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Realistic or Modern Le Cirque Rogue
cadence
in a quiet garden
Flem Thatcher sat on a bench near the train tracks with a pint of malt liquor in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The warm drink sizzled and tickled his tongue as he tilted his head towards the dark night sky. The air was heavy with the putrid stench of the masses who busied the station only without the presence of people, contested only whenever a cool breeze washed over his senses. There was hardly a soul to be seen. A lonely train rolled into the station on the second track, but no one got off. The man sitting was hyperaware of his own breathing, but he was trying not to be.
He heard a man approach and he made no movement to hide his drink. Perhaps he was hoping that someone would chastise him or punish him for his actions. Maybe he was resigned to his terrible fate. Or even, maybe he was assuming that whoever was out and about at this ungodly hour would be searching for a hookup, a pint, or a smoke, and not in the business of locking up jobless homeless men. Somehow was not surprised when he was confronted by a deep voice with a thick French accent asking him if he had a light. He shrugged, twisted around to get a better angle on the man, and he peered upwards.
The man had the broadest shoulders that Flem had ever seen. He was bald, as far as Flem could tell beneath his tall black hat, and he had a big face. That is to say, his face was big for his head, which wasn’t small, but it wasn’t big enough to accommodate his large mouth and bushy eyebrows. The man held a fat cigar between his meaty fingers which stemmed from pudgy hands that disappeared into a neatly pressed finely tailored black and red suit. Something about the man struck Flem as humorous, and he snubbed out his cigarette for favor of fishing his lighter out of his pocket.
The man sat down beside Flem and he huffed large putrid puffs of smoke into the humid night air. He said not a word for several minutes and Flem, though uncomfortable, was too intrigued to move away. He drank and smoked shamelessly as this giant man with the physique of broad-shouldered egg and the neck of a hippo wasted his tobacco on a starless night. Only when about twenty minutes had passed did the man speak to Flem.
“You have a job?” He asked, his voice deep and watery.
“Fuck do you think?” Flam laughed harshly; his eyebrows knit together. “Does anybody?” he added after a pause, trying to get a read on the man. What was he asking him for?
“You want a job?” The man asked.
Flem had woken the next day with a terrible headache. On the train, he and the man had downed bottle, smoked an entire pack of cigars, and he might’ve admitted that he was running from the U.S. government. He couldn’t for the life of him remember if he’d said specifically why, but he desperately hoped that it wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass. The man seemed trustworthy enough. He said he was a circus manager. He offered Flem a job in the circus. And why shouldn’t he take the job?
A week had passed. The train, consisting of over 45 railroad cars that were “jammed with wonders from all corners of the earth” as it had been put to him, had reached its destination and he’d been working tirelessly with other men whom he had never met to set up tents, stands, and cages in a large field just outside of the city. Spectators stood and watched from the top of a nearby hill. The day was hot and the mid-July sun was relentless on the bare backs of the crew. Flem could feel himself getting sunburned, but it was a familiar feeling, since he had grown up working on his father’s farm. The work was not so hard, and even more valuable than pay, he felt that he was safe from the troubles that burdened him. Course, he wouldn’t stay for long, so there was really no point in making friends, but the people were friendly and Flem really couldn’t have asked for more.
There was, however, one boy who kept catching his eye. A complete stranger around his own age who kept beaming at him from across the place. He was part of the show, he knew that much, but he had never spoken to this man in his life. He made it a point not to smile back to the beautiful stranger. Sure, the big man had said the circus was one big family, but Flam hardly believed that that applied to him, since he’d be leaving the instant they were near the ocean. He daydreamed while he worked that he would sail to Iceland, or England, or Spain. Maybe he’d find himself in exotic lands like Egypt, India, or China. Probably not, but he could dream.
