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My little star,
I was among the crowd once again tonight.
Perhaps you saw me?
Within that crowd of hundreds that gather, did I stand out among them all?
My sight never left you, that I swear - can you say the same for me?
Then again, you don’t even know who I am or what I look like.
But that’s the excitement of it all, right? Of not knowing? The curiosity?
Maybe I’ll give you hints as I continue writing these letters to you, my dearest.
Signed, N.C.
“Another one?”
The acrobat, Mike Morton, didn’t even flinch at the honeyed vocal that sounded beside his ear; sensing her presence before hearing them as the young woman lent over his shoulder, dark cinnamon optics latched onto the object of curiosity that held both of their focus. A letter - be it a letter from a fan or a love letter. Only, it was signed by a familiar pen-name that was beginning to make an occurrence within the acrobat’s own tent.
“It’s fan mail - they recognises my greatest qualities, can’t you see?” he snickered, his blue optics glimmering as he puffed out his chest slightly in pride - that earned him a poke on the cheek from the woman beside him; he could literally feel her eyes rolling without even needing to lock gazes to know. In return, he stuck out his tongue, that pesky little nimble finger retreating from his cheek - at least he earned a chuckle from her passing.
Ah. In doing so, she even snatched the letter from his grasp, leaving the young man to stare down at his unclasped hands that he was sure that only whispers ago was holding something deigned to him. Oh well, he didn’t mind, raising his azure gaze to meet his own as he glanced upon his reflection before him in the mirror, a smirk ever-present on his facial features.
Within the reflection of his dressing table’s mirror, he watched as the young woman - draped in red and gold lining that acknowledged her delicate, petite frame with a fragrance of delight; a short frilly black skirt to accompany such a glamorous design - stepped away ever so slightly as she begun to pace, her dark eyes not once leaving the bleak, inked paper as she followed the swerves of lettering that were laid out before her on the note. The acrobat simply crossed his arms, both legs now tucked neatly beneath him as he sat cross-legged upon his stool, snickering as he watched her; making himself comfortable.
Like him, she was part of the circus - Hullabaloo was the name of said establishment - the pair of them having their own roles to play. For said woman, who went by the name Margaretha Zelle (or some would come to know her as Natalie), was a tamer of beasts in her own right. While her appearance suggested a completely different story, her mannerism and qualities were not to be tampered with; attaining a feisty core within, she excelled at what she did best - let that be noted down for all who would question her otherwise.
While him on the other hand, his status varied among a wide range of skills: an acrobat, a juggalist, a gymnast, a joker- whatever the crowd wished for, he became. He took pride in any enrichment that he could deliver to their audience each night; stunning and wowing the viewers as he performed, not missing a beat in his charade as he dazed upon the audience within their ring of peculiars.
Perhaps he dazed a little too much for some though, going by what surprise he would come back to each night he would return to his tent; relieved, tired but ever-so-ready-for-more as he would skip his way back to his own private space- did he say private? Well, he would of assumed private if not for the constant letters that were starting to make a regular occurrence of appearing out of thin air on his dressing table.
“‘My little star’”, as the woman started to mimic the note’s contents, Mike’s full attention-span was attached to the figure that graced the background of his reflection; the corners of his lips lifting up even more as he held back a roll of his azure optics in amusement, “‘Perhaps you saw me within that crowd of hundreds that gather? Oh how my sight never left youuuuu~” of course she was casting her own jittery charm on the sentences (not following them entirely), twirling in her steps as she hummed with the words that graced the sheet of paper. She sounded it out like a story, as if straight from one of those fairytale books you would stumble upon when you were just a young lad or girl; imagining those dashing knights in silver armour riding out into the sunset as they set out for their goal - be it slay a dragon or save a damsel.
Overall, the woman behind him was still sounding the contents of the letter, putting emphasise on certain lines and phrases as she made it sound pleadful, courageous, flattering but with a hint of remorse - she was really trying to speak out this mysterious admirer’s thoughts in a way that just sounded... what was a word he could use? desperate? Was that too much? Well, it is Margaretha.
“‘—as I continue writing these letters to you, my dearest.’” The tamer came to a halt in her daze, her plump lips slipping into a smirk as the corners lifted, slowly averting her shadowy optics towards him - there is this dangerous spark within her eyes. With a small click of the tongue, she sauntered over to him; making work of flaunting her figure as her hands clasped on her hips; her frilly black skirt swivelling along with her movements - with each step a syllable would leave that honeyed tongue of her’s, “Signed... by your sweetest... ‘N.C’.” by the last syllable, she bent forward slightly to match his height from where he sat on his stool; foreheads almost touching. Her hands stretched forward to rest on her knees before lifting one, the paper of interest inching towards his face as she shook it slightly - as if she was tempting him with a snack that would make his throat water if he took it, a cat beneath her aura.
