ᴀʙʀᴀᴄᴀᴅᴀʙʀᴀ

‘I’d think about it.’

[ she replies perhaps too easily. myrtle watches, one brow raised as he looks   her up and down. she’d kill to read his thoughts, but she doesn’t have that   kind of power. myr is pleasantly surprised when he notices the power she   does have. it proves that alistair the enchanter is paying attention. she   wonders what his real name is… ]

‘Did you expect anything less, I thought that might impress you. It’s                                             a good parlor trick, anyway.’

[ even a drop of absinthe can put the fear of god into her better than mass   can. she doesn’t decline, instead wonders why she’d be willing to get   quite intoxicated with this strange man. maybe it’s the niceness of the   knowledge that she’s no longer alone. magic is— it’s uncommon and   there’s a small part of her that’s so pleased she needn’t hide it. ]

‘I–’

[ her struggle to form a cohesive sentence as he approaches her at a   startlingly quick pace fades into a quiet smirk. myrtle tilts her head up and   she realizes how perilously close her lips are to his. her hand darts out,   grabs the glass from him and she steps back, taking a sip. ]

‘Better. You’re certainly a sight up-close.’

                “ Did you come here only to flatter me? Or were you hoping I’d offer you a job? “

There’s something sweet about her aura, it’s like honey to the magician; alluring and mouth watering, he’s drawn to the flickers of magic like a moth to a flame. Stepping willingly into the arms of death, simply for a taste. He still stands close, head tipped with that same BOYISH grin she has him wearing so easily. 

Magic swam between the fumes of alcohol, waves struck him and drew him deep under the liquid’s ravenous dark. He might find it hard to tell the difference between intoxication and his immediate adoration for the woman, but Jon would take them both into his arms like an expectant friend; they were both welcome. 

He turns, his eye seeking and locating another bottle hidden beneath his dressing table. Jon could not quite recall if he had finished the last or not, a concern as it left his hand a mere moment ago, but found no harm in opening another. The clink of the bottle neck triggered an involuntary twitch of tired brown eyes, unnoticed by the showman given the onset of his intoxication.  “ Because I’d LIKE to. I’d like you to be my assistant... what's your name? “

❝       well   ,   magic  tricks    ARE    one  huge  lie   .   or   ,    my    experience  showed  that   .       ❞    ah   ,   she  speaks  of  the  many    [    alleged    ]    haunted  homes  she’s  toured   ,   given  the  promise  of  leaving  with  racing  pulse    &    the  inability  to  breathe   .    (    spoiler    :    none  of  this  had  happened   .    )    ❝       i’m  not  easily    impressed    ,    i’m  afraid   .   why    that    trick  in  particular    ?    any  reason  behind  it    ?       ❞

           “ I'm HURT kid, really, you’re breaking my heart. “

But it was true, mostly. Basic card tricks, all that boring shit, were simple and easily understood if you knew what to look for, there were no lies sprouted from the mouth of the magician for the audience to fall victim to. But most would claim they could perform true magic, these were the lies. They were all, as Jon would spit to anyone who’d listen, full of SHIT. He could perform real magic, but his career would be ruined if that were to be widely known. That, and his tendency to maim or kill before the eyes of an adoring audience.

                     ❛ doves… beautiful creatures. they’re rather adroit when trained properly. ❜ he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. ❛ i assume you work very closely with them, being a professional magician and all. i pity your belongings, sir. they say that bird droppings are good luck, but i have my doubts. i’ve always had an awfully terrible day when i’ve been defecated on. ❜

                       he snorts, mainly to himself, pondering on the man’s second question with dr. sweet’s characteristic humor and warmth twinkling in his deceptive eyes. ❛ humans are a tricky bunch. some of them are just wonderful. others can be… unsavory. in general, though, i quite like them. ❜ dracula flashes his sharp teeth in a smile. ❛ i’m afraid i don’t know nearly as much about humans as i do other animals. i tend to leave that to the other doctors. ❜

             “ Some, I must give the audience some of what they’d expect from a great magician, even if I find the traditional tricks a little droll. “  he kept few, rarely used them in his shows if he could help it. He didn’t care for spilling their blood, perhaps Jon was a tad  ‘ backwards ‘, he much preferred a splash of red from a human limb to brighten the dull cream of his casual attire. 

❛ it would depend on what you label as magic, i suppose. ❜ the russians were certainly superstitious, although sonya wasn’t certain whether or not one could classify the witchcraft many healers practiced as MAGIC. ❛ i have to admit, i do not remember hearing about many magicians in moscow –– though i cannot say the same for st. petersburg, monsieur. ❜

she fumbles with the folds of her gown, cheeks still rosy. she hadn’t expected to be so fond of his act; natasha had thought it would be a magnificent event to experience, and so sonya had blindly gone along with her. hesitant as she was, she finds her stomach still cartwheeling, adrenaline still flowing through the blood in her veins. it all looked so … real. ❛ are you thinking of taking your routine to the rest of the world? truthfully, i imagine you would be well-received anywhere you go ! ❜

It’s a thought, he might extend any tour he’s ever able to achieve  ( he prays fame is a goal easily met )  across the world should there be a call for it. A chance to taste new cultures whilst impressing the world with brutal tricks that, should the truth be exposed to the GRINNING and cheering audience, would terrify the vulnerable. There’s a kick to be had in impressing the masses with murder.

His thought is interrupted, but he smiles as his gaze falls upon her. Cruelty and magic aside, he’s truly glad to see her reeling from the performance. Jon thrives on the cheers of the masses, one cannot be shocked when they discover the height of his pride.

@murdertrick┊❤

                    ❛     Alistair?     ❜  he asked, not that Marco was under the impression that a  stage name  was real—–   nonetheless, he wouldn’t miss a face considering how many he kept for  HIMSELF.    ❛     My father took me to see your shows when I was younger. Watching you…  taught me  a lot.     ❜

If anything made the magician feel old, it was THAT. It took him a moment to smile, a small curve, and take it as some form of a compliment. He turns, hazel eyes look him head to toe, he means to read him as best as tired eyes would allow. He’s curious, in what way did the great magician teach the small boy? Tricks, or true magic?  

Smike did work, but this man was correct: the young man did not work for him. Adorned in his robes as the APOTHECARY of Romeo and Juliet, he cut a most strange figure among the decorated finery and circumstance of the magician’s crew. As far as he could remember, he had been following Nicholas and Miss Snevellici down the street, all three on their way to do a small performance for a small crowd in a different theatre because, as Mr Crummles said, they needed to draw in a larger audience. Evidently, Smike had wandered into the WRONG theatre altogether.

He clenched his hands together, lapsing into his habit of being frightened at this man’s rough tone of voice. “Ah–ah was, trying t’ find th’ theatre,” Smike explained, blinking and stuttering. “For–for–for, the theatre, company. Mister–” He flounders a bit, the name not rolling off his tongue as easily as he thought it would. “For Mister Crummles!”

This one’s a NUISANCE already, but Jon stands in wait of an explanation. With his top hat still upon his head he appears taller than usual, though Jon stands at an intimidating height already. His stare might worsen the lost thing’s nerves, and he prayed it would. London consists of a great deal of competition to his work, it’s the age of the showman, and EVERYONE wanted each other’s secrets. It had crossed his mind that perhaps this one might be a spy, a damn good actor playing the part of a stuttering mess to seek Alistair the Enchanter’s most prized secrets.