Mission #29 Devil's in the Detail

[Phantasma]

    "I'm beginning to think I should've ignored my friends advice," Kite muttered under his breath, a grimace fixed onto him as he observed the activities of the fair ground. 

    Innocent advice, to have fun after a string of seemingly endless and stressful adventures. The idea was with the best of intentions, one of the captains Kite had crewed up with following his entrance into deeper parts of the crocodile route.

    Currently walking around, ticket in hand, Kite was aboard one of the largest and probably sole sea-drifting circus. Rather than located on an island the establishment was formed from multiple ships being bound together and then having a majority of their upper compartments cannibalized in order to give an even amount of space for the big blue and white tent that rose to the heavens. Printed on said tent instead of the typical lines you'd associate with the big top were an innumerable amount of stars. The center pole itself was one such gleaming shape. At the periphery of the ships four sides were ladders and mores to hook ships onto, and had been a place just moments ago Kite had ventured from. Once you climbed up the ladder you waited in a felt-rope line maze and marched up to one of possibly four or five gates with a single ticket master. They put on a show, sold the place up and gave you a ticket for no more than 10 beri. Sustainable only thanks to what was probably near constant foot traffic, Kite proposed. 

    But what got him to rethink his adventure was the near deserted nature of the place once you really got to looking. A few carnies operated various rides and games, booths and physical rides separated into two halves but beyond that the place was obviously under staffed. Trying not to stare and being unable to dull his hearing quick enough it was common for Kite to chance hearing fighting. Through the giggles of children and the shouts of 'WINNER WINNER~' came a very, very vivid and heated argument around some side of the big top. 

    "I don't know-- Okay listen Dimple I'm done. Yes I'm done you little nightmare! Your dad was a hell of a lot better at the circus biz and this treatment... I'm unreasonable?! Screw. Off! Go call up some temps because you just lost ANOTHER clown!" The voice rattled off, even when walking away Kite could've sworn the conversation was getting louder. 

    Looking over his shoulder he just barely dodged what was very clearly one angry clown. Lacking makeup, red in the face wearing a pied suit of gold and silver the jester figure huffed past the hunter. Taking his hat and throwing it down onto the ground making speed straight towards the west moor. Running along behind him was a noticeable shorter than average figure clad in what was mostly a pure white suit stylized almost like Kites. Complete with a cravat, the monkey suit had golden bangles affixed to the wrists and a matching tipped cane that the shorter than average figure sported. Atop what was likely a mask, perfectly round with two star shaped eyes and a tiny grin, was a very VERY tall top hat that was also comically thin having to be glued onto the mask to avoid falling. Unable to catch up to or stop his flustered worker, or hers, the figure walked back towards the tent picking up the hat and staring at it in their gloved hand for a time. Tensing up and quickly jerking their head to look at Kite who was now sitting off to the side chowing down on some popcorn and drinking what was probably soda or juice of some kind. 

    Pretending to look off somewhere else the oddly dressed man didn't hold his gaze long. Looking back towards the big top he retreated at a surprisingly quick pace, at much the same moment a few carnival workers exited the tent flaps and started putting signs at each entrance. From what Kite could read from his little perch the announcement on the picket signs, likely to be jammed into boards, was positions for a temp job. 

    Apparently that clown was one of many that had left the circus, Dimples Wondrous Circus to be exact. 

    Not thinking too hard the young man wolfed down yet more of the hot food. It came from corn yet, it tasted nothing like it. An explosion of a particular flavor that a lot of foods just couldn't replicate as well as some other indeterminable flavor that the workers sprinkled on in the form of seasonings. There was also the soda-like juice which fizzed in his mouth and popped along his tongue in an avalanche of orange citrus-y goodness. The two flavors combined and despite being somewhat soggy tasted so good that the decent sized baggy Kite should've been nursing throughout the show was devoured in the course of a minute or so with the drink following fast. Letting loose a shielded burp the hunter spotted some sort of trash bin, nearest to one of the fountains and let go of the empty containers into the depths of it. 

    Noticing a near quietus of the surrounding area Kite very passively looked around him turning from left to right before spinning on his heels. Near the mouth of the bigtop a gathering of sorts had formed with the oddly dressed fellow at the center, ushering folks over with a point and wave of its hand the gaze of those twin shapes soon fell on Kite flagging him over. Popping one of his brows up and inclining his chin down as his head moved somewhat back the white haired, smartly dressed hunter moved to join the gathering. 

