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"K! Sound good. Hey, I think there's a dwarf - one of the riggers - hanging out with the jugglers. He looks pretty strong...I wonder if he could juggle full-sized logs?" says Giggles as he skips away. Once outside the tent he turns in the direction of the Flamboni Sisters and slows his skipping down enough to pick up three smooth rocks. "These should be about right..." he sing-songs to himself before starting to hum a tuneless song. "I wonder if that dwarf is nice..."
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Pip steps confidently into the doorway of the clown tent, striking a pose that he hopes will turn the busy clowns' attention to him. The effect is diminished by the fact that his 3ft stature fills not even half of the opening but he doesn't appear to notice. He saunters into the tent, making sure that his self proclaimed masterpiece of hattery is prominently visible. "Oh Dean, have I got something for you!" he calls out, almost tripping over a box on the ground. "No clown should have to suffer such boring brown locks!" His speech is interrupted by muttered cursing as he stubs his toe on a coat rack. "Without further ado, I present to you.." He begins, making sure that Dean is looking at him, "your marvelous new hat!" With a flourish, Pip tosses the hat like a frisbee, aiming for the top of Dean's dissheveled head.
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Leaning against one of the wagons, Tessara looks up to watch the clowns scamper off with a gentle smile for their ever-present antics. A throwing knife continues to twirl absentmindedly in midair a few inches above her fingers as she crosses the campground towards Myron.
She is slender and of average height, and although she has patiently explained her mixed heritage many times there are still those among the troupe who still perceive her as a full-blooded elf. Not that I could blame them, she muses - few except other elves could spot the faint signs of her human heritage. By far her most conspicuous features, however, are the dusky blue-gray skin and stark white hair that denote her drow ancestry. The other circus performers have learned to tolerate her exotic appearance as one of their own, but the prospect of going out in front of unfamiliar - and perhaps unfriendly - crowds weighs on her mind as she addresses the ringleader.
"Hey, boss - big night tonight, huh? First show as the Wayward Wonders... Any idea what kind of turnout we're expecting? Anything I can do to help get ready? Maybe I should go check on...?" Catching herself rambling she sighs, and the throwing knife slowly spins to a halt back in her hand. "Sorry. It's just nerves, I guess. I know we've rehearsed and nothing should go wrong, but I'm just not used to being out in front of so many, well, people!"
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The Gnome skips away, as always, to mixed reactions.
Dean is being put upon severely by a pleasantly plump Dwarven woman, utterly insistent upon perfecting his makeup. With a matronly demeanor, she keeps the youngster in place while she frets over every little mar, smoothing lines and highlighting the precise places to accentuate the comically-colored features. Dean wriggles to no avail as Pip calls for him- "Don' you think 'bout it, boy!"- but the woman looks up over his seated head. As the colorful hat twirls ever closer, time almost seems to slow. She grabs Dean by the fake flower protruding from his lapel and shoves the chair back. Leaning precariously on two legs, the clown's head reaches precisely the right placement for the hat to alight on top of his brown locks. With just a quick tip to straighten it, the matron beams. "Lovely work, Pip! As always, just lovely! I don't know how we ever managed before you came along!" Bubbling joyfully with her work, she returns to the business of makeup while her husband Jacobs paces nearer the curtain leading to the crowd.
Already, the murmurs reach backstage. It's almost an hour before showtime yet, and the crowd has begun to gather!
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The Thunder sighs as Tessara addresses him, unsure if she's teasing or not. "I'm just the loudest one of us- not the boss! Besides, you should know The Professor runs everything but the show, itself! If he hadn't burnt everything out eating all those flaming torches over the years, he'd probably be standing center ring instead of me!" He chortles loudly, and shakes his head gently- it's a jest, but one with much truth. He leans forward conspiratorially, sending a thin stream of beef juice dripping off his chin into the fire-heated coals. "If the rumors are to be believed, even the mayor himself plans to come! We haven't seen anything like this, before!" He leans back, looking skyward with a peaceful expression. Though no doubt the butterflies have begun flapping in his gut as well, he's as comfortable here as a pig in mud.
He looks back down at the half-Drow. "Oh, plenty will go wrong! That's show business!" His booming laughter no doubt can be heard backstage, fifty paces away.
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Vorgrok stumps gracelessly up to the ringleader, standing just beyond the elbows of the man and the blue-gray-skinned half-elven woman before clearing his throat.
His earthy, brown complexion and bright orange beard (which strongly resembles an inverted, shrunken mirror of the bonfire before them) combine with his short, "even for a dwarf" but broad, "even for a dwarf" stature to create an almost comical juxtaposition with the slender woman. "Tent's built, riggin's tight. Ever'thin's solid." The short grunted phrases are businesslike, just barely this side of rude. "I got 'em built, canvas and hide. Tonight?" The dwarf raises one eyebrow questioningly at Myron.
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"Good, good," the showman nods. Chewing slowly as the Dwarf continues his curt description, a bone-deep sigh of contentment issues forth from The Thunder. He tosses the now empty wooden spit into the blaze, and furrows his brows thoughtfully. He doesn't bother to ask if Vorgrok thinks himself ready- he knows well enough to know he'd only ask if he was confident. "I think not yet," the ringleader rumbles. "This being our first real headliner, I plan to stick with the more established acts." The response may not be what he was hoping, but Vorgrok is certainly not surprised- he's heard enough rumors and it's no secret that the circus needs to open with a win, here.
