Children scurried underfoot, the balloons held in their no-doubt sticky paws bobbing up above the throngs of people that went in every direction. Johann did not try to hide his contempt. One brat brushed passed him and left a smear of... something... on his leg. "Ma-naaier!" He said the curse words in the tongue he used on the streets of his youth making him feel slightly better. "Gaan klim terug in jou ma se poes!" Looking down at the mess on his pants, Johann shook his head regretfully. "Ruined. God I hope that's chocolate." Giving it up, Johann pushed his way through the crowd towards his destination, laughter filling his ear from the small communicator tucked in there.

"It's not funny. I spent 3000 Credits on these pants. This goose better be worth it, Trick."

"She comes very highly recommended."

"By who? Elroy? That ape? Or was it the Benito Brothers? Or Sylvana? No, she's dead, that's right." The list of their former associates was long and varied. Johann could list people for an hour and it wouldn't match Trick's source. It didn't matter. Johann trusted Trick, and if Trick trusted whomever he talked to well that would have to be good enough for Johann. Didn't help his sour mood any, however. "I hate circuses." He said, looking up at his destination, the main tent all lit up in lights with organ music drifting out.

"Listen, we need an inside man- woman- person. Unless you want to squeeze into that box?"

Johann did not want to squeeze into that box.

A scrawny, nebbish man walked by, holding a bag of popcorn. Licking his lips, Johann snatched the bag and walked inside the tent, the man protesting faintly until he saw the man who'd done the snatching. Johann smiled.

He threaded his way through the crowd and found himself a seat in the audience just as the lights started to dim and the drum started to patter. The popcorn crunched in his mouth and he savored the butter and the salt.

"What is that? Popcorn? No food on the mic."

Johann crunched again, louder. "Where are you, anyway?" He asked, looking around him for his compatriot. They had agreed not to walk in together, just as a precaution. This infiltrator might have come highly recommended, but she was wholly unknown to both of them. It could be any number of traps, and it never hurt to be ready for anything. There was no sign anywhere of Patrick O'Doyle.

"Close."

A soft fog rolled across the floor, coiling loosely in the center of the tent and settling like clouds in the corners and recesses of a geometric setup. Soft blue lights began to light up the vapor as gentle flute and strings filled the area, pushing out the cheesy organ and settling the rest of the chattering audience. In the center of the performance area, a gilded frame had been set up and the shadowed outline of a slender woman stood in the center of its confines. A dim white light centered on the figure and expanded, lighting her portion of the clearing.

The young woman stepped forward, her body covered in a shimmering bodysuit painted with stylized clouds and a dragon running up the left side of her torso, loose silks hanging around her hips. Her long dark hair was piled atop her head in an intricate braided bun, blunt bangs ending at her eyebrows, eyes lined with thick darkened lashes. Golden ornaments dangled from the bun, shimmering softly with every slight move of her head, organza flowers stuck carefully and purposefully into the dark braid.

If it weren't for the stage makeup, she would have looked just like her mugshot, but it was clear to those in the know that this was their man- woman- person. As the music swirled lovingly around her, she began to move, turning her profile to the audience and arching backward to set her palms flat on the ground. Slowly, bare feet lifted from the floor, toes pointed elegantly as she bent all the more until her feet were pointed out parallel from the ground, one knee bent, her body like a drawn bow, tight and strong. The silks around her hips fluttered softly in the slight breeze like a koi fish's tail or the undulating coils of a dragon.

From the right, two older figures gracefully sauntered forward, the fog roiling around them as it was disturbed. One held a paper lantern in their hand, and the other a bow and single arrow. They moved the items left to right slowly, making a show of them for the audience's sake, giving them time to work out what was to happen next. A man who'd seen the show the night before jostled Johann with his elbow, not looking his way as he spoke, "She's gonna' shoot it," he explained in a hushed whisper, grinning like a fool and absolutely unaware of who he was jostling. "Light it up," he continued, nodding.

