Description

Krista Diane Grande

The Human Pincushion.

Disclaimer, I do not own the picture and am not the model, if asked I will remove.

The Basics.

Name: Krista
Age: 23
Gender:Female
Height:5'5"
Weight: 115lbs

Physical Description.
Krista is of medium height and a little bit on the scrawny side, at a height of five five and a weight of 115lbs. The most shocking thing about this pale, dark hair and eyed girl is that she is covered in scares. Due to a rare neurological disorder, Krista does not feel pain and, due to her job in the freak show as a side act, she is always sticking something through her skin ad stretching it. This has led to the scaring along most of her body.

Since most of her act requires her piercing through, tearing out, fish hooking, or various other things to her body, she has decided to keep a few piercings permanently so as to give the patrons a 'taste' of what they will later see. Most visible are the six hoops through her lips, which she sometimes sews shot. She may also, at any time, add or subtract from these, placing fishhooks through the skin on her cheekbones, barbell piercings through her eyebrows or even pieces of glass on her arms during showtime.

Due to her act she is not usually seen wearing a lot of clothing because she wants to expose her skin - and what she can do with it. As such she generally has a middrift revealing blouse and a pair of balloon shorts in complimentary colors. She does not wear white.

Personality
Krista can be seen as standoffish when it comes to strangers and friends along. The woman is blunt and says what is on her mind, even when it is considered rude. Since she cannot feel pain she thinks that everyone else is, in essence, faking it.

Despite this she is also very cautious, though one would not know it considering her act. Her neurological disorder can make simple things – like taking a bath - a large feet because she can seriously injure herself and never realize it. This is something as small as getting a burn, or as large as breaking several bones.

History
Krista has always been different, and has always known about it. When she was younger her parents tried their best to care for her but eventually the strain of it – of her – broke their marriage and their home. In her teens Krista ran away and joined the Freak Show, somewhere where her talents could be used and make her money- without causing stress to anyone else.
She has not looked back sense.

So begins...

Krista Diane Grande's Story

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Setting

Jupiter, Florida

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#2015-05-18 21:29:36, as written by Saken

Krista’s drab trailer lurched to a stop, marking the end of the circus’s journey to Jupiter, Florida. The woman, otherwise known as the Human Pincushion, peered down at the small glass of alcohol that had a few wickedly sharp, curved fish hooks soaking in it. She knew that the moment she managed to unpack and unfold her small tent, where her act would take place, that Elsa would be on them to start practicing – as if it took a large amount of skill to sink metal through her skin and pierce her skin and pluck the pieces out.

For some reason people seemed to be fascinated by how she could deal with the metal sinking into her flesh. They loved to watch her pull the metal free, the splash of crimson that would then flow from the open wounds. They’d wince in pain each time she’d pluck one out, or gasp in astonishment simply upon seeing her face when she had her glittering hoops and barbells in. A lot of the time the people acted as if they could feel the pain of the instruments they used – which would be pretty hilarious, considering that she didn’t feel it.

Giving her head a quick shake, Krista stepped out of her trailer just in time to catch a few snippets of conversation.

“Police…”
“Murder?!”
“FREAKS!”

There was a tension in the air, already. It seemed that wherever the circus went the ‘normals’ felt it was necessary to start something with the group. They’d sneer at them in the daylight but come nighttime they’d flock to the circus, wanting to see the strange people, the wolf-boy. The irony was hilarious, how much they craved to see those who were different, even as they feared those differences.

Still, the word, Murder, worried Krista, the trouble that was going to come to the circus would affect her family, and since she didn’t know the full story she would have to seek out someone who had not been lingering in their trailer when the police came around…

Besides, it wasn’t as if she particularly had to practice. She felt no pain. All she’d need to do before her performance is dress up, add a little bit of flair, and stick a few sharp instruments through her skin. No big deal for the woman who couldn’t feel any pain.

Setting

Jupiter, Florida

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#2015-05-20 13:17:01, as written by Fable

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.

Setting

Jupiter, Florida

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#2015-06-02 21:31:24, as written by blvkmvgic

Atop a bobbing and jumping trunk sat a girl. Surely from how she sat, she couldn’t be more than five feet tall. No older than sixteen. The apples of her cheeks were an innocent flush of pink. Her eyes were dark and circular, soulful with the evercoming curiosity and mystery of a doll’s. On this particular day, the right side of her ample tresses were Prussian blue, while the other side was as dark as her gaze. Coan silk fashioned into a lavender bow was pinned slightly to the left of her head. Her small feet kicked above the floorboards of a train car that progressed on large pin wheels, adorned in matching Coan slippers. Belted, a blouse and skirt accentuated what waist she did have. If not for the slight curve of a womanly figure, she could pass for thirteen easily. A small gap in her front teeth showed behind parted lips. Her expression was nothingness.

