Chapter Text
• Phineas •
Phineas felt the happiest he had been in weeks. He still saw the broken looks, remembered the circus in flames, stared down protestors who hated everything he stood for. But his family was whole again. And they were rebuilding their world.
• Anne •
She gazed at the intricate plans spread across Phillip's desk. A tent to rival all tents, one that would tower above the performers' heads in brilliant stripes of red and white. In plain sight for all the world to see.
“It’s perfect,” she breathed, eyes sparkling.
“You like it?” the man asked, unsure even of his own designs.
“I love it Phillip! Barnum’s gonna go crazy, it looks amazing! Forget playwriting, you should move into architecture!”
“Why would I become an architect when I have everything I want right here in front of me?” he smirked, curling an arm around her waist and pulling her closer. She leant into the embrace: she had pushed away his love, then she had nearly lost him.
She wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
• Phillip •
“That’s it, keep going – oh wait, careful with that one – yeah, right in there – perfect!”
The Irish Giant stepped down from the ladder from which he had been hanging banners and gave a thumbs up to Phillip. He grinned in return, and continued to make his way round the quickly developing circus tent. Charles was painting new scenery, as W.D watched from a seat high in the rafters, where he had just finished attaching the last set of trapeze bars.
“Looking good W.D!” Phillip called up to the man, who promptly grabbed the bar, unhinged it and swung down in a graceful arc to the floor, flipping off at the last second and landing lightly on the balls of his feet. A tiny smirk graced his lips.
“Show-off,” muttered Charles.
Lettie was stationed on some hay bales at the side of the ring, helping Anne and some of the girls repair costumes. She was armed with a wicked looking needle, a reel of pink thread and several sacks of sequins. The ladies were all equipped in a similar fashion. Phillip had always had a profound respect for women, especially performing ones. Even more so when they were mightily bored and armed to the teeth with sharp objects. Just as he was debating where to assist next, P.T. Barnum strode into the ring, crimson coat tails flapping behind him.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to announce that our first shows are scheduled in a week and tickets are already selling!” he announced, gesturing towards the entrance. “That means rehearsals, and I’ve been thinking: new circus, new show – why not some new acts too?”
Lettie grinned. “Plenty of singing I hope?”
“You can bet on it,” Barnum replied. “Oh, and Phillip?”
He jumped, startled by the mention of his name. “Yes?”
“You're not an apprentice any more, so we’ve got to make you a showman.”
• Anne •
Anne loved rehearsals. No deafening audience to please, or stiflingly hot wigs; just the circus. Practising complicated new stunts, soaring through the cool air with W.D. Watching the faces of her friends as they celebrated their individuality. Not as a performance, but as real, joyous people.
It was in this particular performance that Barnum decided he wanted flames.
“Flamethrowers! Jugglers of fire! Heck, even breathers of fire! The audience will go crazy for it!” he cried. “You guys can do that right?” he added, twisting to look at the circus' resident pyro-technicians. They engaged in a hasty debate, then nodded in confirmation.
“Great! That’ll do nicely in our finale – right everyone, 2 hours to go over any new set pieces, then we run this show from the top!”
Phillip stood still for a moment, staring at the scurrying performers with eyes somewhere else. Then he shook his head and quickly strode away. Anne didn’t think about it again.
• Phillip •
Phillip adjusted his jacket once more. Everything felt too hot. Too tight. Why was it so hot? The sound of the performers practising on stage was muffled. All he could hear was his steady breathing, all he could feel was the droplets of sweat rolling down his face, and as he looked out into that ring he saw fire, and –
“Phillip?”
Barnum stood behind him.
“We’re about to run through the finale, you're up! Ready?” he grinned.
“I...”
“Are you ok? You don’t look so good,” said the ringmaster.
“I.. Yeah, I’m – I mean.. I’m fine. Yeah. Fine.”
“You sure?”
“Y-yeah, all good, no worries here...”
Barnum frowned at the younger man. Then the music started up, and he patted him on the shoulder before jogging onto the stage.
• Anne •
Phillip was not ok. From the minute he burst onto stage and began singing, she could tell something was off. He was a mere shadow of his everyday energy, a showman’s excited face replaced with a pale, fragile mask. He looked every bit like glass – his eyes were darting left and right, and it appeared as if one touch would shatter him. What was he staring at? Her eyes followed his. And she realised.
• Phillip •
He felt like he was underwater. Everything was quiet, dark. He couldn’t scream for help, as much as he wanted to. It was all he could do to choke out the lyrics and move to the beat of the song. He was drowning. And in the corner of his vision.
Fire.
• Anne •
She had to get down there. To tell someone, to scream, to shout. She had seen this before. In her mother, father, even in her brother. Their eyes saw back to a time long gone, and they were afraid of that time. They began fragile, staring. Panicked. Then they broke. They saw what wasn’t there. For her family it was enraged shouts, the hiss of whips and bloodied backs. For Phillip?
Fire.
• Phillip •
As he turned, he could see it. It was burning. Just like that building, that night. Where the moon stared at him as the rubble fell around him. When all he knew was darkness. And pain. And
fire
and suddenly it was everywhere the fire and it was burning and he was burning and the smoke he could smell it he was choking choking why was he choking and Anne Anne where was she but there were flames and the rubble as stone fell and he was trapped it hurt and there was darkness and pain and flames and fire and this was wrong wrong wrong
“PHILLIP!”