    Error was made in his dress code for once as many people in hushed towns asked if he was supposed to be up there with the ring leader. The nature of Kites pinestriped, three piece suit was on par if not of the same quality as the organizer of this troupe possessing black and whites as well as splotches of red in the forms of slips on the flanks of either side of the over coat as well as the inside of said overcoats material. Shaking his head and excusing himself it was easy enough to dispel these rumors, for now. 

    "Before we start our show, I'd like to ask some of our crowd to be volunteers! Temporary staff! We've had a shortage in clowns and would be delighted to take that opportunity to incorporate some of you fine ladies and gentlemen into the show. You'll be paid, you'll be rewarded and you might even find that you want to stick with my troupe. Either way, the show must go on, on to a fabulous show that will start in no less than an hour. I apologize for this inconvenience and encourage anyone to seek me out personally if they wish to take me up on my offer or ask for a refund," Undeniably masculine the short man, bearing height of around five feet, took his hat and inclined his masked face before finally mounting the thin shape back atop his dome piece. 

    "Do you have to wear make up?" Kite piped up, breaking the awkward silence that filled the crowd getting a few laughs in return. 

    "Why no young sir! This is a masquerade circus~ All troupe workers are done up to add to the flare, the mystique and the reputation set forth by our founding ship. The Wonder! Wouldn't be curious as to helping me would you?" Punctuating his statement with an outstretched Cane it didn't take long for the crowd to get into the mood and circulate the taller man up to the stage being too shocked to fight the movement of limbs and the cheering that sprang up. 

    'What... how?'

    "Now I can't have just ONE clown, I'd need a few more. Volunteers? Volunte-He-EEEEEERS?!" Cupping his free left hand to his drawn on mask the ring master let out a whoop enthralling those around him further through some bizarre aura of showmanship or something more. 

    A few more unfortunate souls joined the stage, Kite was however transfixed by the ringmaster himself. Squinting and narrowing those red eyes of his to try and reason just what he was looking at. 

    True to his name, if it was dimple, there was a tiny little black dot over on the left side of his mask.

    "That's some Charisma you've got." 

[York]

If you wanted the best swimmer around, you would find a fish. If you wanted the best flyers around, you would find a bird. If you wanted to satisfy a rabid audience thirsting for the show of a lifetime, you would find Adrian Idol.

Sat in the back area of the floating festival, a towel covering his low hung head was Idol, humming to himself a familiar tune. This was not a head covering of shame, but a part of his usual pre-match ritual, done to keep his nerves calm and focus tightened. The last-minute jitters that once froze his muscles and dried his throat were not going to rear its ugly head around here. Such would not only make himself look bad but would be a slap on the face to Mr. Dimple, who was so kind to save his life and give him a job.

He was lucky to have found the ship when he had. Another day or two of sailing the Grand Line on his dinky sailboat would’ve spelled out a watery grave for him. Had it not been for Mr. Dimple’s desperation for performers, Idol would’ve been without paycheck, without boat, and likely without life.

While at first, Idol couldn’t shake the feeling that the revolving door of employees was foretelling catastrophic workplace conditions, he found that the living and working conditions weren’t too different from those at the WBCW Battle Ship. Traveling the seas with some good friends, doing some basic chores, and doing what you did best in front of a crowd on a nightly basis. Save for the larger size of the vessel, and the fact that he was not being presented as a professional wrestler, it was almost exactly the same.

But if Adrian Idol, Professional Wrestler Extraordinaire, was not a wrestler, then what was he? Well, if the colorfully striped tights he currently wore or the mask in his hands was indicative of anything, he was playing the role of a common clown. While not exactly glamorous, the purpose of the ship was not to make Idol famous but to give him some money and travel him about until he was able to procure a boat of his own. Besides, if anyone writing a wrestling newsletter was to discover him being a clown, he’d likely die of embarrassment. He’d never be taken seriously again.

Some commotion around the corner raised Idol’s head and dropped the towel to the floor. Slipping his mask on, Idol stepped outside of the room, spotting a gentleman with a clipboard talking with another clown. Neither seemed too pleased with the subject matter, but their expressions turned for the better when they spotted to Idol.

“Change of plans, Lodi” he called, referring to Idol by the name he made up to protect his identity. “Our opener just walked. Looks like you’ll be opening the show tonight.”

