Playing With Fire (EDITING)

The Spark Ignited

Once I'd been measured, a young girl was sent off to find costumes to fit me for both trapeze and aerial silk performances. She returned in a matter of minutes with a bundle of shimmery, vividly colored fabrics clutched to her chest. Ceremoniously, she dumped them on a table and flounced out, pigtails bouncing behind her. The other performers being outfitted stood around, trying on garments, sorting makeup, and making needed adjustments. As I untangled the outfits I'd been brought, I gazed over the heads, scanning for a familiar face.

I had trouble finding Kitty at first due to the crowded room and her diminuative stature, but after calling her name a couple times, I spotted her and grabbed her wrist. "Hey," she greeted, appearing bewildered, and frankly overwhelmed. "What are we supposed to be doing? Who am I supposed to be talking to or whatever?"

She looked just as I had before my first show: lost and flustered. "Find Madam Gentilhomme or one of the kids wandering around and give them your measurements."

"They haven't been taken yet."

"Then find someone with a measuring tape."

"Where?"

I laughed a little, feeling the rush now as the room filled more. "That's the thing about finding someone. They're usually hidden."

She stuck her tongue at me before dodging back through the crowd to search for a measurer. After she'd gone, I turned back to my costumes and began to untangle them again. When I was younger, I'd only ever been a minor character in the performances, and my costumes had never been much more than black or a dark color. So when I was able to see my assigned outfits, I was hesitant. The one I held was a dark shade of forest green with vertically striped arms and legs in black and white that faded seamlessly into the green; a deep v-cut neckline had been covered between with an opaque black fabric that would stretch and give no matter how I moved. The form fitting cloth ended where my wrists and ankles would emerge, and the true neckline would reach my collarbone.

"Flashy?" I muttered before setting it down. If the green was considered flashy, the next was over and above.

It was cut much the same as the first except the arms were designed to come down over my hands but leave my fingers and thumbs free, and it would cover my ankles completely. The fabric was a deep blood red with flecks of gold and orange and various shades of red that shimmered and sparkled as the fabric shifted. At the waist, a thin band had been dyed white with blue at the edges that blended into yellow as it spread outward. The yellow merged seamlessly with several hues of orange that again fused into the majority red before fading back to orange and yellow at my wrists and feet. Every color and shimmer was designed to look like a flame; and on the red silks, I would literally appear on fire.

A quick glance at the clock told me I was running out of time. I scooped my costumes into my arms and jogged to meet Kurt in the changing room for the trapeze artists. He and I were the last to change from the looks of everything; mounds of crumpled clothing sat in corners or folded neatly and set on chairs.

"Okay, let's hurry," I said.

Kurt's PoV: I glared at the skin tight costumes before hearing Lyrica speak. When I turned to ask what she'd said, she had faced the wall and begun to change already. I immediately looked away; but not before glimpsing two lines of black script writing, each about half an inch in height, tattooed across her ribcage. I smirked and faced the wall, pulling off my shirt.

"So," I began casually. "How long have you had the tat?"

Her movement stopped abruptly and I heard her say, "What are you talking about?"

"Ribs, right side," I answered. "Or are you implying that there's more than one?"

"You're delusional," she laughed. After a brief pause, she added, "Only the one."