Chapter Text
Day One
Korn slides a contract across the table to Porsche and raises his eyebrows expectantly. “So, will you be joining the troupe or not?”
Porsche gives Chay a look and Chay nods; this isn’t their first go-around with a stingy businessman in the traveling entertainment industry. Both young men are well aware that the bastards are just waiting to make a buck on your skills and labor.
Chay snaps back to full attention when his brother taps him twice on the leg beneath the table – their signal that something feels wrong about a deal. Out loud, Porsche asks, “What do you mean in this section, here?”
“Hm?” Korn leans over his desk and peers down at the washed out tin-type. “Which section are you referring to?”
“This one.” Porsche plants his finger neatly beside the words Subsection Four: Additional Duties. He reads the contract exactly as it’s written to keep their potential boss from smooth-talking over his concerns. “What do you mean by ‘additional maintenance duties will be assigned to each member of the show’s performing cast based on physical ability and training schedule’?”
“Ah, right.” Korn clears his throat. Chay taps Porsche back, two quick strikes over his knee. The contract alone isn’t too unsettling, but there’s something sinister about Khun Korn. His aura feels oppressive enough to choke. “Our show is new to this circuit, so we cannot yet afford a full ground crew. Until the tour starts turning a large enough profit to cover such expenses, we’ve asked our able-bodied performers to assist.”
Porsche frowns.
Chay follows suit.
Khun Korn clears his throat more aggressively and folds his hands together over the unsigned contract. His eyes narrow over the rim of his spectacles. Everything about his change in posture screams: This is not a game, children. I will not bend for the likes of you.
But neither Kittisawat has been a child for many years. They’ve worked and trained and scraped their away along since birth to survive. They’ve certainly negotiated worse contracts than this one, time and again, and often with great success. Korn Theerapanyakul’s traveling circus will be no different.
The brothers rise in unison and offer the man a polite set of wais. “Thank you so much for the opportunity, sir, but I’m not sure we can–”
Korn holds up a hand to stop them. “What if I raised your hourly wages?”
Porsche does a bit of mental math before smoothly countering: “If you can promise us fifteen percent more per week, then my brother and I would be happy to stick around for at least your first circuit.”
Fifteen percent isn’t much of a raise, but it’s more than nothing and it shows they understand the game (a trait managers rarely enjoy in their stage acts). Korn nods, jerking his chin and agreeing to their terms despite the sour-lemon pinch around his mouth. He yanks their contract back across the table and pens in the changes where appropriate. “Fine, fine. That’s a simple enough request to fulfill. It’ll be nice to have some reasonable talent around here.”
Despite Korn’s protests and placations, however, Chay notices how brightly his beady predator’s eyes still shine. Whatever just happened has been more than a simple raise in pay.
Day 16
The first week of performances in Korn’s traveling show are relatively unremarkable. Chay builds a routine around his fellow acrobats’ rehearsal schedules, their circus performances, and fulfilling whatever tasks he’s given by Khun Korn. Most revolve around caring for Korn’s vast collection of animals, which Chay enjoys because of the closed Menagerie’s semi-solitude. There are many days where he prefers birds to people.
Porsche ends up working in the construction crew, befriending a few of the clowns and a fire-eater named Pete. The older men pal around constantly, picking Porsche up from tumbling practice and dropping him at their bunk after dark. Some nights he’s fully coherent but tired, dropping an exhausted kiss to Chay’s unruly mop of curls before falling onto his pallet like a stone. He might return sober or tipsy but is rarely full-out drunk; the latest night yet had Porsche mumbling incoherently about “stupid pretty horses” (Chay quickly gave up trying to understand).
Korn startles him back to reality by planting a hand over his shoulder and giving it a firm squeeze. “Good afternoon, my boy.”
“Good afternoon, sir,” Chay automatically chirps. “What can I do for you?”
“Always so eager to help,” the old man chuckles. Chay rankles at the sound and tries to keep his shoulders relaxed under Korn’s palm.
“Of course, sir.”
“Yes, well, I’ve seen how gentle you are with my horses and birds.” Something about the way Korn’s smile curls up too sharply in the corners sets alarm bells ringing through Chay’s head. The gesture is false. A pretense. “I think you have the precise set of skills necessary for a new task. There is only one additional thing I need to know.”
Chay sharpens his attention but keeps a blasé smile plastered on his face. “Yes, sir?”
