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Lenka Paris

"Who are you to declare yourself 'normal?' The world's really nothing more than what we bother to believe it is."

0 · 649 views · located in Cirque du Soir

a character in “Cirque Du Soir”, as played by AiteCipher

Description

Lenka Paris

Image

Stage Name: The Lightgiver
Age: 15
Gender: Female
Role: Freak (Animator)
Blood Type: AB+

~~~

Eye Color: Hazel-green
Hair Color: Pale blonde
Dressing Style: Formal
Weight: 110lbs
Height: 5'4''

~~~

Likes:
Being in the dark
Solitude
Silence
Adrenaline rushes
Sewing
Stage makeup
Books (especially philosophy and mathematical theory)
Music

Dislikes:
Painters
Singers
Less-than-intelligent people
People in general
Condescension
Being fussed over
Being treated "like a child"
Crying

Habits:
Lenka tends to work on her sewing projects for hours on end. She never stops a project until she's completely finished. Additionally, she'll rage and scream at anyone who tries to stop her from working on her projects. The only exceptions she'll make are for showtimes and those who are far superior to her in rank. She's very picky about her own manners and won't take anything less from those around her, making sure to act polite and ladylike in any situation even though she was hardly raised to be a member of such a social class.

Lenka is extremely reserved both in her style of dress and in her mannerisms. She won't speak unless absolutely necessary and will seek out darkness wherever she goes— in part because her skin burns easily and in part because she can't stand to be in the glaring light of the sun, believing it illuminates too much of the parts she doesn't want others to see in her.

She also likes lines and order and leans toward the obsessive side in organizing her belongings.

Crush: None yet.

Personality
Lenka, for the most part, is a gentle and docile girl with a personality that seems befitting of her delicate composure. With watery eyes and pale skin, she appears very weak. In terms of physical strength, this is certainly true, but her mind isn't one to be underestimated. Lenka can grasp vast amounts of information and has a very good ability to understand things many are unable to comprehend. As such, she's an avid reader, especially loving philosophy and the pseudoscientific metaphysics for the sheer vastness of its reach. She thinks Plato was an absolute moron but loves most of the other Greek philosophers, holding Aristotle in high regard. She's well-versed in history and any other information one might find in a book.

Despite her vast base of knowledge, Lenka is extremely socially inadequate, mostly due to her own shyness. When she interacts with others, she views it as a duty and does so robotically as though it's just another one of her acts. She has trouble understanding people beyond their biological and psychological functions and doesn't quite grasp emotion— whether it's her own or that of others. Because of this, she's prone to mood swings when she's stressed. Lenka can create a very logical argument but can't do so without inevitably bursting into tears for no real reason. She has very little control over her emotions, yet they seem to have almost no actual effect on her.

Lenka can be judgmental and rude, simply not talking to people she doesn't enjoy being around. While she may seem demure initially, her sharp tongue is a force to be reckoned with. Being physically non-threatening, she's never had to worry about getting into an actual fistfight, so she never worries that she'll ever get into one. She has always lived a life away from any action, having mostly experienced the world through imagination and extrapolation from books she read in the many hours she spent indoors instead of working on the family farm.

As a self-proclaimed but not unproven 'intellectual,' physical labor doesn't suit her tastes, and she does what she can to make sure she stays as far away from it as possible. It's not uncommon of her to send out her homunculi to work in her place, and, if forced to participate in any actual work, usually makes good use of her delicate form to feign lightheadedness or another malady of the dainty to get out of doing it.

Due to her origins (not working) on a farm, she has a constant need to prove that she is not 'crass' like her heritage might outline her to be. She puts massive emphasis on being ladylike and collected at all times and has read countless manuals on manners, fashion, and other such subjects as well as her favorites, philosophy and mathematics. She's fascinated by theoretical numbers and delights in the fact that the world has so many questions to ask and so many tentative answers yet-unproven. With her curiosity, and being somewhat childlike, she is somewhat easy to be taken advantage of— though she's naturally a cynic, and breaking her outer shell may prove tough, her inner self is soft from a lack of experience with the world. Though she has the soul and façade of an intellectual, she doesn't yet understand how to handle the immense power of her own mind.

To herself, all she is is a simple farm girl born to become something more refined.

~~~

Skills
Lenka can give a fraction of her life's essence away to the sack dolls she sews. She creates small acts with them and acts as their puppetmaster onstage. She's also very good with sewing and design and can mend and create costumes if given the chance. Lenka is also a talented pickpocket and thief, being lightweight and quiet on her feet. In addition, given the high level of function of her brain, she can resist magical foolery to some extent, but it wears her out physically and she's likely to faint if too much pressure is put on her.

Family:
Elise Griswold (Adoptive mother)
Samantha Griswold (Adoptive sister)
Richard Griswold (Adoptive father)
Katia Paris (Birth mother)(Deceased)
Jackson Paris (Birth father)(Imprisoned)

History
Lenka was born to a Yugoslavian immigrant mother locked and wedded into a heavily abusive relationship. After the birth of their daughter, she attempted to run off on her own, but speaking no English and unable to find a job or refuge, she was forced to give up the months-old infant with nothing more than a scribbled name at a local hospital. While the mother died a few months later of a lung infection, the child was adopted by a grieving mother who'd just lost the smaller of her twins.

Lenka stole the attention of her mother, being an early reader and a near-mute until the age of four. Being a bright child, she often pushed her slightly-younger sister out of the spotlight. The adopted child became the apple of her mother's eye, and, with this blatant favoritism, was able to use her mother's faith in the 'more promising' of her daughters to keep from being forced to work on the farm.

Though she's never been aware of her actual heritage, Lenka finds it odd that she was born just a handful of months earlier than her sister and has always suspected that one of the two was never the actual daughter— though she was sure it was she who was the daughter by birth, not the beta child largely ignored by her mother.

Things changed when her abilities began to present... and she won't talk about what happened next.