Idol’s face twisted halfway into an excited smile and a worried scowl, not that it could be seen through the mask. Scampering back into the changing room, he slid his foot into one of his wrestling boots, his hands trembling with excitement so much that he could barely tie them up properly. When presented with his role in the night’s festivities, no force on this planet would have been able to stop him from accepting it.

Initially confused as to why the other clowns weren’t chomping at the bit to get Idol’s gig, he much later realized that it was because they were ordinary people in costumes. A professional wrestler like him turning down a chance like this, to etch their name in the annals of wrestling history, was unheard of. Maybe by the end of the night, he’d even rip his mask off and show his true identity. But there was much he needed to do beforehand.

For tonight, Adrian Idol was scheduled to fight a bear.

[Phantasma]

    A full thirty minutes had passed, during which a full wardrobe change had been offered to the bits of the crowd Dimple lured in. Either through his charisma or some unearthly power he had even managed to convince Kite to assist him, taking not but a bow to the crowd after leading his performers in by the hands towards the towering circus tent that comprised the center point of the carnival. Bleachers, collapsible seating was arranged in a circular fashion with stairs leading up to the heights of the berths while a small section was cut out to allow direct entrance to the center of it all. Props, rings that had yet to be set afire, animal cages with lethargic and uninterested specimens, mysterious star patterned boxes, the place was a real mess when you got down to it. Kite couldn't help but frown when he looked at it all, disenchanting when you compared it to the now gilded outside atmosphere of what was clearly a failing or diving circus. Dimple didn't miss a beat and after having dragged his crew of 10 people including Kite to a little podium-like platform dead center he hopped atop it and addressed them. 

    "Performances are oft enhanced by the fantastic-- nay the phantasmagorical~! As clowns this comes with the benefit of costumes," Raising his hands high those same boxes strewn about like ruins began to move. 

    Stage hands, assistants, wearing nothing more than full black body costumes with white masks wheeled the contraptions behind each of the dazzled and perhaps less dazzled crowd members. Unceremoniously flicking open unseen locks forcing them to swing open like human sized cupboards. Ushering in or often shoving in folks it only took a few seconds in the magical cubby's for folks to come out clad in some gaudy or ridiculous outfit. You had people in Pied, people with bloated balloon like guises and even the occasional animal-themed costume. When Kites turn came he refused to move at first eyeing the yawning abyss of the boxes unpleasantly empty frame. 

    "How does it work?" Turning his head back around looking dead on at dimple, who seemed to oddly shrink back atop his pedestal hands fumbling with his cane. 

    "You'll... Just have to find out! One of the bonuses of working for me, you get to see some of my magic up close. Doesn't that sound nice~?" Raising his cane up into the air like a conductors wand he was afforded a few confused cheers which seemed to be from the less-than-jazzed crowd who struggled to adjust their costumes. 

    Turning in place looking back to Dimple and the now somewhat huffing stage hand who was sighing up a storm Kite weighed his options. He didn't like how he had just followed the guy and every second spent questioning him gave him the impression he was grasping at fog, forming the likes of a miniature headache that only worsened the more he spent in silence. Taking a deep breath and shaking his mane the young man came to a decision. If it meant relaxing, if it meant reaching the catharsis he needed then perhaps a performance wouldn't be that bad. Monetary gain was hardly something to win his favor but it also tipped the scales towards Dimples favor. Breathlessly he watched Kite enter the magical door-like box frame and had hidden chills pop up on his skin once the blue door swung shut. 

    Inside Kite felt a lot of movement, adjusting eyes making out the quickest of movements. A glimmer here and there, the sound of a needle puncturing cloth and forcing material together. Grunting as he felt his own clothes suddenly fly off only to quickly be grasped in the embrace of foreign, silky, wears. Putting up resistance not by taking back his clothes but cleverly collecting what he could hold and stash on himself including his weapons which were now awkwardly hidden in his sleeves between some interior elastic. Once that door finally opened the white haired rebel finally saw the source of all the movement, the rather forceful ripping that saw his clothes in a heap. It was a spider, a big, horribly large arachnid that fumbled with the door knob before biting it between large fangs and slamming it shut. Feeling his skin crawl and hairs stand up on end Kite shunted every notion of having a spider touch his EXPOSED FORM from his mind. 

    He failed.

    Black, dagger like legs and a midnight like exoskeleton would haunt him for many minutes. Put an ugly little cringe on his face that forced Dimple into not immediately handing his mask instead choosing to poke the fellow in his stomach gently as he could with his cane offering up an inquiring tone as he did so. 

