Chapter Text
Why did Beatrice drag you here?
Why did she insist on attending this circus attraction right after the finale of their theater show wrapped up?
She knows you have little to no energy after a full set — especially on a weekend — you’re human with a set amount of energy capacity. Yet even though you tried to tell Beatrice no, she managed to get other family members to give you a sea of sad puppy dog eyes.
Sigh… you should learn how to tell them no.
You truly were weak to their begging, but who could tell their family no to the horror circus attraction that will never revisit? You can't. But you also knew going in full uniform was a terrible decision.
Yet they did anyway.
Why? If only you could understand. You walked forward as the line shuffled toward the entrance, murmurs of conversation blending together into nothing but white noise. You'd buy the tickets, then stay toward the edges, so hopefully nobody recognized you. Today just wasn't your day, you were tired and wanted to sleep, but you also wanted your family to be happy… so, here you are. You bought the tickets, 8 to be exact, as your Mother's children, your siblings in all but blood, wanted to come. Okay… fine… you left your sister’s, Silvija's, children with Ruvim, your brother, since he wanted to teach them some form of hunting anyway. At least the tickets were a mere $25, $200 is pocket change with how well-built their show is nowadays.
You sighed, walking over to your family; Étoile (Beatrice), Danseuse (Gustáv), Trapeze (Milovan), Alfrēds, Šarlote, Chorus (Silvija), Nika, and Mother (Rosie). “Here, I've got the tickets, one each.” You announced, fanning the tickets so they each could take one. Étoile was practically jumping up and down, her dress bouncing with each little movement – it made the fabric look fluid, which helped when on stage. After they all took one, they headed for the entrance, you just tried to stay undetected, but it was hard when you had 7 other family members openly talking about some show drama. You simply stayed quiet, attempting to keep your person undetected among the crowd. You had less than enough energy to care about whatever they were talking about anyway as they shifted with the line.
Once you and your family got to the entrance, they were greeted by a man clad in a blue suit and matching blue top-hat. His mask was half black, half white, a large grin spread across it. “May I punch your ticket?” He asked, holding said puncher in one hand while the other sat behind his back. You held out his ticket before the rest of the group could try to get to him first. “Thank you.” You softly replied, bowing out of instinct and heading inside. As you waited for the rest of your family, you could already feel the stares – this was a terrible idea – they were burning into your skin from all angles, it almost hurt.
Finally, the rest of his family entered the circus after their tickets too were punched. Even though you knew the entrance man in blue was focused on the next in line, you could swear his eyes never left you. It creeped you out, but it was called “The Circus of Horror” after all – maybe it was one of those optical illusions Beatrice talked about. You weren’t much of a horror person, you already operated a whole stage musical/play/performance with gore and blood and dark undertones of human psychology. As you pushed away those thoughts, you were promptly tugged alongside your other family members whom love horror toward a green tent. Obviously you were keeping track of what color tents were where, who played in each, even how the light may have effected their placement choices.
Though that last one might just be your inner stage self talking. Why would a circus care about light tricks when their shows are almost 50% or more at night? You don’t know, just subconsciously observed it.
Your family sat toward the front, managing to steal good spots before the apparent rush was to come – you were all too familiar of how bad that rush can be. Those rushes were brutal at best, but they were also predictable in your book, but that might just be your experience with caroling crowds biasing your opinion. As the tent eventually filled, you watched yours and your families back, unwilling to let anything slip your gaze for even a second. You knew your family was much better at staying aware due to their animalistic behaviors and traits, but you still felt like it was your job to at least offer some sort of attempt at staying vigilant.
Inevitably, the stage inside the green tent was lively, a clown, introduced as Harlequin, has started a puppet show. The storytelling, in your opinion, was wonderful, holding emotion in words, yet never through Harlequin himself. Storytelling is meant to push forward the feelings the performer wants onto the audience, yet Harlequin seems to be watching for the audience’s reaction more than instilling his own. Odd… but not the worst form of representation there is on planet earth. You’ve seen your fair share of storytelling, both from an actor’s and a generic life POV.
When the show concluded, your family was quick to exit – more from excitement at the prospect of another attraction rather than fright – heading for the large, red tent at the center of the circus. It seems whoever the performer inside is, their performance must require vast, open space if they’re going to be at the center of a show such as this.
From what you’ve gathered, it seems every tent has its own performer. Green had Harlequin, red must have its own, then the rest follows said pattern. It makes… sense. You are called Director for a reason, and your close family members are all considered the “main cast,” so maybe they had something similar.
Your family, similar to before, found seats as close to the front as possible, though they got there a little too late to snag anything close to the first 2 rows. You were looking around the tent’s layout, mentally logging every detail you could when your brother, Danseuse (Gustáv), slapped a hand over your shoulder, causing you to jump in your seat. You actually squeaked, a noise that often slips from your throat before you snap back into a more apathetic behavior. “Hey big bro, what’re you studying so hard? Can you never sit down and relax when outside? — I mean, c’mon, we are here, if anything happens, they won’t get far.” He teased, but the dark undertone was all too familiar. You are well aware of what your family is able to do, aware of their abilities and how they can leave a human being.
