir." I nod, committing it to memory as I give him my hand to shake. "I'm Babe." "Ah," Sadhir responds, taking my hand. A gentle grip. "So you're the one Bronwyn was talking to me about. A very bright, very beautiful elf rejoining the circus after a few years' lapse." He smiles. "I'm grateful to have the chance to know you now."

[3] Before I get the chance to respond to what I can clearly recognize as Sadhir returning my flirt, a regretfully familiar face appears next to Sadhir and distracts me from his visage. "Wow," Juno sneers, looking me up and down with open and dramatic disgust. "How many days' worth of dirt are you wearing? So unhygienic. Don't you think that's so unhygienic, Sadhir?" Sadhir appears bemused. "It's... My coffee, it's here, so..." He smiles awkwardly and walks back over to the counter, taking a tall mug from the disgruntled server and glancing over at me one last time before departing.

[1] "You think I could go in there to visit her?" The way this tiefling is walking down towards the counter draws me in. It's almost enchanting, and I'm starting to feel a little distracted. "Not if you want to live," Bashan warns me, his tail flicking in a subtle show of disapproval. "She said she'd have your guts for garters if you showed up here again. It's probably a good thing she didn't see you, or she'd probably make your food disgusting." "I could take her in a fight," I say absently, watching as the stranger crosses the floor and starts closing the distance. "Could obliterate her if I wanted." Bashan doesn't reply, and I barely have a moment to wonder why before he's nudging me hard and giggling quietly in my ear. "Hey, Babe, what're you looking at? What's the big deal? Huh? You thinking about something?" "Shut up," I growl, elbowing him in the ribs. He just laughs, clearly uninhibited. "Who's the tiefling." "I think he's the new money guy," Bashan unhelpfully says, and when I glare at him he grins widely and gives in. "Salome, or something like that. He's nice. He works with Bronwyn a lot."

[2] "Sounds like salami," I mutter, watching as he gets to the counter. He seems to hear me, and turns to look at me, a curious expression on his face.

[1] There are only a handful of people out and about. It's about mid-morning, so everyone's probably either eating, warming up for the evening's performances, or still asleep. I head in the direction of the other sideshow cabin, but before I even get there, the door opens and Bashan steps out, shirtless and stretching. He notices me and mercifully decides to wave, instead of tackling me to the floor or throwing me in the air. "It's YOU!" he cheerfully greets me, walking up to meet me. "Good morning, neighbor!" "Morning," I reply, a little less enthusiastically. I'm still pretty exhausted. "Come get food with me." "Alright!" Bashan accepts, falling in stride with me as I wander vaguely foodwards. "Hey, I had a dream about you last night." "Did I do some really cool shit?" "No. You just ate ALL my carrots." I think about it. "That's sort of cool." "You're WRONG, Babe," Bashan says solemnly. "That's not cool at all. Those were MY carrots." "You'd better watch out, Bashan. Don't try and eat carrots this morning." "You BETTER not."

[2] Our lighthearted banter carries on like this for the five or so minutes that it takes us to get to the dining hall, and I'm pleasantly surprised to find it so easy to talk to my old friend like I used to. I'm feeling optimistic by the time we reach our destination, and when we get inside the large brick building, I stop for a moment to take it in. The dining hall hasn't changed at all. It's a wide, slightly intimidating space, with the kitchen and dining areas taking up the lower floor. Above us is the upper floor, full of rooms reserved for important guests, the ringmaster's quarters, and whoever the ringmaster's hired to do all the legal stuff that nobody actually cares about. The tables themselves are crowded enough to fill the place with noise, but not so much that it's overstimulating. No hush of shock falls over the room upon my entry, and hardly anyone appears to notice my entrance, but I find myself thinking that I'm okay with that right now. I follow Bashan over to the kitchen counter, feeling a rush of affection for my surroundings and that strange feeling of being at home.

