// . for the freaks

kleo x blume Spencer knows there's something wrong with the traveling circus in town, but he never expected the scandal to open the doorway to another world entirely.

W E    P A I N T white  roses R  E  D      each shade from      a different person's HEAD ✘ name . spencer ezra monroe ✘ age . twenty ✘ gender . male ✘ profession . amateur journalist ✘ role . knife-thrower ✘ + traits . determined, clever, ambitious ✘ - traits . logical, brash, nosy Spencer is out to prove himself. Every story he's chased has been snatched from his fingers last minute or never made the cut. This time, he knows there's something to find, even if no one believes him.

You'll never know what hit ya; punch you in the heart while i kiss ya

Avalon Hathaway: woman, female, it has a uterus : slytherin but never sees wrong in herself and thinks she's an innocent little hufflepuff : probably like 23 or something I don't know what we're doing : patronus is a pit bull : from Scotland, parents moved to London in an attempt to find work, but it never happened. Starved until she was like sixteen and booked it to the circus. Trapeze artist felt sorry for her and kept throwin' her bread crumbs until she was like 'yo teach me tho'. When the woman had an accident and broke her leg she ruined her career and made Avalon take her place. BFFs with a man that got stuck in his Animagus form - a declawed tiger with a bob tail because he sucks at everything that has to do with being a wizard. Avalon never received her Hogwarts letter and has no clue why. Super salty and bitter when shows happen because some of the students go to the circus during their summer/winter breaks.

Nathaniel
    ↳ Tiger animagus trapped in animal form.

    Whether Avalon Hathaway was masochistic, or had a severe lack of common sense, was left to be said - but to the boring eye, it very much appeared that she was, in fact, about to die in a horrible way. Now, dying, in itself, didn't precisely sound too horrific to her in that very moment. There were far worse fates she could think of - to mention one, returning to the elephant stables for their evening mucking. Or, even less inspiring than that, starting the same damn routine that hadn't gotten through once over.
    Again.
    Her agitated palms were the least of her worries - yet she chose to focus on the burning skin as she twisted the whip she held between her nimble fingers. She swayed to the beat of the music spluttering from the stereo cradled in the safety net but a few feet away. After accidentally cracking the very speakers out, Avalon didn't intend to cart yet another broken simplicity to the Master. She agonized over the simple things that became disfigured; break my shit, I break you, she liked to say. 
    Avalon fell still as the music peeked in a sorry attempt to hide the creaky hinges of the cage door. They'd searched for weeks to find a song annoying enough to blend in with the ruckus it made. She, of course, had suggested replacing the door - but that fell under the category of common sense. Of which, not much could found within the company she kept. She counted the beats, waited for the third measure, before she flicked her wrist, cracking the tail against the fine dust at her bare feet. From the bottom of the whip, purple flame sparked, spreading with an unnatural slowness until it crept to wrap about her delicate fingers. She felt not a touch of heat - contrary to belief, it couldn't hurt a fly.
    As the bellowing doors opened to their full width, a muscular figure molded from the dark into its own shape. A massive, honey furred tiger with teeth the size of something from before modern time. Jewelry covered its neck, piercings slathered its ears. Where a tail should be, was nothing but misshapen stump; spikes of unruly fur spewed in every direction. She'd once compared it to a cotton ball, but staring at it now with a craned head, she supposed it looked a little more like a pom pom. A rattled, deep roar overpowered the squeaky tune; Avalon fought the urge to scrunch her face.
    Shifting her weight, Avalon readied her whip. She was to crack it against his shoulder - it was soft, far less painful than those they used to corral the elephants. He would dive at her as trained - and then she'd soar for the skies, run little girl, run from the massive beast! Miraculously, the heavy creature was to climb up after her and by some grace of magic - they'd never touch each other in the dance. They waited until their cue, just two beats more, before he took off with a powerful sprint, barreling head first toward her. Avalon raised her whip and aimed for the tender flesh of his hide, ready to bring it down.
    But the ferocious beast skidded to a halt and kicked dust all over her face.
    A high pitched wail that did not belong to the King of the Jungle left from deep within his belly. Stumbling, Avalon dropped the whip to the dust, allowing it to snuff. Wrinkling her nose, Avalon ducked away from his dust cloud, catching the tiger's wide, distressed honey gaze.
    "Oh, I just can't work in these conditions!" He squealed, flinging his head to the red and white sky hanging sorrowfully over them. "It is so dirty in this ring. And you just strike too hard, like a bloody savage! This routine is just barbaric and horrific."
    "Oh, for the love of-" Avalon muttered, but alas, she was not to get a word in.
    The tiger held up a clawless paw, shifting his toes until only one toe was held erect - as if to tell her to hold on.
    "This performance is mediocre. I do not understand why they would pair me with the likes of an uneducated Muggle raised woman."
    "Well, maybe," She began. "It's because you, sir Nathaniel, can't even perform a simple spell to turn back into a man."
    Had the tiger had a human face, it would have been the shade of ketchup. "I was hexed! It is not of my control."
    Smiling without any trace of humor, Avalon held out her hands in a shrug. "It is just my simple womanly guess that you just, plainly put, suck, pal."
    There was not much left to be said aside from profanity Avalon struggled to contain. She pinched her lips together as the tiger raged dramatically, stalking past her with his bejeweled face stuck high in the air. She turned her head, watching him go; if he swung his rear any harder his tail wouldn't be the only thing to fall off. Scoffing, Avalon collected her whip and placed it back to her hip where it belonged, marching toward the open gaps of the tent. Outside was just as dreary as the bowels of the freakshow she'd sold her soul to, but it was a better alternative than listen to him whine about a tiny flick to his shoulder. The Master would not be pleased to learn another day had gone by without them even touching the trapeze. At this point, Avalon wondered if Nathaniel could even do a flip (that wasn't off of his own two feet while tripping, anyway).
    Tired eyes angled to the grey, rain gagged sky, Avalon took her pack of cigarettes from her back pocket, lighting one with practiced, calloused fingers. She took a long drag, cringing at the taste. 
    The price she paid to make her head feel less empty; damn nicotine and the wonderful things it could do.
    

