Laconic

          A sigh befalls him in the wake of their faltered pace; he hasn’t the time to waste dawdling. This explanation has grown old, and the shock and awe in the face of his abilities droll after so many years of performance for the public eye. Even so, he waves a hand, never slowing up in his pace. If they want to hear his answer, they’ll have to KEEP UP.

            Peter and Winston see fit to exchange a curious glance and simple shrug of acceptance between themselves, while their more enthusiastic counterpart Ray seems entirely enthralled by the explanation, stumbling much like a child would in his efforts to keep up with the boy, both mentally and physically. 

          Through the gates are they led, like sheep to the slaughter, and with a rusty echo of the lock Mikhail diverts them to the path which winds into the fairgrounds, where they will find tents and stages and caravans galore, brimming with wonders and oddities and even horrors to the public eye. After all, there are far more fascinating things than a simple circus performance here, amongst God’s REJECTS. At the question, however, he turns a single eye over the line of his shoulder, speaking with all the eloquent tact of a street urchin.

            Even the other members of his team, who had previously seemed much more preoccupied with taking in the wild and colorful scene of the tent surrounding them stumbled over their own steps at the boy’s simplified explanation. Four sets of eyes, five if you counted Egon’s spectacles rested on the boy as the troupe’s advance all but tripped to a halt in a gaggle of wide-eyed, totally baffled stares. The group’s metaphorical brain was the first to speak.

               It’s a memory she recalls far too quickly where Egon’s entranced voice recites phrases of admiration (as petty as the tasks she completed was). A wish, granted by a genie she had been far too eager to abuse. The spell had been broken, at least, as far as she remembered. The following weeks had been surprisingly normal, as the rest of the gang continued their daring ghost busting. There was little to no chance a lasting effect had been taken on by the scientist. 

            He sensed her presence remained at his back, but she was entirely silent for a time. And the quiet made every nerve ending in his possession stand on end with nervousness and discomfort. What did her expression look like? Surely she hadn’t bought it-- Janine was too smart for that. In fact, she was much more clever than most gave her credit for; just another reason for his intrigue to be piqued. Realizing that his attempt to dismiss his previous compliment had only resulted in him defining that her physical appeal was not an opinion but a solid fact, he wondered if he’d made a complete fool of himself. 

               Beneath them, their little, scientific experiment continued to bubble and shift into various shades of rose before fizzing out with a sound that mimicked a boiling tea kettle. Fitting as Egon’s brilliant mind seemed to seize causing him to trip over his words. Could she really have caused such a reaction? 

            The way her hand settled along the gentle slope of her hip and the coy edge that curled the corner of her smile caused him to swallow down something thick and uncomfortable that had formed in the hollow of his throat. Sweaty palms, increased heart rate-- honestly, the effect that she had on him made absolutely no scientific sense. ...and perhaps that’s why he so desperately attempted to avoid it. 

          Despite the now prominent man’s poor attempts at charm, the boy is left no less apathetic to their situation than before. If they planned to sue him for such a fee, they’d have a riot of a time — then again, he considers ( as thin arms fold o’er thinner chest ) the wasted money, time, and practice that tonight’s show would yield in the absence of an audience entirely. A soft chill kisses the pearl of his spine, the nape of his neck afflicted with an irritating itch —      — perhaps he shouldn’t dismiss them from the premises so quickly.

            A delighted clap on his comrades’ backs emphasizes Peter’s excitement. And when the others cast him such curious glances, all he could offer them was a sheepish smile and a modest shrug. “--what? I’ve never been to the circus. I always wanted to go as a kid.” 

          Assumptions needing no affirmation ( as his explanation should have done well enough ), gloved digits find busy-work in the backward folding of sharply-cut sleeves of a pin-striped suit, crisply tucking them o’er alabaster wrists more bone than flesh. His concern seems to lie with the bemoaning member of the rag-tag band of what many might mistake for plumbers, his tone dull as the foggy surface of his icy hues.

            An exorcist who ran a circus-- and one of such an apparently young age. Well, certainly not the most typical individual; then again, hardly anyone they encountered in their line of work was. A blink was issued in response, though before he could even open his mouth to respond that characteristic twinkle had already seated itself in Peter’s eye. The brunette Ghostbuster slung his arm around Egon’s shoulder, nearly bowling him over and dislodging his glasses from his face. The eager head of the crew usurped the conversation while the scientist focused on adjusting his glasses.

            Ah, that answered the question he supposed-- exorcism. While he believed in helping a spirit cross over peacefully, Egon was of the firm belief that there was only one way to deal with ghosts-- PURE SCIENCE. Religion wasn’t exactly something he put too much stock into himself, being a man of science... though that wasn’t to say he couldn’t be persuaded, given the hard scientific evidence. But in his personal experience, most self-proclaimed “exorcists” and “spiritualists” had been nothing more than ruthless charletons.