~~~

Gallery (to be modified later):
She looks a bit older than in the following, but it should be noted that yes, she is a bit younger-looking than she is.
Overall, though, she looks her age— not twelve, as one might think on seeing these pictures.


Image

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So begins...

Lenka Paris's Story

Setting

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Character Portrait: Nixie Blue Character Portrait: Lenka Paris
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Lenka hadn't slept a wink, and she didn't care in the slightest. Running a comb through her hair, she squinted at herself through the spiderlike cracks in the mirror, trying to make out her own reflection in the maze of hairline fractures running across its surface. Her eyes were set on a cleave between her eyes where nose met regal browbone. While she knew her own face well enough to know she hadn't sprouted horns overnight, it was certainly a disturbing sight when paired with the slight circles forming under her eyes. She dabbed on a spot of lotion and powdered her face from a tiny jar, which she hid in her trunk alongside the cracked hand mirror when she was finished. It was an empty thing; she'd hardly been here more than a handful of months, and not once has she gotten a day to herself to sew a new dress.

The one she sported now was formed of a pale blue gingham with a hint of thick summer lace at the bottom. She'd originally planned to sell it, but the seamstress had thrown her out before she'd had the chance to. Now, it was all she had. She smirked. Oh, pity on her— all she had in the world was a finely sewn summer dress. Her feet made quick work of slipping into her stockings, and her nimble fingers laced up the boots in good time, too. Her feet slipped in easily to the two, the former being stretched loose and the latter nearly worn to shreds. She hardly even had to think in winding the odd little pattern she made in tying them tight around her ankles. Slender and small-footed, she was sure her shoes would pass for a child's if given half a glance.

Lenka's feet were quick over the dirt, though she shivered slightly for the cold. Granted, the fine plaid gingham wasn't much protection against the morning chill when she didn't have a coat to wear over it. When she had enough money, she'd buy one, someday. She's buy a fine coat and a new pair of shoes and silk ribbons for her hair. She'd be out of the circus, someday. But with the thoughts, Lenka chastised herself; she shouldn't have been dreaming of her future so early into this new endeavour. She sped up, her once-soundless footsteps now making soft pattering sounds on the grass. Her eyes sought out breakfast, as did her stomach. It had been a nasty night, working on the star of her latest show, which she'd slung over her shoulder with pride.

Now wasn't the time for that, though. Lenka grinned a bit and sat herself down, politely waiting for the others to arrive. She caught just the slightest glance of the wing-haired girl and called out a quiet greeting— it would be rude not to, wouldn't it?

((OOC: Tell me if there's something wrong with the post ^^;))

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Nixie Blue Character Portrait: Derrick Cartner Character Portrait: Lenka Paris
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Derrick had always hated the circus. It was strange then, that he would be working in a circus. Right? Well he couldn't really work anywhere else, not with fangs and an eyepatch that was always present. Most at the circus just assumed the fangs were fake, which was totally normal at a circus. But getting a normal job with fake fangs? Not so easy. As for the eyepatch, well, he supposed he could have taken it off if he wanted. Though even people at the circus would have given him a hard time about what was his right eye, because it certainly wasn't the same ocean-blue as his left eye. His dressing style was a bit strange too, considering it consisted mostly of Victorian London style topcoats and trousers, hats and buckled shoes. Of course he didn't dress like any old Victorian bloke, his coats and hats were the richest of colors, no ordinary brown or black for him.

The fifteen year old boy heard something moving around outside, and he slowly stood to get ready for the night. He didn't really sleep much, meaning he had been up almost all the day and would likely be up all night too. The noise outside was already assumed to be Nixie, who seemed to be like him, always one of the first awake. Though her reasons were probably to start breakfast and chores, while his were so he could effectively insult and outsmart everyone from the moment they woke to the moment they went back to sleep. Yes, not many people here enjoyed Derrick's company. Other than the snakes, his snakes certainly loved him. Most animals did, should he really think about it. But he didn't even have to try with snakes, they found him most of the time.

Making his way over to the kitchen, he spied his target. "Nixie dear!" he called out, British accent coming clearly. "Do you need any help, love?" Behind him, he heard Lenka call out a greeting to Nixie, and placed a hand on his chest in mock hurt. "No Good morning's for your friend Derrick?" he asked, batting his eyelashes at the girl. "Shame."

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Character Portrait: Derrick Cartner Character Portrait: Lenka Paris
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Lenka frowned a bit, the expression an uncontrollable flicker on her features. Her lips were quirked back up into a smile soon enough, however, albeit in one that was a tad forced. Bowing her head, she apologized, her voice hardly above a whisper as she did. "Good morning to you, too, Derrick." In all honesty, she hadn't remembered his name; having hardly had a proper conversation with the boy, she had no idea what to say beyond a greeting. Instead of continuing to speak, she simply toed the dirt from where she sat, eerily resembling the sack doll sprawled at her side. In a moment, something came to her. "Are we permitted to offer aid in the kitchen? I wasn't aware of that. I always feel so terrible, eating all this food I had no hand in making." Her voice, now wistful, had the slightest drawling twinge to it. She didn't bother correcting herself. Her mother had grown up on a plantation in its final gasps, and, though her home had once been New York, she couldn't help her tongue slipping every so often. The boy, too, had his own rather... annoying accent.

It wasn't the accent itself, really, but rather the personality that accompanied it. Too outright for her tastes, she shied away from conversations altogether with the sort. The girl nodded and returned to her sewing, finishing off the last of an intricate embroidery she'd worked on late into the night by the light of the moon and a flickering candle. It was a bit messy for her tastes. She sighed, stretched, and threw her head back in exasperation.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Callus Makara "Makra" Character Portrait: Nixie Blue Character Portrait: Brink Orpheus Character Portrait: Derrick Cartner Character Portrait: Lenka Paris
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Brink Orpheus

Brink was wandering about when he spotted Callus his friend. "Up early Callus?" Brink strode toward the man and blinked. His friend was unlike himself what they called a freak personally though Brink thought he was cool and fascinating and interesting but mostly he just saw Callus as a good friend he could actually talk to instead of like with everyone where he had to answer there questions approve things and well was seen as a boss not friend. Well there was always Nixie but him and his cousin had a very odd relationship he would worry about her and protect her and she despite her blatant innocence would somehow end up in some situation where she would nearly kill herself. Brink rubbed his temples at the thought of Nixie she was more helpful then disastrous but either way it was stressful...