    "First time jitters? I believe I could do with showing you what act you'll be following if it'll make things any easier. Help you actors get a feel for one another."

    "No...I... Why do you have spiders handling the costume changes?"

    A silence immediately took the crowd as masked and unmasked clowns exchanged distressing expressions. Many took hands up to hidden or visible mouths and eyes went wide, two at the least took a step back and turned paler. Slamming his cane down Dimple pointed a finger right up to Kite and sternly, through his shenanigan faux-polite showman manner answered closing the distance between the two men. 

    "It must be jitters then! What kind of spider could you train to fix garments onto people?! They're insects my boy, and I only offer up the very best for my workers. Temporary or not I would never on my spotless career as a circus meister have bugs tend to my precious performers! Now... I believe it's time I dispelled those fears and introduced a man among men. Whose so fearsome and powerful I found him prowling these very waters armed with nothing more than his wits and his fists. Nay not a barbarian but a man's man!" Turning from Kite and running to the clowns, talking with his hands he managed to get a few hurrah's and many 'oh's' and 'ah's'. 

    Hardly convinced but still grappling with his headache Kite took the mask he had been handed at the last second and affixed it to his face. Though the surface was featureless the back was seemingly transparent, responding to touch in order to draw ghostly blue lines as way of painting expressions. It matched the alien attire Kite had been given, a snug body suit that had his right side yellow while his left was entirely black. Long sleeves extended past his hands and dragged behind him while a skirt of fabric covered a good part of his legs hiding curved shoes with copper bells on their ends. A similarly drooping cone-like hat was draped over white hair with a bigger, far more loud copper bell. The jingling spheres emitted a tremendous amount of noise and convinced Kite to hardly move as the ring leader bounced back to his Podium and clapped his hands. 

    The littered ground of the tent was cleared. Boxes were wheeled out, rings were taken beneath the hollow of the bleaches and whatever system of lighting kept the interior with a romantic atmosphere blackened themselves leaving swirling spotlights to flash and run around the ground until finally hitting the ground nearest to Dimple on the left. This entire vessel had mad an expert use of already limited space as what appeared solid was often hollow, being a composite creation-- an amalgam that eventually made a circus would've reinforced this kind of attitude and design scheme. Even the belly of the ship with its various isolated holds were connected by a system of trap doors, a fact unknown to all but the highest of positions in the circus and the captains that owned the ships as well as Dimple himself. It bestowed upon those in the know a sort of phantom like status, the ability to appear and disappear to anywhere on the ship. 

[York]

Legend has it the very first professional wrestlers to ever walk the earth were bears. Said legends tell of these mighty beasts of all sizes lunging towards one another and performing primitive versions of now-iconic wrestling holds. To any wrestler worth their salt, a chance to wrestle a bear was a chance to learn from nature’s grandmasters and to place themselves on a level above others. When that bell rang, it would be time for Idol to put his money where his mouth was and see just how far he’d advanced as a wrestler since leaving the Battle Ship. There wouldn’t be a second chance at this. Failure meant gruesome maiming or even death.

At times like these, he wished he could look into his bag and find a picture of himself and his father during his childhood. If not to strengthen his resolve, then to remind him what all of this traveling and fighting was all for. Now, unfortunately, Idol had no idea where his bag was after Dimple's clothes changing team members put it away. For what felt like the first time since he left his home on the Battle Ship, Idol was truly alone on the matter.

What made the situation worse was the attire Idol had to wear to go into his bear battle. Gone were his liberating, form-fitting, custom made wrestling trunks. Now, the blonde wrestler was forced to wear strange, stitched together tights, a loose-fitting top that shamefully covered up his toned physique, and worst of all, a mask. While not exactly tight enough to suppress his breathing, the idea of covering a face like his was akin to dumping a bucket of black ink over an ornate painting.

Why was Dimple so dead set on having everyone masked? Makeup would work just as fine, and would even allow the audience to see Idol’s determined expressions and get behind him and want to support him. But if the boss wanted masks, then he’d have masks. Arguing with the promoter was often a fruitless endeavor, and making Dimple upset seemed like an easy way to find himself back at sea, dilapidated boat and all.

Thankfully, Idol was able to talk him into allowing the wrestling boots to stay. After all, he needed to maintain some sort of professional aura to show the crowd that he wasn’t some geek picked up from the sea like a common sea mackerel.

“Only way I’m gonna come out of this looking cool is by winning,” he thought, looking himself up and down and drinking in the man in the mirror. “I guess I’m winning, then.”

