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She had grown used to her more idle days. Antigone felt no reason to stay down in her mortuary when she felt just as much comfort in the ringmistress’s caravan. It was an old wooden shell of a home, packed tightly on the inside as it acted almost like a museum dedicated to Marlene. Her absence from Funn Funerals did not concern her that much, as Rudyard was not shy about banging on the door at odd hours to request help on forming a ridiculous scheme against Chapman, which were mostly just ploys to get his sister home.
As the sun reared its head, the rich aroma of coffee called to her. Antigone crawled from beneath the covers to find a pot waiting for her on the small wooden stove, steam curling up, fading away. As she poured, the door burst open, startled her from her somnolent state. Marlene clambered in holding a plate of fruit. She handed it to her and pressed a lazy kiss to her lips, leaving without a word. Antigone blinked, wondering if she was still asleep after all. She stared blankly at the plate before she picked at it, starting with strawberries and working her way around the multicoloured display.
The ringmistress moved a hand across her chest to her shoulder, rotating her shoulder as a painful knot had formed in her dominant arm. She had been awake since long before the sun had risen, preparing such a complex endeavor, one that was her far more demanding and elaborate ideas. Before entering the tent where her performers were gathered, practicing vigorously, she contemplated reentering her caravan to request Antigone prepare a coffin or two. She strived for perfection, and could not afford another funeral. The reputation of her circus was on the line, with every dead performer came increasingly absurd rumors that she was the one who drove them all to their deaths.
She stood there, hand tentatively on her whip as her performers rehearsed for what felt like the thousandth time, proving to their ringmistress there would be no mistakes.
Curiosity struck Antigone as she materialized at the entrance of the tent, silently keeping an eye on Marlene as to make sure her cruelty was not in excess.
The ringmistress herself had developed an ability to sense when she was close. She turned on her heels.
“Get out.” She said without any real hint of anger. Pressing her hands to her creepy girl’s shoulders, she backed her out of the tent. “The astonishment must not be ruined.”
Weariness wore Marlene down, it was evident in the dark circles underneath her eyes; her voice was gravelly as she spoke. Any minor hitch, no matter how minuscule, could drive the ringmistress into a rage in her frustrated, fatigued state. Antigone never wanted to admit she could be the same way when things did not go the way she intended them to, it was not lost on her how much she saw herself in Marlene when she was working herself to exhaustion like this with her perfectionist ways. She felt a need to take care of her, yet not for herself. Georgie was usually the one to play that role. Taking Marlene’s hand, she pulled her out of the tent without much objection.
They sat on the steps of the caravan, a cigarette hanging from the ringmistress’s lips. Before they could realize it, the afternoon had come to visit already, and soon enough she would have to change into her usual ringmistress garb from the white button up she wore now.
Their conversation ended when her cigarette did, the ringmistress pressed a kiss to her lips, she pulled away with an apologetic look for the rotten smoke that lived inside her lungs and stained her mouth. Antigone did not mind it so much, it was a kind of decaying air she found comfort in.
Antigone admired the elegant golden details against the crimson of her ringmistress’s jacket. As much as she loved taking off Marlene’s clothes, there was no denying how exceptionally well-dressed she always was.
Sitting down in front of her vanity with a sigh, she glanced at her creepy girl staring intently at her in the mirror.
“Yes?” She elongated the ‘e’ as she said this, not quite paying full attention as she set up her makeup.
“I want to do it.”
“Do what?”
“Your makeup.”
To put it plainly, Antigone’s ability regarding makeup was questionable. The doubt was evident on her face as she protested despite the ringmistress having not said anything.
“I am excellent at putting makeup on corpses!”
“I am not a corpse.”
“That wasn’t the point!” She stomped her foot down like a whining child. “Shut up!”
Marlene rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers. As much as she loved her, even she still got on her nerves at times. She gestured to her small lined up glass bottles. “Very well.”
“Lie down.”
Marlene looked at her incredulously.
“I can work better with you if you are laying down.” She said by way of explanation.
