#i read a somewhat grotesque fic and i was like i need to draw some angst | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

drowningbydegrees · 4 years

Text

Once Written in the Stars Pt. 1

I think this might be the first fandom I’ve been in that really reads fic here, so I’m trying to be better about posting it. It’s also on AO3 It’s only when Geralt sheaths his sword that he realizes his medallion is still humming, perhaps even more than it was before. He squints through the trees, and sees nothing beyond the blanket of buttercups carpeting the forest floor. There’s a lark somewhere in the distance, but nothing near him moves. Buttercups. He circles back to that, to the bright spring flowers that stretch out into the forest as far as he can see. It’s the end of summer though, where the world goes brown and dry as it waits for relief from the heat to tumble into fall. There’s not something in the woods making the medallion vibrate against his skin Geralt realizes too late. It’s the woods themselves, and perhaps the keepers of it. “Fuck,” he mutters to himself, hoping he hasn’t gone so far astray that there isn’t a way back.

So, Geralt walks back in the direction he’s certain he came from, searching for where the flowers fade back into the dirt and twigs he should be finding under his feet. The medallion only thrums more urgently, for so long that it’s eventually just a background sensation as Geralt tries to find his way.

He passes an old, moss covered tree for what he’s certain is the fourth time and makes himself stop, as if pausing will help him regain his bearings. It doesn’t of course, but somewhere nearby, someone is singing.

Somewhere in between the moss and the stone

The wind and the wood became my home

I layed myself down upon the green

when the ivy overgrew I could never leave

Something in the darkness pulled me deeper

Something in the madness eased my mind

Was I awake or was I dreaming

Cut the strings that bind me to mankind

Geralt bristles, starting to reach for his sword, but it’s a stuttered, aborted motion as the melody sinks in. The song is beautiful, he realizes, subtly easing the wariness with which he regards the woods. Perhaps he’ll just listen for a moment, because it’s ever so soothing. When his feet begin to carry him closer, Geralt doesn’t notice. Nothing good lives in a fae forest, something far away in him whispers. He grasps for the truth of that, because it might be important, but it’s so very far away from him now. The sentiment slips uselessly through his fingers like the pleasant spring breeze that ruffles his hair as it blows through the trees. Caution flits somewhere at the periphery, but he can’t pin it down and it’s… unnecessary. There’s no need for caution here, not when the calm sinks right down to his bones. It lulls him until the witcher wants nothing more than to wrap himself up in the music, the world beyond the woods be damned.

The trees pass by as Geralt ventures deeper into the woods, never catching sight of the mist that swathes him. If anything, it is a caress, an embrace, something that softens the sharp edges of him and blots out the things that keep him up at night. There is a peace here he never knew he wanted, but he yearns for it, to be allowed to keep this thing as he steps into a glade where the sunlight comes through in soft, slanted bars.

It is there that he sees it, though the creature is tangled up in the shadows where the trees begin again. The claws are the first thing to catch Geralt’s eye, razor sharp and curved like scythes. They’re lost as they fade into sinewy arms, rough and ashen like tree bark on something long since dead. Its limbs come together like twisted vines and branches, framing around its dessicated belly where the thin flesh that stretches across is sunken in.

This is the thing singing him lullabies, he realizes. The sense of danger claws its way closer to the forefront of his mind, but every inch is a struggle as he tries to remember why this should frighten anyone. Shaking something loose, he slowly cobbles together the sense to draw his sword.

“Silver? You can’t hurt me with that.” The music has stopped, but the voice is lyrical all the same, pulling Geralt’s gaze upward where the creature looms a bit over him. He hadn’t seen its face before, but it’s no more pleasant than the rest of it. Teeth like long daggers fill up its mouth, pulling it into a sort of rictus grin. Geralt can see patches of ashen skin underneath, crowded in by branches that fan out at grotesque angles, a mockery of antlers. A short ways beneath them, a pair of blue, blue eyes zero in on Geralt, unnaturally luminous. He’s never seen a damned thing like it.

“I don’t think it’ll tickle,” he grouses, adjusting his stance. It spoke to him though, clearly more than the beast it appears to be, so he doesn’t attack right away.

“You were lost.” It’s not a question, and Geralt isn’t sure if it’s that or the creature’s utter lack of concern about his weapon that puts him on edge.

“I wasn’t until you lured me here,” Geralt growls, because if this is going to end up in a fight, he’d just as soon get on with it.

The creature regards him with a wider smile, probably meant to convey mirth, but mostly only pulling it’s mouth into something more grotesque. It shakes its head, horns catching in the leaves overhead. Worse, the creature laughs. “I watched you all afternoon.”

Had it been so long? There is rumor that time moves differently in places like this, but surely it can’t have been hours he’s been here. For the first time, Geralt notices the sunlight has taken on the drippy gold sheen it wears just before dusk begins to settle in, and he curses under his breath.

“What do you want?” Geralt braces himself, sure he’s not going to like the answer.

At first, the creature is quiet, it’s expression so twisted that it’s impossible to glean any sense of intention. “No one is meant to survive this place, but....”

The response covers the obvious, Geralt thinks but does not say. “If you’re waiting for me to beg for my life, you’re going to be very disappointed.”

“What? No, no, of course not. I want to help you.” Geralt had expected some sort of formality in conversation with the kinds of things that live in a forest like this, not unlike the way conversations go with nobles. The cadence this one keeps to is like an old friend though, casual, friendly even, and it’s all Geralt can do not to be swayed again despite what’s looking at him. Almost too late, Geralt realizes it’s making eye contact, but he cannot look away.

“Don’t do that,” he grits out, and perhaps he’s caught the creature in a good mood because the tug at his emotions and sense of reason dissipates until it has faded to nothing. All at once, Geralt is entirely his own again.

“Of course,” it agrees, stepping through the glade, strangely graceful. Where Geralt expects a lumbering gait, the creature moves like a dancer, eerie in the way it glides to where the witcher stands and then right on past him. “Come along then.��

“Just like that?” Geralt arches an eyebrow, recognizing following the creature through the woods for the terrible idea it is now that his mind is no longer clouded. Granted, there aren’t a great many options. Besides, it could have forced him or killed him or just left him in the woods, and it had done none of those things. Heaving a sigh and cursing under his breath, Geralt follows.

The creature leads the way, absently dragging its fingers along bark and branches. Geralt isn’t sure if it’s his imagination, but he swears everywhere it touches brightens, as if this monstrous thing is luring the foliage to flourish the way it lured Geralt to stand before it. It must be a fairy, he realizes, its distorted visage the truth that lurks beneath the pretty picture fae paint for men.

“Do you always hunt monsters? Is it exciting? Do you travel?” the questions come rapidfire, and for something dredged up from someone’s nightmare, it’s shockingly amiable. Chatty too, much to Geralt’s chagrin. The fairy doesn’t actually wait for an answer to any of the things it asks though, before sort of interrupting itself. “I’m being rude. I didn’t even ask. What’s your name?”

Fairies aren’t really monsters, and they mostly keep to themselves, so Geralt isn’t as well versed in their ways as might be useful, but this part he knows. There’s power in a name, and it’s not something he’s keen on handing over to any sort of fae, no matter how friendly it seems. There’s… something about being very careful not to be rude though, he thinks, so Geralt gives it something, a useless moniker as a standup. “You can call me witcher.”

“You really are a monster hunter, then.” If the fairy is put off by Geralt’s answer, it doesn’t show. Quite the contrary. Its mouth pulls wide into the unnatural, sharp edged smile that Geralt is starting to realize is just the fairy’s face and not some kind of threat. And then, perhaps because the name thing doesn’t work in reverse, or because Geralt has misremembered the lore entirely, it replies, “Well, hello then, witcher. I’m Dandelion.”

“Dandelion.” Geralt dubiously repeats, drawing the word out as his gaze sweeps over the fairy from head to toe. If said fairy recognizes that Dandelion is terribly incongruous with his nightmarish countenance, he gives no indication, instead chattering on about something else entirely. He pays little mind when Geralt mostly doesn’t answer, as if the witcher were just an accessory to the fairy’s one sided conversation.

Geralt feels the change before he sees it, when the muggy summer air begins crowding into the woods’ perpetual spring. By the time the treeline comes into view, the sun has nearly sunk below the horizon, the first stars peeking out where the sky has already gone dark. A tension Geralt hadn’t realized he’d been holding finally eases, as he reaches safety once more.

“Thank-” Geralt begins, but the look on Dandelion’s face stops him. His face is always somewhat twisted, but even still, there’s no mistaking the anger in the way the fairy’s eyes narrow at him.

“Don’t. You. Dare.” It comes out far more forcefully than Geralt can imagine there being any call for, and Dandelion punctuates each word with a sharp poke of one clawed finger against the armor in the center of his chest. “Have you no manners at all?”

Belatedly, Geralt thinks he might remember some such thing about thanking fae being rude. Maybe? He can’t really recall because it had never been important, but he holds up his hands placatingly. “I only wanted to convey that I appreciate your help.”

Dandelion lets out an affronted little hmph, but the fairy’s eyes soften around the edges. Geralt can’t help but think he’s narrowly sidestepped something awful. He’s never met another fairy, but he’s heard stories, and never got the impression they were easy to mollify.

“Why wouldn’t I help? Okay, maybe the others wouldn’t have, but that’s hardly the point. It’s not like you deserved to be stuck there,” Dandelion mutters, clawed hand falling loosely back to his side, leaving Geralt to wonder what metric the fairy was judging that by.