~ . ~

Nixie Blue:

Nixie was busy focusing on making food when she was greeted by Lenka, and jumped a little in shock luckily she'd not hurt herself. Nixie turned and waved at the girl before turning back right as she was about to grab the pan another voice jumped in causing Nixie to jump she was never the most alert. This time however her small jump caused her to move her small hand and burn it on the pan. Immediately Nixie bit down on her tongue so as not to yelp in pain. Instead she walked over calmly to the sink and ran cold water on the burn she always carried band-aid's as this was a regular occurrence.

Nixie looked over at Derrick and smiled her head wing's fluttering in both a form of annoyance and embarrassment at him calling her dear and love."Hi and no thank you really I'm fine I have everything ready I was just making a few more things... I always worry that everyone doesn't get enough." Nixie turned back and looked at her red burnt finger she would leave it under the water only a little longer. "Oh if there's anything specific you two want I'd gladly make it! After all I still have some time." Nixie's bright red eye's shimmered and her white little wings twitched and moved on there own accord reflecting her mood which at the moment was a strange mixture of pain, happiness and over all naive-ness to the obvious awkward tension in the room. Of course she could not feel it. Nixie believed everyone liked each other at the circus and each person was so unique the strange girl could not help but admire them all in some way.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Nixie Blue Character Portrait: Derrick Cartner Character Portrait: Lenka Paris
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Derrick frowned, "Tsk, too late dear." He could sense the annoyance in the girl, and he didn't appreciate it. Not that many people at the circus really liked him, but he didn't mind that. They didn't have to like him, they just had to accept that he was smarter, quicker, and overall better than them. It was then that he looked back to Nixie and saw her running her hand under the water, and he faintly recalled hearing a singeing noise. "Oh my, was that my fault?" the small boys eyes grew wide, and he moved quickly to her side. Just because he was an arrogant ass, it didn't mean he didn't have feelings at all. There were a few people at the circus that he actually liked, genuinely, even if he usually didn't act like it. "I'm so sorry dear, you must forgive my ignorance. I forgot how skittish you were."

As soon as her hand came out of the water, he gently took it with his own gloved hand- white today, since white was only the most elegant of colors; other than blue and red, and purple. His lips pressed gently against the top of her hand before he released it, bowing ever so slightly to the lady in front of him. "I'll have to make it up to you, is there anything I can assist you with?" he didn't really like being in debt to people, nor did he have to want to make this up to her later. But he still had to do something for her, or else it would simply eat him away. People didn't like let things go, they didn't just do things out of the kindness of their hearts. And if they ever said something like it, you can count on them being a liar.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Nixie Blue Character Portrait: Derrick Cartner Character Portrait: Alynna "Risque"  Silverkin Character Portrait: Lenka Paris
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She scrunched up her nose as she stood up. He knew she hated that nickname, but then again, she'd called him Leo. She never meant from his stagename, he just looked like a lion. Glad that he would help her, she'd turn on her heel, and walk to go get breakfast. She was hungry, and as she had learned before, never eat on an empty stomach, or people might think you're dead. She didn't mean to forget to eat... she was just busy with her stunt... it had slipped her mind. Gosh.. how Brink had lectured her about the importance of food after the show. Ever since then she would eat at least something. Walking in the kitchen she noticed how people had seemed to gather.

Her nose wiggled a bit as she noticed Derrick, near Nixie. I bet they end up dating.... She thought to herself as she grabbed a glass of juice. She'd give everyone a wave, without Julius here, she was the eldest. Though she looked messy, with her cockeyed messy bun and her pj's on. She still even had leftover makeup from last night on her face. She felt like a blue raccoon. "Has anyone seen Brink?" She'd ask biting her lip, now she had to make sure it was ok for Julius to be in her act tonight.... "It's about my performance...." Her eyes scanned everyone once more, as she smelled bacon. She'd refuse to eat it of course, she was a vegetarian. "Also... do we have any fruit left?" She'd add on, before stretching, putting together her outfit for that evening.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Nixie Blue Character Portrait: Derrick Cartner Character Portrait: Lenka Paris
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Lenka's eyes lit up with a muted joy when she heard Nixie's voice, and she gave a small, real smile this time. She stood up and steeped into the kitchen, her eyes flickering like a flame over her new surroundings. She'd never set foot inside the kitchen before, having only caught wayward glances of it passing by each morning to gather breakfast. She felt as though she hasn't cooked in ages. The wing-haired girl hadn't exactly given her explicit permission to come in, but in her eagerness, all social conventions escaped her. Her air of delicacy receded a bit. Her mouth formed the words with a friendly softness, but her mind was elsewhere. In such a state, she almost seemed friendlier. "Do you have any milk left? Ah, and some flour and some sugar... if you don't mind. Have you ever heard of Hare's Feet?" It was a name she hadn't spoken in years, and she was eager to form the tiny pan-biscuits— the taste was already coming to life on the tip of her tongue. If anything reminded her of her sister, it was the smell of cooking oil, and the room abounded with the memory-laden scent.

Within moments, Lenka's eyes had dropped to the ground. She supposed there would soon be a sob to hold back if she continued to ponder the subject, so she forced it to the back if her mind. Glancing between Nixie and Derrick, she shuffled toward the cupboards to seek out her ingredients. A clean mixing bowl, first, and then the flower. She was hesitant in her movements, small hands swift but tentative in plucking the items from their homes. She wouldn't dare pour a drop of milk without permission, knowing how expensive it could be. Her brief flurry of movement slowed to a standstill, her hands folded in front of her like an obedient maid. Her hair had fallen in her eyes, but she didn't bother moving a hand to move it, frozen until she had worthwhile stimuli to direct her in her actions. She couldn't bring herself to speak, again, desiring no more attention than she'd already garnered simply with her presence.