That evening he was out smoking with a couple of the crew guys near the outside of one of tents when he spotted the same boy walking from one tent to another across the way. He excused himself to chase after the stag, though perhaps his thinking was driven mostly by his libido. That was another problem he faced, on top of his alcoholism and addiction to nicotine; he liked men. Something like that could get you killed back in Oklahoma where he grew up. Well, really, it could get you killed anywhere, but in Oklahoma it seemed like fellas got shot up for nearly anything.
Flem pushed his hair from his face and he entered the tent he had seen the other enter only a few minutes ago, eager to see what he might find.
He heard a man approach and he made no movement to hide his drink. Perhaps he was hoping that someone would chastise him or punish him for his actions. Maybe he was resigned to his terrible fate. Or even, maybe he was assuming that whoever was out and about at this ungodly hour would be searching for a hookup, a pint, or a smoke, and not in the business of locking up jobless homeless men. Somehow was not surprised when he was confronted by a deep voice with a thick French accent asking him if he had a light. He shrugged, twisted around to get a better angle on the man, and he peered upwards.
The man had the broadest shoulders that Flem had ever seen. He was bald, as far as Flem could tell beneath his tall black hat, and he had a big face. That is to say, his face was big for his head, which wasn’t small, but it wasn’t big enough to accommodate his large mouth and bushy eyebrows. The man held a fat cigar between his meaty fingers which stemmed from pudgy hands that disappeared into a neatly pressed finely tailored black and red suit. Something about the man struck Flem as humorous, and he snubbed out his cigarette for favor of fishing his lighter out of his pocket.
The man sat down beside Flem and he huffed large putrid puffs of smoke into the humid night air. He said not a word for several minutes and Flem, though uncomfortable, was too intrigued to move away. He drank and smoked shamelessly as this giant man with the physique of broad-shouldered egg and the neck of a hippo wasted his tobacco on a starless night. Only when about twenty minutes had passed did the man speak to Flem.
“You have a job?” He asked, his voice deep and watery.
“Fuck do you think?” Flam laughed harshly; his eyebrows knit together. “Does anybody?” he added after a pause, trying to get a read on the man. What was he asking him for?
“You want a job?” The man asked.
Flem had woken the next day with a terrible headache. On the train, he and the man had downed bottle, smoked an entire pack of cigars, and he might’ve admitted that he was running from the U.S. government. He couldn’t for the life of him remember if he’d said specifically why, but he desperately hoped that it wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass. The man seemed trustworthy enough. He said he was a circus manager. He offered Flem a job in the circus. And why shouldn’t he take the job?
A week had passed. The train, consisting of over 45 railroad cars that were “jammed with wonders from all corners of the earth” as it had been put to him, had reached its destination and he’d been working tirelessly with other men whom he had never met to set up tents, stands, and cages in a large field just outside of the city. Spectators stood and watched from the top of a nearby hill. The day was hot and the mid-July sun was relentless on the bare backs of the crew. Flem could feel himself getting sunburned, but it was a familiar feeling, since he had grown up working on his father’s farm. The work was not so hard, and even more valuable than pay, he felt that he was safe from the troubles that burdened him. Course, he wouldn’t stay for long, so there was really no point in making friends, but the people were friendly and Flem really couldn’t have asked for more.
There was, however, one boy who kept catching his eye. A complete stranger around his own age who kept beaming at him from across the place. He was part of the show, he knew that much, but he had never spoken to this man in his life. He made it a point not to smile back to the beautiful stranger. Sure, the big man had said the circus was one big family, but Flam hardly believed that that applied to him, since he’d be leaving the instant they were near the ocean. He daydreamed while he worked that he would sail to Iceland, or England, or Spain. Maybe he’d find himself in exotic lands like Egypt, India, or China. Probably not, but he could dream.
That evening he was out smoking with a couple of the crew guys near the outside of one of tents when he spotted the same boy walking from one tent to another across the way. He excused himself to chase after the stag, though perhaps his thinking was driven mostly by his libido. That was another problem he faced, on top of his alcoholism and addiction to nicotine; he liked men. Something like that could get you killed back in Oklahoma where he grew up. Well, really, it could get you killed anywhere, but in Oklahoma it seemed like fellas got shot up for nearly anything.