Muttering as she laid down on her bed, closing her eyes. “Shall I stop breathing as well?”
Antigone did not dignify her with an answer. The ringmistress was so still as she worked, she was almost worried she did stop breathing. Truthfully she had taken the opportunity to rest for a moment in the midst of her day.
Once she was done, Marlene got up and examined herself in the mirror. She had done a good job, she couldn't deny that. Kissing Antigone's cheek left a red stain on her terribly pale skin, one that she either didn't notice or chose not to notice as she placed a top hat on the ringmistress's head. The two of them stared at their reflections, Antigone’s hands placed on Marlene’s shoulders, their expressions tired yet otherwise unreadable.
Only for a moment did the front row only contain Antigone as its audience member. Villagers excitedly shuffled into their spots, filling in the spaces around her.
The exhaustion taking over Marlene’s body was obvious, it was in the mechanical way she moved about in such a manner it seemed like an automaton had replaced her, her half-hearted whip cracks hardly instilling attention. It was almost as if the circus had a spell cast over it, one that made everyone forget the same acts they had seen time and time again as they continued to gasp in awe; as if seeing these feats for the very first time.
The lighthearted music faded as the lights dimmed. A slow drum roll began, a spotlight crawled to the top of a high platform. There stood a man adorned in glittering red, alongside another man in gold. Between them was a woman in the combined colors of the two. First, the men climbed upon two thin-wheeled bicycles, one a few feet in front of the other. Then, the two men attached harnesses to their chests, a wooden pole stuck out the front of the man in the back, connecting to the harness of the man in the front. The woman balanced herself upon the pole, juggling nine wooden clubs with ease.
The audience sat with baited breath as the two men began to slowly cycle across a tightrope. Removing their hands from the bicycle’s handlebars, the woman then threw them each three clubs.
Antigone pressed a hand to her mouth, fixated on the tremendous performance. A violin’s melody enraptured the sight. With an extraordinary grasp on their balance, clubs flew through the air, trading with one another as they cycled across. Upon reaching the other side of the tightrope, well-deserved applause erupted across the tent. Even Antigone stood in standing ovation as the three performers bowed in deep appreciation, their faces red from the tension.
The ringmistress’s broad smile overtook beyond her spent bearing, utterly engulfed in pride with her performers. With a snap of her whip, the lights glimmered in her eyes as she bade them a good night.
Antigone stayed behind in the tent as the rest of the audience left, joyful recollections and praise of what they had just witnessed hung in the air as they did so. Her quiet but ever so earnest admiration for the circus and warmed the hearts of its performers, this bizarre woman had grown on them beyond the demands of their ringmistress to respect her just as she did.
The two of them stumbled into her caravan. Marlene dropped her whip onto the floor and left her top hat on its hook, she could not get her bowtie or coat off quickly enough. Antigone crawled onto the bed, situating herself behind her. Her fingers rubbed deep into the nape of her neck after she had pulled off her boots.
“Tonight’s show was marvelous.” Antigone murmured.
“Hmm,” was her only response as she closed her eyes. Her lover’s touch kneaded through her muscles. “Yes…”
For a moment Antigone wasn’t sure if that response was to her comment about the show or Marlene’s appreciation for her massage. Considering the nearly seductive way she murmured it, she supposed it was the latter.
“I am masterful at breaking rigor mortis.”
“I can tell-” She said at first with a smile before she grunted as the heel of Antigone's hand dug too deeply under her shoulder blade, bending her arm back. “My creepy girl-"
Her torso lunged forward, bones audibly cracking. Once Antigone let her go, the knot her shoulder had vanished. Warm sensations ran through her as she laid back, head resting on Antigone’s lap.
“I told you.”
“I am not a corpse.” The ringmistress said with an airy tone.
How fortunate she was to be loved by someone who used the talents of her dreary profession to soothe her aching body. She closed her eyes, focusing on the feeling of Antigone’s fingers caressing her cheek as she rested from her busy, exhausting day.