[Phantasma]

    The now cleaned circus big top was the perfect resonating chamber. Because after the thunderous fanfare that this wrestler had received it was easy enough to admire the silence once it set in. Clowns, even Kite, looked to each other and back at Dimple who seemed to take imaginary stabs of a dagger with each passing glance of doubt. Going through his theatrics he looked around helplessly head swiveling around and his little hat bobbing in place as he tried to register the shape of his star. Totally beside himself the ring leader plopped down on his podium legs swinging off to the side as he held his head in his hands cane smacking off to the side to his left thumping around on the ground until finally landing and stilling itself. 

    "Well... that was yet another flop. Where is the guy?! Sheesh... you pay one guy that you find drifting around the ocean and he doesn't even show! Well..." Dimple mumbled to himself, so caught up in his own little world that he nearly flipped off his stand when Kite approached. 

    "It was an endearing little speech. But I suspect that you'll want us to... get ready for the crowd outside? Rehearsals? Won't we be going through our performance before we actually do it?"

    "Aha! Right you are!" Dimple perked up and slid off the elevated platform grabbing his momentarily abandoned cane and lifting it high up into the air like the conductor of an orchestra. 

    Waving it around the effect was near instant. In a blinding movement of stage hands the cleaned and less cluttered ring became the battleground for various boxes once more only this time unlike the changing rooms these were legitimate cargo and weren't on wheels or exactly mobile. Arranged in a pyramid numbering a total of five rectangular boxes they sat between the clown troupe and Dimple, who in a show of acrobatics managed to do a quadruple back flip and land arms up at the top eliciting a round of applause. Kite gave a pity clap and sighed underneath his expressionless mask. Having done such an odd maneuver the showman had to turn on his heels to face the crowd.

    "Within these boxes you'll find equipment and all sorts of goodies. Consider this box your lifeline and don't soon lose it! Don't worry about moving it just come up and pick a number-- don't worry about there not being enough since I see a few of you looking around. We certainly have enough~" Flipping forward this time only once he allowed a good number of the group to read off a number and go back to their spot in the room. 

    Once five out of the eight had selected their boxes they were led off by stage hands towards the bleachers. Therein previously closed trapdoors opened and were seen filled with both boxes, stagehands and clowns who disappeared once the doors shut while inside a lift carried them down to the inner workings of the ship. Long hallways with unmarked doors awaited the clowns, ruined photographs and aged wood assaulted the senses and the changing rooms eventually provided were dingy. An oil lamp was set upon a red oak vanity mirror which provided an otherwise romantic lighting to the roach motel like rooms. Many clowns were put off by this but very quickly began looking into whatever things were provided in the crates. It didn't take much effort to pry off the lids, typical with the word clown things like seltzer bottles were sprawled out in the supplies as well as unicycles and various manuals. There was even enough space to fit in blow up dolls and bowling pins although a lot of the stuff had seen better days and were clearly beyond their sell-by dates. For many it was dimple that sold them the idea of working in these conditions because if it wasn't for his charisma then many of the sights alone would've sent people packing. 

    Kite was in the last group that eventually got provided their own boxes. Taking one last look around he worked up the motivation to continue along with the ploy annoying the increasingly nagging feeling in the back of his head. It was natural that his stomach sunk once he saw the state of the entirely wooden hallway. The horrible stained walls, ruined pictures, shattered door windows and entirely barricaded frames. Manners told him to mutter out a thanks to the masked lead who spun off into the darkness after having taken their charge to one of the rooms on the left far down the initial trapdoor hallway. 

    Taking in the room and admiring himself in the mirror for a moment and no more Kite went through bits and boggles. Most of the toys, tools, were unusable and a few were in such an offensive state of existence that the hunter refused to pick them up. Taking to reading the literature provided Kite sat on the tiny stool seated nearest to the broken vanity mirror. Folding a left leg over his right knee he leaned back against the wall sighing. Cracking open the tome and reading by oil light he began with the title. 

    'Nincompoop's Guide to Comedy Vol. 1 of 1' 

    "It's a wonder that they didn't make more. With a title like that..." Rolling his eyes and going back to his reading Kite spoke out loud. 

    No sooner had he done so did the wall groan and warp behind his head. Sinking realization making the hunter fly to his feet with the book in his left hands grasp while his right felt along the weakened wall. Stool toppling to the ground the hunter's eyes were wide as he continued to hear the cracking and splintering of unseen timbers. The ruined and aged state of this section of the ship worked against itself and although the wall which framed the door didn't bust, a completely unrelated one to the furthermost, empty back side did. A cloud of dust and freed webs fluttered out while the masked Kite cursed under his breath investigating whose room this had spilled into. 