Ha. She’s a prowling lioness, that was for sure.
Taking the bait, the acrobat spun on his stool to face her. Ever slowly he latched onto the letter presented to him, feeling the smooth lining of the paper beneath his padded fingers. Although he didn’t pull back- as figured, she wouldn’t let go; only raising an eye ridge at him as she hummed, almost like she was waiting for something in return. That’s okay, Mike Morton matched her mannerism’s in return, raising a eye ridge in return - game on, “My heart is racing at the mere thought.”
“But of course it is,” she beamed, her petite fingers brushing over Mike’s own nimble ones before releasing her grasp on the object of desire, “as is their’s for you it would seem.”
“Its only the third one - give it some time and they will run out of pretty lines to spin~” the acrobat winked at her, twirling back round to toss the note upon his dresser, bending backwards slightly - it takes good balance to not fall off the stool, considering there is no back; good job he excels at it - as he stretched his arms upwards behind his head, relieving his muscles from tonight’s activities in the ring, “It’s only the third night.” he smirked, his eyes shut as he relaxed in his stance.
“Good taste though - his ink writing is in such pristine condition~” She countered back with, a loving sigh in her tone as she flicked her hand at him with a wink of her own before swirling around, chittering her way back to where she had appeared from the entrance of his tent. Before completely disappearing from view though, she glanced back over her shoulder, hip strut out with one hand resting on it as she crossed her feet; one petite finger lifted to her lips as she made a shushing noise, optics glistening beneath the dim lighting of lanterns that beamed from outside of the tent, “A man with nice ink is worth keeping track on, Mikey, dearest~”
A giggle, and then she disappeared from view - one blue eye squinting at the place where she vanished. Of course she would be interested in their ink - although, assuming that the writer was a man was a wild guess. Perhaps it was a woman? Although, a man did tickle his interest much more than the latter.
“Nice ink indeed...” he commented, slowly glancing over back to where the letter of interest had been tossed; it’s fancy, exquisite writing blaring out at him from where it was stained on the paper.
What quality ink was that?
———
Splash.
Droplets of water dripped down his face, the tips of his fringe releasing currents of their own ever so lightly as it caught glints of how the acrobat was splashing himself, his hands once again returning from a barrel of water to wipe his face; giving him that surge of relief as he rubbed his eyes, his face shivering at the sensation. Before long, he was staring down upon his reflection that rippled back at him; a slight frown decorated his delicate features, though curiosity was blazing within those azure eyes of his.
There was another letter.
It had been nearly two weeks since it begun, and yet he was still receiving letters.
It wasn’t like it was only a few times a week, but it had been every night. What did he think about it? Irritation. Awkwardness. Pestering.
Well, he wanted to say that he thought that.
In all honesty, it was beginning to have an effect on him.
At first, it was just amusing and cute. He had received letters from figures of the audience before; whether it be given to him in person or delivered to him through post - along with other letters that got delivered to their ever-travelling circus - it wasn’t entirely unusual. But these specific letters were arriving at his tent first-hand without him even knowing who, how and why?
He’s not irritated... that’s a lie. He’s curious - he wants to know who this, words spoken by Margaretha herself, “secret admirer” is. And... perhaps he was beginning to feel a little bit flattered.
With a sigh, the acrobat lent away from the source of water that rippled within the wooden barrel. The moment he had returned to his space and locked eyes on the object of mystery, he simply marched straight back out to awaken himself from this recurring dream - although, reality is rather evident it seems.
It couldn’t go on forever, that was for sure. The circus folk were moving on, preparing stashes and wagons as they were nearing their great exit; when they would be back on the trail and moving on elsewhere to marvel viewers from elsewhere. It was only a matter of days.
It’s how it’s always been: pack up, move along, the show goes on - never staying in one place for too long. In doing so would feel like being trapped in a bird cage, twittering away as you would wait for the hand to feed you without ever having the chance of flapping your wings in a wide open space. Opening the cage is more fulfilling, allowing them all to fly away as they sought different ground; migrating. No day ever the same as the weather and seasons constantly challenged them, bringing joy to the circus folk’s days.
Okay, he really needed to read that letter.
Clearing his throat, pushing his locks back only for it to fall back in front of his face again, he left the barrel and skipped his way through the bustling tents and circus folk, his head held high as he smiled to all he padded by. Of course, along the way, he would catch sight of the fellow golden tamer who was busying herself in gossip outside of her own tent with no other than their fellow fortune teller, Fiona Gilman - though she went by her stage name, priestess, among the audience.