    
    
     
    
    
 

    ❝ Just the sight of the crimson and ivory big top had been enough to send chills down his spine. Of course, he doubted very much that the angry stormclouds above helped his bias any. He had waited patiently for the previous show to end, and longer for the audience to leave the fairgrounds. Now, empty popcorn cups and novelty flags were strewn upon the dead grass that crumpled beneath each step. They blew across the flat land like tumbleweeds. Anything but the rustle of Spencer's surroundings was nonexistent, until a loud crack split the air. At first he assumed it was thunder, but as he continued he realized it was coming from the tent.
    He paused just outside as an argument erupted between two voices belonging to a man and a woman. Straining to hear past the tent entrance snapping in the wind, he drew a pencil from behind his ear and a small notepad from his pocket.
    Barbaric and horrific.
    He scribbled down each word he managed to catch, but grew frustrated.
    Spell, woman, control.
    He grunted and put his pencil and notepad back where they came from, running a hand through his hair to smooth the storm-tousled locks. Then, with a deep breath, he turned and walked into the big top with confidence in his stride.
    That is, until he was met by the gaze of a tiger.
    Spencer froze, golden brown eyes growing wide for a split moment before he cleared his throat and addressed the woman.
    "May I speak to the ringleader?" He asked hesitantly, eyeing the massive jungle cat. "Surely he must be here--I heard a man's voice not a moment ago."

