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[Rosette is deposited at the entrance of a decidedly vintage traveling circus.

A thin sheet of snow blankets the dusty ground as more heavy flakes drift down from the white sky above, and a circle of tents and wagons of various sizes and colors, and states of disrepair, stretches out in front of her. Several yards ahead lies a gray big-top, much larger than any other tent around it. There's nearly no activity on the ground, but the 'air' carries the distant sound of laughter, from some unseen audience. Or jeering, perhaps.

Nearly no activity. A few feet in front of her are, apparently, the only two other inhabitants at the moment: a clown, and a little boy. The clown's a tall man, middle aged, in full costume. He's crouched before a boy of around six or seven — dressed in ill-fitted clothes, face discolored by bruises and brown matted hair pulled back in a ponytail. He'll only seem familiar if she looks very, very hard.

Tears stream down the child's cheeks, and the clown wipes them away, offering the boy an empty smile; the man's entire body is visibly shaking. The boy's the one talking, he's begging the clown to take him with him.

And behind Rosette, and indeed surrounding the entire affair, is a rolling golden field of wheat. It extends far, far back without any variation, fading into a sort of amber mist at the horizon. The snow doesn't touch it. It's sunny and soft, inviting almost, but there's something about it, something distinctly unwelcome - it's not supposed to be there.]

Edited 2014-01-17 03:22 (UTC)

[She looks back and around them uneasily first. She knows, KNOWS, she'll have to face that. But she needs to know more, first.

Her bare feet stirs no dust or dirt, makes no patterns on the snow patches on the roadway. She didn't know who the clown was... a subconscious protector or a memory, but she couldn't leave this scene alone, either.]

Allen?

["I'll remember it for you," the boy is promising, pleading with the man.

But 'Allen' whirls around and glares up at her the moment she speaks up, wet gray eyes flashing, full of fear or blame (aimed at whom?), and dashes away - into a nearby wagon. There's the sound of shattering glass beside her. Blood dribbles down the clown's head - the second she looks away, he'll vanish.]

[She turns on the balls of her feet, arm raised reflexively over her face to find out what shattered, first and attend to the clown after.]

[Something shatters again, louder, accompanied by another noise. The heavy slam of a fist meeting flesh. Whatever it's coming from isn't outside with her, and the sound is echoing off the tents, bouncing around the air - though the source may, in fact, be the wagon.

She won't get a chance to attend to the clown. He's gone without a trace, and she's left alone out in the yard.]

[The second shatter caused her to pause, stepping aimlessly forward. She didn't notice the clown missing, as something prickled up her spine. The sound of someone being beaten, though.

It wasn't so much that she knew where it was coming from. She ran towards the wagon, throwing open the door and rushing in, with the intent of making sure it WASN'T coming from here.]

[...Well.

If this was the place, it's not anymore. There's no glass here. Nobody being beaten. She might've come too late.

Instead, the door slams itself firmly shut behind her. Cage door. It's darker now, but there's still enough light to see by, and she'll find herself surrounded on all four sides by thick metal bars. The air is heavy with the stench of rotting meat.

If she happens to glance down, she'll find the kid from before low to the floor, pale as death as he watches something in the far corner.

And if she glances in the far corner, she'll find an adult male lion.

With a low rumbling growl, it picks itself up and prowls forward.]

[Heart thudding, she acts on instinct. This... was a more complicated soul than ANYTHING she'd ever been into.

She knelt at his side, shaking his shoulder gently.]

Hey. Can you hear me? I need you to see if you can squeeze through the bars. This is important.

[He looks up at her, though he still isn't pleased by her presence and, evidently, isn't terribly receptive to her advice:]

Go away!

[THE LION IS GETTING UNCOMFORTABLY CLOSE.

A memory, it only has eyes for the boy.]

[She's never tried to directly interfere in a memory before... but who would do this to a child?! Why? The arm? His powers?]

I'm not leaving you alone here.

You can either get through the bars, or we're both going to learn how to punch a lion.

[WHAT IS SHE-] Don't!

[ARE YOU CRAZY, LADY, YOU CAN'T PUNCH A LION.

He's too frozen by fear to move. He's going to die here. He was sure he was going to die here. He can't punch it, it's going to eat him. This is what he gets. Mana's blood is drying on his hand.

But if she wants to, NOW'S THE TIME. The lion rears up, and lunges—]

[—And the suddenly something bursts through the metal bars and slams into the screaming beast, knocking into it with such force the lion collapses on the ground, insensate.

