【𝐀 𝐕𝐞𝐢𝐥 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥】➛𝓑𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓑𝓾𝓽𝓵𝓮𝓻

28

"Righty, this way." Joker led the two over to the back. Compared to the lively, glittering front of the circus, the difference was jarring. The laughter and music faded behind them, replaced by the quiet hum of everyday labour — tents patched with mismatched fabric, the damp scent of straw and oil clinging to the ground, and the faint tang of smoke from a cooking fire nearby.

The back felt less like a carnival and more like the bones beneath the skin — the slums hidden behind a mask of colour.

"Sorry it's so dirty." As they walked and weaved through the maze of tents, Ash made note of every object: a worn trunk half-hidden under canvas, an empty cage, the flash of a blade from a performer sharpening their knives. He also noted the looks they received — quiet, lingering, assessing.

"Watch yer step... Oh!" The man stopped, glancing ahead at a figure sitting atop a crate.

"Snake!" Joker waved his skeletal hand toward the reptilian man before them. Snake sat perfectly still, the faint gleam of scales visible under the low light. A pale snake coiled around his shoulders like a scarf, while another slithered lazily across his lap, its tongue flicking out as it swallowed a mouse whole.

"Is Doc in the first aid tent?"

The snake wrapped around Snake's neck lifted its head, gesturing with its tail toward another direction.

"Oops, he's on business, huh." The ginger man rubbed the back of his head, a bit sheepish, before motioning for them to follow again.

As the two butlers walked side by side, both knew their duty. Their gazes flicked with subtle precision — eyes scanning corners, entrances, and exits with the practised ease of men who'd done this a thousand times. They memorised every detail: the way the tents were spaced, the number of performers lingering near the edge, the distant sound of a hammer striking metal.

"Huh, isn't that the guy who got bit by the tiger?" spoke Wendy, perched atop a barrel with Pete standing just behind her. Their whisper carried, catching the attention of both Sebastian and Ash. "It really is. The stupid guy, and hey, he's got a snow-white friend as well! What a duo..."

Ash's expression remained unchanged, though he inwardly grimaced. There was something impure in the air here — a kind of spiritual residue that clung to certain people. He could sense it faintly, like a note gone sour. But it was not enough to act on. All humans bore traces of imperfection.

Joker eventually led the two over to where a man in a wheelchair was attending to another performer.

"Ah, there he is. Doc!"

"Hm?"

Ash suddenly raised a hand to his face, covering his nose as if to block out an unpleasant scent. His gaze flicked toward Sebastian, whose subtle narrowing of the eyes confirmed the same thought — there was something wrong with this man, though neither could yet identify what.

"Hey, Joker. Is there something wrong with your arm again?" The "Doc" turned his chair to face them, smiling widely — almost too widely.

"No, today's nothing t'do with me..." Nervously, Joker rubbed the back of his head, wondering how best to phrase his explanation.

"Ah!" Dagger exclaimed from beside the doctor, having been seated there already, his prosthetic arm half-examined. "I was wondering who that was, but isn't that the man whose head was bitten by Betty?"

"BY BETTY?!" The Doc wheeled forward in alarm, clutching his chair's sides. "That's terrible! We have to get to the medical office quickly!"

Over at the medical tent, the doctor sighed as he inspected Sebastian's head. The tent's interior smelled faintly of alcohol, varnish, and something acrid that clung to the back of the throat. After a careful look, the Doc leaned back with a puzzled expression.