Stagehands and performers were bustling about the grassy sward like bees in a hive, cleaning up the last remaining wreckage of Marguerite’s balloon and preparing for the night’s performance. Lights were going up in the main tent and on lines around the circus ground, like dozens of fireflies twinkling into existence. There was a sort of buzzing in the air; the mingled voices of so many conversations from those enthusiasts lining up to get good seats at the night’s performance. A breeze still weaved and sighed its way amongst the outlying trees, dancing across the tops of the tents to caress Asmodeus’ cheek. It was not a wind that (belies/portends) the oncoming storm but a comforting breathe that sends the low clouds to racing, set ablaze in the light of the setting sun.
Asmodeus made his way calmly but quickly through these happenings, this organized chaos, headed for the zodiac-patterned balloon and tent wherein he would find Alexandra. Colette had her circus to manage. Marguerite and Marie would be making for the market by now, acquiring the necessary ingredients for the night’s shenanigans. All that was left was for Asnodeus and Alexandra to play their part, and it was a game he was very much looking forward to. In all honesty (and when was he totally honest?), he desperately hoped that his conspirators in this plan were oblivious to his obvious favoring in assignments. Certainly a man with a mind for science such as his could have been valuable to Marguerite in the preparation of their repugnatorial weapons. And Marie could have easily filled the role of spokesperson… but no! It caused Asmodeus physical pain to think of missing this opportunity; a night out with his greatest romantic adversary. She would have no excuse not to go with him to Hirondelle’s performance.
Suddenly a man in a top hat and overcoat hurried through the crowd, his shoulder glancing Asmodeus’ by accident, snatching his mind away from these private musings. After the customary apologies, Asmodeus turned back towards the fortune-teller’s tent, in time to spot a golden-haired beauty in a dark shawl emerge from behind the flaps, and set off toward the main tent. Asmodeus quickened his pace considerably, adjusting his course to take him around the other side of the main tent. The hunt was on.
31 July 2010
28 July 2010
The Show Must Go On: The Rumor Mill
Given an hour to wander before she had to meet Margeurite, Marie kept herself occupied. She darted off to change - it wouldn't do to wander the streets in her muddy skirt - and set off into the city.
The area immediately around the Cirque's grounds was all a-bustle - she lingered at a few street vendor's stalls, turning over books she could not read and odd little trinkets and scarves in her hands so that she could listen to the conversations drifting past. "An accident, I'm sure," one gentleman said reassuringly to his wife, who tutted in a very ladylike way. "It was that scientist woman... Really, I can't imagine what came over her, a lady in such a dangerous and unwomanly trade..." said another, lips pursed thinly. Marie watched him pass out of the corner of her eyes, and directed a rude gesture at his back.
But there were more promising whispers floating. "Oh, the show's goin' on," she heard someone reassure a friend. "By the time I ran by just now they'd got it all cleaned up and there were a couple'a girls turning tumbles and jugglers playin' for coins and sellin' tickets, merry as you please." Marie smiled - leave it to the other acrobats to keep the crowds amused while the ringleader and her confidants spun their plots.
"Horrible thing, that," the vendor said conversationally. "Heard it all the way from here." Marie looked up from examining his wares with a sweet smile.
"Oh, it was awful," she said breathlessly. "No one hurt, though, and the show goes on." She glanced over her shoulder, and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper: "I hear that other circus did it, you know."
When she turned to leave for the church with a friendly wave, she had one of the penny pies the man was selling slipped in her pocket unnoticed, and the vendor re-telling the story, with great embellishment, to a curious bystander.
She finished her supper on the church steps, and accompanied Marguerite on her odd errands. The drama of the afternoon's events hadn't reached quite so far out into the wealthier districts of the city, but Marie amused herself watching the odd exchange with the priest - she particularly liked the description of Marguerite as "the woman with the abominations" - and it seemed that altogether the outing was a success. She couldn't make heads nor tails of what the ingredients they'd sought were, but Marguerite seemed please enough, and Marie let her attention wander on the way back to the circus grounds.
When they arrived back, Marie hurried off on her next errands - animals and pouches. She shuddered once out of Marguerite's sight; though some of the animals were cute and even affectionate, they were mostly wild and bloody unnatural. Pouches first, then. It seemed like the sort of thing Alexandra might have, so she strolled in that direction, but the fortune teller's door was shut.
The tent was heavy enough to be relatively soundproof, to afford privacy to Alexandra's clients, but Marie knew there was a spot in the side where the fabric didn't quite reach the ground, and couldn't resist settling down by it to wait. Marie hadn't had her fortune told by Alexandra since their initial encounter years ago - she took it serious enough to not ask for anything trivial - but she liked to listen to the stories Alexandra spun for the everyday concerns of the circusgoers.
"...warn Colette?" she heard Alexandra say distantly from inside the tent. Marie gasped and leaned closer - that hardly sounded everyday at all.
"Yes..." a man's voice, slightly familiar, said. He spoke softly enough that she could only catch words: "...warn... don't know... Colette... trusts me... be warned... something terrible."
Alexandra said something, and there was silence and shuffling, and Marie quickly darted away from her less-than-sneaky spot crouched beside the tent before the mysterious gentleman left. She longed to find some way to see who he was, but when she came out from behind the tent, all she saw was the back of his coat and hat, already mixing in with the crowd. She let herself dither with worry for a moment, then shook her head as if to clear it.
By the time she had finished her dithering, Alexandra had left her tent anyway. Marie dithered a bit more, this time about rummaging through someone else's property, but eventually found a few little fabric pouches - decorated with fancy tea names in fancy writing, but now empty except for a few stray leaves - and hurried to find where the animals had been stowed after the explosion.
"Hello, little abominations," she said when she found them, and set to work, handling the creatures gingerly when tiny hooves and claws scratched harmlessly at her hands. She picked the gentlest and most intelligent little beasts - both seeming like needed traits for whatever Asmodeus had in mind - but they still gave her the willies, and they knew it. She wanted to dwell on what she'd overheard. There seemed to be a great deal of warning against this Jacques they were about to provoke... but the creatures demanded her full attention, and she gave up trying to piece things together. She finished her task and set them back in the baskets, and hurried off to find Asmodeus.
The area immediately around the Cirque's grounds was all a-bustle - she lingered at a few street vendor's stalls, turning over books she could not read and odd little trinkets and scarves in her hands so that she could listen to the conversations drifting past. "An accident, I'm sure," one gentleman said reassuringly to his wife, who tutted in a very ladylike way. "It was that scientist woman... Really, I can't imagine what came over her, a lady in such a dangerous and unwomanly trade..." said another, lips pursed thinly. Marie watched him pass out of the corner of her eyes, and directed a rude gesture at his back.
But there were more promising whispers floating. "Oh, the show's goin' on," she heard someone reassure a friend. "By the time I ran by just now they'd got it all cleaned up and there were a couple'a girls turning tumbles and jugglers playin' for coins and sellin' tickets, merry as you please." Marie smiled - leave it to the other acrobats to keep the crowds amused while the ringleader and her confidants spun their plots.
"Horrible thing, that," the vendor said conversationally. "Heard it all the way from here." Marie looked up from examining his wares with a sweet smile.
