unraveled

maniac master

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          Nia stood in front of the limp body tapping her shoe in beat with his snores. Her face was cold and bored but the way she hugged her arms, and held her shoulders betrayed her unease. This was highly unusual for her, to feel this way after telling stories. She craved that calming, peaceful distance she felt after finishing performances and it was absolutely revolting to hear the frantic thump of her heart and feel the beaded sweat on her neck. The boy lay on the front end of her shoe, soundly sleeping with one hand thrown over his head and the other beneath his back. Realizing that this was a slumber after intoxication, she gave up on tapping her foot and stepped on his hair instead, slightly pulling her foot back. He woke up with a sharp yelp, hurriedly rubbing his scalp with his hand. Drool dripped down his chin and he wiped it with a sleeve. Graceful, as always.

          She waited for him to complain about her waking methods but he silently stood up, picked up his bottle and began to walk. Puzzled, Nia followed.

          Once they were outside, he whirled on her stuffing his hands in his pockets, "Nia, I'm really sorry for what happened in there. I didn't mean to be such a clumsy-headed ass."

          Something told her that he wasn't talking about sleeping. Something must've happened and she hadn't noticed, something embarrassing if his face was any proof. She enjoyed taking him on guilt trips and hear him plead so she followed along.

          "It is absolutely humiliating to even be associated with you! And just when we were getting along, you go ahead and do that and absolutely butcher my performance." Nia risked giving her cover on the last claim, because she had no idea what had happened. It was common for her to not notice things that happened around her when she told stories. She'd been called a fool for ever leaving herself that vulnerable and unawares, but she argued back with how it wasn't a priority to be secure when she opened her soul and let people come in. He frowned and Nia thought she'd given herself away but it was a lucky guess because all he said was a defeated "Forgive me, dear mine."

          Nia wished that he was being sarcastic but knowing him she knew he was actually that regretful. Eugh, I can't even be angry!  He wasn't this way with others, it would have been a hellish experience to earn even an apologetic look from him if it had been anyone but Nia. For her, he had not a soft spot, but a cushioned chasm.

Curiosity bubbled inside her, now wanting to know what had happened, but she couldn't give herself away when she could benefit from this.

"Only if you give me all your corn for dinner."

"All of it? Oh man," he said somberly, "okay, you can have it."

This must have been something truly horrific, for him to give up his corn. For the boy loved his corn.

They walked out of the tavern, boots crushing snow. But the snow here was weak, frail and dirty. Nothing like the clean, royally magnificent snow of Cervaux. They walked with hands clenched together pulling body heat out of each other like attracting magnets. The stars were out, and they glistened down upon them, the snow in the distance shining like sanded diamonds. The sky glowed with a faint green glow and people filtered out the tavern, their voices still hushed as if not yet recovered from the story, their minds still stuck in the spring of Cervaux.

The rainbow glow of a tent in the distance was as inviting as it was threatening. It offered warm food and a thick bedspread, the cost of it was better off forgotten with each morning, only forcibly reminded each nightfall. The boy held on to her tighter as they got close enough to see the little brown tents encircling the big one in the middle. A bright light was glowing inside and Nia's nerves trembled with fear, the Joker was still awake. Of course she would never call him that to his face, for he hated being called anything other than his self-endowed title of the Master. But he was not a Master, he simply did not have what it took to own. He was greedy, impatient, crude, he changed faces with the skill of a chameleon, fading into backgrounds, and standing out like a diamond in a field of coal. All these attributes sold his personality to a thin, lanky man with colorful pants printed on paper-thin card labelled with 'The Joker' on the side and a rented grimace or grin to the unlucky man who held it.

The boy's grip was close to cracking her bones so she turned her gaze to him instead, his teeth were chattering. He looked back at her, silently pleading to leave this life behind, to run away. Distracted by pouring steel into her nerves she didn't bother to tell him that they would die in the very first mile they reached outside this tent. She offered him a weak smile instead. They could now see the flapping panel of the tent, the light inside filtering through the red and blue panels leaving a purplish circumference of light on the snow around. This was where they left reality and entered the Circus. She kissed him on the cheek and he nodded. Together they walked inside. 

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Love,
Cora. ✮