Flem pushed his hair from his face and he entered the tent he had seen the other enter only a few minutes ago, eager to see what he might find.
cadence
in a quiet garden
The train ride, as it usually had, seemed to last an eternity. To Sacha Bouchet, it seemed like there wasn't much that could hold his interest for long. He could only check on the animals so often; there wasn't much that could be done with them while they traveled. Anytime they stopped, he could feed them and try and calm them when they became restless, but other than that, there wasn't much that could be done. Sacha didn't see himself as much when he wasn't accompanied by his beasts, spending nearly every waking hour with the animals. The young man was bored out of his mind, but ever a cheerful spirit, he had done his best to keep himself occupied and optimistic. He spent time with the men, playing cards and listening to the news over the radio. He spent time with the women, particularly his best friend, Clarisse. She was nearly twenty years his senior, her wispy hair and beard already graying, but they never seemed to mind the difference. Sacha listened as she read to him books that he didn't pay much attention to, a smile gracing his face nonetheless. He helped Clarisse cook and discussed the news with the men and it made him happy, really, to be surrounded by people he loved. He could never quite shake feeling out of place, though.
During one of their first stops, a new man had joined them. Sacha had been listening to Clarisse reread The Little Engine That Could for what must have been the one hundredth time. She never told him, but Sacha knew the woman was trying to ingrain the words in his memory - trying to have him recognize words and learn to read 'like an intelligent man.' Often times, he had tried, but grew frustrated. Lately, he hadn't tried at all. He only listened to her voice as she read, surprisingly soft and yet still, somehow, managing to maintain the gruff tone she always had. It was while they had been reading when Sacha first met eyes with the man through the ever small square of a window between trains, sending him a good-natured smile. He wasn't unlike many men he had seen before, but his fascination had grown almost instantly. It wasn't unlike Sacha to have a fascination with new-comers, really. He enjoyed befriending them and found great interest in their stories. He wanted to know what had led them to the circus, what their talent was, what the outside world, something he didn't get to experience often, was like. Clarisse beside him had become mute to him and Sacha found himself thinking about the new face he had seen.
Despite his best attempts to meet the man in person, it seemed they had only the chance to meet in passing. Clarisse had convinced him that the man was avoiding him on purpose, but Sacha had been too stubborn to listen to her. He met his gaze as often as he could, sending the man cheery smiles that went ignored every single time. Often times, the young man found himself jumping from car to car, ignoring the dangers of constantly switching. He was desperate for a new friend; desperate to get to know the mystery man who was joining them. Every time he had made an effort to meet him in person, however, it seemed something pulled him away. The men begged him to play cards with them again, and he would agree. He would lose himself in a news story being told over the radio or find himself cowering away to find Clarisse instead. The week, ever since Sacha had laid eyes on the man, had both simultaneously seem to go by so incredibly fast and last an eternity. When the train had finally come to its final stop nearly a week later, Sacha was glad, hopeful that the barriers of the train were the only thing preventing him from meeting the man.
The July sun was violent. Sacha could feel the heat burning his skin even through the shirt he wore, going about setting up the tents with the other men as quickly as possible. The quicker they could all retreat to the shade of the tents, the better. He could feel the sun burn his exposed face and arms, harsh against the fresh cuts and scratches that were a normal accessory to his skin. As much as he wanted to spend the day trying to find the mysterious man and finally introducing himself, he hadn't counted on it. The first day was always intended to be for setting up. The boss wanted to be ready for costumers as soon as possible, always telling them that the faster they open, the more money they'll bring. Sacha didn't care much for the money, but angering the boss did not go well in anyone's favor. Besides, he was looking forward to a familiar setting of his tent and the feeling of his beasts being nearby and in cages at least slightly larger than only a couple of feet. So, he pinned his honey blond bangs back with one of the pins Clarisse had lent him and got to work as fast as he could to get the base of his tents set up, a couple of men (and Clarisse, who insisted she help) aiding in the process.
