Thread: Carnival: Shadows And Whispers Under The Big Top (Dane Stalling & darkangel76)

The locomotive men polished the great brass boiler of their machine as its entrails groaned and creaked with the growing pressure of the steam. It was moving day, the day the great spread of the carnival collapsed and condensed into neat rows of wagons and trailers, ready for the power of the locomotive to draw them to the next town. ---- Albert blew on the girl's back, from one shoulder to the other, and watched her skin rise to gooseflesh. You've had a terrible fright, he said, and turned her toward himself. He forced himself to look first in her eyes. But you're safe now. I'm no monster. He let his gaze lower, taking in the beauty laid bare before him. He stroked up her ribs with both hands, cupped her breasts, soft, a delightful weight in his hands. He wiped a tear from her face with his thumb and saw that a tear had fallen on her breast. He leaned down and licked it from her skin. Don't cry, pretty, he said, licking her again, teasing around her pink nipple. I want to make you the happiest girl alive now. Your skin says yes, but your words are all no, no, no. He held the tip of her chin between his fingers and put his lips just in front of hers. He could feel the breath from her nostrils on his lips. Say yes, pretty. I want you to say yes, yes, Albert, yes. ---- Mairon felt like he was flying, free of the iron chains of the planned illusions. He was drunk on the act of pure creation, improvisation, and the thrill of it filled him. He took Astrid's hand and helped her step up on the stage. She held herself proudly, and radiated a powerful attraction. All eyes were on them, and none could look away. Mairon paraded her from one end of the stage to the other, showing her off to the crowd, and he spoke low into her ear. I wonder what feat you're here for? The whirling spider? The damsel in chains? No, he said, twirling her gently, I think the intelligent sword will be just the one to thrill our spectators. It had been years since he had practiced the piece, but he had every device he needed, and Astrid provided ample distraction for any sleight of hand. He produced a curved sword in its scabbard from a long black case and held it up for the crowd's examination. He withdrew the blade slowly and the lime-lights caught the polished surface and dazzled the audience's eyes. This is an ancient and remarkable sword of Arabia, he said, his voice penetrating to the very back of the tent, and it will pierce only a heart full of passionate love and no other. He stood behind Astrid and smelled faint cinnamon. The spice seemed to waft from her hair. Some things were only good in small doses. He held the sword out with his right hand and with his left, he drew attention to Astrid's breast. He touched her flesh just to the left of center. He felt a change in her demeanor. Her breath quickened, and he knew that she loved being seen, being watched. He had drawn the caress of every eye in the tent onto her skin. He addressed the crowd. The human heart is here, in the breast. This is the seat of passion, the home of hate, the center of all feeling. He touched the tip of the sword to her breast and pressed his own chest against her back. There are two hearts here aligned with the Sword. Will the steel pin them together? Mairon gripped the hilt with both hands and a flourish. His brow wet with concentration, he whispered in her ear, When you woke yestermorning, did you imagine that before the next sunrise you would be impaled with my sword? His knuckles whitened around the hilt and he plunged through them both. The audience gasped and the lights flickered. Astrid stood unharmed, but Mairon fell to the ground behind her, the sword seeming to pass through his breast from front to back. The bloody blade came out through a neat hole in his costume coat. He waited for the screaming to start, then he stirred as though waking from death itself. He curled around the hilt and pulled slowly. The blade came out of his body and the audience shivered, then roared as he stood, exhausted and proud, holding the sword up so all could see the gore on it. Blood seeped through his shirt as he took the first bow. He held Astrid's hand up, acknowledging her assistance. Here's a present for you, he said, and lifted the edge of her dress up to her waist, exposing her shapely legs. He wiped the sword clean on the fine fabric to the dismay of each female watcher, but when he dropped the dress to cover her again, it was clean as before. This small trick earned another layer of applause on top of the dying cheer. He raised her hand again, kissed it, and escorted her to the edge of the stage. I wonder if this sword will ever wound you, he said, and smiled as she stepped out of the lime-light. ---- Barker Clive unpinned his little gold flower and left it on the step of Ava's trailer. He wandered through the collapsing tents as shows and exhibitions ended. The crowds flowed toward the grand arch and the barker wandered among them, savoring the waning excitement, the ending of a run. The people wandering out were certainly cementing their memories of the evening, imagining how they would story their friends who were unlucky enough not to see the excitement of the carnival and the glory of the spectacle. He passed behind the illusionist's tent and found Maya standing next to Mairon who sat on a crate, his hand pressed to his left side. You're a damn fool, risking yourself for a single look of that... that doxy! Maya's rage was contained in a venomous whisper. Mairon laughed hoarsely, and winced. I didn't puncture my lung this time, he said, you should be able to sew me up good as new. Good evening, friends, Barker Clive grinned and tipped his hat at the brother and sister. He turned his back on their familiar arguing, in itself a comforting certainty in a world that whirled by him constantly. He bowed to the empty fields. Good evening, Faraviata. You will be forgotten fondly.