Camp 92, Eastern Pavor continent, the Curiad Coast
New Pastor
The great crimson dome of the circus tent swept above the surrounding shanty, drawing the grimy inhabitants towards it like ants to an anthill. Small plumes of smoke marred the sunset, mostly in the eastern part of towm, where the still molten scar from the Aschen's orbital bombardment cut deep into the concrete.
Khavel had considered taking the night off, spending the night in a mouldering apartment, far from the prying eyes of the militia, to tinker with his new arsenal of Aschen technology, but with the rumours of the sickness breaking out in camp, the Oriyak had no idea how long this “Castala” and her people would stick around, and as such, wanted to maximize his profits from this lucrative business.
The Oriyak paused as they entered the wide space commandeered by the circus. His eyes flicked furtively around the packed square, hunting for the familiar uniforms of the militia, or the square jaws and thick shoulders of any hired muscle. Satisfied that he could enter the area unopposed, he strode forward, stuffing a fat, foul smelling cigar into the corner of his mouth, pulling down the peak of an Aschen Officer's cap to hide his frankly disgusting features.
He stole a glance over his shoulder, checking that the seven other Scatterans who had accompanied him through the shanty town were still at his back, hands clasping makeshift clubs or concealed under their greatcoats, resting on the grips of stolen firearms.
Khavel made a beeline for the cavernous entrance to the big top, hands tucked into the pockets of his greatcoat. Hunching his shoulders, he strode over to the nearest member of the circus staff, blowing out a cloud of foul smelling smoke as he addressed him.
“You there. Who in charge of this lightshow?” When he was done speaking, Khavel jammed the cigar back into his mouth, rocking back on his heels, staring down at the boy.
Castiel had been en-route to find an acrobat who had managed to disappear at exactly the wrong moment when Khavel entered the tent and accosted him. The blonde youth blinked, coughing slightly at the putrid fumes and taking a pointed step backwards. "Well, sir, as one might draw from the name of the show 'Castala's Illustrious Illusions', I would start by looking for 'Castala'."
A long pause followed, "But she isn't-"
Khavel fixed the youth with a smouldering glare, removing his hands from his pockets, which would appear to be the approximate size of the boy's head. “Don't get smart with me.” He interrupted, his voice deep, and laden with menace.
As he spoke, he pulled back the tails of his greatcoat, revealing the olive-drab body armour, and the frame of a live disruptor pistol hanging from his hip. “I have ticket and backstage pass.” Khavel grinned and tapped the grip of the pistol. “You get out of my way, and take me to boss-lady, or you end up missing face.”
Visibly paling, Castiel absorbed the presence of the deadly weapon at the oversized brute's hip, inwardly calculating just how easy it would be for the pistol to shoot him down regardless of which direction he fled in. "I- ah..." Think. Think. He was in a damned magic show, there must be something useful lying around here!
"Well, as it happens, I'm quite attached to my face," Castiel finally managed, "I'll ah, show you the way."
With that, he turned on his heel and made off for backstage once again.
Ignoring the bustle of the circus, Khavel followed close behind the boy, his eyes bouncing around the tent, watching for the tell tale signs of marksmen or armed security. One hand remained on the grip of his pistol, the other hanging loose at his side, ready to grab the boy by the throat, if anything untoward should happen.
He spat the chewed butt of the cigar from his lips, crushing it under his heel, a small smile flickering across his face. His cronies followed behind him, pushing and shoving their way through the crowd, their hands also resting on their concealed weapons.
Leading the group outside the back of the tent, Castiel paused by the door to Castala's trailer, turning to face Khavel, "If you'll give me a moment, I'll get her out. You don't mind waiting, do you? You've been so accomodating so far, after all ..."
It took a few seconds for Khavel to realize he'd been insulted, by which time, the boy had disappeared inside the trailer, and the Oriyak had to content himself with an indignant grunt as he directed his men to form a perimeter around the trailer.
Shrugging out of his greatcoat, Khavel pulled another cigar from the pocket of his overalls, wedging it between his yellowing teeth, inhaling a great gout of noxious fumes. If the little squirt kept him waiting much longer, he would crush his head like an egg.
"We have a problem."
Castiel closed the door of the trailer firmly behind himself as he walked in. Looking up from where she was rummaging around inside her hat, Castala raised an eyebrow. "Oh yes?"
The blonde boy gestured towards the door, "A bunch of local 'big men', with local 'big guns', and oversized 'big heads'. Apparently they want to speak to you. I translate that as wanting to either A, extort you, or B, violate you sexually. As far as I can tell that's the limit of their mental capacity."