[York]

“Hey, Lodi, where are you?” A voice from outside of the room called. “We need to get you in position!”

“I’m coming, Zip!” Idol said to the familiar voice, still staring at himself in the mirror.

There was a shuffling by the door, and gentleman wielding the clipboard from before, Zip, poked his head in. He stared coldly at Idol’s reflection in the mirror, trying to find his eyes behind his mask.

“Did you hear me?” Zip asked, poking at his clipboard. “We need to get you to the platform. Come on, let’s go.”

“I hear you loud and clear” Idol said, still staring at himself in the mirror.

A painfully long 15 seconds passed as both men stared expectedly, waiting for something to happen or someone to speak up.

“Would you get the lead out already?”A now frustrated Zip called, stepping into the room and putting a hand to Idol’s shoulder. “The show’s starting soon and we gotta start hot!”

With the hand on Idol’s shoulder, the producer could feel the wrestler’s entire body jittering like a blender on high. Looking down, he saw Idol’s shaking knees and could hear his heavy breathing through his mask. Sighing, he pat Idol on the shoulder with his free hand and left the room. “When you’re done wetting yourself, get to the platform. You got about 20.”

The moment Zip exited the room, no doubt to address another uncompleted task, Idol reached down at his legs and began slapping them. “Come on. Come on!” Raising his left leg by the knee, he furiously shook it to get the blood flowing again. “Stupid legs, we got work to do!”

The feeling in Idol’s right leg had not yet returned when the wall adjacent to him creaked and groaned. Surprised, Idol stumbled backwards and fell on the creaking, cracked, bending wooden floor beneath him. But the state of the floor was the last thing on Idol’s mind at the time.

The first thing on Idol's mind was the images of a wild, probably unfed bear finally breaking loose from his restraints and charging through the wall. Would a bear be able to smell through a wooden wall? Did the bear know what its opponent smelled like? Idol rolled backwards to his knees and put up his fists, as he scanned his mind for the advice of his legendary World Champion father.

“Remember, there's no such thing as 'Too much money on liquor'!”

Wait, that wasn’t the one.

“If she comes with a friend, your chances are doubled!”

No no no, that wasn’t it either.

“If you ever find yourself in a fight against a bear, my son, always remember this precious, precious advice. What you have to do is, and I cannot stress this enou‒”

“Hey Rich, you gonna sign for this or what?”

“Huh? What? Oh, right. Uhh, just give me a second here, Adrian. I gotta take care of this.”

Idol was snapped out of his trance when the realization that there were no bears finally came to maul him. Instead, it was just another room on the ship. There was a clown on the other side,  staring through the broken wall and at Idol. Feeling the awkward aura of the situation hanging over him like a stagelight, Idol coughed into his fist and got to his feet, patting down his dusty knees.

“Hey pal!” he called, pointing to the clown behind the wall. “Save some of that energy for the crowd, alright? These walls aren't making the noise we're after."

[Phantasma]

    "Pal?" Taken aback briefly Kites head shot up and he ceased leaning over into the quickly lit hole. 

    "Pal..." Rolling the word over in his mouth he straightened himself and lightly scooted the remnants of the division to the side within the changing room. 

    The woodchips, splintered pieces of oak, harder but equally so water damaged iron and other such debris found a home in the clowns side of this little opening. Getting back to the task at hand the Hunter traced his gloved fingers across the man sized opening and found the moment he brought his costumed digits back they were stained with water. Rhythmically a pattering of droplets hit the floor, the source being some long forgotten pipe above and likely one of the main reasons knocking down this wall was at all possible. 

    'Not that I couldn't break this wall,' Kite corrected himself. 

    'Not that I... would want to break this wall,' Hissing out the additional correction in his mind. 

    Snapping back to reality Kite tried not to slap himself to get him to come to attention. Lingering in the entrance to the wall like he was all silent there was hardly any room to not assume he was a freak. The clown costume and mask didn't help it, curiosity was going to fall deaf on the person whose space he had invaded! Very quickly Kalisto burned through a plethora of small talk before finally deciding upon one, vocalizing it and hoping it would alleviate some of the suspicion that had now been placed on him. 

