#quantum leopard

~~~

There is one area that allows him a bit of reprieve. A place that makes it seem as though he can reach out and touch and actually pull himself out of the dark. An area of light and wonder and magic. An area where he isn’t ignored. An area where people smile as they look at him, ignore his dirty clothes and scars. 

The carnival. A place for freaks. No wonder it feels like home.

Getting in is easy. Here he blends in with the crowd. Here, it doesn’t matter who you are or where you came from, you can just be. Sure, the funnel cake in his hands isn’t his, and the bear under his arm wasn’t won fairly, but it’s the carnival. It has a way of making him feel like that doesn’t matter. Besides, the local crownsguard wouldn’t be caught dead here. Not when there isn’t anyone important to protect. Just the local riff raff and the travelling outcasts.

But the reprieve doesn’t last long. It never does.

~~~

Mike has managed to scrounge up some coin, even if it came at the expense of his bear. It was worth it though, for the opportunity to buy a drink at the bar. He may still be alone here, but the loneliness doesn’t seem as pervasive here. Doesn’t drown him in his own solitude. Not when there’s drink to drown in instead.

He’s deep in the cup when the sound of the door slamming against the wall causes him to jerk to attention. In unison, he and the other patrons turn to stare at the figure who stands in the doorway.

They’re tall, head held high with an almost snobbish look on their face. On closer inspection they appear to be an elven woman, high cheekbones smeared with what could be mud, but for some reason Mike doesn’t think that’s the case. The rest of the patrons turn away from her, going back to tankards and rambunctious laughter, but Mike can’t do the same.

He turns a bit, but still peers at her from the corner of his eye, wary of leaving his back unguarded. She’s flanked by men thicker than he is tall, but still he can’t help but think she’s the bigger threat. The group settles in a corner of the tavern. While the volume returns to its usual, that corner seems quieter than the rest. Heavier.

Mike finishes up his tankard and gets up to exit. Being on the streets means he’s gotten really good at telling at a glance if someone is safe, pretending to be dangerous, or actually dangerous and every part of him is screaming run.

He stands and turns on his heel, ready to leave. Immediately, he walks into one of the men. He has no idea how the person got there that fast or that quietly, but all it does is cause him to panic more. It doesn’t help that as he glances up, he can’t see the expression on the man’s face. Instead there’s a blank white mask, a grin etched into its surface in an almost grotesque manner. The panic ticks higher as the man grabs him and begins to drag him to the corner.

Mike tries to dig his feet in. Tries to turn and flee. The patrons around him continue to laugh and speak and drink as they always do, ignoring the spectacle he’s making. Or maybe he isn’t making a spectacle, not when it’s so easy for the man to drag him away.

He could scream, could plead for help, but would that do for him really? It’s not like it’s helped him in the past. It’s not like it helped his friends, or his family, or anyone really. 

Even if he wanted to scream, there’s a lump in his throat making it hard to breath. He probably doesn’t even have the air to scream, so it’s a moot point really.

He gets forcefully seated in front of the woman whose face is utterly blank. Mike doesn’t know if that’s better or worse than the grotesque smiles of the masks of the men beside her. Regardless, it’s off-putting and makes him want to flee. A clap on his shoulder keeps that from happening, however. He has no choice but to stay here and he finds himself locking eyes with the woman. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t tear his eyes away.

It’s quiet for a moment, a different from the kind he’s grown familiar with. This silence is heavy in a way that causes his heart rate to speed and his chest to ache. It fills him with terror in a way he hasn’t felt in a long, long, time. It roots him to his seat, and keeps his eyes locked on the threat in front of him.

“And who do we have here?” Her voice startles him, seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. It doesn’t match her face, somehow. It slides out of her throat, and seems to pierce his mind. The pain is immeasurable and for a moment he thinks he’s gone mad. Then the pain recedes and he’s left blinking at the woman once more. For a moment her form flickers but it settles once more and Mike is left feeling wary.

She stares at him a moment more before he realizes he’s been asked a question. He clears his throat and only manages to stutter out his name against the choking feeling in his throat. She hums and just… continues staring. It’s like she’s peering into his very being and judging, but he can’t tell what she’s thinking because her face is simply blank. It makes him feel off balance and he would give anything at all to be alone again. It’s too much, this feeling of being watched, like his skin is being pulled back and-

“So, you’ve no desire to be somewhere. To belong?” He stares at her, frozen and scared and unable to reply. “No desire to be a part of something greater than yourself? To do something with your life? To have that crushing weight lifted off your chest?”

He knows danger when he sees it. Knows the insidious things it can do and the ideas it will whisper into your ear, but a part of him is curious. “What is it that you mean?” he mumbles out, wary and wavering.

“I am working towards something,” she sighs out, and her eyes come alive. It should make her more human, make her better, but all it does is serve to freeze him again. He is a coward, he knows this. He knows this but it doesn’t make the terror any easier to swallow as he tries and fails to rip his gaze from hers.

“I am working toward building something great,” she repeats again, more insistently this time. “And I need people like you to help me.”

“Why?” It’s the wrong question, he knows that even as it escapes his lips. He should be asking what or how or even when, but he can’t help but ask why? Why him? Why now? Why does he matter in the grand scheme of whatever thing she’s planning.

She smiles and he notes that he much prefers the blank face. Hell, he even prefers the masks. Anything is better than the emptiness in that smile, the darkness in those eyes.

“You have something wonderful in you, I can tell. And you could help me. Could help us. There are plenty of us, we travel together. We work together. We laugh and fight and bring sanctuary to lost souls like yourself. We are a community of our own and I know you could contribute quite a lot, if you’d only give yourself the chance.”

Her voice twists in his head, and they almost seem to manifest in a smoke around her mouth before he blinks and it’s gone. The words are as terrible as they are a balm on the pit in his heart. It’s a hand reaching for him as he plummets and even though he knows danger, knows of the whispers and lies it speaks, he can’t help but wonder for just a moment.

Just a moment he lets himself wonder what it would be like to have a home. To have this weight lifted off of him. To scream and have his voice be heard. To laugh and play and hug and cry and be someone who isn’t himself.

It would be so wonderful.

He steels himself for a moment, tells himself this is a bad idea, and decides to do it anyway.

He grabs the hand and let’s it pull him out of the emptiness below him.

“What do I need to do?”

~~~