“Do you get on well with cats?”
Chay’s stomach twists.
Khun Korn has a discomforting habit of making harmless, everyday questions feel more dangerous than loaded pistols. He slowly nods and smiles, “Yes, sir. I get along splendidly with most cats.”
“Hm. I thought you might.” Korn takes off at a brisk walk and gestures for Chay to follow after him. “Come along, Porchay.”
“Does Porsche know about my change in routine?”
“Worry not, my boy, I’ll return you to your older brother with all your limbs right where they started. I promise.”
Somewhere, somehow, Chay is sure the man’s fingers are crossed.
He follows Korn away from the makeshift rehearsal space and toward the Freakshow gates. Clouds hang more heavily over this section of the show, Chay notes. Like the sun itself cannot stand to witness how poorly Korn treats his various ‘exhibits’.
Korn comes to an abrupt stop in front of a large, brightly painted wagon-cage. False flames lick up the sides of its green walls and end beneath a banner that reads: Behold the many unnatural magicks of the demon cat!
“This is Kimhan.”
Chay squints into the shadows of the wagon and sees an enormous orange tiger lying behind the evenly-spaced iron bars, his head resting over his massive, crossed front paws. Chay swallows thickly as Kimhan’s gaze drags over him with curiosity so heavy that it physically holds him still. Korn continues nonchalantly, “He’s a real money-maker and the star of my sideshow. From now on it will be your responsibility to feed and water him twice a day. Once after breakfast and once after supper. The kitchen will have a bucket of scraps prepared when you ask. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“He cannot attack you so long as he’s wearing that,” Korn points to the wide silver cuff around Kimhan's back leg, as if this vital information is a mere afterthought. “I’ve had it enchanted to prevent him from biting the hand that feeds, so to speak. It also keeps him from running off and getting hurt. Some wild things have a tendency for mischeif.”
A deep need to punch the smarmy smirk off this man’s face flares in Chay’s gut. But all he can do is tamp it down and say, “Thank you for the information, sir. I’ll be very careful.”
“Hm.” Korn shrugs. “Do you believe yourself capable of this job?”
“Yes sir, I do.”
“Good. Here is tonight’s portion.” Korn shoves a bucket of raw meat into Chay’s hands – where did it come from? – and spins on the heel of one fancy leather boot. “See you bright and early for training!”
He disappears without another word.
“No use standing around, then,” Chay sighs in his absence.
There’s a short ladder from the ground to a hinged metal door, the only apparent entrance or exit from Kimhan’s half-covered wagon. Chay observes, with growing aggravation, that the tiger’s bulky shoulders would never make it through. What if a fire breaks out and he can’t escape?!
Grumbling under his breath about selfish bastard managers, Chay drags himself and Kimhan’s bucket of dinner through the tiny door. He discovers a thin metal trough built into the wall for meals and Chay deposits Kimhan’s scraps with a grimace.
“This is quite possibly the worst circus in the world,” he gripes.
Kimhan chooses this moment to lope casually into Chay’s peripheral vision. His nostrils flare curiously and Chay’s body goes rigid as some previously unknown prey instinct bubbles violently to the surface. The tiger draws close enough that his warm, damp exhalations bring goosebumps to the surface of Chay’s bloodless cheek. The boy’s breathing skyrockets. His heart pounds erratically against the cage of his ribs, desperate for an escape. “Uhm. Err– Hello?”
Only the soft hissing of chain being drawn across metal stops him from spiraling toward panic. Chay had momentarily forgotten about Korn’s heinous taste in safety measures.
“Oh no,” Chay’s mouth curves sharply downward. Patches of irritated, rust-red skin are visible beneath the tiger’s heavy coat. They disturb his flawless striped pattern and force Chay to stifle a furious cry on his behalf. “I must remember to bring some ointment and bandages tomorrow morning so we can take care of this before it worsens.”
Kimhan looks up from his meal to growl low and deep. The threatening noise rumbles from the depths of his bones. It’s forceful enough that the entire wagon shakes beneath their feet. His lips curl back, flashing the threat of his razor-sharp teeth at Chay, who straightens both shoulders and infuses his spine with steel.