"Oh, it was awful," she said breathlessly. "No one hurt, though, and the show goes on." She glanced over her shoulder, and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper: "I hear that other circus did it, you know."
When she turned to leave for the church with a friendly wave, she had one of the penny pies the man was selling slipped in her pocket unnoticed, and the vendor re-telling the story, with great embellishment, to a curious bystander.
She finished her supper on the church steps, and accompanied Marguerite on her odd errands. The drama of the afternoon's events hadn't reached quite so far out into the wealthier districts of the city, but Marie amused herself watching the odd exchange with the priest - she particularly liked the description of Marguerite as "the woman with the abominations" - and it seemed that altogether the outing was a success. She couldn't make heads nor tails of what the ingredients they'd sought were, but Marguerite seemed please enough, and Marie let her attention wander on the way back to the circus grounds.
When they arrived back, Marie hurried off on her next errands - animals and pouches. She shuddered once out of Marguerite's sight; though some of the animals were cute and even affectionate, they were mostly wild and bloody unnatural. Pouches first, then. It seemed like the sort of thing Alexandra might have, so she strolled in that direction, but the fortune teller's door was shut.
The tent was heavy enough to be relatively soundproof, to afford privacy to Alexandra's clients, but Marie knew there was a spot in the side where the fabric didn't quite reach the ground, and couldn't resist settling down by it to wait. Marie hadn't had her fortune told by Alexandra since their initial encounter years ago - she took it serious enough to not ask for anything trivial - but she liked to listen to the stories Alexandra spun for the everyday concerns of the circusgoers.
"...warn Colette?" she heard Alexandra say distantly from inside the tent. Marie gasped and leaned closer - that hardly sounded everyday at all.
"Yes..." a man's voice, slightly familiar, said. He spoke softly enough that she could only catch words: "...warn... don't know... Colette... trusts me... be warned... something terrible."
Alexandra said something, and there was silence and shuffling, and Marie quickly darted away from her less-than-sneaky spot crouched beside the tent before the mysterious gentleman left. She longed to find some way to see who he was, but when she came out from behind the tent, all she saw was the back of his coat and hat, already mixing in with the crowd. She let herself dither with worry for a moment, then shook her head as if to clear it.
By the time she had finished her dithering, Alexandra had left her tent anyway. Marie dithered a bit more, this time about rummaging through someone else's property, but eventually found a few little fabric pouches - decorated with fancy tea names in fancy writing, but now empty except for a few stray leaves - and hurried to find where the animals had been stowed after the explosion.
"Hello, little abominations," she said when she found them, and set to work, handling the creatures gingerly when tiny hooves and claws scratched harmlessly at her hands. She picked the gentlest and most intelligent little beasts - both seeming like needed traits for whatever Asmodeus had in mind - but they still gave her the willies, and they knew it. She wanted to dwell on what she'd overheard. There seemed to be a great deal of warning against this Jacques they were about to provoke... but the creatures demanded her full attention, and she gave up trying to piece things together. She finished her task and set them back in the baskets, and hurried off to find Asmodeus.
The Show Must Go On: Marketed
“Come Colette,” Marguerite said. “Round up the troops and prepare them for tonight. There’s no sense in squandering a night’s income for something so trivial as revenge.”
Marguerite finished her drink, already lost in a list of memories of bad smells.
“Of course,” Colette said. “I shall find you a booth to use for tonight.”
“Hm?”
“You may not have your old living space, but you can still put on a show, can’t you?”
“Of course I can, but not tonight, dear. I have some shopping to do. Oh, Marie, meet me in an hour’s time at the church across from South Market, will you?” She turned to Colette. “I’m sure you can spare her for the evening’s events?”
Colette nodded, and refrained from any further comments. Marguerite followed her feet overboard and away from the circus. If she hurried, she could reach a few destinations before the show hit its peak hours.
A coach ride later, Marguerite wondered at the street life she spotted on her way to Andre's city home. Her old friend had moved into a well-to-do part of the bustling blood clot of France, but Marguerite's impression of his financial situation the last time they met, nearly five years ago, made her wonder what side professions he had taken to.
The streets were well kept, and lamps were lit to illuminate the few passersby. Marguerite noted that her fellow pedestrians often sported some kind of shifty look, despite the well-off architecture. She also smelled the perfume of fine brothels from a couple of doorsteps, the wrought iron gates cleverly manipulated into suggestive shapes. She spotted numerous potential dens as well. The street corners were clear of prostitution, however, so Marguerite proceeded without need for her greatest senses of alert awakened.
The door swung open after Marguerite tapped it lightly. Andre's shaved head appeared at the crack, then his stocky frame was revealed, his arms spread in welcome.
"Marguerite! It has been too long, mon coeur."
They embraced and exchanged kisses on each cheek. Andre held Marguerite at arms length by her waist.
"My dear, you've changed so much, and I must say it is not a mark less spectacular than I recall, different though it may be," Andre said. His eyes wrinkled at the corners, a trait Marguerite never recalled that he had. Age, she supposed, must have affected her features much the same.
"Flattering as always. Andre, I hope you don't mind the hour. I am afraid it is the only time I have free with current business."
"Not at all, dear, not at all. My home is always open to you, I hope you know that."
He led her through a small front hall and into a well-lit kitchen furnished with a table large enough for two chairs and a tea set. Steam wafted from the spout of the teapot, and Andre gestured for Marguerite to sit in the chair already pulled out from the table.
"Try the biscuits," he said, passing her a plate of them while he poured the tea.
“I would love to at any other time, but I also fear that tonight’s visit must be quick and demanding.”
“I would have expected as much from you, Rita.”
“This is no joking matter, Andre. I have recently been subjected to arson.”
Andre looked over Marguerite. She could tell he smelled the lingering smoke and musk of frightened animals, however well sealed the pockets were.
“What do you remember from your days as a school boy in terms of pranks?”
Andre chuckled.
“You have an odd sense of the serious. What kind of pranks?”
“Any kind involving unpleasant odors, preferably easily transported, hidden, and conveniently timed.”
“I know just the thing. What do you have in the way of supplies?”
“At the moment, nothing. But I have an assistant waiting for us at a very convenient location for acquiring such supplies.”
“Very well then. Let’s be off.”
Andre fetched his bowler and cloak, following Marguerite to the coach. At the appointed time, they arrived at the South Market church. Marie sat in front of a statue, her legs swinging from the edge of the marble pedestal. She eyed Marguerite’s companion with suspicion when they approached.
“Marie, we are ready for some business at last. In here, if you please.” Marguerite gestured towards the church.
Marie cocked her head to view the impressive church doors, and then turned to look at the marketplace bustling across the road.
“Um… I suppose you realize the market is…”
“I never said we were going to the market, dear,” Marguerite said, flashing a grin.
The building contained the usual Catholic rigidity, perfectly Romanesque with some modern tastes in drapery adorning the altar and sconces. Andre and Marguerite led the way through the pews, the main entrance having led them into the side of the building. Upon walking down the center aisle, a middle-aged priest stuck his head out of a side door. His slicked-back hair shone in the lamplight from the altar, and as he stepped forth the left arm of his clerical clothing glinted slightly.
“Andre, what did I tell you about announcing yourself? I can’t keep this business relationship if you squander it on social calls.” He hissed. He had a nasal voice offset by a low timbre, making him sound as though he had a cold.
