Thread: Step Right Up! (Misanthropiclove & PadanFain)

The carnival seemed like every other one, really. From the outside. That is how Ringleader Luke Ivanovich liked it. Most people knew him as The Ringleader, some knew him as Luke, others as Father. Only his patroness in crime knew his real life. Luke Ivanovich had been born a poor, helpless child in Europe back in the days people liked to idolize in their fantasy novellas. The actuality was much less romantic Luke had had to dredge through horse shit as a serf for the first twelve years of his life. He had been afforded no childhood these spoiled wretches of the days had gotten. He had barely been given a name. No, the Ringleader had not been a success. His current appearance was one of a combination of PT Barnum and Snidely Whiplash, a perfectly kept criminal moustache of the blackest night. His hair, in keeping with his name, was black with slightly blonde roots. The real coloration had slipped Luke's mind back in the early fourteen hundreds, but he could every now and then imagine it was brown. Either way, it didn't matter. The old life was gone. He had forced his way up into the ranks, stolen knowledge that no mere human should have known, shelled out the souls of 'priests' to dark powers in trade for favors. Luke was a dangerous man and his elongated life and position at this circus showed this. Yet, he could always remember his beginnings, if only through a shattered lens. At the age of twelve a serf boy named Charles had been taken into a monastery, being told he was needed to help organize it. He did organize some things, but was mainly a catamite for the repressed monks who's depravity knew few bounds. Even the horses he hid with in the morning knew the depredations of a horny brother. Luke never held it against them the tomes and occult artifacts being held at the monastery had influenced the people to their deeds. Luke just struck a bargain and helped them on. His life had been okay since then, in retrospect. Luke turned to the statue in his special room and rubbed it down with a cloth made of the finest silks and touched with tears of virgins. The typical pseudo-satanic bullshit that seemed to drive these creatures wild. Luke was a good vassal he didn't question why his dark Lords would like their shrines filled with the placentas of still borns or twelve white peaches burned in a pile on the blood moon. He just did it. That kept him alive. There was a knock on his door and he turned, his dull black eyes eying the wooden thing, What is it? Father, Father! We have a potential new recruit. He comes from Old Natasha's Carnivale and Amusement, the voice behind the door relayed. Luke thought of this as he scrubbed down the statue. That carnival wasn't so bad. Not as full of complete hoaxes and rubes as some of the others. Perhaps this one had potential, I will see him in a little bit. Offer him a seat and something to occupy his time. And, for the love of whatever helps you sleep at night, keep him away from the freaks. There was a rather ragged looking man in a waiting trailer, a long gone lollipop stick in his mouth that he kept chewing on. He looked, for the moment, like a Goodwill punk. His black hair hadn't been brushed since he woke up, the long tresses falling in clumps behind him. His shirt was a lovely bit of sarcasm that had Farrah Fawcett and a logo of JUMP INTO THE SEVENTIES! that was obviously many times handed down. His pants were patched with by the looks of it whatever had been handy. His left ear held an odd looking piercing, almost as if it was a small yet working syringe. His eyes were slanted, yet his eyes were a ruddy brown. His skin color was a dark mix, the color that every white person at the beach dreamt their body would tan as. His frame was rather bulky, more as if from his bones than any real muscle or fat, but it was really hard to tell as he had as much as he could covered up by clothing. Even his hands had gloves on them, which was odd for this weather. His right ear seemed to twitch every now and then, as if he was just a bit jittery. The truth was much different. They're here. Can you see them? Can you? We should help them all. We should. There are sooooooo many! The voice always was interrupted by a chiming staccato of needles on concrete, as if the creature in his head was standing on some kind of flooring. Jude could talk to the thing, and did often. It was more as if it was a smattering of consciousness that flitted through his brain, but he did. 