"Close."

Tricky's confidence in his ability to blend in by virtue of sticking out like a sore thumb oozed through the earpiece his now regular partner in crime wore. A pink cloud of cotton candy drifted before O'Doyle, blocking his view of the man but the incessant muncha-muncha-crunch of the popped corn in Tricky's right ear let him know Johann still survived to eat, at the very least. Tricky coughed into his own mic piece, smoothed his mustache, and checked the creases on his less-than-subtle suit jacket, the act of straightening up soothing his nerves about Johann's bad habits. He'd tried to dress down as much as possible, but the pressed jeans, simple collared shirt, and deceptively expensive boots reminded him overly much of his time aboard The Darling Francine and his days hiding out from the Feds by wallowing in the muck as a spacer. A shiver ran up Trick's spine as a vision of Veronica emerged uninvited into the forefront of his mind, but he put the memory to bed by taking a deep breath and assaulting his olfactory senses.

The smell of animal dung, fried dough and cornmeal, and body odor filled Trick's nostrils, and for a moment he found himself oddly homesick for Fiddler's Green. Not enough to ever return to that God forsaken moon, but a might more than he'd felt in a long time. Even when locked up in an Alliance Penal Satellite, the thought of "home" occurred to him a lot less than the general longing for "freedom". Freedom to chase his vices, practice his wiles, and make off like a thief in the night, finding some brothel, bordello, or hotel casino to sleep it all off in before starting it all over again sometime after breakfast.

The lights began to dim and a soft cloud of smoke began to form within the ring in the center of the tent. "Don't get too distracted by the kettle corn," Trick muttered with a shadow of a drawl still not shaken from his farm boy roots, "Show's gettin' ready to start." A sly grin formed beneath Tricky's whiskers, and he hoped the figure approaching the center of the smoky ringed delivered the show he'd been promised.

The feint blue lights lit up the vaporous smoke, and a sleight, slender form emerged from it, moving with a sense of purpose and grace as if it intended to dance with the wisps of manufacturing fog surrounding it. Gentle music filled the air, bringing a sudden silence as folks all around Trick shushed their children and one another. Some grabbed for binoculars, them that could afford them, and others retrieved a cracked spyglass, or some ill-fitting monocle found at a swindler's pawn shop, whatever might help them get a better look. For his part Tricky produced a set of "borrowed" opera spectacles, the sudden obstruction hiding the hint of a smirk upon his face as he solicited no shortage of scrunched noses and rolled eyes from those who'd already taken to looking at the pinstripes of his tailored jacket with more than their fair share of suspicion.

A white light flooded the fog away, sparking alight the bedazzled bodysuit hugging the young contortionist the conman made his way to this big top to see and highlighting with a glint the golden decorations bedded within the painstakingly woven bun atop the young woman's head. Trick pulled his Cortex viewer from his pocket for a quick glance, then peered back through the spectacles. Despite the difference in face paint, Trick knew he made a match. "She's the one," Trick informed Johann, using a manner of expression the Freudian meaning of which would come to haunt him during future sleepness nights, "Y'all pay close attention, now. My contact tells me her performance is as shiny as her appearance."

Tricky watched the girl continue to drift like a feather on the wind, before two figures began wafting their way into view. At least, that's what it looked like they were doing to him. One carried a bow, the other a paper lantern. The contortionist's form twisted until she ended up with booth sticking up like points in the air. Patrick leaned forward in his sit, anticipating what maneuver might come next. "She's gonna' shoot it," Trick heard some local yokel babbling too close to Johann's mic. "Light it up," the imbecile continued, stealing Trick's attention away from the center ring with a huffing sigh. "Bèn tiānshēng de yī duī ròu," Trick grumbled into the mic louder than he'd intended. Even a man who could work a room like Patrick O'Doyle couldn't focus on two shows at once.

