Thalassa's Story

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?"