More movement drew Lenka's gaze from the floor to find Derrick at Nixie's side laying a kiss on her hand. How odd. She'd read about such traditions before but never seen it for herself. Derrick was certainly a character cut out well for the circus, it seemed, his every move like a showman's flourish. She was torn between feelings of amusement and intrigue. Why did he act in such a way? Everything had motivation, Derrick included. Why did he bow to the girl— surely not of higher status than himself? She was new and certainly not lacking in questions.

It was then that a slight suspicion arose in her, burning and urgent. She didn't like at all the way this Derrick carried himself, so bold yet so well-versed in these obscure social conventions. She couldn't quite place what it was she felt so nervous about, but there was a world taking shape in the back of her mind— arrogance?

Ah, well. She could watch, and she could wait, the both of them an innate nature to her. It was interesting enough.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Callus Makara "Makra" Character Portrait: Nixie Blue Character Portrait: Brink Orpheus Character Portrait: Derrick Cartner Character Portrait: Alynna "Risque"  Silverkin Character Portrait: Lenka Paris
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Brink Orpheus

Brink laughed gently. "I'm only stressed because of Nixie... She's been wild as ever lately." Brink looked over at his friend and chuckled lightly as he messed around with his hair. "I think we should get food into you so you actually have energy to deal with the large amounts of people who will be drawn to your ever amazing show my friend." Brink ran a hand through his hair once again. He may have offered the food as a suggestion but really he was prepared to not give his friend a choice in the matter.

~ . ~

Nixie Blue

Nixie was starting to feel over-whelmed as people stepped in and out of the kitchen doing there own thing and eating. To be honest the wind headed girl was not sure how to deal with it all and was about to tend to everyone when Derrick called back her attention by pulling her hand out from under the water. She winced when he kissed it but that was soon forgotten when he apologized. "Oh no need Derrick It's my fault for not being aware of everything this morning." When he insisted on making it up to her, she flapped her head wings wildly and flailed. "No n-no! It's my job to take care of everyone I don't wanna burden you..." She paused. Derrick was fairly new and with all the errands she'd had to run lately she had not had time to actually see Derrick's performance. Huffing so as not to see like she was giving in to the boy she looked away. "But I guess if you insist... Then I hope to maybe catch your performance but aside that I forbid you going out of your way!" Nixie's head wing's opened widely to show that would be where she draws the line.

Nixie looked around at everyone else in the kitchen. "Brink is still busy I think or asleep... Oh I forgot about fruit! Oh Lenka Alynna everyone I'm sorry!" Nixie ran over to the fridge and opened it pulling out various fruits. "Ah... We only have some apples and peaches..." Nixie sighed and crossed her arms. "I hope you guys don't mind apples and peaches she smiled awkwardly making a mental note to talk to Brink later about going into town... They probably needed some meat as well for the lions and other animals. Maybe she would stay awake after the night and go into town she would end up dead tired but she could always catch up on sleep later.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Callus Makara "Makra" Character Portrait: Brink Orpheus Character Portrait: Alynna "Risque"  Silverkin Character Portrait: Lenka Paris
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Brink Orpheus

Brink watched Callus walk off to get 'food'. Your going the wrong way genius! The blonde huffed before forcibly picking up Callus and swinging him up and over his shoulder. "And your right I will force feed you no one in my Circus goes under fed then is forced to perform this includes you!" Brink carried Callus away until they reached there destination. Walking into the tent he smiled seeing his little cousin Nixie being her oblivious caring self and the others though he noticed a few were missing.

Brink gently plopped Callus down before forcing him to sit. "Now eat!" The words came out harsher then Brink intended this was... The norm for him the older boy could not help but always seem rude, uncaring, cold or scary. On several occasion's he'd asked Nixie to teach him to not be but it always resulted in his cousin just un-sure how to help.

~ . ~

Nixie Blue

Nixie blinked as her cousin walked in and set down Callus. "BRINK!" Nixie's head wings opened widely. "Don't force the man to eat what if he's sick!" She huffed and crossed her arms only to have Brink stare at her. "If he was sick then food would give him strength." Nixie faltered at his remark. "Well! In any case Miss Alynna was looking for you!" Huffing annoyed by her defeat Nixie crossed her arms annoyed her cheek's bright red and her red eyes looking in any way that was not making contact with her older cousin's only gray eye.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Callus Makara "Makra" Character Portrait: Nixie Blue Character Portrait: Brink Orpheus Character Portrait: Lenka Paris
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Synthia woke up sleepy eyes under a tree, she had fallen asleep watching the sun-rise again, she stood up sore and pulled her knives out of the tree. She had been practicing for her show, she usually did that after catching a glimpse of the other performances she always loved that. She stretched out and carefully put her knives in a little pouch she had. She could smell Nixie's omelets, she loved thoughs so she followed the scent all the way to the kitchen. hesitantly sticking her head in and saw Brinks, standing next to Callus and Nixie was in the kitchen with Lenka looking through the cupboards. She bite her lip and walked in quietly and sat down and grabbed on of the plates, she stared down at the food she looked at Callus. His horns always fascinated her, she always thought they were real even though she heard people say they weren't she never really asked him about them though. She looked at Nixie and than at Brink she wondered why they were acting like this so early in the morning, she would listen and wonder about it until they said something. Barely whispering "good morning" she wondered where everyone else is, Julius might be sleeping in the Lions den again, Derrick was probably annoying someone as usual.

She grabbed a fork and set it next to her plate, than smelled the food it smelled really good it made her stomach growl even. She didn't eat the night before and she saw Brink give other people a hard time about eating afterwards, she wondered if he noticed that she didn't eat anything. Probably not, she usually kept to herself because no one would really talk to her.

pulling out a knife and used a cloth she had in her pocket and started polishing it, when it shone and shined some light in her eye she blinked and put it back in her pocket. She loved polishing her knives even though she ran out of shiner and was scared to ask Brink to get her some more, his cold demeanor sometimes sent a shiver down her spine.

