Work Text:
Cirava Hermod wasn’t exactly sure why Slam or Get Culled champion Marvus Xoloto slid over to them in the ruins of their super-exploded train car and said, “Hey, lookin pretty good lol. Considering our girl Jo culled your a$$ an all,” but they knew clowns liked their absurdist morbid jokes and so they answered “lmao” without much thought. That was probably the right response: Marvus’s smile was sticky with conspiratorial knowing, unnervingly sweet as waking up with Faygo crusted in your hair. Or, so Cirava imagined, anyway. It wasn’t like they ran around Alternia’s harshwhimsical circuses too often if they could help it.
Actually, standing beside Marvus right this second was the closest Cirava had been to a follower of the Mirthful Messiahs in ages. Marvus’s hair smelled like too-strong bubblegum shampoo, and if those slight creases didn’t slip in by his eyes when he smiled, every now and then... yeah, even through his name-brand clown paint, just like Cirava could smell his shampoo over all the melted glass and smoke... his face might have looked like a perfect jester-y mask. Marvus tucked his swinging ringmaster cane up under his arm and helped Cirava lift charred train car-slabs up off some poor yellowblood kid’s leg, which was what Cirava had been trying to do before being interrupted by jokes they didn't get. It barely seemed like an effort at all, for Marvus; the kid squirmed away as soon as she was free and got out of there fast. Marvus glanced around the toppled train, and when a slumped-over enormous purpleblood girl strolled through he whispered, “Better duck.” Cirava ducked — what else could they do? — and the purpleblood kicked rubble out of her way. Passed them by. She had a tiny blueblood friend propped up on her shoulder, and a dripping scrapbook in her claws, salvaged from the wreck.
“Can’t be givin Jo away now, can we?” Marvus said, and Cirava still didn’t know what he was talking about. They said, “No, we can’t,” though, because... you know. Easy enough to guess the right answer, this time through, and Cirava had barely avoided a messy death by exploded train just a few moments ago. Didn’t want Marvus to split their skull open with his cane, or any appropriately clownish and hilarious shit like that, right? Cirava’s splattered brain would’ve made for terrible party favors.
Right?
It was weird... this whole night was a trip, truth be told lmao... but Marvus stuck around a little and helped Cirava rescue their bags from the splintery crackling train ruins. Marvus asked if Cirava could use any help grabbing their lusus, too; he knew his own was fine, and actually waiting back at his sprawling fairground mansion. Marvus sauntered along at Cirava’s side, hands resting casually in his velvety show-ready coat pockets, and drawled like they were old friends. After a while, he started twirling his cane as they walked. Force of habit, maybe. Part of the show that was Marvus’s life. Cirava didn’t listen too carefully to everything he said, honestly, about having been “just some guy” to Jo... he meant “Joey Claire,” didn’t he?... and how he was going to miss that, but Marvus didn’t talk long. Just before they got to the squirming, braying lusus cars, Marvus stopped. Looked over his shoulder. Glanced up from Cirava’s appropriately moisturewave-ish neon shoes to their sleep-and-explosion-ruffled hair. They knew they were covered softly in a thin layer of ash. How had Marvus managed to keep so spotless? Alternia’s clowns were full of tricks, but hadn’t they just been wading through the same torn-apart train cars?
“Jo’s left us behind, for now,” Marvus murmured. “Another Act, you feel me? Wish I could...” He swallowed. His eyes seemed far away, full of wonder and Time. He asked Cirava, “Would you do me a favor?” like he thought they were living on the sort of planet where strangers could casually say no to him. Where his grape soda-sweet blood was only blood, and he was “just some guy” who happened to like singing and wearing jaunty top hats.
“Yeah,” said Cirava, though it should be noted that… well… that was what everyone knew they were supposed to say, at least here in this strangle-able living non-internet space. What would’ve happened if they refused this clown? It felt like Marvus might’ve just scuffed his shoe in the dirt and said, “Aw sh*t” or something, but what if that was part of the show? Cirava wasn’t gonna be anybody’s cosmic psiioniics-sparking pilot, but they still had some time left to stream here on Alternia. They tilted their head to Marvus Xoloto, curious. Wondering if they could say yes now, and then find some slippery way out of whatever this favor ended up being if it absolutely sucked. Maybe Marvus knew that’s what Cirava was thinking; maybe he'd heard about the Incident, and Cirava's run-ins with highbloods before. It was tricky to read Marvus through the smiles, through the clown paint.
Marvus said, “I want to message Jo, like — ‘Hope you’re doin okay,’ or ‘Lemme know if you need anything.’ Like, ‘Good luck, buddy.’ You know?”
“Are you asking for her contact info, or...?”
Marvus shook his head, swiping his hand through the air like he was clearing smoke. Barking a laugh, but different than the rubbery murderous laughter he offered onstage. “Naw. We’re both Jo’s Chittr friends, me an you. But she won’t want to hear from me...”
Cirava thought about asking questions. The clown in front of them might’ve looked a little drooped, a little lost, just then. Just a troll, beneath the act, beneath the laughing gospels. Cirava could’ve asked why Joey wouldn’t want to hear from Marvus, anymore; they could’ve asked what exactly Marvus wanted them to type, and maybe script this alien friend of theirs a message together. But Cirava thought they heard their lusus, and no matter how warm he seemed right now Marvus Xoloto was dangerous. Of course he was. He had chucklevoodoo nightmares at his fingertips all the time, and the Empress was going to use him to Subjugglate anyone she could. If he didn’t take himself out of the game somehow, of course, or maybe twist the script around, or... who knows. But what was all that about Joey culling Cirava about, anyway?
Cirava just said, “I’ll message her. Don’t worry,” but that seemed to be enough for Marvus. Cirava genuinely believed Alternia’s rapping clown prince was grateful; Marvus tipped his hat, smile suddenly seeming so wide and real they thought they saw him a little better. Probably not, though. Cirava smiled back, tasting ash. “I owe you one,” Marvus said. “Fxxxk, whatever you need. Hit me up.”
Cirava thought, "Lmao. Like I'm going to do that." But Joey responded to their messages with so much relief, it turned out. Later on.
She was happy to have a friend.