Eager to put some distance between himself and those cursed woods, Geralt chooses not to give the fairy an opportunity to drag him into further conversation. He offers up a hasty goodbye and turns on his heel to leave. He doesn’t wait for a response, and Dandelion moves so quietly, it’s only the continued thrum of his medallion that gives the fairy away. Bracing himself for what he assumes are going to be far too many words, he looks at Dandelion, “You’re following me. Why?”

“Oh! I can’t go back,” Dandelion says a little too brightly, waving a spindly arm at the meadow stretched out in front of them. “Seems like as good a direction as any.”

“Why can’t you go back?” Geralt hears himself ask, even though he really doesn’t want to know, even though he’s very aware that he’s going to feel obligated to do something once he does know.

Dandelion’s shoulders lift and fall in what Geralt can only assume is an approximation of a shrug. “You break the rules. You leave. Or you die. Really, it happens so rarely I don’t think anyone remembers one way or another, so probably best to decide for them and be on my way.”

Geralt stops then, because Dandelion appears pretty determined to follow and given how difficult a time he has with humans already, the fairy’s appearance would only make it worse. Dandelion's earlier assertion that no one was meant to survive the woods takes on an entirely different connotation now. It had never been the threat he’d assumed it to be at all. “Why did you help me, then?”

“You were lost.” Under other circumstances, the naive simplicity of that might be endearing. No qualifiers. No caveats. Either Dandelion is terribly manipulative or terribly kind-hearted, and Geralt has an incredibly irritating suspicion that it’s the latter.

“I’d have found my way.”

Dandelion’s features don’t change much, but the glow of his eyes shifts, taking on a softer cast. “You really wouldn’t have. No one does. That’s the point.”

Geralt wants to argue, but they probably both know better when it comes down to it. Resigning himself to having company at least for the trip into town, Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose. “Have you ever even been out here?”

“Nope.” Dandelion’s tone is far too untroubled for someone who’s just tossed aside their entire life, but the fairy glances away, and for just a moment, Geralt spots the sorrow underneath, no more than one last longing look at the trees behind them.

“Fuck,” Geralt mutters to himself, already knowing he’s not going to abandon Dandelion out here. Resigned, Geralt gestures at Dandelion’s looming form. “Well, you can’t walk into town like that.”

“Like what?” Dandelion’s head cocks to the side like a curious puppy. A very large, very nightmarish puppy.

“I’m not sure if you’ve if you’ve seen yourself, but-” That’s as far as Geralt gets before it becomes clear that Dandelion has grasped the issue. Geralt had been looking up at the fairy’s face, so the abrupt disappearance as Dandelion shifts into some hopefully less imposing form throws him off.

Geralt’s gaze drags downward until he catches the top of a mop of brown hair framing the high cheekbones and soft curves of a startlingly human face. Only Dandelion’s eyes give him away, and even then, only because Geralt knows the blue of them is a touch too vibrant to be normal. Dandelion’s newly human looking mouth turns up pleasantly, a far cry from the jagged teeth from before. Even his clothes are convincing in that they’re bright and eye catching and recognizably human. “Better?”

“...Better,” Geralt is forced to concede. Pretty, even, if he’s being honest. At least Dandelion hadn’t decided to model this new form after him. Where any of this came from is a revelation Geralt is very, very sure he doesn’t want to partake in.

“Wonderful!” Dandelion claps his very human looking hands together once and sets off in the direction Geralt had been walking.

And it’s fine, really. He’ll get Dandelion to civilization, where he’s sure the curious fairy will find something other than Geralt to occupy his time. That’ll be the end of it, Geralt decides. It has to be because there’s no place for a fairy at the side of a witcher.

While he might prod Dandelion for his thoughts on the matter, the fairy is already incessantly chattering about practically everything else. The stars are so bright without the trees in the way. The grass is scratchier out here. Do you ever wear anything other than black? It’s so warm. How does anyone stand it? What’s that, anyway?

The last in the barrage of commentary and questions is punctuated by slender fingers reaching out to brush over the medallion around Geralt’s neck. Instinctively, his hand shoots up to curl around Dandelion’s wrist and pull it away. “Do not.”

“Touchy,” Dandelion complains, rubbing at his wrist when Geralt releases it. The witcher might feel bad if he wasn’t quite certain that the only thing he could possibly have injured is Dandelion’s pride.

There are a few moments of blessed silence where Dandelion is either sufficiently chastised or maybe just grumpy enough not to keep talking. They’re almost to the road when Geralt realizes another issue and very, very reluctantly speaks up. “What are you going to call yourself?”

“I have a name.” Apparently all is forgiven, because Dandelion’s frown dissipates in favor of open curiosity.

“You can not go around calling yourself Dandelion if you’re trying to pass yourself off as human.” Before Dandelion can argue, Geralt adds, “And you are passing yourself off as human.”

“Fine.” A frown creases Dandelion’s lips again as he shuffles along beside Geralt. The fairy is blessedly quiet as they reach the road. The village is too far away to see in dark, even for Geralt, but it’s close enough to promise an end to all this nonsense. Geralt doesn’t see the way Dandelion abruptly brightens up, but he hears it. “Buttercup?”

Why did he think this was going to be anything other than thoroughly exasperating? Geralt glances over at Dandelion who, oddly enough, seems very invested in his approval. “That’s not better.”

“Daffodil? Oh, I don’t like that one. Maybe Peony?” And Dandelion is off again, prattling on about crocuses and tulips and bluebells and…

“Not a flower.” Geralt finally cuts in when he can’t tune Dandelion out any longer.

That quiets Dandelion for the space of a single breath before he’s pressing, “Why not?”

“Because humans would never name someone after most of those,” Geralt forces himself to explain very slowly and very calmly and very much not beginning to lose his temper. It’s only as he realizes Dandelion probably doesn’t have enough context that something like sympathy creeps in around the edges of his irritable mood. “Just pick something else.”

The fairy protests that if he’s giving up the last thing tying him to his old life, he should at least replace it with something good, and Geralt supposes there’s not much to argue with on that front. They go back and forth a great deal before Dandelion finally suggests something that isn’t a flower. “Jaskier?”

“Fine.” Geralt agrees with an exasperated sigh. He’s so grateful that the fairy has finally suggested something that isn’t completely ridiculous that he almost misses the toothy little smile Dandelion… Jaskier gives him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Jaskier sing songs, looking very much like he’s won some game Geralt didn’t even know they were playing. “Nothing at all.”

****

The further they get from the forest, the more aware Dandelion (Jaskier, he reminds himself) is of how horribly uncomfortable it is. The air is too warm and too thick, like tree sap where it sticks to his skin. How does anyone live out here?

He supposes he’s going to find out if he’s meant to make a life beyond the woods, which is fine, really. It’s… fine. It has to be. The only home he’s ever known is no great loss, with the promise of endless adventure stretched out in front of him. It’s what Jaskier tells himself, at least, and he refuses to look back lest the fragile belief crumble.

After all, if he’s going to follow the witcher, there’s a whole world out there to explore. The man doesn’t appear all that interested in having Jaskier’s company, but that’s not exactly a new experience for the fairy, odd by even fae standards. That will all change, he thinks, when the witcher sees how useful it is to have someone around with magic at their fingertips. Surely, there must be something the witcher wants, if Jaskier can just learn what it is.

So, he follows at the witcher’s heels, unsure he particularly likes the wide dirt path humans have cut through the wilderness around them. Grass and flowers sprawl as far as the eye can see to either side, but the ground underneath them is hard, even through the soles of his boots. There’s a reason for it, probably, but the sentiment remains all the same.

Losing interest in the road, Jaskier watches the witcher, silently walking just a bit ahead. He isn’t much of a conversationalist, Jaskier quickly discovers. The fairy tries valiantly, but it’s not until he asks about why the man carries two swords that Jaskier gets more than a vague grunt in response.

“Silver for monsters. Steel for men.” It’s abrupt and to the point, and then the witcher is silent.

That seems… extreme. Jaskier has never actually met a human, mind you, but he’s seen a couple from afar. They looked quite fragile in the grand scheme of things, but if someone like the witcher has a weapon dedicated to them, perhaps he’s miscalculated. “Are humans really so dangerous?”

“You can decide that for yourself.” The witcher gestures ahead as they top a hill. Beyond the crest of it lays what must be a human community of some sort. It’s a collection of buildings silhouetted in the dark, yellow light glowing from within some of them.

Jaskier had somehow expected something more grand. He thinks to ask if all the places humans live are like this, but there’s the slightest dip to the way the witcher carries himself. From everything else he’s seen, it strikes Jaskier that even this very slight show of vulnerability is more than the witcher has allowed, as if there’s just too much exhaustion at this point to hold it all in. So, Jaskier tries to keep his questions to a minimum after that, humming softly as they make their way towards the buildings.

It’s louder here, though not by much. Somewhere off to Jaskier’s right, there’s the din of a number of conversations happening at the same time, but the witcher keeps walking and so the fairy does too. The road is mostly empty, but there are a couple of people out and about. Jaskier does his best not to stare too openly, but he sees enough to decide none of them are individually that interesting. They’re quiet and plain. Even their clothes are muted.

By the time Jaskier stops trying to make sense of their surroundings and thinks to break his attempt at silence to ask where they’re going, the witcher has stopped in front of a door. It’s the grandest building Jaskier has seen yet, which really isn’t saying much. All that sets it apart from the rest is some pretty filigree carved around the doors and windows.