    "Walls are like a soggy graham cracker. You'd think with all this money they'd take better care of their ship," Moving to adjust his mask Kite kept the charismatic grace of the new kid in school trying to introduce himself to the class. 

    Crumpling under unseen pressure he soon retreated back to his side of the wall making a note not to do anything else drastic or within the remote realm of relaxation. Gently scooting his chair away Kite drifted back towards the vanity mirror and started to thumb through the book trying to pick away at the material to distract the nagging embarrassment he now felt and the possibility of being bled dry by Dimple in an effort to secure funds to repay for the wall. Hardly the case that Kite was poor, it was more on principles that he didn't want to pay for something he wasn't entirely responsible for breaking in the first place. 

    "Boring... dry... Dry and boring! Christ he expects me to use these kinds of tired jokes... Was almost positive a clown was supposed to be like a jester or buffoon. All of this is satire! That's the true joke there-- that this book expects horrid jokes like that to be funny," Kite slapped his hands against his mask and reclined in his seat groaning. 

    If it wasn't the wall, then it was the book that he was provided. The entire experience of this carnival was just like one big anticlimax after the other and throughout the entire spectacle Kite still had no idea why he was going along with this. None of what he had experienced was relaxing, breaking down a wall wasn't relaxing and being expected to perform in front of a crowd without much of an act was ALSO embarrassing. The kid hadn't the faintest clue of what comedy was supposed to be! 

    Gripping the expressionless face cap as he was a certain awareness overcome the hunter, perhaps the prying eyes of Idol or something else. Either way his breath hitched and a clearing cough came out of the depths of his costume. 

    "I... uh... Sorry about that. Tough day, tough day hehe... ah... mmm," Turning about half face to look at the hole in the wall to direct his voice at Idol or perhaps intercept the other male looking at him. 

    Falling from the graceful mysteriousness that his costume gave him only came harder when both doors simultaneously opened with the stage hands ushering them out. It was a jerky motion, first a twist of the knob that immediately had Kite turn about face only to have the frames practically squeal as excessive force was applied. The creepy little helpers didn't talk, hardly made direct mask-to-eye contact but what they did get was handsy and pointy. For the slow or the pensive they'd tug at your hands while those quicker on the uptake only got flagged to come to the door. Naturally one or two other stage hands stayed in the room to examine the wall looking to one another and crossing over the naked air that now separated both rooms. Among their own kind they didn't speak, only looked at each other tracing over the impact like Kite had done moments before. 

    "Hey! No touching... yeesh. I know, I know biiiiig important show," Muttering it out of his mouth sideways Kalisto disappeared out of the door after having successfully been poked out of his chair and guided to the door by a singular stage hand. 

    Whatever state Idol was in would affect how he was treated. If he got up and left without a problem hardly any contact would come to him, now if he resisted and tried to inquire what had just happened or stayed to watch the creepy staring contest between either side of the wall with the stage hands there'd be poking. Poking followed by tugging and the impatient tap dance of someone that really wanted to get a move on, pacing that wasn't only rude but distracting. 

    It made for an awkward set of circumstances since both Idol and Kite were going to be walked in single file through the same hallway all the way to the ring master at the big top. What they would talk about, everything else about the journey was up for them to decide because even the other clowns were oddly quiet. From experience one couldn't just rely on the stage hands to fill the quiet of the hallway either. 

[York]

Idol couldn’t help but snicker at the comment of money being improperly used onboard this ship. It was a story he had heard many times before. Not from his old days on the WBCW Battle Ship, but from foreign wrestlers visiting from other vessels. “Yeah. Maybe the guy in charge is using his money for other things, if you know what I mean” he said, tapping his nose and making a deep inhale through it. Idol got a good smell of the mask, and he recoiled as the coarse fabric tickled his nose hairs.

As the other clown slide back into his room, Idol poked his head through the hole to get a good look around. What he found in the other room was a number of unfamiliar clowns, already dressed in costumes and masks. Had Dimple gone ahead and hired a new whole whack of new clowns already? So close to the show.


Fully intending to leap through the hole and talk to the clowns some more, the door to Idol’s room, which he was certain was already ajar, burst open again. An ensemble of stagehands entered and circled around the wrestler and poked and jerked him in the direction of the door.


“Hey, what’re you up to?” Idol said, reluctantly walking in the direction they were forcing him. “Zip said I had 20 minutes left! Hey!”


“I meant 20 seconds,” a dismbodied voice said Idol tried to turn to face them, but was met with yet more aggressive yanking towards the door. “Now move it!”


