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

Albert Sparrow climbed the rope ladder with what he hoped was a roguish determination. The posters said that the aerialist laughed at death and he wanted to look the part. Although the act was performed on the wire, Albert sensed that this was the part of it that showed off his form most flatteringly. He climbed like a dancer, smooth and precise, the tight uniform hiding almost nothing. Ava followed, three rungs behind. Albert reached the top disc and stood on it with a flourish and a dazzling smile. He took a bow and the crowd burst into applause as if he had done some feat of skill rather than just climbing a ladder and smiling. Style always won out over skill, and beauty won out over style. He remembered being in the crowd as a boy, having crept in under the edge of the tent. He felt anonymous then, but now he knew that nobody in the Big Top was anonymous. He could see each face, the two boys hiding under the seats, the man with the discolored waistcoat. He saw each face, each woman's face looking at him with admiration, every single one, except... A redheaded dream of a girl had her back turned to him! She was walking out on the show, just when he'd made his entrance. You've lost an admirer, Ava said in his ear, Pity. Albert stepped out onto the wire. This part he could do in his sleep, but he wobbled a little to give the crowd a thrill. He walked to the other end of the wire, picked up a cunningly fashioned metal rose and placed it between his teeth. The brass shone and sparkled in the lime-lights and he heard sighs from the crowd. Ava met him halfway, opened her parasol and leaned in behind it as though they were going to kiss. Their faces close, Albert said, I'm going to get that admirer back. You'll see. He wobbled a little. ---- Callum reached into his mouth and pulled out the metal plate that covered the cleft in his palate. It helped him speak without a monstrous hissing and bubbling, but he was a monster in the cage, so he put the plate away in a pocket and licked the sore flesh where the metal had touched the soft gum of his mouth. The tent flap opened and he hunched into a corner and began reciting the names of the planets, the names of all the flowers and trees he could think of, great long passages of poems by the ancient cow-boy poets. All of it came out unintelligible, babbling wet flappings. He saw a slim, backlit woman hesitate at the entrance, afraid, her head haloed in fiery hair. He leaned out of the light, waited for her to come close enough to see him. This was the simplest thing to do, and the one that sent spectators scrambling backward, falling on the straw covered dirt floor as often as not. When she was close enough to smell her lavender scent, he leaned over so the light from a high gap in the tent fell across his face. He spoke. The words not frightening in themselves, These thoughts exhilarated me and led me to apply with fresh ardour to the acquiring the art of language. My organs were indeed harsh, but supple and although my voice was very unlike the soft music of their tones, yet I pronounced such words as I understood with tolerable ease. It was as the ass and the lap-dog yet surely the gentle ass whose intentions were affectionate, although his manners were rude, deserved better treatment than blows and execration. He did not remember which book the passage came from, only that he loved the meaning in it, like it had been written just for him. It sounded abominable, though, each word split between hissing and dripping, split like his face. It made the saliva quiver off his lip and spray the ground just outside his cage.