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Character Portrait: Lenka Paris
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Lenka Paris: Lightgiver

Breathe in...
Then out again.

Lenka sat at center stage, the seemingly endless ruffles of her dress splayed out like a lake around her gentle frame. Her head was bowed, and her pale hair seemed almost golden against the fabric. There was a marked concentration to her features, placid, as a calm, the likes of which she had never found on her feet, settled over and through her mind. Gone was the chatter of voices; gone were things lurking outside the tent. Alone in the dark, it was just her and her mind in the camaraderie of the surrounding pools of black. It was just her mind and the music.

Arching her back and spreading her arms wide as if to embrace the air, she looked very much like a shy dove alone at her perch. In its elegance, however, was a near-unnoticeable twinge of calculation and rigidity. She had cocked her head at just the right angle and tilted her arms with the just the same sterility as a metal piston— though surely, she was hardly as strong.

The girl stood. In a flurry of twirling skirts and dancing hands, the twitch of two slender fingers was unnoticeable, hidden away by cheap tulle and mock-satin that, under the single harsh light inside the tent, had a shine that seemed almost real. Not a hint of the latent anger lurking inside Lenka’s chest sullied her expression of calm. Her rage flew off as droplets of water on her fingertips, now moving in rolling patterns not unlike those of a seasoned pianist. She played to the music as it crescendoed and stood dead-still as it fell.

Three tiny forms awoke from their sleep.

In the space of the stage, small and cramped, the foot-tall creatures seemed to fill the room with their presence. There was a certain naturalness to their movements that seemed strange, foreign to those unaccustomed to it. They climbed to their feet and bowed, burlap skin roughly hewn against the finely tailored clothing each one donned. One of the puppets sported a boy’s cap and a tiny sailor suit, the other a dainty pink dress Lenka had clearly had some fun sewing. The bows in the girl’s string hair, however, were nothing compared to those adorning the miniature top hat of the middle performer.

It sat tilted to the side like a lady’s fine summer hat, though it was certainly anything but bright and springlike in its appearance. A strip of white lace wrapped just above the brim offset a creamy pair of cotton roses and blended with the first layer of the dress. The overlay, on the other hand, was just as dainty and just as pitch-black as the miniature hat itself and swung in time with the music to catch each sway of the spindly figure that donned it. Lenka herself faded into the shadows and let the tallest of the three dolls steal the show.

The puppet in black took a bow and twirled with a menacing yet enchanting grace only furthered by the smirk painted on her face. She fell into time with the music and began to sway, then pick up her feet and dance. While the other two, the children, stood stone-still at her side, she dipped into an arabesque and then a pirouette. As she whirled around, she stretched out an arm and caught the girl in the pink tulle, then swirled her leg for one more revolution. The girl in the tulle flickered to life, and she, too, caught a figure, holding the boy in the sailor suit high above her head. He, in turn, raised his hands high and gave a slight bow.

The boy’s hands were singed black, and, within a moment’s time, it was clear why: from a hole in his body cleverly concealed by his suit, he drew a bundle of torches. Holding her children steady, the woman in black curtsied and drew a matchbook from a fold in the dress. Lenka stepped forward and clasped it between her fingers, struck it and lit the torches the boy held, and slipped back in the shadows, where she seemed to collapse as though she, too, were one of her dolls.

With the three lit torches, the boy began to juggle, and the music set into a lively, if not dark, orchestral rendition of the nighttime sky. Lenka’s act was going to be a long one, but the day felt as though it would stretch on forever. She stood up and splayed herself out on the floor to watch the act.

Ugh. She hated rehearsals. She hated that this was her escape. She hated that she hated this when it had once been a passion.

And she really hated the way her tallest doll had a slight squeak to her joints. Evidently, it was due for an oiling sometime in the next hour.


[ooc: o_o that was longer than I expected. Sorry ^^;;;]

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Character Portrait: Lenka Paris Character Portrait: Basil Riddle
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Lenka Paris: Lightgiver


With practice out of the way, Lenka had nothing more to calm herself but the dolls and their mechanical heartbeats. They dropped on the floor as though they were dead, the weight of their bodies falling channeling the latent rage hidden behind her placid features. She was in a tent off to the side of the big-top— a small one striped with nothing more than black and grey, squat and dark and all too quiet. The heavy canvas overhead kept out the sun and left too much room to spare for the flickering lanterns hanging in the center like four fading stars.

With the black, however, came calm.

She was angry, and she didn't know why. Lenka's mind raced with questions without answers and orphaned solutions to problems she couldn't quite place. It was as though her mind was begging her for sleep. Granted, she hadn't caught a wink of rest last night, having stayed up to tend to the dolls' bodies, but the fact that she had decommissioned her last three and re-absorbed those bits of her soul should have lent her some energy. Perhaps it was her own fault that she was so tired— after all, it seemed that she was squandering it on blind rage. Lenka took a deep breath, then blew it out through her teeth with a hiss. The not knowing shrouding her annoyance only served to worsen it.

Lenka stood up, letting the skirts of her dress fall freely to where they would. It didn't fit quite right on her body; it was too long, too wide, and overall meant to grace the body of a larger girl. She certainly wasn't the smallest of people, but she had a small frame and a girlish figure, so it was a given that a mannequin's dress wouldn't fit her. It was just her luck, however, that she'd found the gown at the bottom of a chest in setting up the place. She didn't know who it had once belonged to, but once her needle pierced it when she finally got around to fixing it, it was hardly her concern. Lenka had never had much of a sense of ownership, and now wasn't a time she cared to start with having one.

