Ā Ā Ā Reapers, housed within the walls of the mortuary, are to blame for the deaths (or the long suffering non deaths) of their loved ones, say protestors surrounding Cairo & Co beginning early this morning.Ā Some of the protestors believe that it is notĀ diseaseĀ that is fellingĀ reapers, but rather the reapers themselves are killing their own to rid themselves of suspicion.Ā
Ā Ā Ā The citizens want answers and have taken to crowding Cairo & Co. with their protesting; picketing, anxious, scared, of a world where death is unpredictable and unseen. Ā Irrationality is high, the hearse is forced to park in the street unable to reach the back of the mortuary, and it is highly suggested reapers do not leave the mortuary.
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Nagisa & Evangeline: At exactly noon Evangeline has left Hollyfield an hour early for lunch. Nagisa's looking for her sister. As they cross the street they witness a sick looking man clutching his stomach get hit by a car in the adjacent crosswalk. Mortuarian police take their statement.
Dorothea & Belle:Ā Dorothea, managing to shake her husband, feels a strange chill in the Mortuaria Botanical Garden as Isabelle roams about yet unseen. They later find a sack of bones hidden amongst the flowers.
The hairs on the back of Marceauās neck stood on end as the Ringmaster disappeared. He looked around the room, seeing a array of expressions spread across the other circus folks faces. Confusion, fear, doubt, not a single person in that tent was smiling- except one. His body shuddered as his gaze fell on the Joker. In the back of the stands, standing there with that permanent grin plastered across his face. Marceau sensed a hint of knowledge behind that smile. As curious as the boy was, he didnāt want to be around the jester any longer. He stood up and pushed past the crowd towards the exit. Until he had cleared the exit, he felt the Jokerās eyes bearing into the back of his head.
Marceau turned around, expecting to see the tent, but instead came face to face with himself. āWhat theā¦ā He lifted his hand, reaching out to touch his mirror image when its eyes shot open. The mirror Marceau began to freak out, kicking, screaming, and punching the air in front of him.
BOOM
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā A loud bass sound filled the air. The fog swirled closer together. Marceau could see a solid black outline in the distance.
BOOM
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā The noise was softer, but he recognized it. It was the sound of dirt being thrown onto something. The blackness shot towards him and his clone.
BOOM
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Mirror Marceau had calmed his movement.Ā He noticed his copy began to cry silent tears, yet had no idea why. Thatās when the stench hit him, and it became clear to him where he was.
BOOM
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā The rectangle of darkness was close enough for Marceau to reach out and touch. He stepped towards his clone, not even tempting the ominous blackness.
BOOM
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Memories started to flood Marceauās mind. Things he hadnāt thought about for years. His childhood, standing in the middle of their makeshift Big Top on his momās laundry basket ordering his sisters around like what he imagined a Ringmaster to be. Tears began to stream down his face as family dinners at their giant oak table played like movies through his mind. The scent of his motherās perfume overwhelmed that of the rotten corpses. He closed his eyes trying to take in everything.
BOOM
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā I chill shot up Marceau's back. He reluctantly opened his eyes and his heart stopped. Staring back at him was no longer himself, but the Joker. He tried to back away, but the darkness had solidified behind him. The Joker's maniacal laugh because to fill the space. The memories of his family were replaced with those of his early circus days. It began with a montage of failures. Every time he messed up in a routine, every fall, every misstep. The laughing got louder with every mistake.
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With Scarves of Red Tied Round Their Throats // Self Para
Abelle kept her head low, allowing her pale blonde hair to fall over her cheeks in a curtain. She listened to the rhythmic beat of her feet against the pavement, the only constant above the nervous chatter of the other performers pouring out of the colossal red and white tent.
Occasionally, sheād accidentally get shoved aside by someone who was obviously in a bigger rush than she was.Ā However, Abelle didnāt mind the jostling of the crowd, and even if she did there wasnāt much she could do considering her size.
At first, Abelle didnāt notice the gray fog that had begun twisting itself around her feet. She had failed to notice the odd tickling that had sluggishly traveled up to her slight hips until it had reached her waist. Abelle watched the fog with steady eyes, uselessly willing it to stop. The fog continued on its path uninterrupted, swallowing up Abelleās surroundings and shrouding her sight. The deadly calm that the blonde had always reverted to was slowly deteriorating as she softly called for help. Her pleas built to a crescendo as her panic increased, but there were never any answers. She didnāt expect any, but she couldnāt stop her cries.
Silence, Abelleās long time companion, had betrayed her.
She blindly trudged forward in the fog, her bearings completely lost. Suddenly, she heard a raised voice, a person who must have finally taken pity on her. Someone who Abelle hoped knew what was going on, someone who could ease her confusion. The voice wasnāt panicked like Abelleās, it was excited, it was, unless she was mistaken... full of life. The fog grew less dense as the blonde followed it, her steps no longer rhythmic but pounding and rushed. The closer Abelle got to it the more familiar the voice seemed. She had forgotten herself for a moment; her nervousness and had been replaced by a thirsty curiosity.