“Don’t say a word,” the witcher insists as he raps his knuckles against the door. Of course, that just brings more questions. Don’t talk to the witcher or to whoever is on the other side of that door? Is this knocking thing some tradition before you walk into a building? Before he can ask anything, the door swings open.

The man that greets them is nothing at all like the witcher. He’s unpleasant to look at with his beady eyes and beaked nose, and even before he speaks, Jaskier knows his voice will be equally unpleasant. It’s the way he looks at the witcher though, that gets the fairy’s hackles up. He doesn’t know humans, not really, but he knows disdain when he sees it, and that won’t do at all.

“Witcher,” the man greets, and the tone of it has sealed his fate as far as Jaskier is concerned. Oh sure, the witcher is gruff and not very friendly, but he’s good. Jaskier knows that much, even if it’s hard to explain why in words. He’s done nothing to deserve this man speaking to him like they’re less than equals, and yet the witcher wordlessly bears it.

Is it always like this? Jaskier wonders only briefly before deciding that if it is, it won’t be anymore. Maybe that is the thing he can do to sway the witcher into allowing him to keep following.

The door opens more widely, and the man hardly spares Jaskier a glance, clearly taking him at face value. That, or he’s too busy watching the witcher’s every move. As if he hasn’t even noticed, the witcher steps past the threshold into the building, Jaskier close behind him.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #fae!jaskier #my fic

37 notes · View notes

hannahmcne · 5 years

Text

Our Town Too - Chapter One, a Greatest Showman Fic.

There were lights. There was color. There was sound.

Charlie spun on the ropes that hung down around the arena for the trapeze artists and aerialists(like himself) to hang onto. The crowd shouted and screamed as he faked a miss of the rope and dove towards the ground. Five dancers spun back around in perfect formation to catch him just before he hit the ground and to launch him back into the air with a mighty heave. He rocketed back into the air and snatched the rope as the audience screamed. Far down below, the two honorary 'Barnum boys', Adam and Fredrick, were breathing fire as his cousin Emma Wheeler and her little, white, half-brother Dan performed cartwheels and back handsprings with long, colorful streamers attached to their wrists and ankles. They looked like a colorful wind rushing through the audience.

The crowd pounded their boots against the stands and screamed the words along with the singers down below: "This is the greatest show!" They echoed.

Down below, the dancers dispersed as a mass character change occurred. Charlie spotted his dad rushing on from offstage in his red coattails, sliding in the sawdust and popping up onto his feet, all the while twirling his baton around his head. Lettie Lutz, the bearded lady, took up the center, but Phillip Carlyle remained the center of attention as he led the crew through the lighting cues, the music cues, and pieced together the show's finale.

Charlie lowered himself onto the ground and dropped to the sawdust in a perfect split before he joined the circus members in kicking up dust and drawing sweat, pounding the floor and showing the audience what a real good time looked like. As their closing number drew to a close, he turned and sprinted with the others to the center of the stage and watched a lithe, dark-skinned woman drop out of the sky and land next to Phillip, just in time.

Only the eldest four of the five Carlyle children were of performing age. The youngest was backstage with Helen Barnum. Three children of various skin shades gathered around Phillip and Anne, but Charlie didn't join them. He knew the rest of the circus's eyes was on him, but this wasn't the first time he hadn't joined his family for bows.

Carlie Carlyle was eighteen years old and the oldest of five children. The youngest was barely a year old. He was the only child with his dad's pale looks which, trust him, was absolutely horrible. All his life, there had been double-takes, there had been questions, there had been people frowned when they looked from him to his parents for the first time and realized that no, this kid with manners and education was not 100% white. Charlie could tell you for a fact that there was nothing worse than someone looking between him and his parents and then backing away slowly. He'd lost friends, he'd lost acquaintances, and he'd made a whole lot of enemies by simply existing.

Phillip kissed Anne, and the lights went out up above as someone drew a damper over the reflector that kept the tent lit. Then, they brightened and the circus patrons split to go an either remove costumes or show customers out of the tent. Charlie felt his little brothers and sister's eyes on him as he walked backstage, carefully undoing his wrist bindings.

Charlie found a quiet corner and a soft bale of hay to set his foot upon as he worked the knots around his ankles, undoing bright blue tape. that was there to help the audience catch onto his movements easier and to protect his joints from being pulled out of their sockets. His pale skin was red under the bindings, but it would be better within a few minutes, just like it always was. He must have just put it on a bit too tight tonight, he thought as he rubbed the joint.

Heavy footsteps fell behind him, and Charlie didn't need to look up to know who it was. "Dad." He greeted as he switched feet and began undoing the other binding. Phillip Carlyle was removing his red coat behind him. He dropped it onto the bale of hay and sat down.

"You did well out there tonight," Phillip complimented him with a tight smile. There were permanent smile wrinkles around his mouth and eyes, and the corners of his eyes had gone leathery with age.

"I always do good." Charlie rolled his eyes and scoffed. He began to roll the bindings up to be used tomorrow night.

"You do." Phillip acknowledged softly as he watched Charlie work. "Your mother and I are a bit worried about all that, actually. You've been working really hard lately. We miss having you around."

"Look-" Charlie huffed, undoing the first few buttons on his bright blue costume and turning to give his dad an exasperated look. "If this is about the whole bows thing, Phillip, it's nothing. I'm just – getting older. Parents aren't cool anymore." He tried to laugh the whole thing off with his hands in the air while not showing how annoyed he was with the whole conversation.

"Family is important, Charlie." Phillip sighed as his son began to stalk off toward the dressing area. "If you were a little older, if you'd known the circus before, you'd understand that. Back when the circus started, most of us had no one."

"Whatever, dad," Charlie grumbled, quickly weaving his way through the props and the equipment that had been left off-stage. He kicked up some straw into a pile of dung that the zebras had left and went to go and do checks on the ropes for the trapeze artists since it was his night tonight. As he came around the bend, an arm snaked out and grabbed around his waist. He was spun sideways into a dark room and found himself staring into a pair of bright blue eyes.

"Hello, handsome." Mireille smiled as she put her arms around Charlie's neck. Charlie smiled and bent forward to press a kiss against Mireille's forehead, missing her pretty dark brown curls by a few inches.

"Hi, Mireille." He whispered, carefully putting space between them, because she was a lady, and this was how ladies are to be treated. "You did great out there tonight."

Mireille was one of the earlier acts, so she had already changed back into her plainclothes. Blue glitter remained smudged around her eyes and a pretty pink color rested on her lips, the only marks of what had identified her as one of Barnum's employees.

"You too." Mireille complimented him. Her smile had faded somewhat. "I saw you didn't go stand by the rest of your family again."

Charlie groaned and let her go. He turned away, shaking his head. "Not you too." He complained. He pulled up a chair hiding in the shadows and sat down.

"That's the ninth time." Mireille frowned. "You're perfectly fine when you're alone with everyone, why are the crowds so different?" She sat down on a wooden chest that was filled with extra costumes beside him.

"It's not about the crowds." Charlie defended himself. "Just Phillip and Anne-"

"What's with this Phillip business?" Mireille wrinkled her nose. "He's your dad, not your coworker."

"Technically, he's both." Charlie disagreed.

"Technically, he'd be your boss, not your coworker. He owns fifty percent of the show." Mireille reprimanded him. She set a hand down on his forearm and squeezed. "Is this about the whole mixed-race thing?"

"No!" Charlie exclaimed defensively, wrapping his arms around himself like a shield from her words.

"Because, trust me," Mireille continued, "You're not mixed race."

"I'm one-fourth black." Charlie furrowed his brow. "There's not much else to it."

"Okay, so maybe you are mixed-race." Mireille acknowledged with an eye-roll as she crossed her ankles delicately. "But really, why does it matter so much to you? It's where you came from. And you look white anyway. You're not like your mom or siblings. They actually look mixed. By all means, you blend right in." Mireille laughed a little in thought and skootched closer to him. "So, you don't want to go bow with your family in front of all your darker-skinned siblings because you don't want people to know you're mixed race? I still go and bow with my mom, Charlie."

"Don't compare you to me," Charlie said angrily. "Your situation and my situation are very different. For one, your mom is an act, not the ringmaster. Of course, she's a famous act, but an act all the same. Your mom and uncle weren't ever runaway slaves. And you and I were brought into the world on very different scandals. Being a bar sinister is not the same as being a hybrid." He stood up and began to stalk away, again. He seemed to be doing that a lot these days.

"Hybrid? You've been reading the Herald again." Mireille frowned as she stood up and followed him. She wasn't like Phillip, Mireille was. She knew how to pick fights with him. Phillip had never really exerted control over Charlie; he'd only pulled him aside to explain the principles of things to him as he got older. Charlie didn't step out of line much, so Phillip didn't have to chuck out very much advice.

"So what if I have?" Charlie snapped back to his girlfriend, stepping into the now-empty ring. All the guests had been ushered out and people had gone to turn in for the night. He pulled the lever that released the coiled ropes from above, even though now he'd have to make the journey all the way up top to re-coil them after he checked his own portion of the trapeze equipment. "It's good to be informed." He claimed as he coiled a rope around his fist and began to climb, hand over hand.

"You know that Mr. Bennett takes particular joy in ridiculing us." Mireille frowned. She couldn't follow him up the ropes, being in her dress. "Maybe it's good to be informed, but if you only fill your mind with criticism, there won't be any room for discussion on the other side."

"Desegregated, uneducated aberrations." Charlie recited, focusing on the top of the tent. "You know that's what they call us? And you know what else?