'Look, we are settling down here. If only for a bit. I notice the ghosts too, and the other spirits.' Yes, they are tied. They can't leave. We'll need to sever the connections, let them free. Nnnnnnnn, I cannot wait to start. Yet...something else is here. I can sense a cancer. The creature always seemed to be just a little off kilter. The other's like himself that Jude met generally didn't have a great connection, but he had met one's with creatures madder than his. Others were silent, or just strange. Jude had come to accept his lot a long time ago, 'As I said, we'll see. I don't think we need to get arms deep without taking everything in first. Don't let the flood of their corpuses get to you.' Mmm, yes. You are right, Nurse. I am giddy. I have not felt a conglomeration of spirits like this since the atrocities. The one before that fire man. Such ample times... The being seemed to get lost in thought and the giddy click-click of the needle feet stopped. The door opened then, which was impeccable timing, really. The man who stepped in was dressed in a black tuxedo with a top hat that looked like it should be utterly ridiculous. On Luke Ivanovich, it worked. He was a quintessential ringleader, the type that inspired nostalgia in the elder visitors and a yearning for a time never lived in the younger ones. Ah, Mr. Ngyuen, good to meet you. May I say what fortuitous timing it is that you have graced The Olde Time Carnival! The tone was of a nice, generous businessman, one who had every eye out for what was good for you. Jude didn't buy it for a minute. You can call me Jude. I never really went by a title before. Anyway, I have come because my last job has gotten me as far as I could with my skills. I'm a fortune teller and medium. More medium than fortune teller, but even those who don't believe in ghosts like getting their future read. He held out a pack of tarot cards that were worn from over use. they didn't show any hint of the fact he had bought them two weeks prior and then spent several hours just shuffling them in the improper ways. Ah, I see. I knew you had some type of oracular abilities. We welcome all of your kind to our family, which we are, Mr. Ngyuen. Jude repressed a grimace, which was particularly easy for someone with his own past. Not only did he continue to call him Mr. Ngyuen, but he spoke of this place as a family. Well, it could be worse, Now, Mr. Ngyuen, do you believe in your gifts? I can tell you that I do in fact believe in the supernatural. Yet, to tell you the length of my gifts would be rather improper. To reveal your secrets leaves the crowd with no reason to come back, so to speak. Jude gave a performer's smile, bowing and coming back up to place his cards in a pocket. Very good, very good. I believe you can fit right in. So, tell me exactly, what you would bring? I would be running a small tent, or perhaps show, of oracular and fortune telling abilities. I also can do medium aspects, whether the customer wants arcane spirit writing or even some baroque seance requiring flowers from the far orient and the sap from a dragonsblood tree. I can specialize in Catholic, Oriental, and Hispanic traditions. That covers most people, but I tend to get less appeal from those who want Vodoun traditions. I can easily fake Neo-pagan though. The Ringleader nodded and thought about it, We did lose a gypsy lady recently. You honestly can't expect to keep up with a gypsy though, can you? He paused for the polite laughter and went on as it was given, One last question how long have you been with circuses? Since I was nineteen, Mr. Ivanovich. I have traveled with three, one that actually stopped moving, so I left. I like seeing the world, even if it is just America, with my job. Plus, it made it much more likely his family couldn't track him down. That seems good. We will start you off with a small trailer and a stall. The circus will take half of your profit, but provide you with food and shelter, plus bathing areas. Feel free to make your own schedule, but take no more than two days off a week. We won't start advertising you until our next location, so take your time to make up your stall. Please follow Brandon here to your trailer. Jude nodded, figuring he would have gotten the job anyway. He was just glad he hadn't had to resort to any of his abilities. He followed the tall black man to his trailer and thanked him, dragging his items in with a bit of help. Jude didn't own much, a few knick nacks and some clothing mainly. He looked about the trailer and figured it would do. He absently picked up a piece of chalk from one of his bags and started to draw a circle. It started near his bed and went up the wall, going to the ceiling, and ending up where it began. 'Remind me of the symbols again?' A rapid fire amount of imagery would come as he started drawing arcane and powerful symbols in chalk around the circle. He completed this activity an hour later and checked it out, stepping across. Suddenly, the rush of ghostly voices he had been pushing out of his mind stopped. He gave a smile, his eyes sparkling. Good, goooood. This will do. He stepped back over, grabbing a bag of jerky and went back to bed, turning off the light as he went. He would finish unpacking in the morning. He had time. If it was anything Jude always had, it was time.