The eyebrow remained raised as Castala listened, and she chuckled. "Well now, it's been a while since I've been flattered with an attempted rough-housing. It's just like old times, before I got famous."
Rising to her feet, Castala swept her long coat around and placed her top hat upon her head. Taking her jewelled staff from where it leaned on the dresser, she motioned towards the door. "Let's go confuse some thugs then, shall we?"
Castiel folded his arms, "You'd best know what you're doing," he murmured, stepping aside to let the magician through.
"When don't I?" Castala teased as she walked past and swung the door open.
"I won't answer that!" was the muffled call after her as as she descended the steps.
Khavel was leaning against the outside of the trailer when Castala descended the steps, the fat cigar clenched between his teeth. He had discarded the greatcoat, revealing the suit of military-grade body armour, and the disruptor pistol on his hip.
He grinned lecherously as the magician stepped past him, his piggy eyes running up and down her body. “Hello pretty lady...” He muttered to himself, before mentally yanking himself back onto the task in hand, hunching his shoulders and setting his face in a moody scowl.
“I have proposition for you, Cas-tah-lah.” The Oriyak stumbled over the unfamiliar name, his eyes wandering from the magician's face, dropping down slightly, the scowl reversing into a slightly slack-jawed grin.
His thugs were equally enamoured, only a few remained to watch their surroundings, the rest turning around to stare at Castala.
"Is that so?" Castala inquired as she alighted from the steps, adjusting her hat and meeting Khavel's eyes with little more than idle amusement, "Well then, do go on, love. I'm due on stage in five."
At the top of the steps, Castiel lurked nervously, hoping to hell that Castala knew what she was doing.
Flexing his brawny arms, Khavel managed to scowl again, slipping the disruptor pistol from its holster, casually aiming it at Castala. “I am insurance salesman. I offer you, and your pretty lightshot protection from fire, water, earthquake and death.”
The rest of his cronies closed a tight semi-circle around the trailer, producing long-barrelled disruptor rifles. Khavel continued, blowing a cloud of noxious smoke in the magician's direction. “I want 10,000 UCON cays payment.”
Castala seemed to muse over this offer for several moments, before lifting a single finger, "Well, it would be rather a task to arrange for ten-thousand separate individuals to say 'kay' to you, but if you only want a rather repetitive individual, I'm sure I could arrange that ..."
The magician paused as if in realisation, "Oh, you mean the currency? No no no, you've got that all wrong - I came to this planet to get paid, not the other way around, sweetie." Brushing her purple hair back, she winked, "Was that all? Because I really am running short on time..."
The brutish Oriyak towered above the magician as he stepped forward, jabbing the muzzle of the pistol towards her side. “Maybe you no hear me correctly. Ten grand. Or you end up in the sewers.”
Castiel would find himself staring down a man of similar size to Khavel approaching him, a pistol in his hands. Khavel looked down at Castala, and then up at Castiel. “If you can no pay now, we take boy, and you get him back when we get ten grand.”
"Tsk tsk tsk..." Castala shook her head, "Now now boys, you shouldn't talk so tough when you've already made the biggest gaffe you could've."
The magician twirled around on her toes, "Never lose sight of an illusionist, or let her be the one to engage contact."
With that said, both Castiel and Castala herself evaporated into nothingness - the projected illusions vanishing completely. A highly amused laugh echoed down from some distance away, as Castala waved down to the Oriyaks from the top of a temporary scaffold set up to one side of the circus tent. "Another piece of advice I'll give you for free!" she called down, her voice perfectly audible despite the distance, and yet giving across no impression of shouting, "Never lose track of a magician's hat!"
Khavel roared like a wounded animal, raising his pistol and blasting a pair of scorching plumes of energy in Castala's direction. Having vented rage and frustration sufficiently, he turned to the closest Scatteran, who had dropped his rifle, to produce a bag full of molotov cocktails.
Grinning like a small boy presented with a Christmas present, Khavel lit the first bottle with the glowing tip of his cigar, before pitching it into the interior of Castala's trailer. Another two blazing missiles arced up towards the crimson fabric of the big top, accompanied by the Oriyak's raucous bellows.
“Fuck you, pretty lady!” He yelled in the direction of the scaffold, as his men continued to hurl the firebombs at the tent.
Perfectly on cue, the lone top-hat sitting on the bottom step of the trailer trembled, and with an alarming grunt, a large white paw pushed free of the top. In a display that was as horrifying as it was comical, an enormous fifteen foot tall abomination - the fluffiness and large floppy ears upon it suggesting that it may have once been a rabbit - emerged fully into the night, and roared.