Usually he would stop by and join in on their chatter, sharing whatever whispers and details they managed to catch on the current to each other - within a circus community, gossip and stories were transferred like wildfire, ever so bubbling. Himself probably being one of the latest trends of gossip among his folk - nothing stayed a secret between them all. Although he couldn’t blame them. If it was happening to anyone else he would be chatting it up like a storm! But that’s not his place for this one.
Oh well, he’ll join them later - the pair of them seemed to have already gathered where he was heading as they caught sight of him. So instead of calling him over, he gained a kiss blown in his direction by her’s truly, Margaretha, while only receiving a flick of Fiona’s hand in a shuffling motion, practically telling him to move on and devour his present. No doubt they will be wanting details after he was done - if he didn’t know any better, they would be the one’s joining him later instead of vice versa.
With a shake of his head in amusement, he passed by them with a thumbs up as he neared his tent. Arms tangled behind his neck as he whistled slightly while ducking inside, already locking his sight on said letter that seemed to decorate his dresser - perhaps he should stick it down? It was becoming a regular sight.
Without wasting any more time, the acrobat made himself cosy on his stool, already grasping hold of the letter as he begun to read its contents; lovely twirls created by an ink pen blaring up at him from where it stained the paper.
My little star,
I am saddened by the fact that you’ll be moving on very soon, though it is as it is.
Once again, I was within the crowd - I can’t keep you out of my sight, or thoughts for that matter.
You must think me a poet or a flatterer, but I am simply an engaging person who is baring my true thoughts to you.
Perhaps wherever you land next won’t be far. Ever soaring, I see, just like how you do when you perform.
May I find you again? I’m quite a traveler myself, you see.
I hope you wouldn’t find it inappropriate for me to say that i’ll be searching for you.
Signed, N.C.
...
Oh?
Why did his heart clench just then?
...splash
———
Mike Morton found himself stalling, his hair disheveled as he gazed, his sight not really latched onto anything in particular but the spot where the main circus tent once stood before being torn down, ready to be scurried off somewhere else until it saw the light again - until you would watch the rising sun reach the peak of the tent, casting a shadow among the folk behind it until the sun was high enough to truly say ‘hello, it is a new day, my people!’
But now the sun didn’t have to stall in its greeting as there was no circus tent to hide them all from its ever-warm embrace of orange glow. Instead, it blessed the ground where it stood, withering patches of dimmed fields of grass reuniting with light once again - ready to flourish!
While something else entirely will... diminish.
The letters.
Will he receive them again?
He didn’t receive much in his letter from last night, their last performance.
Within his hands, that said letter was crumpled up within his grasp - it’s contents containing so little that it actually hurt.
My little star,
I won’t say goodbye. Don’t forget about me!
Signed, N.C.
...goodbye?
“Mikey, hop on! Before we leave without you!”
The acrobat snapped out of his trance at that, alert to what was hollered at him from a fair distance. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught sight of the first few wagons in line beginning to take off - horses neighing as they once again returned to the trail, hauling the wagons behind them. In the last wagon, Margaretha and Fiona was stationed inside at the back - the Tamer was sat on the ledge, her legs swinging back and forth while the Priestess was halfway shielded from the creamed - but dusted with age - drapes that embraced the wagon; her head poking out as she held the curtain-like drapes up slightly to watch him. They were waiting for him.
With a smile, the acrobat set off, jogging towards them - it was time to leave, running away from the tree’s creeping shadows in the distance that was ever-so dimming due to the sun rising.
He hoped he wasn’t saying goodbye.
———
Time had passed.
He wasn’t counting, but it had for sure been a few months.
During that time, the hullabaloo circus had changed positions many times - the longest they ever stayed in one place was usually two weeks, but that was always rare... his once-constant-admirer was lucky to have caught him in such a time.
Wherever they would station now hadn’t seem to extend that long - usually a week or a few days, depending on what area they would come across. Wherever the money was, wherever the entertainment would flow. To the circus folk, it was the joy of being able to please a crowd than the money that would get stashed away in their pockets (although it did help to keep food on the table, considering how many folk it took to run a successful circus).
...it mustn’t be easy tracking an ever-moving circus.
He was happy, of course he was. But he was missing something - it didn’t take long to figure out what it was.
The letters.
N.C.
That’s what they called themselves.
It has to be their initials.
But it weren’t much to go by - the simple lettering of somebody’s first and last name. It’s not like they did paperwork much around here either - a member of the audience simply bought a ticket and attended their show.
But N.C.
Aha.
I wonder where you are?