Pulling her hair back into a braid, she surveyed the space, mentally juxtaposing its measurements with her memory of the dolls' performance. A small, wooden hoop not unlike the type used for embroidery hung from the very tip of the tent through the middle, and beneath it was the stage where the dolls laid like peacefully sleeping corpses. She would leave the dolls there to rest before their show. It was a tough, showy act. They'd need it. Lenka herself could wait. She pulled her hair over her shoulder and began to undo the sash tightening the waist of the dress. It slipped easily over her shoulders, and it was only a matter of minutes before she'd changed back into the blue gingham. Its sleeves were comfortably snug where they buttoned at the wrist, and the white shirt underneath, though boyish, she found complimented all too well the fraying ribbon tied underneath the collar. With the blonde braid thrown over her shoulder, she let free a tentative air of summer.

Lenka stepped out into the light for only the briefest of moments before longing for her peace in the shadows again. With nothing more to do— at least, not for the moment— she wandered into the big-top and found a seat in the shade. She hardly cared at all for the white-haired figure encroaching on the sanctity of her shade, knowing from the corner-of-the-eye glance she'd given him that he was the icy man she knew as Spade.

That was, she ignored him until the creaking started. She'd hardly had time to even glance at the ongoing performance before the ever-familiar sound of grinding iron grated at her consciousness. Irked again and drumming her fingers on her hat, she sought out the source, her eyes landing on a pitiful, somewhat deflated form composed of flour-sack and stuffing. One of her dolls was leaking, and the only thing between it and her was the white-haired man and the ground. Suddenly self-conscious, she motioned for the doll to jump onto the floor and meet her, but, rather squeakily, it shook its head. Lenka frowned. It took her a moment to notice the gaping gash on the side of its tiny body.

Sighing, she glanced up at Spade. She couldn't just climb over him or the seats; she had manners to uphold, but the thing would likely spill all of its stuffing and lose the soul she'd put inside it if it tried to jump.

Her voice was hesitant but high. "Excuse me," she ventured, hoping she wasn't annoying the white-haired man, "Would you... mind standing up, for a moment?" With the creature and, by effect, that bit of her soul risking death, she couldn't even begin to bother with whatever act it was going on at the moment. It took effort beyond belief to keep the utter exasperation from her voice.


Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Brink Orpheus Character Portrait: Alynna "Risque"  Silverkin Character Portrait: Lenka Paris Character Portrait: Synthia, Fiora Character Portrait: Moshe Fairview Character Portrait: Basil Riddle
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Derrick didn't feel bad for Alynna, not in the slightest. Just as he did not expect anyone to feel bad for him if he were to get bitten by a snake and die. It was his talent, his skill, his job. You took the risk when you accepted it. Her name was Risque after all, correct? But he still could not ignore his friend outside, she sounded almost in pain. Gently setting Ian back on the floor, he leaned up and touched Brink's cheek very gently, hoping to calm him at least a bit- he looked terrified. "She'll be okay, just go see what you can do." the angry boy offered a small smile, which disintegrated into a frown as soon as Brink looked away. Opening the door to his secret room, he motioned for Brink to get out of there and go to the big top before closing the door behind him. Synthia obviously would know about it now, but he could prevent others from finding it. Seeing as Brink already tried to help a bit, Derrick kneeled down next to the girl, attempting to help her at least sit up.

It was about then when Moshe walked in. Derrick stared at him, and then looked back at the bleeding girl on the ground, and then back to Moshe. "Does she look okay?" he asked, sounding a bit angry even if he wasn't upset with Moshe. "You're bigger than me, help me lift her onto the table so she isn't on the dirty ground." He wasn't a germaphobe or anything, but it would be a pain in the ass for her wound to become infected. Once she was up on the table, he removed the part of Brink's shirt to get a good look at the cut. "It'll likely need stitches," he said, again attempting to make Synthia sit up. "You need to stay conscious, dear." The young boy glanced over at Moshe. "Mind doing something for me? I have a first aid kit in my caravan, go and fetch it for me along with a bucket of water and a few towels. Hurry." If they didn't do something quickly, Synthia could be seriously injured. His hands were bloody now from holding her leg, and he retied the fabric above the cut to stop the blood flow to her leg.



Spade regarded the events happening in front of him with a blank stare, not bothered at all by the multiple lives at stake here. Julius, Moshe, Brink, Ash, Alynna. None of them mattered to him, none held any important value to him. Though, did anyone have any important value to him? Could something be important to him? The man thought not, he was an empty shell, nothing more. But then, why could he think? Why could he move? Function at all? But he could not feel. He could not feel, emotionally and physically, he was incapable of it. Thus the scars the littered his body, it was difficult to not do something harmful when you didn't know it actually hurt. Sometimes he wished he could feel pain, just to know what it was like. But it would never happened, he wasn't made that way. No joy, no pain, no laughs, smiles, tears, frowns, ever. He was incomplete, he would always be incomplete.

As Alynna dropped into the net, Spade stood and clapped, no sign of emotion on his face as white gloves hit each other three times before he sat again, continuing to watch. The panther had gone by now, and Brink had arrived, looking angry as ever. But he also looked slightly flustered, what was the man doing before he came to join them? Curiosity, that was a first. Obviously he had a lot of questions, but he never held the expectations of knowing any answers. But now he was curious. Just what was the trusty ring master up to before he came to see what the fuss was about? The only ones he could remember that weren't present were Derrick, Synthia, the twins, Callus, and Nixie. Immediately he could cross Nixie, Callus, and Synthia from the list. That left the twins and Derrick. Interesting.

Something behind him spoke, a female. Without saying a word he stood, taking a step down in the bleachers so she could get past him, barely. Being, well, like a doll didn't give you too many manners. It wasn't like you had a book to teach you, a trainer to train you to be a good little human. The white haired man regarded the woman in front of him, "Lenka, is that right?"

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Character Portrait: Lenka Paris Character Portrait: Basil Riddle
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Lenka Paris: Lightgiver


Though Lenka had nothing comparable to a love for people, she hardly found herself perplexed at the odd ease the icy Spade put her at. Being nothing like the sun, searing and too golden for her tastes, the air he gave off hit her in a way not unlike that of light of the stars in the velvet sky: the non-interactions between them utterly pointless but calming, in some strange sort of way.

