1. Eldette is Sophist' personal assistant, who adds glitter whenever Sophist fails and quietly giggles at how his "magic" backfires.

Often clearing up after him (not literally) with a silly "ta-da!" and jazz-hands to keep the audience entertained/keep the mood up.

2. El is a general assistant, often standing backstage or on the side of the stage whenever anyone is performing.

She is specialised in everything - maybe used to own a circus herself (I'll think of some lore stuff then probably, have some stuff ready lul) - and she makes sure to step in whenever dangerous stuff happens or something?

Like if Brent threatens to fall because he lost his grip, Cherie coughing badly on stage, Sophist actually getting hurt by one of his failed magic tricks, or Vern having a cramp on stage... or something something ^-^

Bonus:

She has two aces up her sleeve - aka if they got time to kill or the people scream "encore" (Stomping/clapping in a rhythm??)

There's this certain Jester and the Guy they dragged into the life of a circus (maybe former manager(?) of El's own circus/ felt drawn in by the other two/ had a life way too boring before meeting Paintette - or smth, idk) who are always prepared for a show / an act.

El would slip into a jester outfit, too - or a princess dress that looks way too expensive, and Vi would sigh as he grabs his the Knight costume.

The silly trio would perform an act of the seven deadly sins (cartoonish, self-aware, almost parody-like. Maybe Fighting each other in a terribly funny way - “Wrath tries to punch Pride, but slips on Sloth's banana peel.” - or something. Lighthearted and performative, ofc)

Vi secretly smiling behind his helmet, Paint "accidentally" spilling literal paint on the stage

(don't ask where they keep it/how they got it in :3 El takes the blame/makes up for it),

and Eldette throwing confetti at the end.

He did it with such ease there was no cloying or taunting variation of the oh so original, “Caught ya.” Because it wasn’t necessary. You filled in the blank for him in your mind and he could hear it, I mean this all technically did take place in your head didn’t it? You didn’t like to think about the mechanics, it could make your head hurt and you had a much more serious life and death situation to focus on at the moment.  

When you were below him and he raised that sickening hand that was a mish-mash of exposed muscle and bone and blades, your eyes squeezed shut and you waited for the killing blow. 

But it never came.

He didn’t end you like you might have thought, his hand fell, he did slash, but the razors only caught your shirt, your eyes flying open in surprise, and from the mild jolt of pain from the few thin cuts that grazed your stomach. He fed his fingers through the slits he made into your shirt with ease, he curled his fingers and he pulls, hard.

The fabric gives way and you jerk in fear as your torso is exposed, the remnants tossed aside, he finally acknowledges you, a sneer as he asks, “Scared?”

He leaves no time for you to respond as next the poor excuse for bottoms you wore to bed that night were torn away to join the same fate as your shirt. He was so strong, it took him no effort to strip you totally bare except for the sweat that had built up on your body from the chase through this blistering hell hole of steam and pipes and cracked concrete. 

His monstrous hand came down, blades teased featherlight over your chest, cold metal brushed over your nipples and you inhaled harshly, sucking down a deep and shuddering breath as the sensitive skin stiffened into hardened peaks. The expression he wore was sadistic, the smirk twisted, his fingers closed on one and he pinched, he pulled and turned, rolling it in his grasp and making you let out a small and strained sound in response. 

“I think you can do better than that, right?” 

He tugged hard and you let out a yelp and he almost praised you but the tone and expression undercut it, making it fall just shy, “Better. But still pathetic.”

You feel the smoothness of cool leather against your thigh and the unmistakable hardness below it and the feeling of that forced upon you simultaneously turns your stomach and makes your clit throb. 

Again there was no time to pour over or process because he rocked against your thigh as his bladed hand abandoned your chest, drags lower, fingers spreading the small amount of blood that had welled up from the tiny cuts he gave you earlier. He didn’t stop until two of his fingers were bordering either side of your clit, a small squeeze and your breath catches, eyes slightly unfocused and he was watching your face the whole time. You could almost hear the pleased purr at the reaction he got from the smallest touch, he could feel the confusing mix and mess inside of you. The fear and the slight nausea, the confusion and of course the shameful, guilty arousal. It was totally delicious, almost as good as it could get without killing you. 

But not quite, there is still something better to partake in and he was intending to soon after a little more playing with you.

Your breathing was ragged, the fear was close to outweighing every other feeling because of how close the blades were on his fingers, the dangerous position. How one small slip up could fucking ruin and utterly destroy such a sensitive and intimate part of you. He didn’t stop his small probing and manipulation and how you had no clue what to do, to pull away or hump embarrassingly into his touch to get more of what you clearly craved. His fingers left you and your body went slack, relaxing until he laid down a firm and solid hit right where he had been touching previously. Your body bowed from the intense jerk of pain to your system along with a choked off moan. He let out a laugh that was somewhere between amused and malicious. “Hurts, hmm?”

A shaky nod and he repeated the action, harder and you whined from the abuse he brought to your clitoris. He tsk’d and a few more smacks hit strong and true, each one causing you to release another all too amusing sound and while you were still reeling from the last hit he took the opportunity to do what he really wanted. 

He could smell your cunt, you were more than ready and he was simply dying to satiate that other lingering hunger he had. His hands on your hips he jerks you up and you inhale harshly, you were staring up at him, wondering his next move as he ground the smooth leather against you. The slick from you spread over the clothed bulge of his erection as he moved and he said in the most mocking way possible, “I’m sorry.”

He leaned down closer, “I’ll make it up to you.”

