a warm bath had become a rare treat, in the company of fletching and moondrop's carnival of curiosities. not that he remembers a life before the circus that had baths. movement was their life, movement meant life; he understood that quickly, as he took up lestara's old caravan and traveled the countryside, the kingdoms, the cities.

this particular patron was a prince, from a small, rural monarchy that mostly ruled over farmland and verdant vales. he had asked for them, specifically, to entertain his birthday gala.

they were all provided their own rooms. their own private wash room. he could certainly get used to this, the luxury and the beauty of it. he thinks he already has the beauty part down to an art form, anyway.

he stares at the large, ornate mirror. his red, red eyes. the curve of his cheekbones. a familiar face. and an unfamiliar face. two sides of the same golden coin. he turns away, as he strips himself of his clothes, feels the heat of the steam from the heated bathtub. sighs.

suddenly, a voice, impossibly intruding, enters with an oops. sorry.

mollymauk pauses. stops, entirely, as the sight of a large, blue thing appears in the largeness of the bathroom. from its blue door, a man peers out of it.

"i'm sorry, what?"

he feels as if he should feel shocked. alarmed. but there was something about that blue box that would not let him. for all intents and purposes, it existed, persisted, as if it belonged here.

the night was always a kaleidoscope of colors in the presence of fletching & moondrop traveling carnival of curiosities. the brightly painted tents reflected moonlight like a crystal; laughter and applause filled the silence like music, rousing above the sound of the rain, and the rushing river that the circus had set up nearby.

the main event is swallowed inside a massive primary tent. dry, warm, and belly-full with awe, with wonder.

molly basks in the energy of the crowd, their attentions pouring over his body as he performed, creating little flurries of snow that fell upon the audience like a gentle breeze.

he loved the show. he loved being a part of it. but that did not make him any less eager to return to the warm abode of the fortune teller's private quarters, a relatively spacious tent set up next to his caravan.

he sighs, as he bursts through the tent's threshold, a bottle of aged wine in one hand. raindrops clinging to his purple hair.

"hello," he pauses, staring straight into the eyes of nix, caught amidst his cushions and blankets. decides he is unbothered, and smiles, "if i knew i'd be havin' company, i'd have brought a second glass."

once, the world was full of wonders. a powerful world. an ancient world. but that world is all but gone, with human ingenuity in its stead. towering spires of metal and concrete, a proverbial sea of industrialization. pizza. science. and a slew of other moderately pleasant things.

molly does not mind it as much as he thinks he should. in all respects, he loves humanity. he loves them individually, in particular; their lips, their hands, their supple bodies. they are lovely creatures.

he watches them, the people scattered inside oxford's bodleian library; they become part of the neo-gothic architecture, like the intricate stone carvings and soaring arches, the wooden tables, the sense of something old and new.

between towering bookcases, he waits for emmrich volkarin. he waits, even as the sun sets, colors the university in shades of orange and pink and dusky blue.

"ah," molly smiles, as the good doctor slips between the bookcases, enters his space, "there you are! i was wondering when you'd grace us with your presence. i can't be the only pretty face here, after all..."