———
“So it’s really over, huh?” the priestess was blunt, straight to the point as she caressed her drink - was that the same chug from before?
A small group of folk were sat together at one table, all harbouring their drinks while they chattered away within an inn which happened to attain a bar as well - that was a bonus. Every now and then, in groups, the circus folk held a night of their own cooped up in such a setting - weather it be for celebration or simply to cool off after many nights on the road, it was refreshing. Not to mention, spending one night in an inn was always a nice change-of-space as well than sleeping in a wagon.
Although the conversation was bound to take a step in his direction at some point. The talks of N.C used to be a popular topic among them all, but due to no more letters being received since that particular two week station, the category was losing it’s flare - like a candle burning out ever so slowly until it wept away into nothing but a wisp in the cool breeze.
Oh well! He could entertain it for tonight - perhaps he had a little too much to drink? He was only on his second chug of ail, but it was always solid that he was a light-weight. And for tonight, the company he bathed in was no other than Fiona, Margaretha and Murro - oh, we shouldn’t forget about the boar though, otherwise Murro will be upset (surprisingly the boar was allowed inside; lets not dwell on that fact for too long). But his act brought great fame to their circus though! So let it never be said that they both weren’t appreciated (even if he always looked a little disheveled - that’s their wildling, alright!).
So with a dazed look upon Mike’s face, he placed his chug on the rounded, wooden table’s surface; a finger pointed accusingly towards the red-haired woman as he chuckled to himself. In return, he received a raised eye-ridge aimed right back at him - at least the woman had patience. Mike needed to reattain his bearings before he could respond back to her, “As far as my dresser goes, it’s been rather lonely.”
That received a smirk from Murro, which soon turned into a fit of chuckles as the man banged his hand on the table, mumbling to himself over what was so funny about the acrobat’s statement - that garnered all three other attestant’s attention; it weren’t even funny, that’s the point. But, Murro seemed to think otherwise for his own baked-up reasons.
...that’s their wildling!
Oh, but that’s alright, their attention soon swayed elsewhere when Margaretha let out a rather unlady-like groan as she seemed to follow-along with what their fellow wildling was doing; only she was banging her head against the table (bless her, she had her arms splayed out though so instead of hitting the table, she was actually hitting her arms to soften the blow). Perhaps she was tipsy? Aye! That would make two of them!
“And you’re groaning, why?” Fiona questioned, raising her chug to her deep, violet stained lips as she took a sip- wait, he remembered! That was her fourth chug! The woman can sure hold a drink! Did it have something to do with her having a connection to the other side? Or whatever spirits she was housing within her silver key...
Ahem! Anyway- Mike watched her intensely as she raised an optical ridge, looking her fellow woman up and down; Mike could feel the disappointment without even needing to look for it.
Whatever reply they got from Margaretha was mumbled - but that’s okay, Mike made sure to lean over the table to give her a poke on the head, doing his best to damn well raise her head upwards from where she was perched on her arms. He may have caused a red thumb imprint, but that’s also okay. That did the trick at least as she repeated whatever she mumbled; glazed-over, dark, cinnamon optics focusing on nothing even though it seemed she was searching Mike’s soul as it rested upon him, “He had such lovely ink writinnnng~”
Oh! So that’s what she slurred! But of course - in response, all she got was a very audible face-palm from Fiona, a sigh releasing from those plump lips of her’s. Perhaps she was praying to whatever spirits she had contact with, but aye - she was good to them.
“Putting aside his writing style, I hope you’re not lingering on it. It was sweet, but that was all.” Fiona soon turned her cool, collected gaze back on him - a glint of concern, sympathy, had seemed to shimmer in those optics of hers as they latched onto his own. Did she think he was upset? Pft! Why would he be?
So Mike simply chuckled, hanging his head low as he shook it - how funny, it could even bring a tear to his eye, “Oh c’mon, Fiona~ Why would I be bothered? It’s not like I ever met the guy.” he snickered, reaching for his chug once again as he lent back, sipping - ahhhhh, how bitter. He didn’t notice the way Fiona’s gaze seemed to melt at the sight of him though-
“So it was a guy!” choke! That startled him, almost causing him to spit out his drink at the sudden bang on the table as their dear, golden-and-red coloured lady seemed to have sobered up just by the mention of said-admirer’s gender. She had practically leapt out of her seat, leaning over the table towards him, her hands spread out on the surface - ah, Fiona even steadied Margaretha’s chug for her before she knocked it over. That’s a fortune teller for you.
“I mean, I like to think it’s a guy- and so did you! I’m like, ninety-nine percent sure it’s a fella.” That was wishful thinking - he actually had no idea.