Initially annoyed at his fellow onlooker, realization dawned and incredulousness took over. "With her feet? Nah." Johann didn't believe it. "Impossible." Suddenly interested in the proceedings, his eyes went ringward. She seemed good on her feet, or hands as the case might be, but Johann just couldn't fathom how-

The bow and arrow gripped between toes of apposite feet, the acrobat drew back, took aim, and fired the arrow across the stage and through the lantern, a colorful explosion showering the performers and nearby patrons with colorful sparks. Applause erupted as the crowd found its feet and Johann couldn't help but join in. "Fantastic." A childlike glee writ plain in his grin.

"See? Toldja." The man said and his superiority bothered Johann. His stupid, braggarty face, covered in warts and spittle dribbling down his chin. This cross-eyed, thick necked, gob swallowing Dopkaas. Was any of that true, or is that just how Johann saw people who annoyed him - that is to say; most people.

Without a word or warning, Johann rabbit-punched the man in the throat, the wicked smile on his face unbroken. The man crumpled back to his seat, wheezing. He laughed and turned back to see what was left in store for the show. "Impressive display, Tricky, I'll admit." He said to his partner. "But I fail to see how that's useful for us." Johann found his popcorn and took another handful into his mouth. "Or is a handstanding shaftslinger key to your plan?"

The lights dimmed once again, the faint outlines of those on stage still slightly visible as they repositioned to center stage and new props were delivered to them by attendants in black. A red light snapped to center, bouncing off a glass box about the size of a small footlocker, each of its corners gilded in silver filigree. Red glimmered across the crowd as the two older performers moved the box on its wheeled stand to show it off to the audience, casting shimmering reflections throughout the tent. Their target stood demurely in place beside the box, her hands clasped at her naval as she waited for her cue. Finally, the top of the box was opened and a step ladder set beside it. With a smile, the girl began just as the music changed its tune to a slightly uneasy flute, as though the instrument was concerned for the girl.

Slowly, she entered the box, first standing in it and holding her arms a few inches away from her side, smiling at the audience with a gentle little grin. She knelt, turned, bent, moved like a snake as she contorted and filled the box. The older woman moved forward, placing her fingertips on the lid and closing it, moving slowly for dramatic effect. With a gentle click the music paused to allow the audience to hear, the glass container was shut and sealed with the girl bent to fit inside. Once more, the couple walked around the box, a hand each on its side to turn it in a slow circle for all to see.

The man sitting near Johann might have applauded, might have called out what she'd done before she could have done it, if he hadn't been so preoccupied with trying to remember how breathing worked, his hands grasping at his throat as he gasped inward several times, body bent in on itself. Despite his suffering, the audience applauded and whistled, pleased with the performance.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At the end of their allotted ten minutes, the performers bowed at center stage while the audience filed out of the tent, emptying the stands. Mostly. When it was just about empty, the older performers turned away from the girl with them and headed backstage. An animal act was slated to go next and they needed to get out of the way for the crew to reset the stage properly. X, however, stood staring out at the nearly emptied stands, a wistful look on her face and a sigh lifting and lowering her shoulders. A hand came up to run fingertips over the golden ornament in her hair, slowly pulling it out, the bun unraveling and allowing her dark hair to tumble free from its confines. Shaking her head at her own thoughts, she turned as if to leave.

"Well. There it is." Tricky answered Johann's question as he observed the contortionist's stunning display of flexibility. He observed the rest of the show in silence, and if Johann said anything in response Patrick O'Doyle let it go in one ear and out the other. The serenity of the moment was only interrupted by the faint sucking sounds of a person for whom the act of breathing became suddenly and increasingly difficult.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Tricky sipped a lemonade from a mason jar later out on the mile. Walking without a single care in the world between the noise and lights of fair games, sounds and smells of the animal cages, and an increasingly startling chorus of innocent excitement as dirt-farming families spent a few moments in the gardens of Arcadia, Patrick spoke into his collar while offering an easy smile to passersby in the crowd around him. "Been thinkin' about it, Johann." Tricky drew out the "ya" sound slowly and put a baritone emphasis on it. "Reckon neither one of us wants to be crawlin' 'round in any tight spaces. Dunno 'bout y'all, but I got my fill of that kind of thing back when I was on the run."