But you also know that, in truth, you don’t care.
“Ah… I’m just used to being on edge, you know this. Besides, the construction of these tents are exquisite – they’ve designed these tents to allow for stable structure while using heavy fabric for sound isolation and lowering echo. All the while, they all have their own style and intricacy, similar to how we build our stage tools for Sadist Love Language or Suffrage.” You explained, placing your index and pointer fingers against your chin as you spoke. Comparing came naturally in your blood, it’s just how humans function you assume, you’ve used that same topic plenty in choreography and lyrics.
Your brother grunted, disliking your constant comparisons and on guard detail taking, but he also understood why you were like that. “Well, alright, but at least try to tone it down and actually watch the attractions, yeah?” He softly teased, patting you on the shoulder, a familiar gesture that brings you comfort. You simply nodded, pulling your head down from staring that the support beams and toward the center ring. The walls for the ring were about 2.5 feet tall, seemingly able to be folded into each other or be separated, all the while keeping that red color with a black line through the middle. You also found that the dirt in the center looks… disturbed. But that could be from cleaning or some sort of act, not necessarily digging or something similar. You tried to shake away your observations, but it was hard to snap out of it when your mind was already keeping track of the vague measurements of the place. You muttered some half logical reason to stop to yourself, managing to pull out of the observing haze you were in just as the performer appeared onstage.
He is quite tall, probably around 6’4-6’6, has light pale white hair with a purple tinge that seemed extremely long, the rest probably tucked under his jester hat. Of course, his outfit was frilly and circus-y – you are inside a circus after all – but it was also surprisingly lightweight from the looks of it. The fabric looked similar to those you use for The Last Confession’s dancers, including yourself, since it was easy to move in yet could look full and detailed—
Auhg… you’re doing it again. Snap out of it.
You sighed, focusing on his odd looking dance instead of his outfit. It seemed like he was dancing with his own shadow, his movements fluid yet almost inhuman. It must be some sore of light trick… though you know better than to assumed simple answers. You found the dance interesting, of course, you directed and lead a stage play with occasional singing and a lot of dancing (your name is Director on stage after all). The performer, whom you assume is the Pierrot, introduces a stage assistant tied to a board, said assistant shallowly struggling against the binds, but not enough that the crowd would’ve noticed.
You did. Of course, you did. Your attention is immediately brought toward the act as even your family members lean forward. They smell something.
Is Pierrot not human?
Maybe the assistant is not human?
Could the assistant already be bleeding?
What’s their plan for the assistant —
Your thoughts and questions are interrupted when your ears picked up the sound of a blade snapping against wood replaced with the sound of splitting flesh and bone. That smell of iron – while your senses aren’t as good as your family members – is enough to get to you. She’s dead. Her skull breaking was no act, and the crowd is cheering – well, and your family, but that's expected since they enjoy human suffering just as much as the next.
What you do care about is that pang in your gut and gums. You’ve been getting that same jolt for years now at the sight of blood – its almost instinctual – but you always just rub it off as warring instincts. Having the learned behavior of Monsters while being human yourself isn’t the best of mixes. Human nature just doesn’t work well with the animalistic behaviors that Monsters have, they war all the time, battering heads like bulls in breeding season, all for what they desire. You excuse yourself from the tent, making your way outside and away from the overwhelming scent of iron, leaning against some pole for support. That throbbing ache in your gums persist, causing you to grunt in frustration – you cannot eat human flesh, blood, human at all unless you really desire becoming even more batshit insane than you are now. With how bad your moral compass is nowadays, you don’t need the added death trap of cannibalism.
You do eventually catch your breath, forcing the ache to settle down into that barely-there buzz under your canines. That is familiar, that you can manage. When you get back to the theater, you’ll have to cook up some food… or heavy meats… for yourself again. Even though this is already the 2nd time this week… and it's only Wednesday, that is already concerning. Usually, you can get away with once a week, maybe even once every 2 weeks if you’re lucky… but twice this week alone? — that's bad.
As you slowly came back to your senses, you noticed a group of people staring at you, either snickering or gasping in shock, you couldn’t tell at the moment. In turn, unbeknownst to you, the man at the entrance clad in blue, had also been staring at you as you had brought on an audience. You looked up, looking toward the oddly large group in front of you, silently wondering what the commotion was about. Was it actually for… you? — no way, nobody thinks anything off–
You’re in full uniform.