"Have fuuuun!" came Castala's voice as she disappeared into the tent with a cackle. The rabbit sniffed, and launched itself forwards straight towards Khavel.
As the monstrosity emerged from the hat, Khavel almost fell onto the muddy ground as his torso was wracked with laughter. He hadn't had this much fun in years. Regaining his composure, he braced his pistol in both hands, and emptied the rest of the microfusion cell at the rabbits face.
Khavel's men had moved away from the now blazing trailer, and had begun to distribute the firebombs into other parts of the circus, along with the occasional blast of gunfire as they put down anyone who tried to resist.
As the pistol was emptied at the lunging rabbit, the plasma seared straight into its face with rather potent results. The outcome was rather than viciously clawing at Khavel, the monstrosity instead impacted with him in a full body tackle as its head disintegrated, its momentum carrying it to slump rather inconveniently on top of the Oriyak.
Around the circus, even as Castala had retreated, the majority of the other trailers had simply faded into the background - those few that were already in the thugs' line of sight remained, but the rest of the 'trailers' that were being torched were in reality little more than piles of filth, or walls. The performers were already evacuating the area as gunfire started to go off - having been warned by a rather distraught Castiel whilst Castala bought them a few minutes.
"Now let's get this dealt with..." Castala murmured within the large circus tent as the fire started to land upon it. She stretched up with one hand to grab hold of a zip-line down from the scaffold - normally an entrance for the acrobats. As panic started to grip the crowd below, the magician calmly slid down the wire, holding her staff aloft and amplifying her voice as she shouted to the crowd.
"Many apologies, ladies and gentlemen, but due to an unfortunate incident with a large man and a molotov, tonight's performance is going to be delayed by a few minutes whilst we deal with this problem. If you'd all like to move in a calm and orderly panicked mob towards the nearest exit, avoiding the gun-toting maniacs that may or may not be in the area, that would be great."
Of course, the words 'calm and orderly' seemed to be lost somewhere in translation, as the occupants of the tent started to mob out of it, screaming and flailing for all they were worth. Castala sighed, glancing around at the burning tent as she landed in the centre of the ring, "Well it's a good job I didn't bring my good tent to this plague-hole, now isn't it?"
Folding her arms, the magician stood calmly in the ring as the crowd began to dissipate. After a moment, she reconsidered, taking a few steps to the right and slipping into invisibility, leaving a fake-Castala standing in the same spot. It wouldn't do to be sniped down while she wasn't looking.
By now, Castiel should be several miles away, complaining to the proper authority and carrying the box full of money, so this was really only a matter of time and compensation grants. Castala glanced down at her watch, before realising that it was invisible, and lowering her arm again.
Khavel sat upon the roof of a shack, a bottle of vodka in one hand, his last cigar between his lips, as the big top blazed in the distance. It was burning better than he had expected. The group of mobsters had escaped in the crowd of Scatterans that had bolted like frightened geese, disappearing into the warren of streets that surrounded the circus.
After a brief sojourn across town, the group had ducked into their nearest safe house, to spend the night in relative comfort, away from the prying eyes of the militia. Khavel took a long slug from the vodka, and grinned broadly. That was two nights in a row he'd come away empty handed, but it didn't really bother him. At least he got to set fire to a big tent, and kill a giant rabbit.
The final death toll from their escapade was uncertain. His companions had managed to gun down three of the circus performers, but Khavel hadn't seen anyone get hurt in the blaze. The Oriyak shrugged to himself and pulled the greatcoat around his massive frame against the night chill. Once again, his thoughts turned to the rumours of the sickness reaching the camp. He shivered and pushed the thought from his mind.
Some time later, the tent little more than a ragged ruin, Castala stood engaged in something of a
talk with a number of government officials. The illusionist provided them with a picture-perfect image of Khavel and his associates, and made a point of suggesting that she would be very
pleased if they stopped being a problem. And after all, when one is in a good mood, one feels a lot more
generous, don't they? And everybody loves generosity.
"What now?" On the steps of their new commandeered trailer - some of the other performers having been shifted to a more cramped share - Castiel frowned at his tutor, "I don't like this place. There are too many violent brutes, and too much plague. We can make plenty of money in safer atmospheres, back home."
Castala tutted, tapping Castiel on the forehead. "Ah ah, Tiel my dear, no talk like that. Brutes or no brutes, filth or no filth, you're forgetting the number one rule."
The magician adjusted her hat dramatically, "The show must go on!"
There was a pause, and Castiel ran his hand through his hair with a groan, and a vague muttering of "You are such a bloody poser..."
Co-written by XavierDantius32 and Script