“Father, forgive me, but this is urgent. There are wrongs to be righted.” Andre gestured to Marguerite. The priest squinted, stepped closer, and gasped.
“You’re that woman with the abominations! You nearly cost me my finger!” He held up his left hand, causing his sleeve to sparkle again.
“Forgive me as well, Father, but I have some… unorthodox business with you.”
The priest examined Marguerite. After a few moments, he nodded.
“Fine, but only because business is slow. What room?”
Andre coughed and turned away. Marie bit her lip to keep from laughing, but a giggle still escaped. The sound danced all the way to the rafters before Marguerite responded.
“I would not have asked if that were my intention, Father.” The priest showed no sign of remorse as she continued. “I am after certain goods that Andre says you possess.”
When the priest hesitated again, Andre spoke.
“Father Edgar, please. We are in a hurry.”
Marie snickered again, causing Marguerite to raise an eyebrow at her. She quieted quickly.
“Enough of this, Andre.” Marguerite slapped Father Edgar, who yelped. She then grabbed his shiny sleeve by the cuff, pulling until the silver threads opened a hidden pocket with a key. Marguerite took it. “Now, you will tell us where we will find what we need,” she said, pocketing the key. “And we will deal fairly.” In its place, Marguerite stuffed the pocket with money. “That should cover our expenses.”
“The den two blocks from market is the storage building. You’ll find whatever you want there,” Father Edgar said, flinching as Marguerite released his arm.
“There’s a good boy. Meet us at the Cirque de la Vapeur performance tonight and you’ll have your key back.”
On the way to the storage building, Marie spoke.
“What exactly are we getting that a priest could supply?”
“Perfumes, of a sort,” Marguerite said. “Asmodeus wants something putrid, and what better source for the scent of a devil than their enemy’s watchdogs?”
“In other words,” Andre said, “we’re getting some brimstone to throw in the fire, a few pieces of incense to overwhelm anyone who might think that isn’t bad enough.”
Marie still wondered why a stink bomb seemed to require so many poetic sounding ingredients, but she decided against further questions. Marguerite had a terrifying light in her eyes. The goods were acquired without further complication. After Andre gave some ratios to Marguerite, they parted ways, and Marguerite and Marie returned to the circus.
The show was starting soon.
“We’ll have to work quickly,” Marguerite said, arranging her chemicals and reviewing Andre’s notes. “Marie, tie pouches onto some of the animals, then find Asmodeus to let him know we’re ready.”
Marie nodded and dashed off.
Marguerite finished her drink, already lost in a list of memories of bad smells.
“Of course,” Colette said. “I shall find you a booth to use for tonight.”
“Hm?”
“You may not have your old living space, but you can still put on a show, can’t you?”
“Of course I can, but not tonight, dear. I have some shopping to do. Oh, Marie, meet me in an hour’s time at the church across from South Market, will you?” She turned to Colette. “I’m sure you can spare her for the evening’s events?”
Colette nodded, and refrained from any further comments. Marguerite followed her feet overboard and away from the circus. If she hurried, she could reach a few destinations before the show hit its peak hours.
A coach ride later, Marguerite wondered at the street life she spotted on her way to Andre's city home. Her old friend had moved into a well-to-do part of the bustling blood clot of France, but Marguerite's impression of his financial situation the last time they met, nearly five years ago, made her wonder what side professions he had taken to.
The streets were well kept, and lamps were lit to illuminate the few passersby. Marguerite noted that her fellow pedestrians often sported some kind of shifty look, despite the well-off architecture. She also smelled the perfume of fine brothels from a couple of doorsteps, the wrought iron gates cleverly manipulated into suggestive shapes. She spotted numerous potential dens as well. The street corners were clear of prostitution, however, so Marguerite proceeded without need for her greatest senses of alert awakened.
The door swung open after Marguerite tapped it lightly. Andre's shaved head appeared at the crack, then his stocky frame was revealed, his arms spread in welcome.
"Marguerite! It has been too long, mon coeur."
They embraced and exchanged kisses on each cheek. Andre held Marguerite at arms length by her waist.
"My dear, you've changed so much, and I must say it is not a mark less spectacular than I recall, different though it may be," Andre said. His eyes wrinkled at the corners, a trait Marguerite never recalled that he had. Age, she supposed, must have affected her features much the same.
"Flattering as always. Andre, I hope you don't mind the hour. I am afraid it is the only time I have free with current business."
"Not at all, dear, not at all. My home is always open to you, I hope you know that."
He led her through a small front hall and into a well-lit kitchen furnished with a table large enough for two chairs and a tea set. Steam wafted from the spout of the teapot, and Andre gestured for Marguerite to sit in the chair already pulled out from the table.
"Try the biscuits," he said, passing her a plate of them while he poured the tea.
“I would love to at any other time, but I also fear that tonight’s visit must be quick and demanding.”
“I would have expected as much from you, Rita.”
“This is no joking matter, Andre. I have recently been subjected to arson.”
Andre looked over Marguerite. She could tell he smelled the lingering smoke and musk of frightened animals, however well sealed the pockets were.
“What do you remember from your days as a school boy in terms of pranks?”
Andre chuckled.
“You have an odd sense of the serious. What kind of pranks?”
“Any kind involving unpleasant odors, preferably easily transported, hidden, and conveniently timed.”
“I know just the thing. What do you have in the way of supplies?”
“At the moment, nothing. But I have an assistant waiting for us at a very convenient location for acquiring such supplies.”
“Very well then. Let’s be off.”
Andre fetched his bowler and cloak, following Marguerite to the coach. At the appointed time, they arrived at the South Market church. Marie sat in front of a statue, her legs swinging from the edge of the marble pedestal. She eyed Marguerite’s companion with suspicion when they approached.
“Marie, we are ready for some business at last. In here, if you please.” Marguerite gestured towards the church.
Marie cocked her head to view the impressive church doors, and then turned to look at the marketplace bustling across the road.
“Um… I suppose you realize the market is…”
“I never said we were going to the market, dear,” Marguerite said, flashing a grin.
The building contained the usual Catholic rigidity, perfectly Romanesque with some modern tastes in drapery adorning the altar and sconces. Andre and Marguerite led the way through the pews, the main entrance having led them into the side of the building. Upon walking down the center aisle, a middle-aged priest stuck his head out of a side door. His slicked-back hair shone in the lamplight from the altar, and as he stepped forth the left arm of his clerical clothing glinted slightly.
“Andre, what did I tell you about announcing yourself? I can’t keep this business relationship if you squander it on social calls.” He hissed. He had a nasal voice offset by a low timbre, making him sound as though he had a cold.
“Father, forgive me, but this is urgent. There are wrongs to be righted.” Andre gestured to Marguerite. The priest squinted, stepped closer, and gasped.
“You’re that woman with the abominations! You nearly cost me my finger!” He held up his left hand, causing his sleeve to sparkle again.
“Forgive me as well, Father, but I have some… unorthodox business with you.”
The priest examined Marguerite. After a few moments, he nodded.
“Fine, but only because business is slow. What room?”
Andre coughed and turned away. Marie bit her lip to keep from laughing, but a giggle still escaped. The sound danced all the way to the rafters before Marguerite responded.