The only real question is what order Myron will announce, and he never shares those details. On the (now) rare occasion that anyone bothers to ask, they're invariable met with a blank stare as one of the more veteran performers explains that The Thunder thinks it's bad luck to plan too much in advance. Better to play the audience, one recalls from many past, faux pensive evenings by the fireside.
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The dwarf grunts noncommittally, but his raised eyebrow sinks into an expression of annoyance. With a curt nod to the ringleader (and a stoic, sidelong glance at the half-elf) he stumps heavily over to an upturned wooden basket around the fire, setting himself unceremoniously upon it to lean forward and gaze into the bonfire. In its flickering light, the sweat of the day's exertions seems to outline his muscled build, and after loudly cracking the knuckles of both hands, he rests his chin upon one conspicuously large fist.
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When Giggles inevitably wanders away from where he is supposed to be he finds himself drawn back to the fire by the smell of food. As he walks into the circle of light and sees the company kept by Myron he chuckles to himself before announcing his presence with a limerick, sung at the top of his lungs:
"A wonderful bird is the pelican,
His bill will hold more than his belican,
He can take in his beak
Enough food for a week
But I'm damned if I see how the helican!"
Then, smiling as he takes a seat next to the ringleader, he asks, "Got any more of that food? I'm hungry!"
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With her usual patience and dedication, Keshkaru finishes her daily exercise and rehearsal with Ozkrak. The raptor is twitchy and touchy today, perhaps as she feels the nervous anticipation in the air. For her part, the iruxi takes this with calm. She knows the show will never happen the same way twice, and sometimes conditions will be great, other times less so. She walks across the circus grounds, Ozkrak on her heels, and brings her back to her cage, making sure the dinosaur has just the appropriate amount of fresh meat ready for dinner - never too much, as this makes her sluggish, and that won't do on the big day, but not too little, since no one wants a starving carnivorous reptile in the vicinity of an excited crowd.
Satisfied with her work, the iruxi woman walks back to the bonfire area, getting there just as Giggles declaims his ditty. She sits next to him. "As always, your oratory is perfect to whip an appetite, my friend. It feels like snack time indeed!"
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"Yes, but-" Tessara's reply is cut short by Giggles' rambunctious singing. "How can you be hungry again, Giggles? I saw you stuffing your face at lunch just a few hours ago! And yet you never seem to get any bigger... are you sure you don't have an extra-dimensional portal you've been hiding it in?" she teases the gnome good-naturedly. She casts a curious glance towards Vorgrok before returning her attention to Myron. "Sorry, Bo-, err, Thunder. Even the mayor, huh? That's great news - if we can generate enough buzz tonight we may be able to pack the house for the rest of our stay here! Um, speaking of which - how long are we staying here? And who's up first tonight? I know you like playing these things close to the vest, but surely this is close enough! C'mon, spill!"
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Pip’s face is covered by a huge grin as he skips out of the tent, a spring in his step. Now, time to do something about his grumbling stomach, he hadn’t eaten all day. his nose twitches as the scent of cooked meat wafts towards him on a slight breeze as if calling his name. Without a second thought Pip makes a beeline toward the sounds of conversation and the dancing shadows cast by the fire.
There are already quite a few gathered there when Pip arrives. He surreptitiously heads for the food, trying not to interrupt.
The Thunder snorts happily at Giggle's rendition, before fixing the Gnome with an astonishingly piercing gaze. "Sounds like someone else I know," he mutters with a falsely unsure expression. At the blue fellow's question, he waves a hand at the small cart of partially-seared meats- covered with a fine netting a few paces off to the side. "You'll have to cook it yourself, but the Professor doesn't want anyone hungry tonight. He had all this bought from the local butcher. Not his best cuts, but we don't have to buy dinner tonight, so I'm not complaining!" Keshkaru follows Giggles after noticing the source of the uncooked shish-kabobs.
Tessara's question earns a pensive glance from the Thunder. Myron glances upwards, obviously considering his answer carefully. "Truth be told, I hadn't much thought of it, lass." he begins. "Can't be more than a week though. Even the best shows get dull with repetition, and we haven't got enough acts to keep things totally fresh for more than a couple nights." With a thoughtful frown, he places a rough, calloused hand on his chin. "Might stretch it to three without too much trouble, but..." He lets the words linger. Obviously the circus won't stay too long, but the details remain inconclusive.
Finally, as she presses about details for the evening's show, Myron only smiles. "Ah, ah! You'll have to do better than that to get me bandying about with ill omens!" He smiles and banters a few minutes longer as the others cook their meals. Several other performers come and go over maybe half an hour. Axel eats readily, but complains that he never gets a chance to perform for a real crowd. Elizia eats only half of a single spit- "Won't do fer my nerves to play on a full stomach. Won't do at 'll!" she proclaims as she scampers back to her wagon to get dressed. Myron leaves a few minutes after, to prepare himself in his own wagon just off to the side of the fire. You wonder if he can hear the carousing as a shout rings out- "You best be in your places on time!" A few performers take the commentary as rebuffment, and quickly depart. The sun begins to dive beneath the grand tent, and Jacobs steps out of the worker's entrance. "Places, places! Let's GO!"
With one final glance at the fire and unfinished meats, the performers get up and head for the tent. It's showtime!