“But you didn’t confirm it? This important piece of information was withheld from me!?” with a mock gasp, she even clasped a hand upon her chest as if in disbelief - or maybe she actually was in disbelief? She put on a good show of it either way.
“Wait, didn’t you read the letters also?” Fiona questioned, but she wasn’t getting a response to that question by the way the animal tamer had shushed her, a slight smack to the Priestess’s lips with her petite fingers - did she dare move them? Of course she didn’t. Oooh, was that a vain popping on the side of Fiona’s forehead?
She did read the letters, though.
“You wound me, Margaretha. I thought we were thinking the same thing all this time!” Mike retorted, mocking hurt at the lady’s disbelief of him. Although he wasn’t as dramatic as her’s truly, he did wipe the pad of a finger down his cheek, as if wiping a tear away - perhaps he was leading her on now.
“That’s not the point!” oh, Fiona was pissed- or maybe just at Margaretha; fair game! The red-head pretty much shoved Margaretha back down in her seat, her hands grasping her shoulders as she stationed her there, other said-lady’s arms and legs swinging out in surprise as she was soon put in her place, deep cinnamon optics wide open at the sudden events that occurred just then - she almost looked awed by it. That earned a chuckle from Mike, shaking his head in amusement; it also caught another high cry from Murro himself, who hadn’t said much through this entire debate - ahh, that’s their-
“What I’m trying to say is that I want to know how you are, Mike!?”
Oh.
“I’m fine.”
———
My little star.
It sounded sweet.
And cheesy.
And stupid.
And sweet-
Why was he even giving the thought the time of day?
Fiona had disappeared but said she would be back later - perhaps she was off to get some help to carry their asses back to their rooms (one night in a inn room was always a luxury every now and then for them all). Margaretha was currently taking a power-nap as she called it, her head slouched in her arms as she snoozed on the table; her usually well-kept blonde locks now slightly disheveled from her current predicament. Murro was... well, doing the same, only that he had made his boar into a comfortable pillow to lean on, practically draped over the beast as he snored ever so loudly - At least the boar seemed fine with it, snoozing away as it released rather loud snores of its own. How did Margaretha manage to keep her eyelids shuttered at that? It’s a shame that Mike couldn’t join them, as he was too busy twiddling with his fingers as he gazed down upon them with such interest; as if it was truly something fascinating to glance upon.
Fascinating, indeed.
Sigh, my little star.
It sounded-
“Excuse me?”
Huh?
Mike blinked, his spell shattered by a low baritone-of-a-voice. Azure optics dazed, he cast a look over his shoulder in wonder - whoever had seemed to approach him happened to be a tall man, disheveled and dusty from what he could decipher. His world was spinning ever so slightly from just the slight turn - perhaps he hadn’t sobered up as much as he thought, only stilling himself long enough to keep a steady hindsight until now. He couldn’t even make out the man properly in front of him-
“I’ve no intention of bothering you but... the young madam over there was hoping that you could all scurry along - It’s almost time to close up, you know.” ah, he’s speaking again. He’s asking him something. Why can’t he see him properly? All he could make out was his blurry figure (a good propositioned figure as well, from what he could tell), but the features of his face remained in a fog. Did he say something about closing up?
“My friend... is coming back.” that’s all he managed to mumble, lowering his head once again as he bent forward, hands reaching out ahead of him as if he was trying to touch his toes- he felt eery, a whirring sound in his head. Maybe he had too many chugs? Surely not... he felt pretty light though-
“Wait, are you alright?” something grasped him-
Hm?
There was a heavy grip leached onto him which wasn’t there before - was that him? The man before him? He felt warmer, his presence looming over him as he was steadied; he was definitely a bigger build than Mike’s own slender frame. Feeling the rough callused hands, which he was sure belonged to the man in front of him, carefully straighten him in his seat - although his grip was strong, he was so delicate in handling him. His spine made contact with the wooden edge of their table, giving him something to fall back against as he tried to raise his chin, azure optics once again squinting as they tried to make out the figure before him-
“...thanks.” the acrobat muttered, lifting a hand up- what was he reaching for? He wasn’t sure, but his hand was soon clasped in a solid grasp that wasn’t his own.
Calloused hands.
Calloused and scarred hands.
Was that him holding his hand? My god, he was out of it. Could he go home now? Perhaps it’s time to settle down for the night... or morning... what time was it? He didn’t know and couldn’t care, but he was sure it was past that time.