The fog thinned just enough for Abelle to make out an innocent-looking girl stumbling confusedly through a menacing tent, a tent that Abelle knew all too well. She sucked in a breath as realization hit her as hard as her younger self was hit with a blunt doorstop. The ineffectual words of warning Abelle wanted to shout at the memory were lost in her throat. She watched as a cloaked figure crouched over her dazed, young self, grinning in a mischief that sickened her with the memory of what was to happen next.
The confused girl made an effort to fight against the stranger, but his hands were to strong for her to hold up much of a battle. The ominous figure made no sound except the occasional grunt as he roughly thrust his hips against Abelleās young self. With each pelvic thrust the innocent blonde became corrupted and scarred. Eventually she stopped her writhing and pained screaming, she simply fell limp in an empty defeat. After what seemed like an eternity for both Abelles, the figure climbed off of the shaking girl. She tried to yank down her hiked up skirt but the tremor of her fingers made that nearly impossible.
It didnāt matter anyway.
As if by some cruel magic, a wicked-looking blade appeared in the manās hand. He took a moment to appreciate it; he weighed it in his dirt-encrusted fingers. The blonde girl with a vision clouded by hatred didnāt see the knife until she felt the sharpness against her throat. Young Abelle welcomed death; she didnāt want the violation and self-loathing to linger on her body and longer.
A clean, deadly swipe and she got her wish.
The fog curled around Abelleās numb limbs, dragging her out of the nightmare that she had pushed to the very darkest depths of her mind.Ā
Percy sat in his chair at his dressing room table, staring at his reflection in the mirror, the one that shone bright, with all of the light bulbs surrounding it. Light always amazed him, that was how he got into fire breathing; he loved the light, the heat, the warmthā¦ however, he didnāt want to be a fire breather any more, the thought of fire made him feel awful, it made him think about his death, how something so simple could have been avoided and saved his own life.
The Ringmasterās last words echoed in his head and repeated themselves, ābut you will be, but you will be, but you will be, but you will beā.
It was almost as if his chair had spun back in time, back to that fateful night. He and Yves had been arguing over something quite trivial, and the boy had gotten unnecessarily angry. It seemed he had gone back to that exact tent, and was being forced to relive exactly what had happened, and watch all of the pain he had gone through. His eyes widened as he saw himself take a swig from a bottle of alcohol, he didnāt even remember what kind it was, as it had been such a long time since his death.
āNo, Percyā¦ donāt do itā¦ pleaseā¦ā
He lit up his tools, breathing out the flames, ready to torch the older man in front of him. He had missed one vital thing, and that would be his downfall. The younger version of Percy stood before him, his chest bare and his skin pallid and perfect, without a single scar or laceration. But after the accident, his whole body was covered in scars from the horrific burning he had endured. He hated that. God, if he could have gone back and changed everything, things would be a lot different. Soon, there was fire, reflecting in those big, icy blue eyes.
āPercyā¦ā
It was like he was tied to his seat, unable to move of put any input into what happened. His legs felt like he had been paralysed from the waist down, and he would never be able to walk again. What in the world was going on? Was he going insane? This couldnāt be happening, he knew what happened to people that were put in asylums in this day and age, he would be beaten, chained up and forced into slavery! He was sitting in the audience in the big top, as he watched his younger self get caught in flames, the fire engulfing him and claiming him.
The boy pleaded Yves to help him, to help put out the fire, but these pleas were ignored and the man walked away, leaving him to try and fend for himself. The older man, his mentor was right, this was exactly what could have happened if he carried on with his reckless stunts and tricks. He was too inexperienced, but had grown cocky and too self-assured. As Percy sat there watching himself, his heart sank as he heard the guttural screams coming from his mouth, and then his eyes becoming blank and lifeless, the tent becoming silentā¦
And that was when he found himself sitting back in his dressing room, asleep on his chair. It must have been some bad dream! It felt like all was well from then on, he was just about to go and perform and after all, the show must go onā¦
It happened only a couple of weeks before she'd joined the circus. It had been a horrible day, everything that could go wrong had gone wrong. She arrived home late after being out with her friends and found that her father was drunk. "You are late." He had snapped at her. She'd never seen him like this before. He only ever had two glasses of wine, maximum. "I - I just lost track of time. I'm sorry." She had apologized and begun to walk up the stairs to her bedroom. "Ah, where do you think you're going?" He spat, getting up and making his way over to her. She hesitated on the stairs but then ran. What was he doing? Why was he doing this? A thousand questions ran through her mind, but only one thought. Hide. She had to hide.. but she wasn't fast enough. Her dad caught up to her and dragged her back down the stairs by her hair. He gave her the most brutal beating of her life and she had to stand there, unable to move, watching every kick and every blow until finally it was over. Her dad marched upstairs to bed without a second glance at her and she stayed there huddled in the corner, too scared to move. It was the first and the last beating he ever gave her.. and after the beating she became more of a daddy's little girl than she already was because he wanted to make it up to her in any way possible.
When it ended she found she was in her tent. How the hell did she get here? She didn't remember coming back to her tent. After reliving the horrible memory, she couldn't sleep for the rest of the night. She sat up and practiced for the show over and over again until it was perfection.