Tricky watched a lion too tired and bored to react to the children jeering at it from outside the bars, barely able to do more than shake his head in disillusion and dismay. "Now ain't that the saddest thing ya ever seen. Reckon I woulda looked somethin' just like that, I had to spend just another quick instant locked up." O'Doyle turned from the lion's cage and took in the flashing lights, shrill screams, and echoing laughter coming from a gleaming, lit tent across the mile. Assuming Johann maintained his intended position and kept his line of sight trained on Tricky from just a few attractions away, Tricky didn't bother to signal as he simply watched the line forming at the front of the tent - probably just some other jerk showin' off a pickled pig fetus and claiming its proof of non-human, sentient life - and offered some instructions. "Get in line three and a half minutes after I do. This is where she said she would meet."

Tricky felt a presence at his shoulder. It was Johann snacking on a kebab; grilled meat and vegetables wrapped in flatbread with sauce dripping down. "Hey." He said, suppressing a grin. Johann knew how much Tricky loved his subterfuge and skullduggery but Johann could no longer be bothered. It was time for the meet - Time for the meat, more like as he took a big messy bite - and really, sneaking around was much more trouble than it was worth. "What?" He said at the no doubt annoyed look on Tricky's mug. "Nobody knows us here." A glance around the crowded thoroughfare confirmed no one was looking at them. "Tricky here! We got Patrick O'Doyle right here!" Johann took another bite. "Nobody cares, Trick."

The line shuffled forward a bit. Johann looked up. "I hate the circus. It's all a scam. Paying a bunch of credits to people who never wanted to do any real work." The irony was entirely lost upon him. He glared at the sign. "The Painted City! See the Verse in Minutes!" it read. "Looks dark in there. Watch your wallet, eh?"

He finished his snack and tossed the remnants to the ground, ignoring the look he got from an earthy type across the way. "You know I don't like complicated jobs. Something always goes wrong. Smash and grab. Scare the shite out of 'em, steal their stuff. Much cleaner, ironically, than whatever you've planned, I'm sure." Johann licked some sauce off of his thumb as the concerned fellow came over and tapped him on the shoulder.

"You know, sir, that's what happened to Earth-That-Was, don't you?"

Without looking at him, Johann responded. "And it'll happen to you if you don't bugger off, yarpie." With a huff, the man turned on his heel and left, stopping first to pick up the trash. "Leave it." Johann said, the threat clear in his voice. Finally, the hippy skittered away. "Ah, our turn!" He said with sarcastic enthusiasm as the line began to disappear into the tent. "Can't wait!"

The inner curtains opened before Johann and Trick, revealing a darkness within that was only compounded by the fabric shutting behind them. With a couple hard beats against a taiko drum, the lights snapped onto a painted backdrop of what could only have been Shinon, accompanied with actors dressed as the beautiful Companions most attributed to the planet. As they walked down the narrow path, another beat of the drum accompanied the sound of their steps, hand played music from a shamisen somewhere in the room drifting up through the fabrics to coil around the audience of two.

Another beat. Lights flashed off and back on again. Now, Persephone, with its masked balls and aristocracy, the people dressed in gowns almost too large to allow passage down the walkway.

Another beat.

Another scene.

Each moment and each tableau punctuated by moments of darkness. Halfway through, as the lights turned back on and a scene of chilly St. Albans played on either side of them, X walked along with the pair at Johann's elbow, Trick's wallet in her hands. She'd opened it and was looking through any of his personal documentation curiously. She had on the black clothing of those pulling the strings in the dark, hoping to blend into the background so as not to ruin the attendee's immersion while changing backdrops or assisting with costume swaps. Her long dark hair was tied up in a simple braid and she seemed to fade into the darkness with every dimming of the lights.