[1] A vague sense of foreboding creeps up on me as I watch her walk away, and it takes me a moment to remember that I should probably get inside the cabin. I open the door - anyone brave enough to try to harm or steal from any of the people working here would be met with force - and observe my temporary home. There are four bunks, each with compartments hanging below the slats for personal storage. The beds are made up with minimal sheets and a cheap pillow at the head of each one, but I know from experience that when the cold season begins there'll be extra rugs thrown on. As I head toward one of the lower beds, I'm suddenly overwhelmed by how tired I am. Even without the constant questioning and being thrown around by huge catboys, the past three weeks have been incredibly stressful and physically draining. I undress and climb into bed, my body heavy with the small relief that for once I wouldn't have to sleep with one eye open to ensure I wasn't taken unawares. It doesn't take long for me to fall into a deep sleep, finally relaxed enough to give my body the rest it's needed for so long. I don't dream of anything, tonight.

[2] When I wake up, I'm surprised to find that I'm still alone. I was half-expecting someone to come bursting in while I slept and start yelling at me, but I'm not complaining. I feel rested in a way that isn't entirely pleasant. My body feels fuzzy, like all it wants is to go back to sleep. I do my best to ignore it, roughly rubbing my eyes to get the sleep out. I have a few options, seeing as I probably won't start any cabaret stuff until tomorrow and will only be allowed to tag along with the security team, rather than getting my own work in that department.  [3] > FIND BASHAN HE LIKES YOU > Morning means breakfast. Grab a bite before you do anything else. > bringing bashan to the tailor sounds like a fun and solid plan.

[1] Maggie bows exaggeratedly as Bashan immediately protests. "I was the one who FOUND him!" he says, sounding wounded. "It should be ME taking him there! And I haven't SEEN him in so LONG!" "You'll be seeing a whole lot of him soon, baby boy," Maggie jeers, grabbing me by the arm. "You losers can catch up with him tomorrow. It's my turn." "Good luck!" Aberdeen calls, barely audible over Bashan's continued complaints as Maggie drags me stumbling out of the big top. I catch a glimpse of Philine just before we exit, waking up and gazing blearily in my general direction until Maggie pulls me out of sight.

[2] "Soooo," Maggie excitedly says, finally releasing her grip on me to lead me around the outside of the big top. "On the run, huh?" "Do me a favour? Talk to me about anything else." "Anything?" I realize my mistake too late. "Wait -" "So when Bronwyn said cabaret, did she mean more murder? Are you gonna kill Lars before she kills you? How many people did you murder out there? Is that why you're on the run now? Where's your gang of minions?" "I don't have any minions! Who do you think I am?!" I retort, annoyed at the implication. "You think I'd need minions?" "Well, you're here, aren't you?" Maggie snidely remarks. She's always been the type to push people's buttons, and it's something I've always liked about her, but not when she turns her powers upon me. I glower at her as she continues, "Come crawling right back home the minute you have a problem you can't steal, fuck, or bash your way out of. Maybe you don't need minions, but it kind of looks like you need us right now, Babe." Too annoyed to reply immediately, I walk with her in silence. She's not entirely wrong. For most of my life, I've believed that there are three very simple ways to resolve a situation. I'd lived on the streets for my entire childhood, then followed some dumb boy I liked to Lonford Circus and ended up staying for seven years after he almost immediately departed. I didn't actively try to take down the rich and powerful until after I left, and things are a lot more complicated out there than I might have realized. "I need people I trust, yeah," I resentfully say, huffing out a sigh. "You're wrong about the minion thing, though. That's dumb, and you're dumb for saying it." "But is it like a hitman contract?" Maggie inquires, completely ignoring my reply. "Bronwyn seemed pretty happy that you're back. I don't think there's anyone she wants to kill, but-" "She meant cabaret as in burlesque. Not blood burlesque, just the regular kind," I hastily clarify, as Maggie opens her mouth to argue. "The kind of shit I used to do to get by."