In a couple hour's time, the entire circus tents had been set up. That was all the boss cared about, really. As long as it looked prepared and the performance tents were all set to show off, he didn't care much about the storage or personal tents. He didn't care whether his employee's had their tents set to sleep in. He had left to his own private tent once the main ones had been set up, retiring for the night.
Clarisse scoffed from behind him, the taller woman shaking her head in contempt. She couldn't stand the boss - perhaps more than anyone else who worked for him. The bearded woman was constantly talking about how he was an abusive, horrible man, trying to convince young Sacha that the man who had so graciously brought him in was some horrible, horrible person. "Lazy bastard, he is," she spoke bitterly, glancing down at the boy and moving to walk beside him. He was walking from tent to tent, grabbing what few things belonged to him so he could make a cot for the night. He would likely sleep in the animal's tent, as he usually did. "Y'see how he didn't even help set up the tents? He just let us all do the hard part like we're some slaves or somethin'. I'm sick and tired of it, Sacha, I am. He doesn't even pay none of us and he acts like we're supposed to be doin' everything he says."
"He takes good care of us," Sacha simply defended, his voice quiet and hardly above a whisper at all. He was always worried that the boss would hear them speaking about him, recalling the one time he actually had. Sacha never said anything bad about the man. He was thankful for him, in fact. He always managed to ignore the fact that he and the others were constantly hungry, that half of them looked malnourished and often died because of lack of decent food. At least they did get food, he'd justify. He ignored the fact that they didn't paid, or they'd recieve harsh punishments for doing anything against his liking, or that they were expected to compose a perfect performance every single time. He ignored that they weren't allowed to leave and had practically sold their whole life to serving the circus. Clarisse was always so negative about things like that, he thought. The circus was a blessing. He was glad he had a place to sleep at night and a job he could count on each day. Many people, he learned from the radio, weren't so fortunate these days. "You are always so negative," he told Clarisse, his accent think and full of a joyous tone. That was typical of Sacha - to avoid uncomfortable thoughts and force a smile or a laugh instead.
The woman clenched her teeth, rolling her hazel eyes at the boy's blatant dismissal of how horrible the man really was. He'd always been like that and it got on her nerves every single time. She took a deep breath, leaning against a large stack of wooden crates that had been piled near the tent flap, staring at the back of the boy's head. "Whatever you say," she eventually complied, running a hand through her auburn facial hair, scratching it. She hated the damn thing but it was all for the show. "I'm going to go and have a smoke with the guys, okay? Goodnight, Sacha. Make sure you get some sleeping. And, Sacha, I love you. You know that."
Sacha smiled softly, nodding his head. He did know. Clarisse was the only one he considered himself particularly close with. The woman had practically raised him; he loved her like she was his own mother. "Goodnight, 'Risse. I love you too," he spoke, turning around so he could watch her walk out. "Have fun!" He shouted when she had walked completely out of the tent, slapping one of the crates twice before pushing herself off. He was never the type to smoke or drink, even though the guys had often asked him to join them. Clarisse always had been, though. It was always amusing to watch her get drunk, listening to her ramble on end about every single thought that came to her mind. He thought this as he gathered the last of what he could see belonged to him, a couple pairs of trousers and a single shirt. He didn't mind the fact that he didn't have much clothing. He always stunk anyway, Clarisse was always telling him. He worked with animals, after all. Most nights, he slept in a little nook in the animal's tent. Of course, the fact that they couldn't bathe often didn't help his case, but he didn't see a point in having many pairs of clothing if you were only going to smell anyway.