“I would not have asked if that were my intention, Father.” The priest showed no sign of remorse as she continued. “I am after certain goods that Andre says you possess.”
When the priest hesitated again, Andre spoke.
“Father Edgar, please. We are in a hurry.”
Marie snickered again, causing Marguerite to raise an eyebrow at her. She quieted quickly.
“Enough of this, Andre.” Marguerite slapped Father Edgar, who yelped. She then grabbed his shiny sleeve by the cuff, pulling until the silver threads opened a hidden pocket with a key. Marguerite took it. “Now, you will tell us where we will find what we need,” she said, pocketing the key. “And we will deal fairly.” In its place, Marguerite stuffed the pocket with money. “That should cover our expenses.”
“The den two blocks from market is the storage building. You’ll find whatever you want there,” Father Edgar said, flinching as Marguerite released his arm.
“There’s a good boy. Meet us at the Cirque de la Vapeur performance tonight and you’ll have your key back.”
On the way to the storage building, Marie spoke.
“What exactly are we getting that a priest could supply?”
“Perfumes, of a sort,” Marguerite said. “Asmodeus wants something putrid, and what better source for the scent of a devil than their enemy’s watchdogs?”
“In other words,” Andre said, “we’re getting some brimstone to throw in the fire, a few pieces of incense to overwhelm anyone who might think that isn’t bad enough.”
Marie still wondered why a stink bomb seemed to require so many poetic sounding ingredients, but she decided against further questions. Marguerite had a terrifying light in her eyes. The goods were acquired without further complication. After Andre gave some ratios to Marguerite, they parted ways, and Marguerite and Marie returned to the circus.
The show was starting soon.
“We’ll have to work quickly,” Marguerite said, arranging her chemicals and reviewing Andre’s notes. “Marie, tie pouches onto some of the animals, then find Asmodeus to let him know we’re ready.”
Marie nodded and dashed off.
27 July 2010
The Show Must Go On: Tea Leaves and Trouble
Alexandra leaned back in her chair, relaxing after a long card reading with the patron who just left the dimly lit tent. Reaching into a cabinet next to her chair and pulled out a small embroidered cotton pillow that wafted the gentle scents of vanilla, cinnamon and cloves. She placed the teapot of hot water on top of the pillow to fill the room with the warm, comforting scents to help her relax.
The heavy upholstery curtain of the tent was pushed aside as a man of average height but broad shoulders that almost strained the sleeve seams of his overcoat. A broad brimmed top hat shadowed his face, making it almost impossible to distinguish any of his features. “Good evening, Madame,” he said as he bowed slightly but without removing his hat.
Alexandra nodded at him from her winged arm chair, eyebrows raised as she looked over the unexpected guest. “What can I help you with, Sir?"
“I hear that this is the best place to learn your future, but also to have a wonderful cup of tea.” The gentleman removed his overcoat, hung it on a brightly painted coat rack and sat in the seat across the small table from the fortune teller
Alexandra looked only slightly surprised, but didn’t move from her seat. “I’m afraid the rest of the appointments for tonight have already been booked, but you are welcome to come to back tomorrow night.”
“No,” The man insisted, “it cannot wait. You must read my fortune.”
The fortune teller thought about it for a minute, her left hand just touching the dagger concealed in one of her black leather boots. “Very well,” Alexandra said as she brought out a clean teacup and saucer from a small cabinet next to her chair. “What is your favorite kind of tea?”
“Earl Gray, although I’ll settle for Irish Breakfast.”
“Don’t worry. I always have Earl Gray. It’s one of my more popular teas.” Alexandra put two small spoonfuls into the cup and poured the hot water over top before handing it to the stranger seated across from her. “Swirl it three times counter clockwise with your left hand, think of your question and then drink.”
The gentleman did as she told him and took a deep breath of the steam before sipping the liquid. After only a few minutes, just the dregs remained.
Alexandra reached across the table, took the teacup in her left hand and deftly tipped it, draining the remaining liquid into the saucer. She turned the handle of the cup towards her; half closed her eyes and began to look at the patterns of the leaves.
“I see a powerful force influencing your life: bringing great wealth and fame but it does not always have the best intentions. I can see you are concerned about this force and you worry about his intentions. Especially his intentions towards your friends and family.” Alexandra looked up at the gentleman sitting silently across from her. “I can understand your haste to have your future read. This fortune is not looking happy.”
Shifting in his seat, the stranger seemed to be trying to decide what to say. “That’s why I came here.” He removed his hat, revealing gray hair with only a tint of the dark blond that it had been in his youth. He had a well groomed moustache and a few pale, faded scars trailed across his face and neck. “My name is Christophe; I’m an old friend of Colette’s.”
Alexandra’s eyebrows rose at the mention of her friend and ringmaster. “Are you worried about this powerful force going after Colette? Is that why you’re here?”
“Yes, its Jacque; the ringmaster of the Hirondelle. He’s planning something. I just don’t know what.”
“And you want me to warn Colette?”
“Yes,” He said, not breaking eye contact with Alexandra. “You must warn her. I know you don’t know who I am, but Colette does. She trusts me and she needs to be warned before something terrible happens.”
The fortune teller held his gaze for another few moments until she nodded in agreement, “I’ll tell her.”
Christophe rose from the chair and held out his hand to Alexandra. She also stood and clasped his hand in a firm handshake, feeling the heavy calluses and scars that decorated his fingers. The gentleman turned and put his hat and overcoat on before walking out of the tent and into the crowds waiting for the main show to start.
After he left, Alexandra walked to the coat rack, took a dark blue knitted shawl off of it and wrapped it around her shoulders before walking out of her tent to find Colette and pass on Christophe’s message.
The heavy upholstery curtain of the tent was pushed aside as a man of average height but broad shoulders that almost strained the sleeve seams of his overcoat. A broad brimmed top hat shadowed his face, making it almost impossible to distinguish any of his features. “Good evening, Madame,” he said as he bowed slightly but without removing his hat.
Alexandra nodded at him from her winged arm chair, eyebrows raised as she looked over the unexpected guest. “What can I help you with, Sir?"
“I hear that this is the best place to learn your future, but also to have a wonderful cup of tea.” The gentleman removed his overcoat, hung it on a brightly painted coat rack and sat in the seat across the small table from the fortune teller
Alexandra looked only slightly surprised, but didn’t move from her seat. “I’m afraid the rest of the appointments for tonight have already been booked, but you are welcome to come to back tomorrow night.”
“No,” The man insisted, “it cannot wait. You must read my fortune.”
The fortune teller thought about it for a minute, her left hand just touching the dagger concealed in one of her black leather boots. “Very well,” Alexandra said as she brought out a clean teacup and saucer from a small cabinet next to her chair. “What is your favorite kind of tea?”
“Earl Gray, although I’ll settle for Irish Breakfast.”
“Don’t worry. I always have Earl Gray. It’s one of my more popular teas.” Alexandra put two small spoonfuls into the cup and poured the hot water over top before handing it to the stranger seated across from her. “Swirl it three times counter clockwise with your left hand, think of your question and then drink.”
The gentleman did as she told him and took a deep breath of the steam before sipping the liquid. After only a few minutes, just the dregs remained.