"I don't-" Mireille started before Charlie interrupted her as he swung back and forth between two ropes above her head.

"An archaic clan of grotesques who seem to be consistently interbreeding and spreading their egregious tropes throughout the honorable members of our lower-class societies." Charlie narrated.

Mirelle snorted. "That's the first time I've ever heard 'honorable' attributed to 'lower-class'." She commented, crossing her arms as Charlie tangled his legs in the rope and flipped his body upside down. "And I was going to say I don't need to hear any of that because I know it's not true." She flipped her hair back over her shoulder and straightened her spine. "I have talent, like everyone else here. We're modern, and accepting, and free. Don't you want freedom, Charlie?" Her boyfriend twisted his legs into the rope and hung upside down, on eye-level with her as he started to recite again, even louder.

"Their uncommon traditions even extend to the leadership of the Barnum business, as expressed by the miscegenous relationship practiced by Barnum's business partner." Charlie hissed. "Do you know who they're talking about? Those are my parents, Mireille. People don't talk about your mom and her one daughter, who is one of society's prettiest people since Jenny Lind came to tour, like they do my dad, the white man who married a mulatto woman in an unratified, taboo ceremony and proceeded to have five bicultural children." Charlie untangled himself as his face began to turn purple and gently let himself down from the ropes. Mireille watched his curly hair in the light as he wiped sweat off his brow and began to tie two ropes into a square knot so that he could swing on them.

"You're full of big words tonight." Mireille frowned.

"Biracial." Charlie scowled. "Multi-circumferential. Desegregated. Mixed race. Mulatto."

"Imagine if your mother heard you say that." Mireille scolded. "Can you imagine how that'd hurt her so?"

Charlie's expression softened. "I know." He sighed. "I love my mom, I do. But I just… want to make my own name away from theirs." His shoulders slumped.

"Well, how much money do you need for university?" Mireille asked. "I know that's what you've been doing all the extra acts and working outside Barnum's Circus for."

"I'm so close." Charlie groaned as he untied the knots and gave the ropes a tug. "And yet so far. What well-respecting college will let in a man whose mom ran from slavery as an illegitimate, mixed-race child?"

"It doesn't matter." Mireille rolled her eyes. "You're smart, you're a hard worker, and you don't look black. They'll let you in."

"And kick me right back out when my family shows up to see me for the first time." Charlie despaired.

"Take them to court," Mireille advised. "Or, just go to Brea College." Brea college had been founded after the Civil War ended, ten years before Barnum's first circus had burnt to the ground. It was the first college in the south to be racially integrated. Brea was where Mireille wanted to go for college because, on top of allowing both blacks and whites, they also allowed for boys and girls.

"Frankly, I think you're making this out to be a lot harder than it is." Mireille continued. "You can't change where you come from and if your parents hadn't fallen in love, you wouldn't be here, so you might as well not resent them for it. That's the whole point of the circus; respecting where people come from and learning to find family in what makes us different."

"The circus was a money-maker for Barnum." Charlie rolled his eyes.

"And our parents made it into a refuge." Mireille smiled and stepped forward, resting a hand on Charlie's upper arm. "Phillip Carlyle, Anne and WD Wheeler. Lettie Lutz." Mireille kissed Charlie on the cheek. "We came together here and made it so that we didn't have to hide from society anymore. It's a beautiful thing; I don't know why you're so anxious to hide where you came from, even if everyone already knows." Charlie stiffened, and Mireille's smile faded. "Your parents won't be here forever, so you should respect them while they are. Besides, we can live in a world that we design."

Charlie chuckled at the reference to Barnum's song, but Mireille didn't stop there. She loved to sing. "I close my eyes, and I can see." She whispered, batting her long eyelashes at Charlie. Charlie laughed as closed his eyes, wrapping one fist around a rope as he put an arm carefully around her waist. "A world that's waiting up for me… That I call, my own."

Mireille had inherited the brightest, clearest pair of pipes anyone had ever heard from her mother, Lettie. Barnum had wanted to organize a tour the likes of which had traveled with Jenny Lind, but Lettie had kept a tight hold on her baby girl and told Barnum not to approach her until she was at least eighteen. Since then, Mireille had only gotten better and better. One of her dreams was to meet Jenny Lind and see how she compared to the Swedish Nightingale.

"Through the dark, through the doors, through where no one's been before. But it feels like home." Mireille leaned her head onto Charlie's shoulder, and Charlie gave the rope a sharp jerk. He heard a sandbag slip off the rafters up above the same moment he felt his hand launch away from his arm. Mireille gave a little shriek and curled her legs up under her dress as the took to the skies. Charlie laughed.

The sounds of four kids hitting the sawdust hit their ears. Mireille and Charlie's head whipped around to see Adam, Frances, Fredrick, and Emma rushing to the ropes in laughter. The four kids snatched up the ropes and began to swing through each other in a dazingly familiar pattern. Charlie let Mireille fall half-way and watched their combined momentum pull them down enough for him to set her on the ground before he launched up into the air.

"They can say, they can say it all sounds crazy." Mireille sang from the ground, letting her high soprano voice bounce off the walls of the tent and carry back. She stood in the center of the circle and watched the five people above her spin circles. "They can say, they can say we've lost our minds." She laughed as Emma switched over to Fredrick's rope, and the two of them began spinning in dizzy circles around each other, arms outstretched like they were flying together. "I don't care, I don't care if they call us crazy. We can live in a world that we design."

Frances and Adam hit the floor and began a hypnotizing dance while they sang along to the Barnum's song. Adam was Caroline's first son. He had caramel locks and brown eyes, like Barnum. Helen still hadn't married, so he had no cousins, but he found many friends in the circus. Even though he was only fifteen, it was blindingly clear that he and Frances had something special between them. This worried Charlie because Francis was his little sister. She was fourteen, with skin like her mother and waist-long locks in the same shade as her dad's. Charlie was the only person in the family who had actually inherited his dad's skin. When they stood together, people thought she was the oldest child because of how different he looked from each of his siblings.

"Cause every night I lie in bed and the brightest colors fill my head." Mireille and Adam sang as Frances rolled over Adam's back, caught his hand, and spun straight into his grasp. "A million dreams are keeping me awake."

Charlie flew up to the supports of the tent and rested from his flight. He watched Emma and Fredrick spin around each other in tantalizing patterns. Emma was his cousin; WD's daughter. After WD had gained a stable income, he'd brought his wife up to live in New York with them. Sarah Wheeler had, unfortunately, suffered an attack by a white man that left her pregnant with a child that was not WD's. Still, they raised the white-skinned child in their family surrounded by all the little black ones like nothing had ever gone wrong. Emma was, of all her siblings, closest to Dan because the two older ones had grown up and moved away. Fredrick was Adam's brother, Caroline's younger son. He had a goofy smile and freckles and loved the circus more than anything in the entire world. Charlie could see him growing up, falling in love with Emma, and raising a family here, just like his parents had.

Down below, Mireille continued to sing soprano with pretty chords that made Charlie's ears feel like they were being given a massage. "I think of what the world could be; a vision of the one I see. A million dreams is all its gonna take."

Charlie found himself mouthing the words: "A million dreams for the world we're gonna make."

A million dreams. A million thoughts. A million colors. He had all that, somewhere inside his head. He had something that none of his siblings or friends could understand. A drive to prove himself. A drive to be something. More than a backup dancer or an aerialist. More than Phillip and Anne's little boy and more than the son of a mixed-race woman. If he could get to college, work hard and strike out on his own, he could make it. He could be a businessman; an overseer of factories. Maybe he could move to Pittsburg. That's where all the big names were making it big. He could work in rubber; rubber was big right now. Or maybe textiles, since textiles would never go out. So long as he could stay on top of designing new patterns and colors, he'd have a business. And since he'd grown up here, maybe he and Barnum could become partners and he could supply the circus with costume materials, and everyone would see that he'd done it. He'd made it big.

Far down below, Adam switched the hand he was holding Francis's with. She gave him a smile and twirled into a pretty dip, with her black hair hitting the floor just like Uncle Phillip had taught him how to do back before he'd realized the young man would use his tricks to sweep his daughter off her feet. His heart was racing, and his ears felt warm as his cheeks took on a pink color. If his mom saw him now, dancing with the pretty black girl and holding her hand and not caring at all that he was getting all covered in sawdust and sweat, she'd scold him. Caroline, after her years of being a prima ballerina, had learned to respect the circus for providing for her education. She spoke kindly with the performers and let her children play with their children. But she didn't want her kids to grow up and intermarry with the circus workers. It would be best, she had decided, to take separate paths. But Adam loved the thrill of the circus. He loved the screams of the crowd and the costumes and the life and light of the performers. And he loved the feeling he got when he glimpsed Francis's bright smile as she bowed with her parents, danced in the light, and let her wings spread.

"There's a house we can build… every room inside is filled. With things from far away." Mireille sighed happily as she watched Charlie reappear from the rafters above Fredrick and Emma, who were spinning in dizzy circles around each other. Fredrick was trying to show off. He swung close to the pillars and began to sprint across the vertical beams that supported the tent.

Charlie swung his legs up and around the rope and split center stage, whirling to the bottom as the rope coiled around his waist and rolled him, arm over arm, to the floor, where Mireille was waiting with a small smile. "Special things I compile… each one there to make you smile." Charlie walked forward and rested his hand on Mireille's cheek. She leaned into him with an even brighter smile. "On a rainy day."