You had actually almost forgotten that you were still dressed in your last stage act’s outfit – a muted purple blouse with ruffles at the wrists and collar, with a black sleeveless tailcoat overtop with frills at the shoulder straps. On top of that, you had your signature top had with silver horns and belt where your bat like “wings” are attached over it all. The pants and shoes weren’t really special, just black slacks and boots with a 2.5-inch heel so you went from 5’10 to 6’0.5 (basically 6’1) so you matched with your family member’s height. “Aha… Well, hello there, goers of The Freak Circus!” You tried to play it down, knowing damn well you had crazy fans and very angry haters. Who knew who is which here… “I have… come to seek the horrors just as you have, no need to stare so harshly at my presence. Why don’t we all part ways and not disturb the Circus environme-” You were cut off buy the sudden burst of cheers and the couple of harsh insults toward you:
“IT'S HIM!”
“Who knew the Director himself would be here!”
“It’s Wednesday! He only had a short performance today!”
“Will you sign this for me!”
“I know you’re a liar! No way you’re that popular without laundering money or somethin’!”
Yup. Bad idea. Why did he come here in full goddamn uniform, all cause of some puppy eyes?! “Now, don’t cause a scene! I… don’t want to ruin this for my family.” You tried to reason, but your words were 100% lost to those gaping in your presence. This is why he hates popularity, this is why he wears a mask! “I uh- Let’s calm!!!” You tried again, your voice weaker than you’d like. On stage, you were confident and loud – that’s also with the help of a microphone – when not, it’s like someone dumped water over a cat, your confidence, and voice weren’t actually that loud.
You chuckled nervously again before eventually bolting. The one and only thing you were good at was running, thank the world for the strength you have in your legs. Inevitably, you lost the crowd by pulling a fake out move and disappearing behind one of the performers tents. You cupped your face into your hands as you hoped that somehow you could take the blame and get just yourself kicked out. You really didn’t want to ruin your families experience, but you also knew that you being in full uniform was like holding a sign saying “I SOLD CRACK TO 5TH GRADERS!” by the highway and expecting not to be questioned by cops.
Okay, maybe a little extreme, but that's how you think about this situation.
As you were contemplating your life decisions at that moment, you failed to hear the footsteps coming in your direction or notice your instincts screaming at you that someone was near. Before you knew it, you had a hand land on your shoulder that you didn’t recognize. Not thinking, you twisted around on instinct and used that hand on your shoulder to flip said person onto their stomach, holding their arm behind their back. Only when the adrenaline from the reaction wore off – and you heard their grunt – did you notice it was one of the performers. “Oh my god – shit, shit, shit – I’m so sorry! I do that on instinct…” You pleaded, helping them to sit up and then backing away. You’re lucky you didn’t try to knee them in the head… that would’ve knocked them out – since that’s what it’s for.
They sighed, rubbing their wrist as they sent a glare your way – yeah… deserved – but eventually did speak. “Dear visitor… May I ask why you’ve gained a mob here at our Circus?” He asked, the bells on his jester hat jingling as he tilted his head to the side. “Oh– uh… well… My name is Director– I run and lead a performance called “The Last Confession” at theaters across the globe. It just so happens that I own one here in this city… so while we figured out next year's tour.” You responded, trying to dig around in your pockets to find your cigarette case, where you keep Ibuprofen. They hummed, glaring down at you with what seemed to be pinky-purple irises, very annoyed by your attack/restraint of their limbs.
“Uh, do you want an Ibuprofen or something— again, I’m so sorry. I don’t – actually, I do… I do that a lot when startled. Still, I apologize heavily.” You added, holding out an Ibuprofen bottle if they’d want it. “No. I don’t take Ibuprofen… but may I ask why you always choose to restrain those whom attempt to ask you why you’re in a restricted area?” He huffed, dusting himself off as he stood – well, by their voice they sounded androgynous, guess they are similar to you in that regard. And maybe the fact they are dressed head to toe in purple, but you’ll leave that for another time.
You nervously chuckled as you glanced around, you had not noticed you’d entered a restricted area. “No I-… I hadn’t noticed. I also do not attempt to restrain anyone on purpose unless they attack me… I just tend to react with instinct rather than thinking due to—” You paused, eyes glazing over as you remembered that place. That hellhole of blood, gore, punishment— “Nevermind… that’s not important. I’ll leave, I apologize once more.” You finished, looking toward the direction of the exit past the main circus. The performer looked down at you, their eyes narrowed in suspicion, before turning back to the black tent he was just inside. “Just head warning, visitor. Don’t try this again, dear visitor, I know how to find you, if you try.” They warned, glancing at you once more before entering the black tent.
You knew to take that warning seriously, so you did. You quickly made your way out of the area, silently berating yourself for managing to already get on the circus’s bad side. It seemed you had a natural ability to fuck up every relation you have in seconds. As you made your way back to the center of the circus, you made sure to stay low and stay away from any possible attention. You didn’t want another crowd to form and ruin any chance of properly apologizing to the circus cast as a whole. Eventually, you made your way toward you family, able to spot their scent even through a large crowd.
You all left, going to the theater. You’d express your apologies soon, just not tonight