“If we don’t clean the wagon debris out soon then it will fester and grow infected; maybe enough that your leg requires amputation! I’m sure you don’t have many good memories of being looked after, but I swear on my life to be gentle. Oh! How about a deal?” Chay tries to lighten the mood – for himself or the tiger he isn’t sure. “Not that you know what I’m saying, but… If dressing your injuries becomes too painful at any point, you may simply bite me. Please try not to pierce the skin but, uhm, I’ll obviously have to stop either way. Heh.”
He giggles awkwardly, scratching blunt nails down the back of his neck.
“Right. Err. I mean, I’ve seen the total lack of care or respect Korn shows the Menagerie. I cannot imagine he treats you any better.”
Kimhan gives Chay a remarkably expectant look before returning to the decimation of a thick beef bone. His iron jaws clamp down across its middle with a sharp crunch and cracks spiderweb over the surface. Chay’s second giggle takes on a mildly hysterical edge. Some might argue it sounds more like a squeak.
Bewildered and overwhelmed, Chay takes a long moment (and a great deal of strength) to gather his wits again, somehow calming his rabbit-fast heart. Kimhan shoots his newest keeper another lingering glance. The knowing, almost concerned look in his eyes sends a shiver racing headlong down the center of Chay’s flexible spine as the boy damn-near vibrates in place. Focused as he is on trying not to panic, he barely registers his own lips moving to form the words: “Can you keep a secret for me, Kimhan?”
The cat chuffs an affirmative sound and jerks his chin once. His vividly human aura startles Chay once more, but tigers are tigers and people are people; it’s not like Kimhan will report back about Chay's private, personal thoughts.
“Alright. Thank you.” The human lowers his voice to a whisper and leans close. It’s impossible to dodge the impact from one of Kimhan’s claws at this angle, but it feels as if he’s controlling each limb with puppeteer’s strings - halfway detached. Perhaps he’s gone so beyond terrified that he’s reached enlightenment?
Kimhan’s eyes widen at the abrupt change in their proximity and his rumbling becomes more emphatically pleasant. The tiger tilts his large head to one side, his flickering ears and shifting expression reminding Chay instantly of a human child receiving a nice surprise.
Chay grins at the cat's reaction, still whispering: “I don’t trust Khun Korn one bit. Based on your accommodations – and blatant lack of veterinary care – alone, I’m pretty sure he’s got something shady going on behind the scenes. This traveling show is more than he makes it appear, is it not?”
Kimhan doubles the volume of his purring and Chay swears the tiger nods a subtle confirmation... But tigers are tigers, and people are people.
Day 22:
Porsche sidles up to Chay as he waits beside the cook-tent for Kimhan’s dinner bucket. He sighs dramatically in true little brother fashion and teasingly asks: “What do you want, Hia?”
“Nothing but information, I swear! I was simply wondering when exactly you were planning to return to our bunk this evening?”
Ah. So this is about Kinn, Chay resists the urge to look smug. Porsche has struck up a rather passionate flirtation with the resident trick-rider, so he takes this moment to ponder what other outcome he should have expected (none). “I can stay out later than usual after feeding Kimhan if you’d prefer.”
Porsche darts forward to squeeze him in a hug. “Thank you! I promise you won’t see anything untoward when you return.”
“I had better not! Otherwise you will be doing my laundry for the next two weeks.”
“Aow!”
“It’s called an incentive.” Having said his piece, Chay accepts the usual beef scraps from a kitchen hand, waves his brother ‘good luck’, and takes off toward the freakshow.
He still hasn’t figured out why Kimhan is kept with this part of the circus rather than the Mystical Menagerie or performing animals. The tigers trained to jump through flaming hoops have far more spacious and comfortable display wagons than Chay’s lonely charge; but it may be that Kimhan prefers living alone or possesses some magical trait the others lack…
Regardless of Korn’s reasons for isolating him, Kimhan’s callous treatment rankles Chay down to his very soul.
“Good evening!” He greets the tiger cheerfully, waking Kimhan from an evening cat-nap. Kimhan stretches both large paws through the wagon’s front bars and flexes his claws, responding to the boy’s unwarranted joy by yawning so widely his jaw shudders.
The tiger projects an air of bored disinterest as he lumbers onto his feet and walks a lap around his cage, but Chay knows better. They’ve developed a routine. He enters the tiny enclosure and deposits Kimhan’s dinner in the trough. He waits for the tiger to start eating before cautiously checking over the bandages covering his leg wounds. Once he’s finished adding another layer of herbal salve and replacing the bloodied fabric strips (which also provide a buffer for the manacle) he finds a comfy spot to sit down.