    The drag she took sat in her lungs far too long; the gall of this stranger - out of the blue, mind you! - both impressed and concerned her. Hadn't he any sense? Waltzing right into a home not your own led to dangerous - sometimes strange - things. Her jaw fell open with a long barrel of muggy smoke, slurring all over his boyish face. Shorter than this lanky creature, Avalon craned her head back, narrowing her eyes in tune with the gesture. She looked him up, from head, to funny shoes. If anyone should be a clown in this place, she decided, it should definitely be this guy. She drew another load of toxins into her seemingly-delicate body, before she tossed the remnants into the sand at her feet.
    "Nope," she told him simply, not saying anything more. Turning away, she waltzed straight to Nathaniel, grabbing hold of the glistening 'collar' he wore. Her tugs seemed effortless as she dragged the giant beast toward the cage where he'd come from, hushing him with a violent hiss as his jaw unhinged to certainly release a slew of unkind rejection. Upon seeing the man - human, how disgusting - Nathaniel curled his muzzle into a wrinkled snarl. His over-sized teeth caught in the glimmer of the catwalks overhead. Flinging the cowardly undercooked lion into his kitty condo, she started to trek toward the exit once more, but skidded to a halt as she caught notice of the lingering man.
    "Oi," she snapped, flinging her hands out as far as they'd reach. "No means no, buckaroo. Master don't see nobody that ain't part of this circus. So unless you got a nose for toes or there are three men under that giant coat holding you up because you're actually only two inches tall, I advise you leave. Show's over. If your kid got scared then maybe you should think about taking him to a zoo instead."
    
    :

    ❝ The second smoke clouded around his face, Spencer coughed and waved a hand in front of his face. By the time his eyes stopped stinging, the woman was leading her tiger out of the ring. Stifling any more coughs, he kept his composure and his eyes followed her intently as she headed back, his expression stern.
    No means no.
    He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead reminded himself that he was undercover, and put on his best shit-eating grin. Holding out his arms as though in a grand gesture, he raised a brow at her. "You expect I came empty handed?" He challenged. With a flick of his wrists, a dagger slid from each sleeve and he casually twisted and flipped each in unison as he spoke. "I may not be two inches tall, but surely there are other talents that would draw a crowd." He lowered one knife and flipped the other so he held it by the blade, lifting it in front of her face. Then, in one swift motion, he flipped it again and flung it to the right where he had previously seen a support beam, his eyes trained on her as the sound of it splintering the wood punctuated his argument.
    In reality, his heart had skipped a beat between throwing the knife and listening for it to hit its target. During his childhood, Spencer had picked up a lot of obscure talents, but he never expected any to end up being useful. Knife-throwing was not his greatest skill, but when it came to joining the circus it was either that or cheap card tricks.

    A normal person would have at least followed the sound of the knife splitting the beam. Or, at bare minimum, seemed the least bit surprised that he'd been hiding a knife in his sleeve. Avalon, wearing an ever-souring expression, cocked her head to the side with an exaggerated, slow blink. She opened her mouth if only wide enough for him to catch her displeasure, hanging in the silence of his display. Then, reaching forward, Avalon straightened the collar of his shirt for him. When it was nice and prim, she patted the center of his chest with two finger-tips, before making a sweeping motion with her fist - as if to say well, sure thing, Jimmy.
    "My God, that is the best thing I have ever seen in my short, pitiful existence. My years of training and hard work mean nothing now, bless the Queen, good sir you've saved our show."
    Leaning back on her heels, Avalon's face fell into her true feelings about his act; irritation, pointing sharply bitchward. She gave a hapless laugh, lodging her fists against her hips to take a demanding stance. She tossed her head curtly, forcing a smile that hurt her face.
    "You can throw goddamn swords into someone's nostrils and you still wouldn't impress the Master. I have shit to do. Get out of here," she jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "Before I make Tony the Tiger drag your ass out."
    Leaving him to stand there, Avalon stalked toward the darker part of the tent - she hoped he wasn't foolish enough to follow her back there, as he'd be met with more than just her frustration. If he was, she supposed one less Muggle wouldn't do any wizard or witch harm.