Hmm... the man was being awfully quiet now. Why is that? If he wasn’t in the state he was, he’s sure he would be snatching his hand back and questioning why the man was holding him to begin with - not even letting him go. Only he... he seemed to of been rubbing small circles on his palm; a warm, calloused thumb was rounding a pattern on his skin, as if trying to engrave his own - though it was warm, and not entirely unappreciated... wait, didn’t this man ask them to leave?
Damn it. Who was he? What’s he doing? Is it time to be kicked out yet-
“Sir, I’m sorry- we were now about to leave. He hasn’t bothered you, has he?”
Wait a moment, he recognised that voice. Fiona? Is that you?
“Ahhh, Fiona...” he muttered, whether he was heard or not he was unsure. He was droopy, his eyelids growing heavy on him. Perhaps he should take a little nap like Margaretha is doing-
“Um, no; there’s no problem at all. Your friend seems to be a little bit on the heavy side, I think - I... I was worried about him.”
Worried? Aw, this man was concerned about him. How sweet, but when is he gonna kick them out? Man, it’s dark in here... oh, his eyelids are shut-
“Oh, I see. Well I’m back now with some folk of mine~ we will take it from here. They all seemed to have had their fill for tonight.”
Fiona is speaking again, what is she saying? She’s going to take them back? Oh- there’s another pair of hands on him now. Can everybody stop touching him, please? He just wanted to take a power nap as well right where he was, what’s wrong with that?
“I see... I hope they all feel better once they wake up.”
he sounds like a gentleman, but unsure of what he was even saying at the same time; stop talking like that- he’s too smooth. Oh, hey! He’s standing! Aha! Add that to the list of tricks! He can stand on all legs with his eyes shut! How marvellous-
“Something like that - I would say a nasty headache is what they need, though.”
Fiona! That’s not very nice... oh, are we moving now? Is it time to go home yet? Wait, is that man coming too? Hang on-
“Can we stay just a little longer, pleaaaaase?” Mike Morton had put his foot down on that one! He halted, standing his ground- or at least, tried to stand his ground. His legs were practically jelly beneath him, he’s sure he would have just curled up on the floor by this point if these people weren’t holding him. Although, one set of hands had seemed to of vanished, leaving a slight quiver in their absence.
“Aha... I think you would be best to head home. Save it for your performance, little star.”
Aha, I suppose that’s true. It’s a big responsibility, you know; considering all the-
huh?
“Right, well we’re leaving now. Good night, sir; and thank you.” Fiona was bidding her goodbyes.
Are we leaving? But-
That guy-
...
He said something, he-
...
I don’t remember.
———
Clip-clop, clip-clop.
“Who was that man, last night?”
“Pardon?” that garnered a different response - all he was getting was a simple “shut up and go back to sleep” from the red-head after whatever he may of been muttering in a daze to her.
The circus folk were on the road again. The wagon they were occupying was bumping along the ragged trail ever so slightly, the sound of hooves clipping upon the soil ever-so-loudly from outside of their wagon. Within, the acrobat was positioned upon an old sheet that served as padding beneath him - although not the most comfortable, but bearable at most. Beside him, the priestess was stationed; soaking a worn-out rag in a bowl of water - the water gurgled as she did so. At least her concern was present - if not in words or facial-features, but actions - as she used said-rag to lay upon his forehead, hoping to extinguish the nagging heat that raged within.
Perhaps he really shouldn’t of gotten himself in such a state last night - put a cross on that one, please.
He couldn’t even remember half of it, but the blurry bull of a figure was present at the back of his mind - mismatched and jumbled thoughts refusing to leave him be.
Clip-clop, clip-clop.
“That guy... someone was there? Or maybe, that was me?” he mumbled, his words likely jittery along the lines. He was hardly making out his own language, so he didn’t quite expect the woman beside him to make sense of such wording herself - at this point, he was more focused on recovering from his morning vengeance than anything else; but that itch of wanting to know whom wasn’t going to just vanish.
Clip-clop, clip-clop.
“...I wish that was just you being a dummy, but no. Although, I can’t say that I know whom the gentleman was - didn’t really stick around long enough to find out, or had the interest to do so either... why?”
Was that accusation in her tone? Oh my, he would rather not. It’s just that...
“No reason - it’s just that, he had nice hands.”
...
“Fool.”
Clip-clop, Clip-clop.
———
“MARGIE!!!!!”
“Mike?” startled, said-woman, Margaretha Zelle, glanced up from her post - stationed in front of her own dresser as she worked on removing the cherry-fragranced powder she had applied only earlier on that night before their grand act. Only, as it tells, she was suddenly interrupted by the sudden swish of her tent’s drapes being swung aside, a breathless acrobat seeming to take his position at said spot. Arms stretched above him and legs positioned apart as he took a moment to catch his breath, chest almost heaving - he looked like he may of been doing jumping-jacks; now that’s a thought. Only, why was said acrobat-
“What’s that in your hand?” perhaps it was her time to be alarmed; dark cinnamon optics capturing sight of something white clasped within those bubbly hands of his, creases already forming along the surface due to his tight grip on said-object. A letter? It was!