Alexandra reached across the table, took the teacup in her left hand and deftly tipped it, draining the remaining liquid into the saucer. She turned the handle of the cup towards her; half closed her eyes and began to look at the patterns of the leaves.
“I see a powerful force influencing your life: bringing great wealth and fame but it does not always have the best intentions. I can see you are concerned about this force and you worry about his intentions. Especially his intentions towards your friends and family.” Alexandra looked up at the gentleman sitting silently across from her. “I can understand your haste to have your future read. This fortune is not looking happy.”
Shifting in his seat, the stranger seemed to be trying to decide what to say. “That’s why I came here.” He removed his hat, revealing gray hair with only a tint of the dark blond that it had been in his youth. He had a well groomed moustache and a few pale, faded scars trailed across his face and neck. “My name is Christophe; I’m an old friend of Colette’s.”
Alexandra’s eyebrows rose at the mention of her friend and ringmaster. “Are you worried about this powerful force going after Colette? Is that why you’re here?”
“Yes, its Jacque; the ringmaster of the Hirondelle. He’s planning something. I just don’t know what.”
“And you want me to warn Colette?”
“Yes,” He said, not breaking eye contact with Alexandra. “You must warn her. I know you don’t know who I am, but Colette does. She trusts me and she needs to be warned before something terrible happens.”
The fortune teller held his gaze for another few moments until she nodded in agreement, “I’ll tell her.”
Christophe rose from the chair and held out his hand to Alexandra. She also stood and clasped his hand in a firm handshake, feeling the heavy calluses and scars that decorated his fingers. The gentleman turned and put his hat and overcoat on before walking out of the tent and into the crowds waiting for the main show to start.
After he left, Alexandra walked to the coat rack, took a dark blue knitted shawl off of it and wrapped it around her shoulders before walking out of her tent to find Colette and pass on Christophe’s message.
The Show Will Go On!
Asmodeus took a long sip from his glass, his grin widening as he looked at Colette. “Well it’s common knowledge that, petty though they are, my first inclination is to let a nice sharp knife reveal to them the error of their ways.”
Colette leveled a disproving glare at him, Marguerite nodded silently to her wine, and Marie’s eyes widened to saucers as she fussed at her skirts hems. “You mean kill them?” she asked in a quivering voice. Murdering people, especially other circus performers, didn’t quite fit into Marie’s view of how the world worked, and she wasn’t sure she liked the sound of it.
Asmodeus rested a hand on the aged wood of his work table as he leaned back against it. “Well yes, little one; in a word, kill.” Glancing back at Colette, he added, “But even I acknowledge that that might not be the answer this time. It’s not such a bad town, and I’d rather not be run out of it. ‘Sides, I’ve got something more fun in mind.”
Marguerite looked up at this remark. “More fun than violence? Why, Asmodeus, it must be some scheme you’ve hatched. Do you intend to win the acrobats’ hearts, and then get into their…”
Asmodeus nearly choked on his wine. Marguerite and Colette exchanged a smirk, while Marie, from her spot on the floor, gave them a quizzical look, unsure of what she missed and whether or not that was a bad thing. Sputtering, waving his arms frantically between fits of coughing, Asmodeus managed to growl his thoughts to them. “We need a way to keep folk out of Hirondelle, whilst simultaneously swelling our attendance.” With a glance at Marguerite, he continued, “I think it’s about time you went shopping; replenish your stores. We’re gonna need something what smells like Lucifer himself, and can be rigged with a fuse.”
A look of understanding crossed Marguerite’s features, and she gave him a sly smile. “I think I may know just what you need.”
Colette looked from one to the other, consternation written on her face. “Yes, well. I’m sure an unholy stench will be enough to clear out Jacque’s crowd, but how does that help us?”
Marie squirmed a little more than usual, thrilled to be able to contribute. “I already thought of that earlier, if you don’t mind me saying. We could retell the tale of the burning cabin! I thought Asmodeus could perform his most dazzling tricks with fire, and Alexandra could predict doom for the Hirondelle, and Marguerite could show how she rescued her animals!”
Asmodeus grinned, and knelt down next to the youth, tousling her hair as he always did. “You’ve got the right idea, but you’re missing a step. Can’t toss the whole steak to the dogs; gotta give ‘em a taste; set them to craving.”
At this bit of wisdom all the ladies looked at Asmodeus with unveiled confusion. Whose dogs? What steak? Asmodeus merely grinned all the broader at his vagueness, reached for his top hat, bounced his favorite cane off the floor of the cabin, swiped it smartly out of the air, and headed for the doors to the deck of his ship. Colette set her glass down on a low table, and stood abruptly. “Asmodeus, that doesn’t really tell us anything! Where are you off to?”
He half turned in the doorway, adjusting his goggles against the setting sun. “I’m off to find Alexandra. Tend to your acts, pull out all the stops, and don’t worry about the audience. Alexandra and I’ll handle it. You just make sure we can smell the swallows out of town, and be ready for tonight’s performance.” With a twirl of his cane, he hopped off the deck to the grass below.
19 July 2010
The Show Must Go On
Colette allowed Asmodeus to lead the way to his quarters, shutting the door behind the little group and making her way across the neat living area to a plush settee. She leaned on the armrest for support, unconsciously rubbing at the little rosette strung up at her throat. Marguerite found a chair as well, and Marie folded her legs gracefully, settling onto the floor by the scientist's seat. She seemed to be taking in the room nervously, as though she wasn't sure she should be there. Colette knew she was an honest girl, sometimes almost too honest--she had a habit of hearing secrets and sometimes repeating them. But whatever was said at this meeting would soon be common enough knowledge. Circuses were breeding grounds for rumours that flew almost as dazzlingly as the trapeze artists and tumblers. Asmodeus remained standing, and Colette could tell he had something on his mind.
"Asmodeus? If you would be so kind, I could do with a little wine." She let her hand drop from her neckline to her lap, trying to blink away the burn of ash and anger. The bottle clinked comfortingly against a trio of glasses, and they were passed around the room. The tension that she felt eased a bit. "Marie, a drink?" The little acrobat fiddled with her skirts, shaking her head in dissent.
Colette simply stated, "Something must be done." She paused. "I stand by what I said earlier. Jacque must be fought in the rings, not... We must make it clear that we are not a silly cirque to be scared away by a little fire and smoke. And the only way to do that is to go on with the show. Make it more daring, more bold than he ever would have expected. We must show no fear." She sipped her wine, eyeing the small group. "I have the suspicion that you all feel that more is necessary, that we must retaliate and take our pound of flesh in payment for the lost ship." To Marguerite she nodded her head in a slight bow of deference. "You have lost a great deal today, and I feel your pain as if it were my own. If you seek vengeance, I won't keep you from it, but I want you to know that your opponent will cease at nothing to win. He has done more than blow up airships, and over less offenses."
She took another calming sip of her wine. "Tonight's show. We need to do something new, and I fear that I am at a loss. You are all talented performers, and more than a match for a few petty acrobats. I'm sure together we can deal quite a blow to the Hirondelle's pride. The question is how."
"Asmodeus? If you would be so kind, I could do with a little wine." She let her hand drop from her neckline to her lap, trying to blink away the burn of ash and anger. The bottle clinked comfortingly against a trio of glasses, and they were passed around the room. The tension that she felt eased a bit. "Marie, a drink?" The little acrobat fiddled with her skirts, shaking her head in dissent.