Adam and Francis jumped to the ropes again and began to pull themselves up, hand over hand. Their arms were strong from years of practice.

"They can say, they can say it all sounds crazy," Mireille whispered as she leaned up, lifted a foot off the ground, and leaned into her boyfriend's frame. The two pressed their foreheads together. "They can say, they can say we've lost our minds."

Charlie released the rope and curled both his strong, calloused hands into Mireille's thick, curly brown locks. Both of them failed to notice the crucial scene happening above their heads.

Fredrick, who was still chasing his rope around the circumference of the tent supports, felt the rope that was holding him dead center snag on something along the center. It snapped him back, and he fell to the beams. The rope swung out of reach as Fredrick's head slammed into the wooden beam. He barely managed to dig his fingers into the wood to keep from falling to his death as his vision went black. Emma swung towards him and helped him sit back up. His nose had been crushed, and a stream of blood had started to run from both nostrils. The two quickly tried to stifle the blood, and neither noticed as a single sprinkle of blood fell from his nose, past the wood supports he was trying to keep from falling off of and hit the floor of the stage.

The world started spinning; even more so for Fredrick. Only Charlie and Mireille failed to notice as she sang with her hands twisting the back of Charlie's costume with a bright smile upon her lips. But around them, things seemed to be shifting. Lavender mist rose up from the ground, and the fabric walls were replaced with sturdy brick and wrought iron. The smell of things old and stuffed replaced the smell of animals and sweat and rum.

"Run away to a world that we design!" Mireille let out a breath, and she and Charlie moved in synchronously for a quick kiss. Before their lips could touch, however, a man's loud belt of a singing voice came from the rafters.

"Every night I lie in bed." A man with neat hair, a top hat, and a brown vest called as he walked down a flight of stairs that had suddenly appeared where ladders had been posted. What had previously been the supports to the trapeze equipment and the tent was now a circular walkway surrounding a stage circle smaller than any of the ones the kids had ever seen before in their lives. He twirled a baton in his hands as he descended the steps with a bright smile. "The brightest colors fill my head; a million dreams are keeping me awake."

Adam and Francis hit the floor again, hand in hand. "Grandpa?" Adam whispered.

It took Adam's words for Charlie to put together what he was seeing. PT Barnum, at least twenty years younger than Charlie had ever seen him, was walking across the sawdust towards them. He stopped and stared at him, examining each of the kids. Charlie was sure his eyes were playing tricks on him as he looked at the stage, the rafters, the solid roof above their heads. They were in a building the likes of which Barnum hadn't owned since… the fire of 1865.

Mireille detached from Charlie and covered her mouth in blatant surprise. Fredrick and Emma carefully climbed down, with Fredrick still trying to stay the stream of blood gushing out of his nose. Barnum pulled a white kerchief out of his pocket and handed it to the lad as he frowned at the kids. Charlie stiffened.

"You know my song," Barnum said in a curious tone. "We don't sing that here at the American Museum. Where did you hear it? You seem to know every line."

"A-ha!" Mireille squeaked. She latched onto Charlie's arm and squeezed. Adam swallowed thickly and he and Fredrick exchanged cautious bewildered glances.

Charlie cleared his throat. "Ah, our parents used to sing it to us. Must be a coincidence that's it's your song." He chuckled nervously.

"My wife and I wrote it," Barnum said in a flat tone. While he had originally appeared pleased, he seemed a bit upset at their surprise and the way they were shifting their feet. He crossed his arms. "Performances are over for today as well. You're trespassing on personal property. What are you doing in my stage room?"

"Trespassing?" Adam squeaked.

"American museum?" Charlie whispered. His mind started to work at a million miles an hour. Old building… young Barnum… dated name. Holy crap.

"Are you going to give me an answer, or do I have to call the police?" Barnum growled. "Did one of my performers let you in?"

"No!" Mireille exclaimed. "We just, uh, were here after the show and we really admire the Barnum Circus and we don't mean to trespass and…" She trailed off, looking desperate to add something, anything onto the end of her statement.

"Circus?" Phineas Barnum frowned like he was contemplating the name, but he quickly brushed his thoughts aside.

"We'd like to audition!" Charlie blurted out. Mireille, Adam, Francis, Fredrick, and Emma all shot him panicked looks. "That's right, we want to be a part of the show. We know all the steps, all of the choreography. Look, Francis, Emma, and I made our own costumes in advance, and when Mireille, Adam, and Fredrick heard what we were doing, they decided to come with and see if you'd give us a chance because…" He trailed off, suddenly doubtful of his own plan.

"Because we're tired of hiding in the dark," Mireille added, looking relieved. "But you'd already closed auditions, so we decided to try and catch you after hours. We waited in the stands after the show today and hoped we'd be able to catch you, but we never saw you alone, so we've just been waiting all this time, hoping you'll give us a chance."

Charlie watched the surprise flicker over Barnum's face and swallowed. He hoped Barnum would buy it, otherwise, they'd be out on the streets in, if he was correct, 1864. He also hoped everything Mireille was saying was true because he didn't know for the life of him when Barnum had officially closed auditions, when shows had started, or even if Barnum had had a show at all today. If it were Sunday, the circus would be closed. Sure, he was wearing his red coat, but if Barnum picked a single lie out, they'd be on the streets in seconds. Charlie balled his fists up as beads of sweat appeared in his palm.

"You say you know every line, all the choreography?" Barnum asked.

"Yes!" Emma blurted out beside Fredrick, who was still dabbing at his nose. "We're massive fans."

Barnum stroked his chin and considered their words. Finally, he nodded. "I've got room for a few more acts." He nodded. "But I don't want to take in people who are behind. If you can dance our closing act properly, I'll let you stay in and board with the other performers."

Charlie let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding as Mireille looked up at him nervously. "The closing act?" She clarified. "The Greatest Show number, right?"

"Yes." Barnum nodded. "You do know it, right?" He gave Mireille a scrutinizing look, examining her long sleeves and the long skirt to her plainclothes.

"Of course," Mireille said in a high-pitched voice. Her eyes were wide as she stared at Charlie, begging him for help.

Barnum crossed his arms and examined them all. "Would you like me to call in some of the dancers to help guide you through it?" He asked softly.

Mireille relaxed instantly, and Charlie nodded gravely. "Yes, please sir." Fredrick squeaked as he finally managed to clot the blood streaming out of his nose. "We're not used to doing it under scrutiny; you'll have to excuse our nervousness." He tried to rub his red hands on the handkerchief, and then held it in a palm, unsure of whether or not he should hand it back to Barnum. Barnum held out his hand, and a blushing Fredrick placed the bloodied rag in the older man's hand.

"There's a water spigot out back," Barnum advised them. "Run and wash up, and I'll fetch a few of the dancers." He turned and headed back up the stairs. The four older kids came together in a close circle as Emma and Fredrick sprinted to find the water spigot before Barnum came back.

"What are we going to do?" Francis hissed, mostly directing her question at Charlie, the oldest.

"That's not what you should be asking." Adam frowned, standing erect and straight. "How are we here?" His feet shuffled in the sawdust from first, to second, to third and fourth, and finally the fifth position, before shifting back around again. He and Fredrick were trained in ballet and walked with the posture as such. Meanwhile, Francis and Charlie were used to extending their limbs to make them seem larger than life, throwing out their chests, and holding tension in every movement. Acrobats.

"Charlie." Mireille yanked on his arm. Her eyes were wide with panic. "I don't dance. I'm the glorifying entertainment, remember? I open the show and soothe the audiences, so they never see what's coming next."

"You'll have to." Charlie shook his head. "It's not hard. It's just the same routines we've been doing the last few years. Just remember: there's less of us, so we'll need to be loud to have a similar effect." He rubbed his clammy hands on his pants as Emma and Fredrick came sprinting back. Fredrick was soaked to the bone and shivering, but clean aside from a smudge on his shirt.

A sudden thought struck Charlie. "Dear God." He whispered. "What if someone recognizes us?"

"Not recognizes us," Mireille corrected. "The circus is still called the museum. It hasn't been called that since the very, very beginning. We don't exist here. But if anyone comments on how similar we look to, say, Phillip Carlyle-" She gave Charlie a stern look as a vein throbbed in his head. "-things could get messy."

"I think you're safe," Francis said in a somewhat snobbish tone. "Your face is clean. No one will draw the similarities to Lettie Lutz without her famous beard."

"She's slim, too." Adam nodded. "But the rest of us – we all look like someone. If Fredrick or I even stand close to Barnum for too long, people start pointing out things all the time. Too many questions and-" He shrugged helplessly.

"This is insane," Emma whispered, pressing a hand to her head. "What if he only decides to hire some of us?"

"We need to stick together," Mireille said firmly. "As much as possible, until we figure out what is going on." Her dark eyes flickered over Charlie. "But here's a problem; he's going to ask our full names. Two Carlyles, a Lutz and a Wheeler all in the same place will be suspicious. At least the Thompson's are safe – there are lots of those." Adam and Fredrick nodded in agreement.

"Well, maybe Charlie and I can use Grandma's last name. Wasn't it-" Francis started.

"Wait!" Charlie interrupted her. An idea was quickly forming in his head. "I can go by my middle. That's what I'll do. Charlie Mason. That sounds distinguished, doesn't it?" He looked around for approval. "But Francis..." He trailed off, biting his lip. This was his chance to truly sever his ties with his history and begin a life by himself, as Charlie Mason. But if Francis took the same last name as him... Charlie scrambled to come up with a passable reason Francis shouldn't have the same last name as him. "Francis, won't it be suspicious if, since you look so much like Mom and I look so much like Phillip, that we have the same last name? You can go by Hall, Grandma Wheeler's maiden name, and I'll stick with Mason."