Dusky eyelashes batted as all gravity ceased to exist, the queue of luggage and vehicles halting. The tired sound of a poorly tuned accordion drew to a close. It didn’t take much for Aletea’s small frame to go flying from the trunk - it following, and nearly crushing her. She scrabbled for a moment to evade danger, pulling herself toward the extremity of the oversized handcart. When she landed on the dry earth, Jupiter’s dust rose from the ground and enveloped her feet. She could hear Elsa’s vernacular in the distance.

This site was truly a sight. Though the majority of its acres were dictated by dry sand and dirt, it was quite the setting. Elsa would have a field day with it. There was so much space - so much more room for isolated acts. Or would she go for that? Elsa had trouble giving anyone their own act entirely, or letting them run a tent or stand alone. Aletea glanced around. Off to one side there were woods. Cattails hemmed the edge of a sort of reservoir off to the other, whose water was miraculously blue and clear. Arums reached toward the small waves created by a gentle summery breeze. Aletea made a mental note of their location. Fancied making wild bouquets, sometimes sold them if Elsa suggested and endorsed it. After all, the cabinet could use all the revenue they could get. One way or the other.

The petite girl wasted no time after watching the performers disperse. In less than a half hour the big top was up, then Elsa’s regal and delicate tent. Soon the grand entrance was assembled and as daunting yet, inviting as ever. Aletea actually liked the idea of the entryway, masquerading as a giant devil’s head, a portal into an unknown world. She was four steps out and hanging a lantern jar when a brief siren blared, and officers of Jupiter’s quiet little town braked hard and erupted from their cars.

Instinctively Aletea backed away, elfin feet quavering. She hadn’t realized until Elsa barked somehow quietly, that she’d stumbled into the circus owner in a backward fashion. “Go back to the main grounds and press my costume, püppchen. Do whatever it is you need to, and for crying out loud, stay out of the way. Geh, jetzt!” Aletea learned a few of the German terms over time. 'Go, now. Little doll. Shut up. Get to work. This is terrible. You look terrible. Fix this. Hurry up.' The usual commands, for the most part. The girl scurried and jolted to attention, removing herself from the situation with elective haste.

But, she couldn’t help but pause on her way to Elsa’s tent when she saw a peculiar and sort of lonesome looking clown. His mouth was ragged red, perhaps painted with anxious hands. The harder she looked, the more apparent his disguise became. Though half of his face was painted, the other half was covered with a mask held by a bit of yarn. Kind of ramshackle. He wasn’t one of the performers of Elsa’s cabinet. When she was within a few yards, she realized how colossal he was in comparison to herself. Taken by curiosity the girl went a bit bowlegged. Stared her usual vacant stare, eyes gaping and full of questions her mouth would never solicit.

The wolf, seal, contortionist, pincushion and all the others bustled around. Still hard at work. It shook Aletea from her pondering. She pivoted a bit, circle skirt rising briefly as she turned to see a dwarf cross her path and snap, “What are you looking at?” Again, as almost a rehearsed reaction, Aletea stepped back. Not a friend in sight. She sighed heavily and drudged toward the queenly tent beside the big top.

A short distance away from Elsa’s territory was Paul’s. He appeared to be having some trouble with the stakes. Aletea watched him exhibit his independence as he hopped sort of rabbit-like on one of the tent struts. Briefly she spoke up, a Southern inkling in her soft voice, “Would you like a hand?” She of course wasn’t surprised when her offer was not taken happily, Matthaus coming onto the scene in his arch way. With such grace demonstrated in his walk, so soft for someone who was so strong and pliant like a rubber band. Aletea cleared her throat and tried to stifle her slight embarrassment, maybe to give the notion that when she asked if Paul needed her assistance, that she was really just, coughing, or something. Obviously she knew he didn't need her help. Or didn't prefer it.

Pressed and hangered, a grand striped getup was hung beside a massive Oak armoire. Aletea admired her work, looked up at it, ran her pygmy digits down the fabric to ensure there were no folds, no wrinkles. Perfect. She exited the tent, its coral and violet draperies falling behind her head. Squatted, a blond girl polished an apple keenly betwixt tents. Aletea had never seen this one before. But, given her most recent rejection, she wasn’t going to speak up or try to make friends with someone who more than likely saw her as Elsa’s pet, just like the rest.

In a forsaken sway she swept toward the biggest tent. It’s ‘doorway’ was pinned open, fresh painted wooden chairs lined symmetrically before the stage. Humming, Elsa’s doll padded down the center walkway, studying the props on stage and singing every now and again as she lifted them one by one. Hoops and ribbons for the contortionists. Collars and shackles for the wolf. A classic microphone for Elsa. Various magic boxes and cases. A ladder for anyone who wanted to stand at Lottie's height. A particularly concurrent doll costume...

