Hecate Alptraum's Story

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Nocturnal as Augustus was - and had always been - it came as no surprise that by the time morning rolled around that day, he felt an almost unbearable force weighing upon his eyelids, dulling his senses and ridding him of his energy; fatigue was an interested thing, he reflected. Such a stark contrast to the previous night, when he had spent hours on end sat upon his own personal cart. His eyes had been drawn upwards, to the dark abyss that was the night sky, and the stars' pathetic attempts to bring forth light. Augustus was aware, it seemed, that it was not the darkness he loved the most about night, but the moon itself. More beautiful than the sun in many ways, and distinctly peaceful on the whole. Yes. It has to be the moon. He had sat there for longer than he could hope to keep track of, allowing the cacophony of sounds - that were as a direct result of the train trundling along at its usually slow pace - to fade into the buzz of the night, for it was silence that he hated the most. However, when the moon had begun to lower itself, and the sun threatened to rise behind him, he had thrown himself through the open window of his cart, grumbling quietly to himself. He never seemed to have enough time with his precious moon. The sun was always too greedy for his attention, which - of course - he was not willing to provide.

Augustus allowed his entire weight to fall onto the bed, fidgeting only to tangle himself in a mess of bed sheets. Thin as they were, they provided him with enough warmth that he might be able to drift into a peaceful slumber. This was made into a rather difficult task as the carts were being dragged over thickets of dry grass and bumpy terrain. There were a few moments where Augustus doubted he was even on his own bed, but instead an inch in the air; this became painfully evident as his face smashed into the equally bumpy mattress, and a revealed spring threatened to pierce his eyeball. Practically hissing at this, he sat himself up on his bed, deciding that he probably wouldn't be able to sleep as well until they arrived. Noticing that the sunlight had begun to spill through the open window, Augustus drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his thick arms around them, burrowing his head into the darkness created by his arms. I hope we settle camp soon, he thought, an audible sigh working its way through the subtle gap between his lips. I need sleep.

It wasn't until Augustus became aware of a familiar voice shouting down to the carts that he finally dragged his heavily-fatigued gaze to the window once again. It was still bright out, but obedient was he in his devotion to Elsa, and so he peeled his eyelids back up and shifted his legs so that his feet were pressed firm against the dirty, wooden floor of his personal cart. "Euf," was the only sound that escaped him then, which was later accompanied by a grunt of effort as he applied pressure to his arms and lifted his behind off the bed. Blinking a few more times, he stretched out his long limbs, mouth parting wide as a drawn-out yawn filled the silence of his own cart, before he turned towards the case that held his clothes. Should probably get dressed, he mused, before snorting his amusement aloud. It wouldn't do to go outside practically naked. Shaking his head with in a few light, subtle movements, he forced his legs to carry his weight forward. His arms reached for the case, popping the hatch and allowing it to swing open. The outfit he chose consisted most notably of a red and grey checked shirt and plain black jeans; the shirt wasn't tucked in and his jeans dragged against the ground as he walked out of his cart, but it did well enough for him so he wasn't too fussed.

Augustus hesitated for a few moments as his eyes scanned the surrounding area, nose crinkling in dissatisfaction, before he turned back to his cart and jumped back inside only to grab the gear he needed for the setting up of his tent. He had it packed neatly within a duffel bag to the right of the entrance, on the opposite site to his clothes case, leaning up against the wall. Next to it sat a chest-like box, in which it held most of the equipment he might need. Mainly, this consisted of a cage (to be set up before the performance) and such. He began setting this up while the others began theirs, but his attention was drawn from his 'building' as the sounds of cars skidding up filled his sensitive ears. Wincing, he turned to face them as they pulled up near to Elsa. His expression changed within a matter of seconds, from relatively passive to wary. He tensed his musculature, but made no real move towards them. It was not his place to be involved in Elsa's affairs, he knew, but he was watching closely enough that he might be able to jump in if things went south. And, luckily for him, nothing did. The police left without much of a fuss, though they had been complaining about a murder or something of the like. Augustus needn't have worried; they'd only just arrived, after all.

He finished setting up his tent rather quickly after that, working his muscles to their absolute best as he hammered posts in to keep the tent in place, and then dragged his cases over to place them within. When he was done, he stepped out and grasped his own hands, flicking dirt away from them in the process, before he allowed himself the chance to look over their setup. Everyone had done a good job, he thought. Or, at least, nothing looked like it might fall and crush his skull as he walked past. That was good enough for him. However, now that all the work seemed to be done - on his end - there came the realisation that he had two options; socialise, or rehearse. The second would most likely earn him some goodie points with Miss Elsa, he reckoned, but the first seemed much more fun. And so, with a crooked grin settling upon his lips and revealing his two over-sized canines, he set off, hoping to find someone with whom he could have a relatively decent conversation. Although, the only two people he had seen wandering about so far were Matthaus and Hecate, and a rather odd looking clown he'd never seen before. Shrugging his shoulders, he continued his walk throughout the camp, allowing his gaze to analyse the structures around him, expression hinting at an almost gentle sense of curiosity.

It had been a long while before he came to a stop, having spotted Krista, or more commonly known as the human pincushion. It was interesting, he thought, that someone could go their entire life without feeling pain. He envied her, in some sense, but pitied her in others. Not having a sense of pain rids a person of their physical awareness, so that they don't know when to stop doing something. Augustus shook his head slightly. No. I don't envy her at all. Painting a smile upon his features, even though he knew it might not be well-received, he took it upon himself to approach her. He kept a reasonable distance away, due to her usually blunt nature. He didn't exactly want to be on the receiving end of a flurry of insults, truth be told. Regardless, he lifted his arm and gestured a hesitant wave. "Hey, Krista," he greeted. "Have a nice journey?" His voice was unusually gentle as he spoke.