Francis's expression grew stormy and hurt. "What?" She asked. "You want to pretend we're not related?"

"Charlie-" Mireille sounded scandalized as she opened her mouth to protest. Adam, Emma, and Fredrick all looked equally uncomfortable.

"Are you ready?" A gruff tone asked from the second floor. The six children snapped their heads up to stare as Barnum descended to the circle with around seven different dancers behind him in their plain clothes. There was the woman in gold, the Russian knife- throwers, the tattooed man, and others. Not Lettie, nor Anne, nor W.D. were among them.

Francis broke off of the group with a stormy expression. She turned a cold shoulder to Charlie and addressed Barnum. "Yes, we are." She proclaimed. "I'll be substituting as ringmaster. Can I borrow a baton?"

The tattooed man and one of the throwers looked to Barnum. Charlie wasn't sure why. Barnum had shared the role of ringmaster equally with Phillip in the early days. It wasn't like it was unique for Barnum to not be leading them through the moves. Barnum's mouth straightened into a line, and then he tossed his cane down towards the sawdust. Francis caught it and planted her feet in the sawdust. "Charlie, Mireille, and Fredrick are going to take stage left in standard positions. Adam and Emma will be on stage right. Can you please come down to where you'd normally be so we can space ourselves accordingly? We haven't exactly had the opportunity to perform in the ring before."

Charlie felt a surge of pride for his little sister's professional attitude before he looked up. The performer's eyes were on him, looking at the wave of his hair and the slope of his spine. He straightened up. They might have known Charlie Carlyle all his life, but Charlie Mason was someone different. He could stand out in his professionalism and in the way that he held himself. Immediately, they looked away, and Charlie knew they'd realized he was someone comfortable in popularity and wealth – just the person he wanted to be seen as.

The performers took their places in staggered windows on the stage. Francis exchanged an uncomfortable look with Mireille and Adam, and Charlie could clearly see why. This was Barnum's original choreography, which had been mostly abandoned and revamped since the museum opened. Panic welled up inside Charlie. He hadn't danced this in at least seven years – since he'd been nine. He'd only seen it occasionally performed by the original members. He closed his eyes and prayed – prayed hard that they remembered it, prayed hard that they'd be good enough to get in.

There was no music. No movement ques other than Francis's baton, which he wouldn't be able to see all the time. Charlie swallowed, and looked at Emma and Adam, across the way. Then, before they could start, he slowly moved out of formation and went to the side of the ring.

"What are you doing, young man?" Barnum barked from up above.

Charlie walked to the stands and found, similar to in the circus tent, ropes bound in figure eights to the posts of the room. Trapeze equipment. He unloosed it and held the end up to his friends. Emma breathed a sigh of relief and left her position to help him unravel it and drag it into the arena. She took it from him since they both knew she was the better trapeze artist. Above them, Barnum stood stone-faced as he watched Emma take a new place on stage. Adam, too, found a second rope and navigated it into place from the ground. Everyone heard the clicks of safeguards locking into place as they pulled the trapeze equipment into place. Emma and Adam stood staggered center from Emma with the ropes coiled around their hands.

"I'll be substituting for Anne Wheeler," Emma announced.

"And I'll stand in for W.D Wheeler." Adam choked.

The performers exchanged looks. One of the throwers shook her head. "Don't bite off more than you can chew."

Charlie frowned. "We've all been trained with trapeze." He explained quickly. Mireille sent him an alarmed look, and Charlie had to quickly backtrack. "We… trained ourselves based on what we saw you guys doing." He said slowly. Barnum's brow furrowed, but he didn't say anything. "And we're quite good," Charlie added. He gave the rope a sharp tug and heard something slip and lock into place above his head. He left the rope in Emma's capable hands and returned to his spot onstage. He nodded to Francis. "On your count." He whispered.

Francis stared at him for a few seconds. He felt like her eyes were boring into his skull and making his hair stand up on end. Then she turned and put her head down, planted her feet, and dug the tip of the baton in at an angle. "Ladies and Gents." She announced in a booming tone that made it seem as if she'd taken on an ethereal state. "This is the moment you've been waiting for."

The background members all leaped in to complete the background noise and Charlie felt himself entering performance mode as he threw everything he had into the dance. Maybe he was rusty. Maybe they did this specific routine once every six months to a year and he himself didn't usually participate. But by god, he had grown up dancing and he would dance himself into a grave before he let them all be thrown out into the streets.

Francis introduced lighting and music cues like a pro, lowering her voice to hit all those reverberating notes just right. "And buried in your bones there's an ache that you can't ignore. It's taking your breath; stealing your mind. And all that was real is left behind…"

Emma and Adam shot into the air spinning so fast Emma's hair whipped around and coiled around her neck as she went. They were good enough that no one could spot the differences to Anne or WD if the two originals weren't performing side-by-side. It was the perks of going up in Barnum's Circus. Up in the air, even in their plainclothes (Or, in Adam's case, his white shirt), they looked like they were made of strength and color.

"Don't fight it, it's coming for you, running at you. It's only this moment, don't care what comes after." Francis doubled back through the ring to present the Russian Knife Throwers and then gestured to where the albino twins usually were, even though they weren't currently present. Charlie saw Barnum pull an impressed face at her memory and skill before, on the same beat, every single member of the cast dropped to the sawdust and broke into dance. He used his legs to pull himself into a crab position before jumping his hands back and forth, and then rolling up so he could stop towards Francis with the others as she pretended to drag her fingers along the brim of her hat perfectly.

Charlie could say a lot about his sister. Aside from how she looked nothing like him and how she fell in love way too easily(he was the same way), he could talk for days about how annoying it was that she only ever wanted to do the role of ringmaster and never wanted to be a back-up dancer. He could go on and on about how she was a horrible cook and a horrible seamstress and complain until he was blue about how she was always correcting his dancing and trapeze. But by god, he could never say his little sister didn't have talent. She had the flare and the technique and the confidence to truly shine in Barnum's circus, and this became evident as she sped up on her feet, dancing around the ring on her toes, drawing Barnum's attention from their dancing, to their acts, to Adam and Emma soaring through the sky. It was incredible.

As they neared the third chorus, Charlie had a horrible thought occur to him. It had always been during the third chorus that Barnum had left the stage to flip roles with Phillip, who would rush in to finish the last part of the dance before dropping his mom into a kiss. Charlie watched Francis and realized she was anxiously looking up to the railing, wondering if she should leave or not. Truth be told, they're never actually done this routine without switching ring masters halfway through, but there wasn't a ringmaster in sight.

Fredrick zoomed past him in formation as Francis paused, gave a wild look around to the other kids, and froze. Charlie immediately dropped out of formation and circled around the stage. She watched him with a hard look but ran off to meet him.

Immediately, they knew there was a mistake. Barnum frowned down on them with pinched lips and a couple of the performers broke character to send each other bewildered looks as Francis handed the baton to Charlie and then rushed to take up his role of back-up dancing. As the performers staggered to the outskirts of the circle, Charlie dashed back in, skidding on the ground in a little 360' circle before popping to his feet. It was a trick he'd been able to do since he was six.

Charlie imagined he was PT Barnum, rich enough to buy his wife and daughters whatever they wanted, to bring Jenny Lind to America and to create a business that literally no one got tired of. He imagined he was wealthy and important, and notable, and his chest swelled with his imagined pride. He threw the baton out and put every muscle he had behind his dancing. No matter that he'd finished a show not even an hour ago. No matter that he had literally no idea what was going on or how he got here. He was here to prove himself.

'Look at me,' he demanded an imaginary crowd in his thoughts. 'Watch what I can do. Look at how important I am. I'm going to prove just what I can be, and no one will ever judge me for being Anne and Phillip's son again.'

They struck endpose, with Adam and Emma even tangling themselves up in the ropes to do a complicated in-air pose. Charlie caught Mireille's hand just like Phillip always caught Anne's, and he spun her into his arms. She couldn't stop a smile and leaned up to kiss his cheek before the rest of the performers dropped their pose and stretched their arms out a bit.

"Who!" The tattooed man exhaled. "I don't think we've practiced that hard since we first learned that routine."

"No kidding." The eldest albino twin smiled. "You kids sure have talent." She looked up to Barnum. "What do you think, Barnum?" She called.

Barnum nodded and looked away with a bright smile before he schooled his features. "Not bad!" He called. He hardened his face a little and squinted into the midst. "You, the darker girl who was the ringmaster, what's your name?" He called.

Francis took a few steps forward. Her expression had gone dark again. She glanced at Charlie, who nodded encouragingly. This only seemed to make her madder, though Charlie didn't understand why. It would only be more suspicious if they had different skin tones and the same last names. It was better to not be related, and that way he would be able to make up whatever backstory he wanted. He could be the orphan son of two English merchants who had been taken in by his uncle and raised until his uncle had passed away and he'd been forced to live on the streets. Or he could be from the south, brought north by the factory rush. The possibilities were endless.

"Francis Harper Hall," Francis announced, dejectedly. "You can call me Francis or Fran."

"Francis." Barnum decided. "What were you doing, leaving in the middle of the show?"