“What are these guys worried about, anyway?” Idol muttered as the poking and shoving only increased as he was forced out of his dressing room and into the dingy hallways. “I’m the one risking his skin for the audience tonigh. I shouldn’t be pushed around by a buncha geeks.”


Around a few corners and he would find himself in the company of other clowns on board into a neat line. One of the only neat things back there. A number of the clowns from the other room were present, and Idol took it upon himself to pat one of them on the shoulder and break the ice.

“Hey, pal,” he said, already working on establishing a new catchphrase. “Are you ready to knock some socks off tonight?!”

[Phantasma]

    "In home country being clown more than willy nilly taking off foot sacks," In a voice that was as gruff as it was poorly gripped with basic English one of the clowns answered.  

    The source easily identifiable by the fact they stepped out of the loose grouping of clowns currently waiting in the lobby. At the front of the line, now staring up at Idol was perhaps the reddest clown either him or Kite had ever seen. His entire outfit was one massive shade of bright, eye gouging tomato shaded red. A single, cartoonishly simple expression was painted onto where his face would be. Worn on this diminutive, Russian-like voiced clown was a smiley face only it was upside down giving more of a creepy vibe than a humorous one. 

    "Nyet! To be Carny is to being serious! Passionate! How you say... professional! That is what makes full punch card and full belly!" Pounding his chest the possibly four foot tall child man went back to his place in line. 

    At best his little speech got murmurs, certainly got Kite to flinch more than Idol placing a hand on him. Whoever that little clown was really put a certain dissonance towards the new hires, his air of superiority despite lacking in height and intimidation was elevated by his harsh accent and odd choice of words. Still, even in silence he appeared to be taking what he said to heart and had gone into isometric exercises propping himself against the wall with a single leg and testing his flexibility. He could manage to bend and turn around through the gap in his legs, risking insanity already Kite blinked and turned away back to Idol shrugging the hand off finally and clearing his throat. He hated how his voice echoed even here in this corridor lobby. 

    If you could even call it that. A few stools, dusted paintings and some empty cargo boxes. Had it not been for the unstable sounds from above or the groaning from below this place would be a touch more creepy. That might've been too late to prevent however, as the lack of lighting did leave certain areas clustered in a web of darkness. Not your typical shadows, no, the corners of the room possessed an advanced darkness. One that omitted whatever hid within the umbral blanketing. Allowed to fester in the cold and gloom unseen. 

    "He's not with me," Kite began letting out a tiny, nervous laugh. 

    "But uh... yea. I mean, I'll try my best I guess. Not really here for the money or anything like that. I was told by some friends I should go to the circus to blow off some steam. Never expected to become part of the show."

    "Almost like that ring master has a certain charisma... but given how poorly this place is managed and maintained-- well. No. Bah... I'm just being paranoid I suppose," Waving his hand to the side the bounty hunter dismissed whatever suspicion he had towards Dimple. 

    Twiddling his thumbs a bit and looking around at the, frankly zonked out crew he couldn't help but take a position against one of the walls crossed his arms. The pressure on his back and a place to lean his head felt nice, and to keep up with his good manners he didn't turn away from Idol or take a distance away from the guy. Instead he opted to continue his conversation from right against the left wall trying to ignore the noises of the structure giving against his back. 

    "You're not dressed like a clown and-- well, excuse me for suspecting but your conversation with the stage hands makes me think you're a different act entirely? Mind explaining? Curious what Dimple has hired on help for... other than the clowns," Trying to keep his voice down during that last bit to avoid the wrath of a certain gnomish shape in the distance Kite leaned forward a bit. 

    Before long into the conversation however a hatch from somewhere above the troop slammed open with a rope ladder spilling out below. Most of the clowns dodges but one or two got pinned under the thing scrambling their arms and legs around like caught bugs, helped out of their predicament by at least Kite and however else rushed forward to heft the somewhat weighted hemp and wood structure. 

    "Show time friends! Just come on up here and let the games begin! Oh and don't worry about the lack of real rehearsal time. The crowd loves improv! So long as it doesn't stink anyway," Dimple practically coughed out that last bit. 

    Twinkling down from above light spilled into the corridor and revealed cobwebs. What it gave in ugly it might've doubled in hype for the wrestler given the roar of the crowd and the chanting from the stadium seating. Mixed in that howl of people was a bestial noise, a roar, a growl. A primordial tolling that would've made any regular man head for the hills and away from the caves.