Colette simply stated, "Something must be done." She paused. "I stand by what I said earlier. Jacque must be fought in the rings, not... We must make it clear that we are not a silly cirque to be scared away by a little fire and smoke. And the only way to do that is to go on with the show. Make it more daring, more bold than he ever would have expected. We must show no fear." She sipped her wine, eyeing the small group. "I have the suspicion that you all feel that more is necessary, that we must retaliate and take our pound of flesh in payment for the lost ship." To Marguerite she nodded her head in a slight bow of deference. "You have lost a great deal today, and I feel your pain as if it were my own. If you seek vengeance, I won't keep you from it, but I want you to know that your opponent will cease at nothing to win. He has done more than blow up airships, and over less offenses."
She took another calming sip of her wine. "Tonight's show. We need to do something new, and I fear that I am at a loss. You are all talented performers, and more than a match for a few petty acrobats. I'm sure together we can deal quite a blow to the Hirondelle's pride. The question is how."
17 July 2010
Sketches for Alexandra!
A sketch for Alexandra's basic costume. Once again using the unknown template I found buried in the depths of my computer.
Flames and Smoke
Marguerite held the only notebook that managed to survive the flames. The leather cover was badly charred, and all but the center pages of notes were illegible. A decade of research settled beneath the feet of a scientist in a circus, surrounded by stagehands salvaging what little they could from her incinerated laboratory. Ten years of lost work made Marguerite’s knees weak, and she clutched the notebook until a corner of it crumbled in her grip. She gasped when Marie called to her.
“Ah, Marguerite,” she said, her slight form swaying from beyond the wreckage. Her skirts shined through the smoke and grit still settling in the air. “Asmodeus wants to see you, at his cabin. He sent me to fetch you.” Marie shuffled her feet. Marguerite pocketed the remnant of a notebook while she waited for the girl to finish. “He had his plotting face on.”
Marguerite’s mouth twitched, then worked its way into a tired smile.
“Tell him I’ll be there, so long as he supplies the liquor.”
Marie’s mouth opened, closed, and then contested her feet to see which could squirm more. Meanwhile, Marguerite stepped out of the wreckage.
“Come. Let’s not keep the man waiting.”
Marguerite led the way to Asmodeus’s dwelling, wondering if perhaps she was too rough on the girl bouncing along behind her. The notebook bouncing against her leg drew her thoughts away from etiquette and towards the magician’s boat. Asmodeus and Colette waited for them on the deck. Asmodeus certainly did seem to have his plotting face on, the calculations and maneuvers nearly written on his face while his fingers twitched. Colette was more subdued, though her shoulders were stiff.
“Ah, Marguerite,” she said, her slight form swaying from beyond the wreckage. Her skirts shined through the smoke and grit still settling in the air. “Asmodeus wants to see you, at his cabin. He sent me to fetch you.” Marie shuffled her feet. Marguerite pocketed the remnant of a notebook while she waited for the girl to finish. “He had his plotting face on.”
Marguerite’s mouth twitched, then worked its way into a tired smile.
“Tell him I’ll be there, so long as he supplies the liquor.”
Marie’s mouth opened, closed, and then contested her feet to see which could squirm more. Meanwhile, Marguerite stepped out of the wreckage.
“Come. Let’s not keep the man waiting.”
Marguerite led the way to Asmodeus’s dwelling, wondering if perhaps she was too rough on the girl bouncing along behind her. The notebook bouncing against her leg drew her thoughts away from etiquette and towards the magician’s boat. Asmodeus and Colette waited for them on the deck. Asmodeus certainly did seem to have his plotting face on, the calculations and maneuvers nearly written on his face while his fingers twitched. Colette was more subdued, though her shoulders were stiff.
13 July 2010
Show Time
The way Marie saw it, this couldn't have been just some act of malice. It didn't make sense. Circus folk, in her experience with them, were all untrustworthy freaks, but they were all untrustworthy freaks who looked out for each other and silently agreed to only pick normal people's pockets and not each other's. And acrobats, why, they had to be an especially honorable kind of untrustworthy, catching each other from mid-air as they did. Even if she hadn't spent the previous evening smitten with the acrobat boys, it didn't make sense for them to behave so carelessly.
Therefore, there were two possible explanations. One was that this was some part of the show. the threat of danger, carefully controlled, to give the audience a thrill. Even as she thought it, following Asmodeus and Colette as they walked from a safe, hidden distance, it made sense. The crowds would be simply bubbling. Surely news of the circus was even now crashing across the town in waves - the intrigue! The drama! Already it would be reaching ladies in their parlors, who would send messages to their husbands at work asking for tickets - for which show? They would want to see the whole act, the villains and the heroes in their ongoing combat. They would hover around before the show, hardly able to attend their cotton candy, their attentions taken by the story of the disaster, retold by the side shows in whispers. Alexandra would foretell misfortune in the district housing the Hirondelle, Asmodeus would do little tricks with flames, Marguerite would tell of her heroic rescue of the animals in dramatic, angry tones.
The alternative, which occurred to her as she settled in her spot in the bushes, was that God was punishing them for Marguerite's evil science. God, who in Marie's head had a voice identical to one of the nuns at the St. Adelaide Home for Children, did not like science, Marie had always been told, and surely Marguerite's mad machines counted as those violations against Heaven and Nature which Marie had often heard about. The Hirondelle boys might even be demons. It seemed likely.
She was briefly distracted from this train of thought by Asmodeus announcing that Colette was his wife - Marie had, in her musings, missed the beginning of the story. Determined not to let her mind wander again from information that might clear everything up, she scaled a nearby tree, inching onto the branch - a difficult task, wearing so many more clothes than usual.
It was unnerving to see Colette so upset. Not an act, then, or else a particularly good one. Marie shuddered and made a mental note to ask Alexandra about demons later.
At that moment, the branch broke, and Marie tumbled out, landing rather awkwardly on her back. She scrambled to her feet, with an extraordinary lack of grace for someone accustomed to flying through the sky.
"Ah, Mary, you're just who I wanted to see," said Asmodeus, which made Marie's cheeks burn redder - she suspected the magician had known she was there for some time. "If you'd go find Marguerite, and ask if she'd come see me."
Marie's eyes widened. Having decided that Marguerite's experiments were the cause of the whole fiasco, she was in no hurry to be anywhere near the scientist. Still, she nodded and slipped off without a word, back to the center of the circus. The smoke had mostly gone, leaving a vaguely burnt smell and the very wet remains of Marguerite's balloon. The scientist was there, with a few of the stage hands, scavenging things from the mini-laboratory. Marguerite held a notebook, taking stock of what was left.
"Ah, Marguerite," Marie said, from a fair distance away, though mostly because the wreckage was both rather foreboding and surrounded by busy-looking people who seemed to not want to be interrupted. "Asmodeus wants to see you, at his cabin. He sent me to fetch you." She hesitated, shuffling awkwardly - Marguerite looked exhausted when she looked up from her work, and Marie suddenly felt a bit bad for assuming divine retribution - then added, to best convey the seriousness of the situation: "He had his plotting face on."