[3] We're walking past the cabaret tent as I say this, and Maggie looks over at it curiously. "You'd be the only one doing burlesque right now," she comments as we cross over toward the seating for the animal stage. "Everything else is magic based, or a song-and-dance sort of thing. Where'd you even learn how to do that?" "Just... around," I reply prudently. I'd learned it from someone else who'd worked here, in several extensive lessons. If Maggie didn't already know, and if they'd already left, then it was trashy gossip that didn't need to make its way around the circus. "I'm okay at it. People seemed to like it, so when there wasn't much to steal..." "Sex sells," Maggie replies, shrugging. "Bronwyn suggested that I try it, since some of my fire dances tend to people hot and bothered, but I nearly pulled a Noro and burned someone to a crisp for pissing me off. So now I'm banned from the cabaret tent, because those losers can't handle a little bit of heat." I sigh as we close in on the sideshow cabins, where everyone seems to be either out or asleep. "Are people ever gonna stop talking about that? I did it for a reason. I'm not an arsonist. And everyone hated the dude. I don't get why it's such a problem."

[1] "I suppose you're not the first person to come here for that reason. And I know for a fact that you won't be the last." I breathe a sigh of relief as Bronwyn relents, pulling some folded papers out of her pocket. She opens them, sifting through them with that same smile on her face that she'd greeted me with. I suddenly feel very nervous. "You've missed out on the last sleeping spot in the security cabins, Babe. You'll have to stay with the sideshow crew. I'll offer you this: you may either continue your work on the security team, doing the same thing you were doing before you left us. Or, you may stay on with the sideshow crew, displaying this new... specialized act that you appear to have developed." "She's talking about the cabaret thing," Bashan whispers very loudly in my ear. "I'm talking about the cabaret thing," Bronwyn clarifies. Her wide, toothy grin is impossible to read.

[2] >Is there a cabaret thing? There was a cabaret thing. Not here, but after. I can probably do them both equally well. Security would be easier on me, and I'd have more room to wander the showgrounds and keep an eye out for anyone who knows me. It'd also avoid bringing attention to me, although I'd be in more danger of ambush. On the other hand, cabaret would allow me to get closer with the other performers, whose gossip would inform me if anyone new and mysterious was around. But I'd have a performance schedule, and I still don't know what kind of leader Bronwyn is yet.

[1] I reach out to shake her hand, remembering a moment too late that she might have a buzzer in her palm. Before I can do anything, she's grabbed my hand and is shaking it firmly, and I'm relieved to find that I've avoided mild electrocution for now.

"Thank me by giving me my job back," I reply brusquely. Maggie giggles, and Bronwyn shoots me an amused look, drawing her hand back and placing it on the baton at her hip.

"I would, but I'm not sure that there's been anyone due for immolation since you left," she smiles, and though it's well hidden, I can sense some genuine caution underneath her expression. 

I'm starting to realize why a few people have had more adverse reactions to seeing me. Maybe I should've expected the whole murder thing to have more of an impact than I thought it would.

"Hey, you know as well as anyone else that I'm a piece of shit. But that was personal. I'm not a hitman." "Well, as far as we know!" Maggie adds helpfully. "As far as you know," I agree begrudgingly, glancing at Maggie in annoyance. "But I'm not. So now you know."

[2] "Bronwyn," Silvy says, and his voice is both deeper and squeakier than the last time we met. He must be something like fourteen, now. "I think he's cool." Bashan snickers quietly from behind me, and Silvy's ears twitch as he suddenly becomes flustered. "I mean I think he's telling the truth!" he protests to the room, tail flicking wildly from side to side as he searches frantically for anything to look at but me. "Not that I think he's cool, or anything stupid like that! You're all dumb for thinking that! I don't care! I don't care at all. Stop looking at me like that." "No one's looking at you any one way, young Silvy," Bronwyn assures him, not unkindly. "I believe you're right. However, I don't think that it's in our dear old friend's nature to come back to something he's abandoned without a very, very good reason." She nods at me, encouraging me to speak. Everyone else is looking at me, too, waiting for an answer - except for Philine, who has managed to miss the entirety of my grand entrance, as terribly as it's gone. I make a mental note to play up the drama of it when recounting it to her later, and emphasize the fact that everyone was hugely impressed and intimidated by it.