It struck Lenka that the familiarity, perhaps, had nothing to do with the night sky and everything to do with the tiny creatures that filled the unending monotony of her days. But they, in their naïveté, could hardly be anything more than a nuisance— so, then, the similarities laid in the subtleties Lenka didn't bother to ponder in the moment it took her to take to her feet from her perch on the bleachers.

There was noise in the big-top, but Lenka's mind was elsewhere. Details of the act before her were irrelevant while she assessed the damage taken by her creation. She tried her best to seem as though she wasn't staring at Spade, but, as seeing straight around him was impossible, it was an inevitable lurch in the act of keeping things straight. Eventually, the aversion to tempting the wrath of a person by looking at him was too much, and her gaze fell to the floor. A brief moment of silence followed, interrupted by three papery claps as mechanical as the soulless automatons she'd loved as a child.

With his odd, inhuman nature, it was hardly a challenge for Lenka to work up the courage to speak. As per her request, he stood and moved, though, between bleachers and the living, breathing body there wasn't as much space as she would have hoped. Regardless, Lenka hunched her shoulders and slipped past, her intentions of staying contact-free clear in the way she broke her posture to compact her body to fit the space. As she moved past, Spade put forth a question: "Lenka, is that right?"

The sound of a voice surprised her; Lenka couldn't recall a time Spade had spoken. This was, perhaps, the first time she'd heard him speak. Out of sheer curiosity more than anything else, she was compelled to answer it. It was simple enough. First, she nodded her head, then shifted toward her doll, turned to Spade, and replied, "Yes. And you are— Spade? If you will." Lenka knew of Leo's distaste of his stage name, so she was hesitant in returning one in implied greeting. But it was all she had. Not even knowing the sound of the man's voice, she hardly expected to find in the dusty recesses of her mind an overheard snippet of conversation to give away his true identity. In far-off lands, there were men who believed in the power of a name.

In a way, they were right. She agreed with them in the respect that such a small piece of knowledge could hold such power. In any case, Lenka would never admit that Spade had the advantage over her in that respect, so she ignored the ways in which the philosophy was so blatantly wrong. Lenka only scooped up the small sack-creature, and, holding it close to her in the palms of her hands, began to pick apart the gash along its side. At the touch of Lenka's cold fingers, the ragged creature's joints squeaked with a sudden jolt of pain. It knew it was injured and cried out from an ancient instinct it couldn't understand.

"Hush," she chastised it. "It's rude to exclaim such things." She spoke with complete seriousness in her whisper, but she couldn't keep the slight smile from her features. It seemed that the creature hadn't lost too much stuffing, and the damage was reparable.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Brink Orpheus Character Portrait: Ash'waren Shagress Character Portrait: Alynna "Risque"  Silverkin Character Portrait: Julius Barker Character Portrait: Lenka Paris Character Portrait: Basil Riddle
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Ash felt the jerk as Alynna caught on her net, but held strong like a catching a large animal in it. She nodded as she scooped under her. "Then it's done it's job. I'll get 'cha down." She said as she secured herself on the rope and started to lower herself down with her cargo. The sack acted like a hammock as she lowered her to the ground, the two large spiders lifting up their legs toward the bottom of the sack as if trying to make the decent easier as they reached ground level.

Her head perked up from the sound of clapping, something that one wouldn't expected to hear such a thing. Once she and her cargo where safely on ground level, she looked in the stands and watched a man be chastised for clapping as if this were a show. Then again, getting someone to safety with a whole horde of spiders of all sizes could be considered a show in itself if one was so inclined. She looked down at Alynna and tried to smile as best she could. "You okay to step out of the sack yourself, I can open it some if you need it." She asked as she attached the top of the sack to the spiderweb net above them.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Brink Orpheus Character Portrait: Derrick Cartner Character Portrait: Alynna "Risque"  Silverkin Character Portrait: Julius Barker Character Portrait: Lenka Paris Character Portrait: Synthia, Fiora Character Portrait: Moshe Fairview Character Portrait: Basil Riddle
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No one at the circus knew his true name, sometimes even he himself forgot it. After all, they had found the small fourteen year old seemingly dead on the side of a muddy dirt road- the stuff had been caked on him. His hair had originally been black, that was easy to see from how the cyan and white was dyed messily into it. And below his left eye was a icy blue tattoo, the same color as his eyes, and it was of a small spade. It was how he had gotten his name, since at the time he had refused to tell anyone what his true name was. To this day, he had not told a soul. Yet, he could not lose his name. If one were to enter his caravan, they would easily discover his name. The walls were bloody with it- literally, some things were written in a substance that looked scarily similar to blood. Thus why no one was allowed in there either.

The circus was a place where new things were being tested and done each day. Spade was often the one to test how dangerous or harmful things would be, since he was incapable of feeling pain and healed up quite quickly. When he wasn't being used for that, he often did tricks of his own that- big surprise -included cards. An ace of spades could almost always be found somewhere on his person. He was that mysterious guy that the girls in the crowd always drooled over. Attractive, quiet, uncaring, he didn't really see what about that made him desirable by them, but it didn't matter either way- he wasn't interested, ever. There were very few things that Spade actually took an interest in. His cards, himself, and his unknown past.

The tall man gave a short nod, "Correct." The fae almost seemed hesitant to use his stage name, perhaps even hesitant to say anything at all. He could see why, not many at the circus had actually spoken to him. Not that many wanted to, he was rather cold and not the best conversationalist. It almost even amused him to see her hesitant to use his stage name, as if unsure if he would permit it. Probably because most here just went by there actual name. After stepping back up, he sat himself down on the steps, quickly becoming bored again now that the danger was gone. Spade stood after awhile, giving a glance around before descending the stairs and exiting the tent.



By the time Moshe had returned with the towels and water, Derrick had set out everything he needed and was just waiting to clean the blood off before he could take care of the wound. Through the whole time he had been talking softly to Synthia, no matter the annoyed look that currently occupied his face, it was perhaps the kindest he had ever spoken to anyone- besides Julius. It must have been strange, seeing the youngest boy in the circus take out scalpels, sutures, most any medical instrument you could think of from this box. Must have been even stranger to see him prepare to "operate"- as one would call it -on a girl older than him, with other adults around. Again, from the home schooling when he was younger. His parents raised him to one day be a doctor.