Therefore, there were two possible explanations. One was that this was some part of the show. the threat of danger, carefully controlled, to give the audience a thrill. Even as she thought it, following Asmodeus and Colette as they walked from a safe, hidden distance, it made sense. The crowds would be simply bubbling. Surely news of the circus was even now crashing across the town in waves - the intrigue! The drama! Already it would be reaching ladies in their parlors, who would send messages to their husbands at work asking for tickets - for which show? They would want to see the whole act, the villains and the heroes in their ongoing combat. They would hover around before the show, hardly able to attend their cotton candy, their attentions taken by the story of the disaster, retold by the side shows in whispers. Alexandra would foretell misfortune in the district housing the Hirondelle, Asmodeus would do little tricks with flames, Marguerite would tell of her heroic rescue of the animals in dramatic, angry tones.
The alternative, which occurred to her as she settled in her spot in the bushes, was that God was punishing them for Marguerite's evil science. God, who in Marie's head had a voice identical to one of the nuns at the St. Adelaide Home for Children, did not like science, Marie had always been told, and surely Marguerite's mad machines counted as those violations against Heaven and Nature which Marie had often heard about. The Hirondelle boys might even be demons. It seemed likely.
She was briefly distracted from this train of thought by Asmodeus announcing that Colette was his wife - Marie had, in her musings, missed the beginning of the story. Determined not to let her mind wander again from information that might clear everything up, she scaled a nearby tree, inching onto the branch - a difficult task, wearing so many more clothes than usual.
It was unnerving to see Colette so upset. Not an act, then, or else a particularly good one. Marie shuddered and made a mental note to ask Alexandra about demons later.
At that moment, the branch broke, and Marie tumbled out, landing rather awkwardly on her back. She scrambled to her feet, with an extraordinary lack of grace for someone accustomed to flying through the sky.
"Ah, Mary, you're just who I wanted to see," said Asmodeus, which made Marie's cheeks burn redder - she suspected the magician had known she was there for some time. "If you'd go find Marguerite, and ask if she'd come see me."
Marie's eyes widened. Having decided that Marguerite's experiments were the cause of the whole fiasco, she was in no hurry to be anywhere near the scientist. Still, she nodded and slipped off without a word, back to the center of the circus. The smoke had mostly gone, leaving a vaguely burnt smell and the very wet remains of Marguerite's balloon. The scientist was there, with a few of the stage hands, scavenging things from the mini-laboratory. Marguerite held a notebook, taking stock of what was left.
"Ah, Marguerite," Marie said, from a fair distance away, though mostly because the wreckage was both rather foreboding and surrounded by busy-looking people who seemed to not want to be interrupted. "Asmodeus wants to see you, at his cabin. He sent me to fetch you." She hesitated, shuffling awkwardly - Marguerite looked exhausted when she looked up from her work, and Marie suddenly felt a bit bad for assuming divine retribution - then added, to best convey the seriousness of the situation: "He had his plotting face on."
Reassuring words
Asmodeus drew a rag from his back pocket, trying desperately to wipe the soot from his hands. He looked down at his white shirt, now marked and scarred by the flames and ashes, and shuddered as a feeling of rage coursed through his body. Colette’s speech did nothing to quell his temper; this was an open act of aggression, and Asmodeus was known to hold a grudge. In his present state of mind, the notion of stalking over to Hirondelle and murdering those pernicious acrobats was a rather tantalizing one. Could pass it off as a new act; maybe get some money to replace my shirt.
He was fully engrossed in his private schemes when he heard Colette’s thunderous voice call him over. Like a spark igniting tinder, Asmodeus’ anger flared, threatening to engulf his senses. S'bout time! I bet Colette’s rounding up a gang to go repay the sparrows for their gesture. In a fury, Asmodeus stormed over to the ringmaster.
"Asmodeus..." She spoke quieter now, a bit of her bravado fading. "I'm not sure that I can do it." She crossed her arms more tightly, feeling a chill even in the warm, acrid-scented air. "I don't know how to win against a man who fights so unfairly."
As quickly as it rose, Asmodeus’ ire ebbed and drained away. He had never seen Colette like this, and it shook him to his core. She spent all her time showing how strong and resilient she was that he often forgot she had other facets. His features softened, and his voice lost its edge. “I suppose Alexandra’s cards told you who’s responsible for this?” Colette simply nodded. “Take a walk with me, dear. It really is a fine afternoon.” Putting his hand on her shoulder, the two slowly made their way out of the encampment and towards a stand of tall trees, trailed by a shadowed figure flitting behind tents and bushes.
Tall oaks stretched forth their boughs above the pair, creating a vaulted ceiling of all the shades of green, the sunlight filtering down to touch the low shrubs flanking the dusty path. A faint breeze swept the treetops and the soft rustling of the leaves masked the noises of the camp’s cleanup, allowing Colette to temporarily forget the afternoon’s events. Asmodeus observed her serene aspect out of the corner of his eyes, and spoke. “Colette, do you remember when you first found me, two years ago in Vincennes? I seem to remember having found myself one too many companions that evening, several of whom were spoken for. You recognized me from my show and, cool as an autumn breeze, sauntered over and posed as my wife, scolding me the whole way out the door. That’s just who you are.” Colette cocked an eyebrow, and gave him an unsettled look. Somewhere close by, a bush gasped. Asmodeus quickly stammered, “Well, not my wife, of course, but the one who takes action, who always has a plan, and a good one at that.”
“But Jacque is ruthless! He has no compassion, no mercy! How am I to compete with such a cruel opponent?”
“It’s like you say. ‘The show must go on’. We need to beat Hirondelle on its own ground; under the tent. We’ll hit him where he’s most vulnerable; his pride.” Asmodeus stepped forward, and gave Colette a warm embrace. “And Jacque may rule by fear, but you have the love and respect of the whole crew.” Stepping back, he added, “I apologize for my actions in the opium den. Something about magicians; we always want to make people disappear.”
“You don’t need to apologize. You only had our interests at heart.”
Asmodeus cast her a reassuring smile. “Carry on as usual tonight, and leave the Hirondelle to me. I won’t let you down.”
Mary had been trying to work her way closer to the pair throughout the whole conversation, and had found an overhanging branch on which to hide directly above the clearing. As she inched her way further along, eager to hear them better, the bough gave way. With a startled shriek, a red-faced Mary came crashing down in a cloud of dirt of leaves next to Asmodeus. He turned towards her, having wondered when she would appear. “Ah, Mary, you’re just who I wanted to see. If you’d go find Marguerite, and ask if she’d come see me. Then the two of you meet me in my cabin.” He reached out to tousle the young girl’s hair, and then said to Colette, “Let’s see to our family, shall we?”
He was fully engrossed in his private schemes when he heard Colette’s thunderous voice call him over. Like a spark igniting tinder, Asmodeus’ anger flared, threatening to engulf his senses. S'bout time! I bet Colette’s rounding up a gang to go repay the sparrows for their gesture. In a fury, Asmodeus stormed over to the ringmaster.
"Asmodeus..." She spoke quieter now, a bit of her bravado fading. "I'm not sure that I can do it." She crossed her arms more tightly, feeling a chill even in the warm, acrid-scented air. "I don't know how to win against a man who fights so unfairly."