[1] "This isn't even a choice!" I shout, kicking my legs wildly to little avail. "Nobody's gonna laugh at me! They're way weirder than I am!!" "You sound DEFENSIVE, Babe! Maybe the CLOWNS will CHEER YOU UP! Because you're feeling so DEFENSIVE! And need CHEERING UP!" Bashan delightedly proclaims, adjusting his grip on me and striding toward the big top as though I weigh nothing. In a blind rage, I punch and kick at the air and shout every insult I can throw at Bashan as he carries me beyond the wall of canvas.

[2] "HEY, EVERYONE! LOOK WHAT I FOUND!" Bashan's voice booms through the tent as he holds me up high, his words perfectly clear even over the loud voices of all the performers within. I stop shouting in the loaded silence that follows Bashan's brazen announcement, instead opting to clench my jaw as tightly as possible as I weather the shocked stares of the people I've known since I was a scrawny teenager.

[3] All at once, several people are running toward me and everyone is shouting. Before I can prepare myself, Bashan drops me like a half-eaten animal carcass at the doorstep of a beloved friend. Like vultures, my old friends and enemies descend upon me to pick me apart. "You're a real piece of shit, you know that?" The first person to reach me is a tiefling; storming over from the middle of the room with a dancer's grace, their furious voice carrying above the din as they grab me and haul me up while I'm still surprised. I stumble as they shove me, recognizing Juno if not from their unchanged appearance then their open hatred of me. "What the fuck are you doing back here, you rat? You fucking vermin? You-" "God! Shut up! Move!" someone else yells, and Juno is shoved unceremoniously out of the way by a human woman. She runs toward me at a sprint and promptly bowls me over with a hug, landing me in the dirt once again as she squeezes me tight enough to make me wheeze.

"Get off me, Maggie-" I choke out, shoving her off of me. I earn myself a kick in the shin for my hubris. "You are so bad," she tells me, audibly thrilled. "I can't believe you're, like, back. You totally killed Ringleader Smith." "Duh. Let me up." "Hey. Noro." My attention is drawn to a white-faced clown standing above me as I get to my feet, whose wide painted smile is as menacing as it is unfamiliar. She looks me square in the eye as I straighten up. "Please understand that I will kill you very, very soon." "Oh my god, Lars, you're so dramatic. Get a life!" Maggie yells after the clown as she strides out of the big top. Juno trails out behind her, glaring daggers at me as they do so. Finally afforded a moment's peace, I look around at the three other people around me, electing to ignore Bashan who still stands proudly behind me.

[1] Sighing, I scratch the back of my head in a universally understood display of resigned confession. "Things are pretty rough out there, Bashan," I admit, glancing out at the forest surrounding the showground. "I've done my best to fix the way things are, but there's only so much I can do on my own." I take a deep breath and look back at him levelly. "And maybe I've gotten into something that I can't fix."

[2] Bashan pauses for a moment, his brow furrowing for a moment before he takes a step back. I look on in confusion as he turns his head away. "So THAT'S why!" he says, his cheerful tone falling flat through his strained smile. "Well, you're ALWAYS welcome here, Babe. But you don't need ME to tell you that."

[3] I can feel my ears getting warm with embarrassment and shame. "I don't!" I defensively reply, flipping my hair back. "I don't need anyone to tell me anything." He still isn't looking at me. The shame isn't going away. I swallow down a little of my pride. "But... thank you, for telling me. That I'm welcome." I huff out through my nostrils as Bashan looks back at me in surprise, his ears flicking forward to listen to what I have to say through gritted teeth. "I feel safer here. With you. And others."

[1] >WHY did you leave? Was it the fire?

That, and the fact that I started it. There was a fight. I'm not renowned for my social skills.