"I don't think this is your real name," she murmured, barely audible over the strings as she held up the wallet and pointed at an image of Trick along with one of his aliases.

Trick relaxed and enjoyed the show. During the scene changes he kept trying to pick out under which costume the contortionist had herself hidden. The disguises were elaborate, to be sure, and Tricky appreciated the necessity of keeping the sleeves of your jacket tailored to include an extra fold or two. He certainly wasn't as accustomed to the practice being applied quite like he was seeing now, as Trick watched the actors melt from one role into the next. "It's not a bad show." Tricky felt the need to reassure Johann that he wasn't wasting his partner's time. Ol' Yanny never seemed to cotton to that kind of thing.

There were periods of near darkness as the scene changed from one planet to the next. Sihon faded further and further away with each scene change until finally Patrick found himself at once of those fancy shindigs on Persephone people who were into that kind of thing liked to brag about. Trick felt very much out of place, repulsed by the lavish and ornate masks now worn by the contortionist's carny compatriots. So engrossed in despising the moment, Patrick never noticed his wallet leaving his person. Or maybe he did notice, but didn't actually care. Not that it mattered much, but the pickpocket would only find some old receipts, random pocket captures he'd purchased at some antique shop awhile back, and a fake ID tellin' folks his name was Greggory Fitzpatrick.

"I don't think this is your real name,"

The contortionist seemed to fit perfectly in the space Johann specifically told Patrick to maintain at all times. O'Doyle shook his head, but couldn't hide his smile. Quiet and flexible. Two things Johann usually wasn't. "It most certainly isn't. Not sure I actually caught yours. Patrick O'Doyle. My friends call me Tricky."

The lights went down.

Darkness enveloped them and Johann's instincts for survival kicked in. He strained to see and to hear and to feel any sign of danger, but this particular attraction seemed designed to disorient and bewilder. As he said, it was an ideal den for cutting purses.

The lights came up.

The music was loud and with the shifting scenes and lights it was nearly impossible to keep track of where one was. Transporting a person to new and exciting destinations required a bit of subterfuge. And Johann couldn't help but remind himself that so did picking pockets. He glanced side-eyed at Tricky, seemingly overtaken by the whole affair. Choice curse words crossed his mind at his slack-jawed partner. If someone were to come after their valuables- and Johann would bloody well like to see them try his own wallet- it would be soon.

The lights went down.

Johann tensed, ready for anything. He reached out with eye and ear, his hands out and ready to catch anyone who dared come close. If not for the music, he would have heard the beat of his heart thumping loudly in his ear. A low growl escaped his throat as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Any... minute... now...

The lights came up.

No one. Nothing.

Quote from: Xiǎodāo"I don't think this is your real name,"

"Buggerhellshitheadandhole!" He stammered as the presence of a person behind them was astonishingly not something Johann had considered as a possibility. How she had gotten there without him knowing was wholly foreign to him. Sneaking up on Johann Krüeger was not an easy task, something he had honed after years of being the sort of guy you'd rather sneak up on than face outright. A second instinctual moment later and his hand was around the girl's throat-

The lights went down.

-and before he could squeeze the life out of her he felt something all too familiar at his belly.

A knife.

The lights came up.

"You fokken bint, fink you can rop me kakspul?" The slang of the slums of Paquin came back to him naturally in this moment, with his teeth bare and his hackles raised. He did his best to put that part of his life behind him, especially that roughneck way of talking, but it slipped every now and then. He preferred to try and remain calm and composed, and now was the time to do just that, what with her blade at his belly. "Quick and clever, ain't that what you said, Trick?" His softened, the choke turning to slight caress as he stepped away from the girl. "She's got both. In spades." Johann laughed at his own joke, ribbing his friend.