Before the acrobat got his chance to respond, the animal tamer was already bouncing out of her seat towards him - dark optics blown wide open as her lips curled upwards, stretching at the corners as she floundered to him - at this point, who was the more excitable one out of the two? Either way, she soon was dragging him inside, petite fingers clasped around the sleeve of said-special-hand-that-held-such-an-object-of interest; the drapes sweeping close behind them as they stumbled back towards her dresser.
She soon as ever plopped him down on her stool - which she was occupying only mere seconds ago - as she then plopped herself up on her dresser, not seeming to care as her wide set of make-up products bounced at the sudden guest. One leg swung over the other as she leaned towards him; the excitement evident among her features, grin ever-so-visible as she beamed, “Well? Was it him? Tell me, tell me, tell me!”
“I mean, I-“
It was taking a while for the acrobat to catch up to their current predicament; one moment he was heading back to his tent after seeing their audience off after their final act, only to then be dashing through the wave of tents in a cloud of joy not long after something in particular caught him off-guard when he had ducked through the drapes of his private space - such particular wonder being the arrival of a familiar but not-entirely-unwelcome gift among his dressing table’s products; a letter.
And now here he was - without even thinking, he had made it to Margaretha’s tent in a blind daze of excitement; not even thinking of reading the letter himself yet-
Wait...
“I don’t know - I ain’t read it.”
“...what?”
Okay good point - he didn’t even think to check the letter! It may not even be from them! But then again... who else delivered letters to his private space and not naturally post letters to him through the postman?
He met Margaretha’s gaze abashedly for a moment, before chuckling to himself - he wiggled, creating a more comfortable position from where he was abruptly perched on the golden-and-red lady’s stool without notice. Perhaps he shouldn’t of dashed off to her quarters as he did without being sure...
“I mean, we can find out now?” Mike suggested, raising the letter up between them both. Margaretha’s gaze soon averted from him to the object-of-question, blinking those wide optics a few times in bewilder before she shook her head. She soon leaned back, looking more steady as she seemed to straighten her posture slightly, clearing her throat before placing her hands upon her strung knee - she looked justified.
“It’s only right that you read it yourself first, Mike. It wouldn’t be right otherwise... it’s not my letter to read, after all.”
Oh... that was unexpected, but appreciated - he thinks. A small jolt of the rhythm beating within his chest gave him a small startle; perhaps he appreciated that a lot. It’s one thing that he kept sharing these letter’s with Margaretha (and sometimes Fiona, but not every time), but in a way... it was deigned to him.
“Right... one moment then~” he responded, smirking at her as he averted his azure optics away from the tamer before him and to the letter that had become a very-much-so-missed presence. So with gentle movements, he felt along the edges of the white surface, just about seeing the stains of where the ink writing was visible through the back of the paper... he uncovered the letter, and then he read it.
My little star.
It’s been a while, hasn’t it?
The days have been slightly long, and I wondered when I may stumble upon your circus again.
Lucky for me that you had made a swing in my direction!
Your performance... it’s quite a show, isn’t it?
I had missed seeing those ocean-blue optics of yours, never once losing that smile that lights up thousands as you entertain the crowd.
For sure, I was entertained - but I was also entranced.
I hope not to lose track of you again.
P.S. I told you I wasn’t going to say goodbye, so hello.
Signed, N.C.
It was them.
Ba-boom.
His delicate grasp upon the letter begun to tremble, nimble fingers flinching ever so slightly - it was almost not even visible to the human eye, but it felt more visible than anything.
Ba-boom.
He clutched the letter tight, gently bringing it close to his chest as he sat there - perhaps the beat he could feel within his chest would be softened if he clenched the paper upon said-spot where his vital organ lie...
Ba-boom.
...or maybe it would make him feel even more alive under the flush he begun to develop upon his cheeks - he was rosy.
Ba-boom.
Background noise became a blur - that included the breathing form beside him. He thought perhaps the tamer beside him was saying something, but it wasn’t reaching him - all he could hear was the sound of his heart hammering away. Not too slowly, not too quickly; it was beating a perfectly sound rhythm as it naturally would do, but... that small lining he felt within seemed to bleed alongside it.
“...mind if I keep this one for myself, Margie?”
———
“He’s in that crowd.”
“Who?”
