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."
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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