As he was cleaning off the wound with the water and a towel, he glanced up at Moshe. "I need you to keep her calm, this is likely going to hurt." The young boy took a bottle of liquid from his box, something strong enough to effectively disintegrate any bacteria in the wound. "Keep her still," he said, right before pouring the substance directly into the cut and all around it. Quickly he pressed a new towel against the knee, to keep it in and then to dry it. After a few more steps he took out the suture, again instructing Moshe to hold her while he stitched up the knee. At the end he simply wiped it again and then wrapped it up with medical tape, then setting himself to cleaning his instruments and putting them back away. "You should be alright now, Synthia. I suggest you take it easy on that leg. If the bandages get dirty just come to me and I'll replace them, and when it's time for the stitches to come out you can either pull them yourself or I will."

As soon as Brink entered the tent, Derrick went towards him. He didn't ask about Alynna, nothing, just pulled the bigger man into a hug and didn't let go. The man looked literally like he was about to cry, and he knew that he probably didn't want others to see that. "Moshe, help Synthia out of here." the boy demanded, only letting Brink go long enough to move them out of the way of the door so the two could get by. Once they were out, Derrick quickly shut the tent and pulled Brink over to the long bench with him, making the man sit before taking a seat directly next to him and once again pulling the man to him. "What happened?" he whispered, chewing on his lower lip. "Are you okay?"

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Character Portrait: Alice Darkwood Character Portrait: Lenka Paris Character Portrait: Calais Lochley
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Calais Lochley


The sudden lack of sun was enough to pull Calais from his fragmented sleep, and he awoke with a start, nearly knocking himself to the ground— which, admittedly, would have been painful, given that he'd fallen asleep in a Y-shaped crook in a tree branch. His legs, long and spindly, hung over one edge, and his arms hung over the other looking just the same. He scrabbled to find some sort of hold before he slipped. His body was at an odd angle, and it was only a matter of time, now.

For all the effort, though, it really wasn't worth it. What little sleep he had gotten in the past hour hadn't done much to push away the headache throbbing in his temples, and whoever it was who had woken him was in for an earful. Locked in the blind, sleepless rage he knew too well for comfort, Calais' green eyes skimmed his surroundings for the perpetrator. When none was found, all there was left to do was pause and think. He'd felt a sudden burst of cold, heard a slight scrabbling, and then the light was bright in his eyes, again. Hardly pleasant and hardly distinctive. Calais peeled himself off the tree, yawned, and stretched a bit. Perhaps he'd unearth his bed and bury himself in his tent, again, where no noise would find him to wake him up. He needed the sleep. The nightmares had been getting worse, lately, and sooner or later he knew he'd end up sleepwalking again.

And he knew how the last time that had happened had worked out.

He bit the inside of his cheek and stared up at the sky, willing his eyes to wake his mind up. Puffy clouds, the only kind he'd ever seen back on the plains, hung heavy in the sky. They were so nauseatingly bright on his pinpoint pupils.

But there was something else that wasn't nauseatingly bright, and that served to sicken him even more. His stomach twisted with annoyance when he caught the silhouette out of the corner of his eye: a small, girlish figure slumped in the tree above him. So she had been the shadow. Calais had half a mind to go bother the sleeping girl and get on her case about her waking him up, but he decided against it, eventually just tossing at her a handful of pebbles in the hopes of annoying the tiny, catlike creature above. He stalked off in silent fumes through the fairgrounds like a member of the walking dead, passing by a parade of dolls and their blonde, elfin leader somewhere along his stumbled journey. He nodded in greeting and didn't much care when she only shied away. It wasn't as though he cared. Not really.

Calais thrust the canvas flap covering the entrance to his tent aside and crouched inside it, reveling in the shade but calm at heart with the way it let pinpricks of light just through enough to allow him to rest in surety that he was alone in the dark. Not bothering to unearth the cot, he fell asleep on the floor in a pile of colorful cloths. The light bouncing through the glass prisms scattered around his nest cast scintillating colors over his face. It was calm, here.

Well, it was for now. He really hoped nothing needed fixing before the performances. If it did, someone always ran to get him. Someone always had to wake him up. He might as well sleep while he could.

-


Lenka Paris: Lightgiver


The tiny homunculus was in grave need of care, and Lenka was all too quick to jump to her feet in the rush to provide him with it. She'd ignored Spade, absorbed in the woes of the tiny creature as it creaked in pain. Did it understand pain? Perhaps not, but it certainly felt it. She could feel it, even in the basest parts of her mind, and the doll, animated with that tiny fragment of her soul, could feel it all the same. Its cries grew ever more helpless. Already on her feet, she was in her performance tent quickly enough, though her legs were hardly built for running and she'd grown tired after only a few moments. Her hands pinched the gash in the doll's head shut to keep the stuffing from falling out.

There was no way she was going to lose the creature she'd trained for so long fade away here because of a tear.

Lenka re-animated the crumpled performers, who lined up behind her like ducklings, following her brisk steps across the grounds with their own tottering runs. Their footsteps were quiet over the grass, and they hardly made a sound even in passing the man that had so kindly created their joint systems for them. On arriving at Lenka's tent, the three performance dolls waited outside while Lenka herself stepped in, eyes skimming its inside for her sewing supplies. There was cloth and a half-finished dress, a doll, and a costume, none of which were even remotely the two basic materials she sought.

The sack creature had quieted its cries, and in this, Lenka found herself somewhat cheered up. At least it had manners. She'd taught it well. Perhaps, someday, it would be a tiny man of its own, but for now it was just as much mortal, hanging over death, as it was robotic and detached from the soul that had given its life. Now wasn't the time to worry about the distinction between humanity and life.

All she needed was a damn needle and some thread.