“N.C.”
The acrobat lent against a pole, shielded by the curtains that held the presences of hundreds of colourful living forms within it; the squeals and shouts of delight and approval as they all gazed upon act after act within the circus ring. The act in present belonged to their dashing cowboy, Kevin Alonso - charming chap that one was. The way he engaged the audience with his lasso; with fair reason! He rode among one of their chestnut stallions, keeping a steady lead as he proved to the audience what indeed a catch he was.
Charming though, Mike would admit.
But his attention wasn’t on him, oh no. The crowd held a much more pleasing reward if he could just identify it.
“Mike.” startled, but unflinching, the acrobat glanced at the woman beside him from the corner of his eye - although he may of spoken, he wasn’t aware that another beating organ was sharing the same breathing space as him; Fiona Gilman.
She looked at him with pity, it seemed - she knew about the letter that he received only the night before; but like Margaretha, she never had a chance to read it. For some particular reason, that one held a sweet fondness that he felt was just for his own and nobody else... he felt defensive. But the way that the curtains he hid behind cast him in their comforting shade, she was halfway between shade and light; a peculiar pattern the shadows created among her delicate facial features, indeed.
Mike believed she was against him - she would probably tell him to not dawdle on it because it was just a letter. And to be correct, she was right; he shouldn’t be interested. It had been months since his steady string of letters kept appearing within his private space; invading his private area. He thought he was over it - a passing admirer, nothing more. He had plenty of those he was sure, but this one stood out... he liked the invasion, missed it, in fact. And now that it had begun again - although this was only the second night they had been stationed upon this establishment of village folk - he was sure he didn’t want to have to lose it again.
So that’s why Fiona Gilman’s next choice of words surprised him.
“How will you find them?”
But he didn’t flinch. Instead, he smiled ever-so fondly at her - blessed by those words that escaped her sweet vocal chords.
Once more, he gazed upon the crowd with searching-azure optics - not once did he ever rest upon one person though, always letting his gaze wander among the breathing forms of woman and men that occupied their seating ramps this night - somewhere, they were there.
They were here.
“I will simply no longer perform for the time-being.”
———
A few nights went by.
Mike Morton did not perform once.
Another night went by.
People were starting to question where he had gone.
One more night went by.
Perhaps it was time to come out and seek?
———
It wasn’t easy to bunk off the way he did. It took some persuading for the ringmaster to follow through, but he soon came around and allowed him to set the roots of his scheme in the ground. Being the main star and all, they had to make up for his absence within their line-up of acts. But he would let them lot figure that out - his mind has been set elsewhere for the time being.
The oil lamps were flickering, little baubles of light attracted to the orange glow within its glass cage. A slight buzz could be heard if you strained your ears ever so slightly, but that wasn’t all. The distant hooting of an owl, the soft zephyr that passed through the night that surrounded them, the roaring laughter and hoorays that could be caught from outside the main tent. It was pure light.
The Acrobat could be witnessed in front of his tent, leaned back against the oil lamp post as he stomped his foot ever so softly in a slow rhythm, azure optics shut as he listened to nothing in particular, but almost everything in turn. His heart beating ever so silently, his breathing ever so small but fulfilling - you could almost mistake him as if he was asleep perhaps, but he was not. He just knew.
Tonight was the night.
And a stranger, but not a stranger, he shall meet.
He had nothing to go by, but he knew.
Because the moment that the soft thudding of grass being trampled on sounded, a beat would skip.
The vibrations of extra feet echoing on the grounds surface as somebody neared, a beat would skip.
But once that all came to a halt, the silence was evident.
Mike opened his eyes.
He looked ahead.
He saw a man.
He saw...
“You had me startled, you know.”
The man spoke. And it wasn’t a question, it was a statement. It felt honest and true - he almost fluttered at it.
“Perhaps that was my goal?” Mike snickered, giving the man a glance-over as he trailed his azure gaze up and down upon the man. He was dusty, but he was built fine. A ragged shirt stuck to him, top buttons left undone and a helmet that gave out a dazzling gleam upon his head that contained curled brunette locks - almost like his own.
It was his face that charmed him though. Tan, worn and scarred. A thick red scar seemed to capture itself upon one side of his face, blaring so evidently that you wouldn’t have to look twice to notice it.
Mike wanted to know the story behind this man.
“So... do you have a name?”
The man was holding a letter. And with a soft smile that graced his facial features, he handed the letter toward him. And with a gentle grace of the acrobat’s hand, he felts his fingers touch upon something awfully familiar that seemed to mark his skin.
Scarred hands.
He read the letter.
“Norton Campbell.”
...
...
...
So they met.