(no subject)

[kent-whitman.livejournal.com]

Though my soul may set in darkness, It will rise in perfect light. I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

Saturday Night, June 2nd
The Mayor's office, then elsewhere

The day started out fine enough; a bright, sunny day filled with promise and no real obligations. Wanda wanted to wake early enough to go to the market to talk to the vendors, Rose was babbling something about strawberries, and since I had no pre-set plans I was more than happy to tag along with my two beautiful girls.

And for a hour or so, it was just as I imagined it would be. Rose's dress and fingers stained red, Wanda chatting and animated... then the first person trotted up to talk to her in worried tones. Then the second. Before long the whole market was abuzz with the news; the Carnival Diabolique had returned. I had no real memory of it, but it seemed that everyone else did, and those memories were not of the kind variety. With a false smile and a tightness around the eyes, Wanda abandoned the market to head to her office and assess the problem...

that was roughly twelve hours ago. Now it's my turn to do damage control. Tommi was happy to come over and watch her favourite 'Niece', and after a story and a goodnight kiss, I grab a bottle of meade and head over to fetch my wife.

The front of the building and main room is dark as I let myself in, but I see a light from the private office in the back. I shake my head and push her door open.

"Madame Mayor, I believe quitting time was several hours ago. Racking up the overtime on the tax payers dime, are we?" I ask with a mock stern look as I lean in the doorway.

Closed

The years flow by like water, and one day men come home again.

[tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com]

The Carnival
June 3

Three years. Nearly, anyway. I've been angry the whole time.

I wanted to know why we left. I wanted to know why he didn't come and find me. I wanted things to be alright with Syl again. I wanted - want - to find a way to punish Management for what they did. I wanted things to be right. I wanted to go home.

The Carnival used to be home. It's not any more. I realised that soon after we left town. Leaving hurt, like something tearing in me. And even if I wasn't missing - people - things weren't how they used to be. I can't do the sort of show I used to, and if I could I don't like people looking at me, now. Working as a roustie's been different from being a turn.

I couldn't leave, so I wrote. Letters to Valmont and Alice, long and rambling, talking about what I saw and some of what I felt. And I sent - things, to Iblis. I started writing to him, one night in some nameless place when I missed him so much it hurt, and when I touched the paper after I could feel that pain throbbing out of it. I burned it and buried the ashes, but a while later I put that same longing into a carefully-pressed flower, a reminder of another time, and sent that.

I never got a reply, but I sent other things, from time to time. My anger like a spring-coil in a page torn from a book. Fear, as a kind of dry joke, in a handful of dust. I never sent any letters, just - moments. Pieces of myself. I don't know if he got them.

And now I'm back here and he's still caught in me like a fish-hook. And I want to see Valmont and Alice, and Glass as well (I stole a book for her once and sent it, delicate drawings of herbs). Other people, maybe. His child. I'm twenty now, in this body at least, and I look more like a man.

And I think I know why we've come back. I have my own plans now.

[OPEN]