She heard Hecate in the distance. The mystic. It reminded her, before she had a chance to illicitly slip into the doll costume, that she wanted to ask something. About fortunes, futures, and bad luck. The small girl sidled toward the fluorescent haired performer and peeped, "Hecate? Could I ask you something?"

Setting

Jupiter, Florida

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#2015-06-05 01:09:57, as written by blvkmvgic

Friday, May 12th, 1952.
Jupiter, FL.

Routinely busy pedways are barren in Jupiter, Florida. Not more than twenty hours ago, murders were confirmed in the placid pastel township. Businesses are dull, devoid of revenue and company. Managers idly kick rocks at the stoops of their establishments while a single cloud passes overhead. You wouldn’t think it was the beginning of a weekend. The air is stiff and muggy, whispers of homicide coating the silence with poisonous gossip. A word or two is spoken of the visiting Cabinet of Curiosities. The sun hoists itself up on an invisible string and cooks the world below as if it were putting the blame on Jupiter for its own tragedy.

“Did you hear about those freaks rolling in yesterday?”

“Police didn’t even think to check one of those tacky train cars for the missing children.”

“One of those weirdos could have eaten them!”

“I might buy a ticket, though.”

“God himself could not create creatures so monstrous.”

The police department finds nothing to go on, not even a hint as to whether the missing children are dead, kidnapped, or runaways. Their work is composed and tedious, even for a group of presumed hay-chewing imbeciles. Jupiter’s protective bubble disintegrates as citizens’ minds go amok with fear. Television screens flicker with washed out images and reports of no new found evidence. Ads aimed to put color into an otherwise drab world invite locals to a traveling freak show.

Two miles outside of town, the rented fairgrounds are aglow and engaged. Accordions, violins, and trumpets play a happy, upbeat tune. The hiss in between its melody gives a sinister warning to those who pay attention. Elsa Mars sways on a dirt path, smoke leaving her mouth while she gives pointers as her performers walk by. A woman that appears double her height passes. Fräulein glances up and croons, “Tonight I want you to hold my sweet Matthaus and Ramona on those strong shoulders. They will do the rest.” The amazonian beauty nods and continues toward her makeshift residence for last minute prep. In her wake comes a snarling dark haired boy, alpha aura rolling off of him like thick sweat. Elsa bats an eye at him, a carnal look of approval, but advisory on her tongue, “Keep the growling to a minimum, schönen jungen, unless you are in your cage. We cannot afford to frighten any customers away this time around. Rip your shirt off or something, the ladies will pay extra.”

While a tall, tattooed man combs his hair, a flaxen haired woman with lips as red as coral peeks around a corner. She has a pen and notepad on hand. She is quick to duck whenever Elsa looks her way. A dark haired girl walks past the wash troughs, a handful of clanking hooks held by pale fingers. An older man pushes a wheelbarrow full of other sharp, stainless steel behind her. He is quieter than the rest, with soot smearing his hands and neck. His eyes are flecked with era and knowledge, years worth of stories beyond them. He is a handyman. Behind him trots yet another part of the string of conveyance.

She is tiny and wide eyed, wrapped in periwinkle silk that matches her lipstick. Elsa snaps at her, “Don’t drag that fabric! Das ist schrecklich, Thalassa worked her hands to the bone ensuring that dress looked perfect!” Like a smaller twin or protégé, a girl with tow-colored hair and a round face cracks to attention and nods. She was the seamstress of which Elsa spoke. To avoid further madness, or upsetting Fräulein, a lithe young man scoops the periwinkle doll off her feet and carries her like precious cargo. He is careful in how he touches her, cautious not to let the adored fabric get caught on his scale-like skin. He doesn’t want to hear anymore complaining from Elsa about how careless her troupe can be. But he too, is quiet.

Customers line up an hour early, easily a hundred or more of them. They’re eager to throw their money into the ticket booth. Even women holding infants smile and keenly wait their turn. Others hold the hands of whining children. Hungry looking men stare after the glimpses of a tawny skinned woman carrying fire beyond the gates. She hums quietly and gives a brief word of encouragement to a girl with orange, sunshiney hair. The show is going to begin, in spite of it being much earlier than anticipated.

I have melted somehow back into one, lumpy piece. That’s the charm of the blazing southern sun, I suppose. I avoided being digested in a twist of fortune and find myself bonding to my other circus peanut colleagues. My wildest aspiration is to continue cohering until I form myself into the biggest circus peanut known to man. Then, I too, will have a spot in Fräulein’s Cabinet of Curiosities. My dreams are dashed for the time being, as my bag, my home, is handed off to a man and his family. He clenches the plastic so tightly I fear I may suffocate. We pass under striped fabric. I pray that I am alive long enough to finally see the show for myself. Elsa greets her audience in both German and English and the applause is tremendous as the music begins.

And I know, even if I am not long for this world, I can die happy, here in the presence of performers and exquisite curiosity.

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