The 'something' is a... large golden ball with wings]

[And Rosette's fist passes through empty air, setting her off balance enough to stumble into the bars. For a SPLIT SECOND, she thought she had failed... that she really COULDN'T touch things here.]

....... w.... What is that?!

Wh-

[...That's what he would like to know...

Tim circles the cage once, merrily enough, before darting back out the hole he'd chewed. The boy rises shakily to his feet, stunned speechless. He has no answer for her. He's seven years old and what is this.

And in spite of the miraculous rescue, he doesn't seem any less terrified. He approaches the exit with all the trepidation of someone who doesn't expect his fate can be escaped so easily. The Ringmaster is still outside. The Ringmaster still wants him dead. They'll only be angrier now, that he wouldn't even let himself get eaten by the lion properly.

But there's nowhere left to go but out, to meet whatever awaits him, it seems.]

[Between the toothy yellow friend that just left and the toothy yellow enemy that certainly could get back up any minute, Rosette has far less indecision. She can feel the terror off of the small boy, and it resonates with her own, the only difference is age and training to use it.]

Toothy over there's still out... Can you see anything out there?

[The boy stands tense at the edge of the cage and peers out, looking for the Ringmaster and his lackeys.

The boy gasps, when he spots them. There's the three of them, laid out on the ground - dead, or... no, they're still breathing.

When he mutters, it's half to the strange girl from out of nowhere, half to himself,] They've been knocked out...

[The strange girl says something even stranger, perhaps even nonsensical to him.]

Should we go an help them?

[He turns and gives her a look; one that clearly indicates that no, he doesn't particularly think they should go help them.]

They're gonna kill me.

[And not in a metaphorical sense.

Shouldn't he get out of here while he still has the chance? He grips a cage bar in his working hand and steps, unsteady, outside.]

[That was all the answer she needed. She nods and follows him out, attention snapping in each direction. There was at least a chance that the floating teethball did them another favor... but there was no guarantee that what took them out was friendly either.]

Stay close, I'll go with you.

[He glances up at her, brow knit. He thought he told her to go away, what is she still doing here?]

Why-

[As it happens, the thing that took the men out appears right at their side in that moment. He, rather. A man dressed in the black robes of a priest.

He's a very tall fellow, with very very deep red hair, pulled back in a ponytail. His right eye is hidden behind a stark white mask - his left eye is the color of blood. Rosette may have even seen this man around Exsilium proper at one point or another.

And Rosette will probably sense it before the boy does; the man isn't friendly at all. He's livid. He's more than livid. The way he carries himself, the way his red eye glints at the child, there's rage bubbling up to the surface, about to burst. He's downright murderous. Forget the Ringmaster, this man is serious.

Within a second, Cross Marian is pulling his fist back as he screams, you filthy brat!, and swings.]

[WHAT DID THIS KID GET INTO!? DID HE RUN UP AGAINST THE MOB OR WHAT?! Rosette hardly processes the uniform of the half-masked man, just shoves the kid's shoulder, hoping that there's enough time and height distance to make it.]

What's your deal!?

[It's worse than that.

He punched a clown.

And congratulations! The kid hits the ground with a yelp, rolling over and pulling himself to his knees.]

Why are you doing this?!

[It's aimed at them both, but the boy's eyes are on Rosette.

But the memory of Cross doesn't care that his fist didn't connect with its mark. He's not so easily deterred. He's pulled out a gun.

And she'll find it now pointed at her, in place of the kid, as the priest hisses something meaningless to her but which is apparently worth killing a child over, I told you not to get close to Mana, didn't I?

His finger's on the trigger-]

[Her whole body tenses, ready to move. She doesn't look at Allen, she doesn't dare. Watching the man's arm, looking for any signs of tightening, any signs he's going to move left or right.. which way she needs to dodge.

She inches just a bit to the right, to see if his gun stayed trained on her.]

Because you're important to me. I wouldn't be here otherwise.

[He doesn't understand what's going on. It's too much, too much has happened too fast and he's so lost, he doesn't understand. The boy yells at her, on the verge of tears,] I-I don't know you-! [ he. he doesn't, does he? ] I told you to go away!

[Fortunately, however, she hadn't even needed to move. Before Cross can fire in any direction, he's promptly whacked in the head with a chunk of metal bar.

Thrown by none other than the yellow winged thing.]

[There is a terrible feeling of knowing you're only alive because of a series of chances. And then correcting yourself... that your friend is only alive because of a series of chances.

She breathes out deeply, and then sits down heavily, heart racing.]

... Hey Toothy. I'm starting to like you.

[JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE SOUL]

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