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Having pulled the black, stretchy ring from his emaciated wrist, his other hand grasping his hair at its base at a high point on his head, he quickly tied and double tied his now long and golden tail. Florida had always been hot, which was something Matthaus never liked. Don't get it wrong, he liked it much better than the cold, because the cold made it harder on him when he stretched than the heat did, but he didn't have to enjoy the heat itself just because he hated the cold. Everyone got all sweaty in the heat, and although that doesn't bother him directly, the reaction it got is what did. Everyone always moaned and groaned all day and complained about the smell. Maybe not the circus itself, but there is always, and he meant always, is at the very least thirty different customers who complain.

Those who have been around in the Cabinet even half as long as Matthaus has had long gotten used to the stick of the perspiration and the stench of raised arms, for they all sweat even in the cold at times. It just got to the contortionist when those who watched had the gull to bitch about it. Those salty sardines who always packed every show (except maybe a few recent acts) never have seen a hard days work in their lives. And better yet, they pay good money to walk around in the sun all day, which one should get used too anyway since it's good for you, and they sit shoulder to shoulder to watch even warmer performers doing outrageously hot acts, sometimes with fire, and yet they still blame it on global warming and nature's revenge. If they can't even stand to sit in a tent for a few hours without melting, then why would they come in the first place? Things like that boil his water.

As well as strangers on the grounds.

Matthaus knew he had a crown too small for his head. Everyone did, or so he hoped. It helped keep his ego inflated after all. What good is one if it's not huge? As useful as an infected lab rat. But ego didn't mean his lens was any different. Paul thought the clown was strange too. Good. He wasn't the only one this time.

"Making us laugh
And banish that frown,
The simple duties
Of a clown." Matthaus glared over his shoulder, not too much unlike his reaction to Paul. He turned to Paul as if this was the first time he's stated the fact. "I don't like clowns."

But the day is still at hand and Paul didn't seem to get his joke. Good thing he didn't like clowns.

"No Paully, not your arms." Matthaus grinned, erasing any hint of a joke from his tone. But knowing Matthaus, he always quickly drew it back,"I was talking about your crap." He laughed, flinching comically at the nudge. The blonde's hand raised and placed over the tingling skin, his lower lip perching out in a bulbous fashion. "Ow. Some thanks." The lost stray look hardly worked on the eyes who has seen is more than it bargained for, but maybe that's what made it funny. And it was the humor in the sarcastic glance that made him laugh yet again, gently shoving the tall glass of nails back.

But back to the task at hand. The faster they all can get practicing the more money they'll make. And the more fun it will be. So Julian followed behind Paul with his head high, his discoloured eyes falling on the manikin girl along the way. The porcelain frame was admirable among any sane mind, it didn't matter what gender you were. If animals were intelligent, then it wouldn't even matter what species either. But since animals didn't have half a brain to admire beauty even if they bit into it, Matthaus had the sight all to himself and to enjoy it. Or so he always thought. She was, in technicality, Elsa's property, but the poor doll was no property at all. She was a magnificent display of personality and life, and he tried desperately to make the most of every moment he had with the walking perfection he could.

She was always quite though. The poor dear wasn't even heard by any pair of ears besides his, and that was only because he was listening. It also helped that he had learned to read lips over the decade plus he's been in this mystery box. Paul apologized for not having noticed her offer, but Matthaus tried to assure the poor figurine by waving with his fingers. They briefly reached his lips in which he blew the light kiss off with a soft breath, and it floated to the air in her direction. She then went off to do good somewhere else. The little do gooder.

"Looks good, Paully." Matthaus smiled at the open space. As Matthaus prepared to get the tent up, his ears tuned in on his instructions, not that he particularly needed it. It was just polite, he guessed. "Alright, let's get this bad boy up then." He lugged the hammer on his shoulder, setting up the first stake. He then started pitching the tent with the seal, hammering the stakes in and getting the tent ready to get the main post up.

In hardly any time at all, the tent was put up and ready for Paul's sleepy eyes. But now that it was, it had to wait until nightfall, because both their eyes were awake in the sun. Set up was usually the time of practice and casual conversation, usually while one practiced. There normally wasn't a whole lot of time between set up and the show, and never nearly enough time as Matthaus would like. But if Paul wanted to do something then he supposed he could spare a few moments. His cornblue eyes flickered around.

The first thing he came across was their gentle and clumsy giant, in which he responded with a smile and downwards chromatic scaled whistle. Next he saw Hecate with the clown he told off, and with the poor Aletea rushing away. "I don't like clowns. " He repeated. "Come, just for a second Paul." He waved a finger as he himself walked nimbly on over to the walking doll.

"Miss Applegate." He called, placing his hand on the furthest shoulder from him. He spoke in his signature, corrective manner that sounded more like satirical sarcasm than anything. "What have I told you about dangerous crowds?" The irony is that he never recalled calling clowns a dangerous crowd at all. He's stated he never liked them, but the general terms of crowds never seemed to come up. But speaking of things he's never spoken of as if he speaks of yesterday was yet another abnormality about him. Which was, indeed, normal.

"Beware those quick to praise
for they need praise in return.
Beneath what seems a benevolent disguise
Perhaps is concealed a menacing surprise."

He loved it when two poems can come together like that. He's always loved Charles Bukowski, but his poems go so well with others to make a point. But Matthaus gestured to the blood stained rose as he spoke, however, not touching it for the sake that it might, heaven forbid, mean something to her.

Gifts from clowns are hardly gifts at all, but a slapstick waiting to happen.