“The crowds were bad today,” he states. “Not one person felt generous enough to throw a few coins onstage. Hia was disappointed…”
Three evenly-spaced metal bars dig icy trenches down his back. Each nerve in his body hums at the frequency of a freshly plucked phin string as cold air skitters past his ears and along the back of his vulnerable neck. “It’s awfully breezy out here tonight and I haven’t worn anything over my shirtsleeves. Silly me, forgetting how quickly the temperature can drop.”
Chay tugs the hems of both threadbare sleeves down over his hands and wraps his arms around his midsection. His palms rub vigorously up and down the bony curve of his ribs but the motion only adds a thin veneer of heat.
“There’s no way I’m going back to the bunks while P’Kinn is with Hia, though. I may have a hardy constitution, but everyone has their limit. Not to mention how eerie it is to sleep in that old train car…”
He freezes, staring in awe as Kimhan drags his dinner across the floor to flop down beside Porchay instead. The tiger sprawls out close enough that his massive upper body nearly crushes part of Chay’s leg. But he's warm and blocks the wind and his low rumbles are so soothing…
Porchay falls asleep with a large tiger purring on his lap, both hands petting at the warm fur behind Kimhan’s flickering ears, and wakes to the sensation of a sharp chin poking his solar plexus. His fingers are no longer buried in the soft pelt of a tiger but have gotten tangled in the dark, silken hair of an impossibly pretty man. A half-naked man whose body is currently pinning Chay to the scratchy wooden floor.
Whoever he is, the stranger looks maybe two or three years older than Chay; and where Chay has worked hard turning gangliness into controlled grace, this man is all wiry strength and hidden muscle. He's only clothed from the waist down, a pair of ratty trousers clinging desperately to his slender hips while his torso and back are left bare beneath the chill of early morning. Tears dampen Chay’s lashes unbidden when he takes inventory of the man’s back.
It's a terrifying battlefield of crisscrossing scars mottled by recent bruising and a few fresh welts. The scars alone are a morbid combination of thick and thin, raised and flat where they lay in fuzzy patterns along his skin. Both his arms and legs are bruised as well, as if the man recently defended himself against a particularly violent gang of cutpurses. Except…
How did he get in here? Chay wonders, before a second thought strikes hotter and faster than lightning. His head snaps up, wide eyes flying over the wagon's dimmest corners for any sign of Kimhan, but the tiger is nowhere in sight. Where the hell can he have gone while I was right here?! Khun Korn always raves that Kimhan is the money-maker of the show and I–
Oh no.
Korn is absolutely going to have Chay’s head for such a grave mistake as losing an entire tiger. Porchay will be thrown from the moving caboose when he’s least expecting it and Porsche will have to go on without him, none the wiser. It would be a laughable notion if it weren’t true. Panic sweeps through Chay. His breath catches roughly in his chest. Cold sweat gathers in his palms and in the hollow at the base of his throat. He stands, suspended on the precipice of terror–
Until, as if to break the spell Korn’s icy threats have placed over him, the stranger’s eyes blink slowly open. He yawns and stretches with ironically feline movements, lithe body arching hard against Chay’s side.
Chay squeaks a startled (and somewhat indignant) greeting out of habit: “H-Hello! My name is Porchay, but you can call me Chay. Do you, uhm– I mean do you perhaps know, err– Eee–”
“Are you always this eloquent in the morning?” the man yawns, revealing a set of very pointy canines. “Or has the cat caught your tongue?”
The pretty stranger sits up for another round of stretching, but Chay’s attention is drawn away from the rippling of his impressive musculature by a faint jingling sound. Almost as if–
“Wait, how did you…”
“Figured things out yet, sunshine?”
Chay stares down at the intruder’s ankle.
It shouldn't be possible, but there sits Korn’s enchanted cuff, still covering a few awkwardly wrapped bandages. Chay is the one who carefully tucked those bandages in place around the manacle's rougher edges. He had fussed over the removal of hay and rubble from tender skin while a huge tiger with claws and sharp teeth had… Well, Kimhan had been butting playfully against his arm while purring up a storm and making steady eye contact.
And ever since that encounter the creature has grown steadily more tactile. Borderline affectionate.
His fingers tighten unconsciously in those long, dark tresses when he exhales: “You’re Kimhan.”