- Posting Speed
- Multiple posts per day
- Online Availability
- 8:00 AM - 4:00 PM
- Writing Levels
- Prestige
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Primarily Prefer Female
- Genres
- Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
Poirot One;Lancelot;
COME ONE, COME ALL...
Red and white cascaded to the dirt like a waterfall, a bitter wind rippling across the canvas, stirring the flaps that lay open, waiting for the poor souls standing out in the frigid field. It wasn't an ideal start to the process, but if Jeremiah knew anything at all it was how to make something appear well worth the wait.
They'd come in droves... Acts of every variation. Freaks, anomolies, twisted creatures... Fakes, some of them, but fascinating and macabre. Then there were the performers...men and women from across the globe, looking for a chance to prove themselves in the only place that would take them seriously. His father once told him that it was the Ringmaster's responsibility to make the circus more than just a job. It was a family... And if that meant a little extra care in the selection, well... The weather would have to wait, too.
"Next, please!" He called, adjusting his seat back onto a two-legged balance. A pair walked in, a young woman with dark hair and astonishingly blue eyes and a man, taller, with the chiseled look of an old statue.
"Miss Calliope Kritikos and Mr. Cicero Kritikos..." His assistant Jemma chimed, reading from their form, "Of Crete. Siblings, Sir. High wire and--"
"Trapeze." Jeremiah interrupted, grinning as his chair hit the ground again, "Koráki and Peristéri... The Wings of Crete. Magnificent."
"I expect a separate caravan for my people." Cicero started, "We Kritikos do not mingle."
"Cero..." His sister warned, but Jeremiah only laughed, throwing up his hands.
"Of course you don't! We'll see about separate carts! Welcome aboard." As Jeremiah's assistant waved them along, Calliope shot the man an apologetic look, Jeremiah returning a wink, "Next!"
"Ah. Next, sir..."
The flaps swung back and a young woman entered, her hand wrapped tightly around the lead of a majestic grey horse. Sitting up straighter, a brow rose and for a moment, even Jemma forgot her place, "My God..." She mumbled, wide eyed.
"Is that...?" Gesturing too the steed, Jeremiah stood up, stepping closer and the young woman, cheeks a fiery shade of red gave a small, nonchalant shrug.
"A Lipizzan." Jeremiah concluded, reaching out his hand to the incredible animal, "But how??"
"Oi! I didn't steal him if that's what you mean!" The young woman barked, and Jeremiah gave a boisterous laugh.
"Dear God, girl. I don't care if you did or not. He's spectacular. I trust you can ride him?"
"Wouldn't be here if I couldn't... Uh. Sir."
Grinning, Jeremiah stroked the horse along the snout, "And can he do the..."
"Airs, sir? Like a Sopwith Camel, sir."
"Wonderful... wonderful."
As Jeremiah continued to inspect the animal, Jemma seemed to remember herself, tugging her sheet back in front of her eyes, "Uh... Erz...sorry. Ezrabet Weiss, sir. And Spartan. Dressage."
"Of course. Welcome aboard, Miss Weiss."
As Ezrabet led the horse back out of the tent, Jeremiah sank back down, slightly breathless, "Next."
"That's it, sir. That's all of them."
"Excellent... Let's go relay the good news."
A few minutes later, with the whole gaggle gathered in the bigtop, seated in the stands and pouring out into the aisles, Jeremiah stood in thee central ring, adjusting his coats and meeting the crowd with a grin, "Congratulations. And welcome to Walvoord's Bigtop. If you're here, you've made the first cut... But the real audition starts tonight, when we open the show at free admission. Hope you're ready because the show... is about to begin!"
As he started off with a dramatic flair through the tent flaps, Jemma took his place, shooting her employer a look of irritation before turning to address the crowd, "You all will have three hours to come up with a three minute routine, which you will perform here, tonight, before the audience. If Mr. Walvoord is impressed, you'll find yourself gainfully employeed, of not, well... There's always Ringling Brothers. Best of luck, and see you in a few hours..."
They'd come in droves... Acts of every variation. Freaks, anomolies, twisted creatures... Fakes, some of them, but fascinating and macabre. Then there were the performers...men and women from across the globe, looking for a chance to prove themselves in the only place that would take them seriously. His father once told him that it was the Ringmaster's responsibility to make the circus more than just a job. It was a family... And if that meant a little extra care in the selection, well... The weather would have to wait, too.
"Next, please!" He called, adjusting his seat back onto a two-legged balance. A pair walked in, a young woman with dark hair and astonishingly blue eyes and a man, taller, with the chiseled look of an old statue.
"Miss Calliope Kritikos and Mr. Cicero Kritikos..." His assistant Jemma chimed, reading from their form, "Of Crete. Siblings, Sir. High wire and--"
"Trapeze." Jeremiah interrupted, grinning as his chair hit the ground again, "Koráki and Peristéri... The Wings of Crete. Magnificent."
"I expect a separate caravan for my people." Cicero started, "We Kritikos do not mingle."
"Cero..." His sister warned, but Jeremiah only laughed, throwing up his hands.
"Of course you don't! We'll see about separate carts! Welcome aboard." As Jeremiah's assistant waved them along, Calliope shot the man an apologetic look, Jeremiah returning a wink, "Next!"
"Ah. Next, sir..."
The flaps swung back and a young woman entered, her hand wrapped tightly around the lead of a majestic grey horse. Sitting up straighter, a brow rose and for a moment, even Jemma forgot her place, "My God..." She mumbled, wide eyed.
"Is that...?" Gesturing too the steed, Jeremiah stood up, stepping closer and the young woman, cheeks a fiery shade of red gave a small, nonchalant shrug.
"A Lipizzan." Jeremiah concluded, reaching out his hand to the incredible animal, "But how??"
"Oi! I didn't steal him if that's what you mean!" The young woman barked, and Jeremiah gave a boisterous laugh.
"Dear God, girl. I don't care if you did or not. He's spectacular. I trust you can ride him?"
"Wouldn't be here if I couldn't... Uh. Sir."
Grinning, Jeremiah stroked the horse along the snout, "And can he do the..."
"Airs, sir? Like a Sopwith Camel, sir."
"Wonderful... wonderful."
As Jeremiah continued to inspect the animal, Jemma seemed to remember herself, tugging her sheet back in front of her eyes, "Uh... Erz...sorry. Ezrabet Weiss, sir. And Spartan. Dressage."
"Of course. Welcome aboard, Miss Weiss."
As Ezrabet led the horse back out of the tent, Jeremiah sank back down, slightly breathless, "Next."
"That's it, sir. That's all of them."
"Excellent... Let's go relay the good news."
A few minutes later, with the whole gaggle gathered in the bigtop, seated in the stands and pouring out into the aisles, Jeremiah stood in thee central ring, adjusting his coats and meeting the crowd with a grin, "Congratulations. And welcome to Walvoord's Bigtop. If you're here, you've made the first cut... But the real audition starts tonight, when we open the show at free admission. Hope you're ready because the show... is about to begin!"
As he started off with a dramatic flair through the tent flaps, Jemma took his place, shooting her employer a look of irritation before turning to address the crowd, "You all will have three hours to come up with a three minute routine, which you will perform here, tonight, before the audience. If Mr. Walvoord is impressed, you'll find yourself gainfully employeed, of not, well... There's always Ringling Brothers. Best of luck, and see you in a few hours..."
@Mobley Eats, @KatSea