Francis seemed stunned by the question. She took a half-step back and glanced nervously over her shoulder. Mireille, Adam, Emma, and Fredrick were all equally stunned by this question. They couldn't remember a single time they hadn't switched ringmasters during chorus three. But something told Charlie they'd misinterpreted something. He looked up to Barnum and tried to adopt a bit of a distinguished accent as he spoke. "I know the last part a tad better than her, so I thought I'd step in and give her time to show her dancing skills." He announced.

"Hmm." Barnum huffed aloud. "Well, I hope you can dance the dance as well as all of your friends. I don't share the role of ringmaster with anyone."

Anyone? Charlie squinted in confusion. "What about Phillip Carlyle?" Francis blurted out. Charlie forced himself to remain indifferent to the name.

It was suddenly Barnum's turn to look confused. "Who?" He asked.

Francis shrunk back in complete shock. "Phillip Carlyle?" She asked, looking around at all the performers. They all exchanged confused looks. Charlie heard the woman in gold muttering: "You know who they're talking about?"

Phillip Carlyle, apparently, didn't exist.

A surge of relief ran through Charlie. Not only was he free of his last name and his brothers and sisters, but he also didn't even have to worry about anyone recognizing him as Phillip's son. He didn't look anything like his mom anyways, so this meant that he was completely safe. "Never mind." He blurted out. "What did you think? Are we any good?"

Barnum stroked his chin and considered them all. He pointed into the crowd again. "You, white girl with the long dress. Who are you?"

It was Mireille. She stepped forward, shaking a little but holding herself steady. "I'm Mireille Giovanna." She introduced.

Upon hearing her middle name, Barnum let out a little exhale. "That's a mouthful." He decided. "Mireille, can you do trapeze?"

Mireille's lip wobbled a little, but she held firm and locked eyes with Barnum. "No, sir. I wasn't trained like they were." Mostly because Mireille preferred being on the ground where she could act like a demolition team striking through anything. She didn't like being in the air, at the mercy of gravity and momentum. She could only do basic tricks, and never anything like the Carlyle and Wheeler kids could.

"Your dancing is behind everyone else's," Barnum said flatly. "So either you have a lot of catching up to do or I can't take you on as a performer."

"She can catch up!" Charlie interrupted quickly. "And besides, she's got lots of other talents too!"

"Charlie!" Mireille hissed, sending a scathing glare his way. He realized his mistake immediately. Assuming Lettie Lutz was with the circus and wasn't gone like Phillip was, she definitely didn't know she had a daughter. Meaning she definitely wasn't fending Barnum's greedy claws off of Mireille. And if this was before Jenny Lind had ever come over to America, then Barnum was still looking for a way to propel himself to the top dogs. Mireille didn't want to become his next victim.

But it was too late. "Like what?" Barnum demanded. Mireille looked up and squared her shoulders like a queen. She swept her beautiful thick hair over her shoulders and announced: "I write songs, I choreograph dances, and I can apply makeup and fix costumes like a pro."

"Hmm." Barnum huffed aloud again. He considered her words even further. "I still want you to catch up." He told her finally. "But I could use someone like you to teach everyone how to apply things and help with things get broken. Anne and Lettie are fantastic, but we need all the extra hands we can get."

And that settled it. Anne Wheeler and Lettie Lutz were definitely real people, wherever they were. Which was probably a very good thing to have confirmed, considering they'd announced Emma and Adam as WD and Anne substitutes.

"What numbers don't you know?" Barnum asked. He began to descend the stairs as he spoke.

The kids exchanged looks. So many new songs had been written in the past decade, like Sarah Wheeler's songs and then the ones they'd written. How were they supposed to know which ones existed here already or not? "We know all of them," Francis announced.

"So you know Come Alive and Cheer, Boys, Cheer?" Barnum asked.

"Yes," Charlie answered for the group, firmly. Barnum's eyes hovered on his in a somewhat distasteful way.

"What about Finnegan's Wake and Wait for the Wagon?" Barnum asked.

"We know all of them," Charlie repeated, even firmer this time.

"We even know This is Me and From Now On!" Adam piped up from behind Francis. Everyone turned around and cast him a few strange looks.

Barnum crinkled his nose. "I've never heard of those songs." He proclaimed. The blood drained out of Adam's face as Charlie's mind went into overdrive.

"Perchance…" He started slowly. "Have you ever heard of Jenny Lind?"

Barnum furrowed his brow. "I can't say I have." He admitted. "Is she a dancer?"

"Oh, just a singer," Mireille said in a lightheaded tone. "Those songs are related to her. Our bad. But yes, we know all of the circus's songs."

They were way far into the past. This was before Jenny Lind, before the renaming of the circus, before PT Barnum's most favorite songs. This was a world where Phillip Carlyle apparently didn't exist, where no one had any children yet and where some of the songs they knew either hadn't been written or had never been shared with the public.

"Hmm," Barnum said, again. "Well, I think that you're good enough." He turned to the Woman in Gold. "Martha, could you please escort Mireille, Francis and-" He paused to snap his fingers at Emma.

"Oh, I'm Emma Wh-" She cut herself off quickly, glancing around at her friends for help.

"Will Davis." Mireille supplied hastily. "Emma Will Davis. And these two young men are Adam and Fredrick Thompson." She gestured to the last two boys as they shifted their feet in a sloppily-concealed panic.

"No middle names?" Barnum asked with a raised eyebrow. Charlie let out an exhale. Their names were actually Adam Phineas and Fredrick Taylor, but they couldn't exactly use PT Barnum's names right smack in the middle of their own when they looked like younger copies of him, could they?

"No, sir." Adam stuttered. "Just Adam and Fredrick."

"Lovely." Barnum decided. "Martha, please take Mireille, Francis, and Emma to Lettie and ask her to help them settle in on the block. Constantine, could you take these young men to Daniel and have him help them. I'll have O'Malley add them to payroll."

Charlie looked over at Mireille. They were being separated, and far sooner than they would have liked. They had no time to come up with a story, and no way of knowing where they'd end up since the building was already so different from the tents. Charlie swallowed and put his head down as Barnum continued talking.

"And kids, I don't allow trespassers and I don't always treat them so kindly. Remember that next time you want to hang around somewhere hours after showtime." Barnum suddenly seized Charlie's shoulder and turned him around. "Look, boy, you're the oldest, yes?" He asked.

"Yes," Charlie answered, trying his best not to wilt under Barnum's imposing stare. Barnum carefully held a finger up in Charlie's face.

"I'm not sure how you know that song, but I'm mighty interested in hearing whatever story you come up with," Barnum told him in a lowered tone. Charlie swallowed. He was, of course, talking about A Million Dreams. Charlie had no idea what kind of story he could come up with on such short notice.

"Go on then!" Barnum waved. He took his cane back from Charlie and walked to put away the ropes. Francis and Emma followed Martha, the woman in gold, up the stairs as Mireille hovered near the base of the stairs. Charlie walked over, and they shared a quick kiss.

"Meet you here later?" Mireille whispered.

"Probably be best to avoid the ring for a while." Charlie murmured. "I'll try and come find you. Don't hate me if I can't, though."

Mireille nodded. She gathered up her heavy skirts and headed up the stairs. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. Thank god, they weren't going on the streets.

#the greatest showman #future #time travel #phillip carlyle #anne wheeler #phineas taylor barnum #barnum #circus #lettie lutz #trapeze #fanfic #racism

5 notes · View notes

sadwizardjessi · 7 years

Text

Space Grumps inspired fic

Yeah. I’m trash. And I’m obsessed with @dannyaviclan damn Space Grumps au right now. Seriously man, you all should go read it!! It’s stupid good :D SO anyhow, here’s a fic I wrote from it. Sorry if anything is odd or not right with the au. I tried to keep it all in line, but of course we all have different views on ideas so. Here’s mine :)

So without further adieu, here we go! Yeh.

Brian had really fucked him over this time.

Dan used a hand to shield against one of the blinding suns of this planet, squinting to battle the other. From what he could make out, desert went on for miles, stretching as far as the eye can see. Dan kicked at the red dust below his feet, not at all satisfied as it spun up into the air, lazily drifting back down into the dry soil.

To be perfectly honest, Dan wasn’t even sure what had happened.

One moment he and Brian were laughing at something fucking stupid, couldn’t even recall what it was at this point, the next Brian was silent, pulling out a red gem and shoving it into Dan’s hands, a wild look in his eyes. Through their telepathic link he had said, “Don’t let anyone catch you with this. I’ll be back soon.” Before forcefully shoving Dan into the transporter.

Said transporter wasn’t really meant for transporting live organisms any greater size than a goat…. Though Dan supposed, there probably weren’t goats in the future. At least not the ones he was used to seeing.

So after e had rematerialised on the odd planet's surface, jewel in hand, Dan had spent the next hour shouting at the sky for Brian to come back. After receiving no answer, Dan put away the gem in one of his many pockets and decided to walk. Eventually he’ll find civilization, right? Brian wouldn’t just abandon him for no reason, and on a deserted planet no less. He knew that because of Dan’s situation, he’d be the last person you’d want to leave alone on an alien planet and no way of contacting the one person he’d trusted since coming to the future.

There was no telling really with how long he walked. It could’ve been hours, it could’ve been days, he had no idea how the time cycle worked here after all. But what he did know was his throat burned from lack of supplement and his stomach growled in anger. Also Dan hadn’t managed to see one single being, human or otherwise, since he’d arrived here. He was pretty sure he was going to die.

At least that was until Dan saw a large and intimidating ship fly overhead, before touching the planet's surface not a few yards away, the force from the jet engines nearly knocking Dan over as the wind kicked up sand in his hair and eyes. Dan had to look away just so he could not breath the stuff in.