A harsh swallow before you asked, “How?”

He started to slip down, hands moving as he went, more thin cuts along your hip and down your outer thigh as he went, you hissed at the hurt and he hummed out as he found his place between your thighs, resting on his stomach as he provided the answer to you. He leaned in, unnaturally long tongue slipping out of his mouth before licking a strip up the middle of you from hole to above your clit making you cry out and arch before he told you, “I’ll kiss it better.” 

You think if anyone else but him said that you would cringe and roll away but the heat behind it made you melt even more so than the heat in here already was. 

Any lingering want to push him away or for this to stop has been put to bed when his mouth is back on you. 

How could one ever begin to describe the taste of you in this state?

Describing how a person tastes might be difficult for some, trying to nail down and put words to the flavour of an individual, but he isn’t regular, is he? No, he isn’t human at all, he is so, so much more than that. He himself is like a collection of words, a living, breathing, idea, a story currently in motion and as such he has more than ample ability to describe what your needy and soaked cunt tastes like. 

The unique cocktail that made up you was nothing short of delectable. A hot, heady, silky mixture, salt and a particular tang to it that was immensely pleasing to the palette. They say what you eat affects how you taste but again he isn’t mortal, he can glean so much more from the taste you provide, he swears that he can in fact, “-taste how desperate you are.”

He barely lifted his head or broke contact with his mouth to share that lovely little fact with you and dove back in between your thighs tongue first before you could even begin to conjure an adequate response, or a response period. You tasted like just what he knew you would and just what he needed, pure, unfiltered, barely contained fucking whore. It was just below the surface and he could bring it out to play with a few well placed licks.

He seriously wondered how long you had been deprived of anything like this, it felt like it had been ages from how you were responding. And speaking of, right now you were very tense, breathing shallow and thighs threatening to almost suffocate him, (well if he actually needed to breathe of course-), from how hard they held his head. His hands took care of that. Spread you wide and force your legs apart and flat to the surface of the bed to truly allow himself to do what he needed. You were gasping for air in short order as his tongue delved inside your parted lips, into your soaked and clenching hole, curving up and upon touching a particular spot you made the best sound you had so far tonight. 

Back to you though and how you were handling all this. Your mind was a soupy mess of pleasure and scattered thoughts, trying to cling to anything as he ate you out in a way that felt like the one series of letters and syllables that could fit it was ferocious. How could he do this? Move his tongue inside you with such ease and simultaneously so much force? Your end was speeding towards you at a blinding pace. 

His mouth seems too large. His tongue is still inside you, moving, sliding in and out, curling and working but also you could feel the wet heat of the rest of his mouth covering your clit, as if he managed to encompass your whole vulva with his horrible maw. Legs twitching underneath his hands, the string inside you threatening to snap, eyes squeezed shut and there was nothing you could have done to stop the impending orgasm, it overtook beautifully. A deep inhale in while you were on the edge and when you exhaled you were cumming. 

You moaned, deep and genuine, voice wavering from the strength of it and your voice wasn’t the only sound. Eating someone out the way he was, it isn’t a quiet affair, it sounds lewd and obscene and wet, but more than that too, he also let out a moan against you upon the peak of sensation. The moan sent vibrations that made your body try to jerk against him, increasing it all even further. 

He loved this part, feeling you clenching rhythmically around his tongue, undeniable evidence of what he forced from you. What made it even more delicious was the lingering reluctance, the wish that you weren’t so fucking into it and cumming so hard from the mouth of a literal monster. 

His hunger was far from satisfied. 

He didn’t slow even when your orgasm subsided. He kept going. The attempts at thrashing were ignored as was the beginnings of your pleas for him to, “Stop! Fuck, please-It’s too ahhhn, too much!” 

Of course it was too much, it was all by design, it was the entire point. 

You tasted better after cumming, he wasn’t sure how but you just did and of course, you were wetter even though some of it had to be from him. Long tongue slid out, he pulled back and in that deep, unnatural voice he told you, mockingly, “Scream all you want, I’m not stopping because you want me to, this isn’t about you.”

Confusion painting your features, “I-it’s not?”

A laugh, a sickening sound that made you clench around nothing and also made your hair stand on end before he tells you, “No it’s not. This is about me feeding myself from this-” His hand between your legs, his thumb stroking up and down your clit, dipping into your soaked hole, you hissed slightly from the overstimulation, “-sweet cunt. It is the best thing you have to offer me, addictive taste and I am going to eat it until I am done, no sooner.”

And then a funny little thing happened, him saying that, the look in his eyes, his hands on you, the fear you had felt totally melted away. True to his word, he didn’t stop, didn’t relent, more probing of his tongue, harsh sucks of sensitive flesh, nips of sharp teeth and cuts from his bladed fingers on your hips and thighs. The pleasure and pain intermingles in this scarily intense blend that makes you feel like you might lose your mind. He talks and what is odd is that when he does at points he doesn’t break away, you still feel the moves of his mouth but hear the sounds of his voice reverberating on the walls around you, he asks humiliating questions, makes impossible requests, expects you to keep track of the times you fall apart because of him and how could you ever do that? He forces you into many a degrading position, dragging you easily into whatever configuration he wishes, making you grind on his face as he holds you so hard you bruise. He leaves no part of you below the waist free from his mouth, clit and both holes are delved inside and abused till you gape and have wetness rolling down your shaking legs all while he orders you to- “Ride my tongue you desperate bitch.”

You are so far gone your body moves on it’s own, pace is uneven but you do as he wishes.