As quickly as it rose, Asmodeus’ ire ebbed and drained away. He had never seen Colette like this, and it shook him to his core. She spent all her time showing how strong and resilient she was that he often forgot she had other facets. His features softened, and his voice lost its edge. “I suppose Alexandra’s cards told you who’s responsible for this?” Colette simply nodded. “Take a walk with me, dear. It really is a fine afternoon.” Putting his hand on her shoulder, the two slowly made their way out of the encampment and towards a stand of tall trees, trailed by a shadowed figure flitting behind tents and bushes.
Tall oaks stretched forth their boughs above the pair, creating a vaulted ceiling of all the shades of green, the sunlight filtering down to touch the low shrubs flanking the dusty path. A faint breeze swept the treetops and the soft rustling of the leaves masked the noises of the camp’s cleanup, allowing Colette to temporarily forget the afternoon’s events. Asmodeus observed her serene aspect out of the corner of his eyes, and spoke. “Colette, do you remember when you first found me, two years ago in Vincennes? I seem to remember having found myself one too many companions that evening, several of whom were spoken for. You recognized me from my show and, cool as an autumn breeze, sauntered over and posed as my wife, scolding me the whole way out the door. That’s just who you are.” Colette cocked an eyebrow, and gave him an unsettled look. Somewhere close by, a bush gasped. Asmodeus quickly stammered, “Well, not my wife, of course, but the one who takes action, who always has a plan, and a good one at that.”
“But Jacque is ruthless! He has no compassion, no mercy! How am I to compete with such a cruel opponent?”
“It’s like you say. ‘The show must go on’. We need to beat Hirondelle on its own ground; under the tent. We’ll hit him where he’s most vulnerable; his pride.” Asmodeus stepped forward, and gave Colette a warm embrace. “And Jacque may rule by fear, but you have the love and respect of the whole crew.” Stepping back, he added, “I apologize for my actions in the opium den. Something about magicians; we always want to make people disappear.”
“You don’t need to apologize. You only had our interests at heart.”
Asmodeus cast her a reassuring smile. “Carry on as usual tonight, and leave the Hirondelle to me. I won’t let you down.”
Mary had been trying to work her way closer to the pair throughout the whole conversation, and had found an overhanging branch on which to hide directly above the clearing. As she inched her way further along, eager to hear them better, the bough gave way. With a startled shriek, a red-faced Mary came crashing down in a cloud of dirt of leaves next to Asmodeus. He turned towards her, having wondered when she would appear. “Ah, Mary, you’re just who I wanted to see. If you’d go find Marguerite, and ask if she’d come see me. Then the two of you meet me in my cabin.” He reached out to tousle the young girl’s hair, and then said to Colette, “Let’s see to our family, shall we?”
03 July 2010
Sewing Musings
Alexandra slowly wound her way through the slowly dispersing crowd back to her ship. The balloon that guided her vessel floated in the sky: heavy blue fabric covered in patches of silver and gold shaped like stars. Symbols from the zodiac spiraled their way around the balloon, matching the fortune teller’s ship which was also covered in stars, moons and mystical symbols.
The fortune teller pushed the door open and brushed past the ribbons that were draped from the lintel within the threshold. Unhooking her scarf draped belt, unlacing draped cuffs from around her biceps and shrugging off her short jacket, Alexandra hung them on an old carved coat rack. She unlaced her waist cinch with a sigh and tossed it onto a side table before flopping into a large, overstuffed armchair.
“What a terrible day,” Alexandra murmured to herself, “but at least Marguerite didn’t loose all of her clothes.” She leaned over the side of the armchair and hauled a large basket of clothing needing mending into her lap. After a few minutes of digging around, the fortune teller pulled out a moderately chewed on spare lab coat, a set of too long full black pants, a riding skirt in need of patching and a bodice missing buttons. Slowly, she fished out her sewing bag and fabric scraps and began to repair her friend’s clothing.
Alexandra finished her sewing just as the sun slipped beneath the horizon and the lanterns suspended from the ceiling were the only source of light inside the ship. She carefully folded Marguerite’s clothing and set them aside. A bright shimmer of fabric caught Alexandra’s eye in the scrap pile and she pulled out a long swath of gold brocade. In her mind she could see the how perfectly the textured fabric would match a certain purple snakeskin tailcoat, especially as a full cravat secured by a delicate onyx and gold pin.
The fortune teller began to carefully shape and fold the cloth; her needle flickering in and out of the fabric. Alexandra hummed softly to herself as she bound her creation together with shimmering purple thread. When her project was finally complete, she straightened up in her chair, working out the kinks in her back. Carefully, Alexandra folded the gold and purple cravat and wrapped a silver ribbon around it to keep the folds in place. She slowly rose from her chair, opened up a small box in her closet and placed the newly made cravat inside it, next to a pair of black satin gloves trimmed in gold and a handkerchief embroidered with an elaborate A.
Alexandra sighed to herself as she replaced the box back on a shelf in her closet. “Another present that I will never work up the courage to give to that magician,” she murmured to herself. Closing the closet door, Alexandra drew the curtains and began to put her costume on for the evening show. Despite the explosions, she knew Colette wouldn't cancel tonight's performance. Especially as the ringmaster was famous for saying "the show must go on."
The fortune teller pushed the door open and brushed past the ribbons that were draped from the lintel within the threshold. Unhooking her scarf draped belt, unlacing draped cuffs from around her biceps and shrugging off her short jacket, Alexandra hung them on an old carved coat rack. She unlaced her waist cinch with a sigh and tossed it onto a side table before flopping into a large, overstuffed armchair.
“What a terrible day,” Alexandra murmured to herself, “but at least Marguerite didn’t loose all of her clothes.” She leaned over the side of the armchair and hauled a large basket of clothing needing mending into her lap. After a few minutes of digging around, the fortune teller pulled out a moderately chewed on spare lab coat, a set of too long full black pants, a riding skirt in need of patching and a bodice missing buttons. Slowly, she fished out her sewing bag and fabric scraps and began to repair her friend’s clothing.
Alexandra finished her sewing just as the sun slipped beneath the horizon and the lanterns suspended from the ceiling were the only source of light inside the ship. She carefully folded Marguerite’s clothing and set them aside. A bright shimmer of fabric caught Alexandra’s eye in the scrap pile and she pulled out a long swath of gold brocade. In her mind she could see the how perfectly the textured fabric would match a certain purple snakeskin tailcoat, especially as a full cravat secured by a delicate onyx and gold pin.
The fortune teller began to carefully shape and fold the cloth; her needle flickering in and out of the fabric. Alexandra hummed softly to herself as she bound her creation together with shimmering purple thread. When her project was finally complete, she straightened up in her chair, working out the kinks in her back. Carefully, Alexandra folded the gold and purple cravat and wrapped a silver ribbon around it to keep the folds in place. She slowly rose from her chair, opened up a small box in her closet and placed the newly made cravat inside it, next to a pair of black satin gloves trimmed in gold and a handkerchief embroidered with an elaborate A.
Alexandra sighed to herself as she replaced the box back on a shelf in her closet. “Another present that I will never work up the courage to give to that magician,” she murmured to herself. Closing the closet door, Alexandra drew the curtains and began to put her costume on for the evening show. Despite the explosions, she knew Colette wouldn't cancel tonight's performance. Especially as the ringmaster was famous for saying "the show must go on."
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