From what he could see, three men came off the ship, discussing something intensely before looking in Dan’s direction. Brian’s words of caution rang in his mind.

“Don’t let anyone catch you with this.”

So Dan ran. And he was pretty sure the creatures ran too upon noticing Dan’s hasty escape.

Already out of breath, Dan tried to formulate a plan. On one hand he could just toss the damn jewel at them. They had to be after that, right? Or maybe they just happened to see this random fucking person wandering an empty planet and thought ‘hey let’s scare the shit out of him’. Then Dan up and runs, making them suspicious.

He shook his head. No. Something in his gut told him this had to do with the jewel that was put into his possession.

ANd that’s when he saw it. A town. A real fucking town. Unless of course his mind was playing tricks, but Dan really hoped not, for he could hear the cascade of boots drawing closer. If he was slowing down or they were speeding up, he did not know.

And finally, just as a skyline of buildings were being materialised in a much more reachable distance. Dan could just make out a- hover bike?- As something caught on Dan’s foot, making him fall to the ground harshly, red sand going up his orifices and causing Dan to freeze up with a violent cough, giving his pursuers the time they needed to catch up to him.

Glancing down at what he had hit, Dan gasped at what looked like a… wooden post? One that had obviously been cut down though. He didn’t have time to ponder the odd placement of it though as he was being kicked over to lay on his back, three disgusting beings hovering over him, greed and hunger in their beady eyes.

Dan had to fight the urge to gag at the disgusting smell the men were radiating. ‘Where they even men, though?’ Dan thought to himself. They could just as easily be women, what with the black/grey wrinkled skin, and hunched over backs, and three arms, all wielding claws and what Dan could only assume to be a gun. More than anything, Dan wished Brian was here. If not to save him, to at least identify what kind of beasts these were so Dan would at least have something to go on.

They all clacked in unison, pincers hidden by black lips, clicking and hissing into what Dan could only assume to be words. He looked confused between the three, trying to convey his issue with their language without coming across as rude.

Then one pressed what appeared to be a pen against his neck, Dan flinching from it but as a grotesque hand held him against it, there wasn’t much Dan could do.

A sharp pain shot into his neck up to his head, but he wasn’t focused on that. His attention was solely on the fact that suddenly, he could understand them. It wasn’t a very comforting conversation though.

“-kill him already! We know he has the gem!”

“Oh shut up already, I shot the injection, he can hear you now!”

One of them did what Dan thought to be a scowl, glaring down at the human laying before them. “Uhh… yeah. Hello. What exactly did you do to me?” Dan asked, uneasily, waving a hand but instantly dropping it at the death glare he received.

One spit on Dan’s leg, where it sizzled slightly, not exactly burning, but not very pleasant either.

“Shut up, human, we know you have it!”

Feigning ignorance, Dan was suddenly sure the jewel was what they were after. “What!?” He exclaimed, trying to subtly crawl backwards, but they saw right through him and immediately shot at the ground behind him, causing Dan to freeze in place.

“Don’t play coy, boy. Just hand over the jewel, and we won’t hurt you.”

Dan remained silent, eyes frantically looking for an escape. He thought he’d seen some dust swirl oddly, as if around a human form, but he didn’t think too much on it as suddenly a gun was being pointed between his eyes, a sickening grin behind it on the wielder.

“Hmph, very well. We’ll just have to pry it from your cold, dead hands!”

Though the line was an obvious cliche, Dan felt true fear spike through his chest, his eyes squeezing shut tightly, body tense and trembling. WHy the fuck did Brian give him this stupid thing? Why did he just drop him off on some unknown planet, no help, no life, just danger and soon death. Were these people chasing Brian? Was Dan some form of distraction? Was that all he was to Brian? Dan didn’t want to make assumptions on his best friend, but what else could he gather from this? Sure he could just hand over the gem and run, but Dan was almost certain they’d shoot him regardless, no point in dying a coward. Dan cringed at himself as tears arose. But who could blame him, wanting to cry in his final moments.

Suddenly three shots rang out in the dry, empty desert, making Dan jump and whimper at the loud noise.

But no pain came. Only the sound of bodies dropping, something wet dashing his cheek, as a shadow passed over his closed eyelids. With great hesitance, Dan slowly opened one eye, afraid to see what else was about to befall him, but instead of the three disgusting aliens, he was met with a cocky grin full of sharp teeth, and a dull pink uniform, dotted slightly with blood.

The man put a hand on his hip, gun in the air, smoke still rising from the warm barrel. “What’s a human like yourself doing in a place like this, hm?”

Dan gasped at the tail that swished back and forth behind the man, glancing up nervously at those sharpened teeth and reptilian like pupils,but… this guy did technically, just save Dan. And for that he was grateful, if not confused. He looked back at the bodies, stomach seizing slightly. Blood and death tended to make him queasy. “Are you going to try and kill me too?” Dan asked dully. Brian had left him here to die after all.

The creature’s eyes widened slightly, gun hand falling as he shifted his stance, from cocky to surprised and then finally guilt. “Wha- no! I just- ugh sorry. I was trying to look cool.”

A gloved hand was extended in Dan’s direction, that ferocious smile turning somewhat more friendlier and closed lipped. “I’m Captain Arin Hanson. I pilot the star craft, Starbomb. But you can just call me Arin, okay? And you are?”

Dan eyed the suspiciously sharp looking glove, but… this was the future. And space. Maybe it was normal to have sharp teeth and a tail on some planets?

Reluctantly, Dan took the hand, gasping slightly when he was easily pulled up. “I uh. Hi. I’m Dan. Avidan. People usually call me Danny. I uh I don’t pilot anything,” he said with a slight chuckle, feeling the gem’s weight lessen slightly as he felt he was no longer being hunted for it. A smirk appeared on his lips though and suddenly he couldn’t help himself. “I help navigate on the Starship Enterprise.”

Arin’s grin twisted up into a grin of amusement, arms crossing after replacing his weapon. “I watch star trek, man. Try again.”

“They have Star Trek in the future!?” Dan exclaimed without thinking. Then followed by a wince. He cleared his throat, trying to cover up what he had unknowingly revealed. “Uhh. Sorry. My uhh, my ship flew off. Without me,” Dan said nervously, kicking at the dust and looking away. He wasn’t sure what to reveal and what not to reveal. It didn’t seem like this guy was after the gem, but Brian had said- You know what. No! Fuck Brian! Dan crossed his arms in a huff, suddenly not really caring what Brian had warned him. He’d left him on a new planet, knowing that Dan didn’t know jack shit about space other than the few things he’d bothered to explain to him since bringing him here. “My prick of a best friend handed me some stupid fucking gem and left me here, saying he’d ‘be back soon’. Whatever the fuck that could mean.”

A laugh truly like no other, Arin clapped Dan on the shoulder, making the thinner man jump slightly. “Damn, that sucks hella balls. Mind if I see that gem for a second though?” Dan eyed the- Dinosaur! That’s it. He looks like a Dinosaur/human/Lizard thing- warily, not sure if he should.

“Dude, come on, look. I’ll even let you hold my gun, okay?”

At the offer, Dan agreed, though only pulling out the gem after he held possession of the gun. Little did he know, Arin could easily take him down before Dan even raised his arm to aim.

Tossing the gem over in gloved hands, Arin looked at Dan in confusion. “Uhh, Dan? You know this jewel is fake, right?”

“What!?” Dan put the gun back in Arin’s holster, the sudden contact making Arin jump slightly, giving Dan the chance to snatch the gem back, examining it in the light. “How can you tell!”

With a pointed finger, Arin pointed to a scratch on the side, a wry grin in place. “See that right there? A real gem wouldn’t scratch like that. That and… well I can smell the chemicals that went into faking it.”

“Sonofabitch!” Dan threw the thing on the ground in a rare spark of anger, stress and fear and betrayal coursing through him. Arin placed a hand on Dan’s shoulders, seeing the human deflate suddenly, never one to really hold onto anger for very long. “Now what am I gonna do…?” Dan asked sadly. He surely couldn’t just wait here until Brian returns. Who knew when that would be. And besides, he didn’t have any money. Already his throat and stomach were assaulting him from all directions, begging for nourishment.

As if on cue, Dan’s stomach gave a loud noise, Dan groaning and covering it in shame.

Biting his lip, as if in thought, Arin opened his mouth, only to be interrupted by a blue beeping on a device that greatly resembled an old flip phone in Dan’s opinion. With an irritated sigh, Arin pulled up the device, flipping it open, wondering in quiet amusement, just what was so shocking about the blue hologram of his ship’s AI that caused the man to gasp and stare disbelievingly.

“Captain,” the hologram said, a smile in place. “All supplements have been procured on The Starbomb. All crew members have returned without fail. We await your arrival to take off.”

Glancing between the AI and the human before him, eyes still widened comically in wonder, hands held over a hungry belly.

“Hey Dan?”

Dan looked up at his savior in confusion, one scarred eyebrow raised. “Yeah, Arin?”

“How would you feel about joining my crew while in search of your friend? We’ll provide you with free food and shelter so long as you’re with us.”

Dan’s face went through an array of emotions, until settling on gratitude, a smile widening on his face. “You had me at free food, honestly.”

Arin laughed, clasping Dan’s hand and nodding down at Barry once more. “Barry! You heard the man, make preparations for one more Bomber to join our recruits! And Dan, I must say. Welcome aboard the Starbomb. Glad to have you on hand.”

32 notes · View notes