Now that he was alone, Sacha felt a bit at unease. Being alone wasn't something he enjoed much at all. So, he only gathered his things faster, eager to set up his sleeping area and hit the hay for the night. He was exhausted, after all. The day of work had drained him; the day spent in the sun taxing his eyes and making them feel heavy for the rest of the day. And he missed being able to sleep in the tent, even if the train had been far more comfortable. He missed the presence of his beasts even though they were loud and noisy and probably didn't enjoy his presence as much as he enjoyed theirs. He let out a deep, relieved sigh at the thought. He was glad to be home, he thought, and he giggled to himself a bit at it. It was funny, he thought, how they could travel to completely, drastically different places and his home would follow him wherever.
When he turned around, he did so with his eyes closed, still partly laughing at how bizarre the concept was to him. When he opened them, he was startled, to say the least. The mysterious stranger stood just near the entrance of the tent and Sacha couldn't help but wonder if he had seen him laughing at himself. He probably looked insane, he though, scolding himself for being so damn weird. "Oh!" He let out a startled exclaim at the sight of him, deep green eyes widening ever-so-slightly. The man who hadn't smiled at him a single time was now in his tent with him alone. Sacha couldn't help but wodner if he had done so intentionally. It wasn't like he had things to grab - he was new to the circus. Nonetheless, he was eager to get to know the man. "Hello!" He said exuberantly almost immediately after recovering from the initial shock. He placed the bundle of belongings he had gathered on the crates Clarisse had leaned on only moment before, extending a hand to the man for a handshake. And then, without even waiting for the man to say anything back, Sacha had begun speaking and speaking.
"I'm Sacha," he introduced, his accent thick and his tone full of curiosity and excited. "What's your name? What are you doing here? Not that I mind, of course. It is always very nice to have new people join us. Can I ask what your talent is? Are you going to be performing tomorrow? How did you find out about the circus? How come you haven't been smiling back at me? Do you want to be friends?"
During one of their first stops, a new man had joined them. Sacha had been listening to Clarisse reread The Little Engine That Could for what must have been the one hundredth time. She never told him, but Sacha knew the woman was trying to ingrain the words in his memory - trying to have him recognize words and learn to read 'like an intelligent man.' Often times, he had tried, but grew frustrated. Lately, he hadn't tried at all. He only listened to her voice as she read, surprisingly soft and yet still, somehow, managing to maintain the gruff tone she always had. It was while they had been reading when Sacha first met eyes with the man through the ever small square of a window between trains, sending him a good-natured smile. He wasn't unlike many men he had seen before, but his fascination had grown almost instantly. It wasn't unlike Sacha to have a fascination with new-comers, really. He enjoyed befriending them and found great interest in their stories. He wanted to know what had led them to the circus, what their talent was, what the outside world, something he didn't get to experience often, was like. Clarisse beside him had become mute to him and Sacha found himself thinking about the new face he had seen.
Despite his best attempts to meet the man in person, it seemed they had only the chance to meet in passing. Clarisse had convinced him that the man was avoiding him on purpose, but Sacha had been too stubborn to listen to her. He met his gaze as often as he could, sending the man cheery smiles that went ignored every single time. Often times, the young man found himself jumping from car to car, ignoring the dangers of constantly switching. He was desperate for a new friend; desperate to get to know the mystery man who was joining them. Every time he had made an effort to meet him in person, however, it seemed something pulled him away. The men begged him to play cards with them again, and he would agree. He would lose himself in a news story being told over the radio or find himself cowering away to find Clarisse instead. The week, ever since Sacha had laid eyes on the man, had both simultaneously seem to go by so incredibly fast and last an eternity. When the train had finally come to its final stop nearly a week later, Sacha was glad, hopeful that the barriers of the train were the only thing preventing him from meeting the man.
The July sun was violent. Sacha could feel the heat burning his skin even through the shirt he wore, going about setting up the tents with the other men as quickly as possible. The quicker they could all retreat to the shade of the tents, the better. He could feel the sun burn his exposed face and arms, harsh against the fresh cuts and scratches that were a normal accessory to his skin. As much as he wanted to spend the day trying to find the mysterious man and finally introducing himself, he hadn't counted on it. The first day was always intended to be for setting up. The boss wanted to be ready for costumers as soon as possible, always telling them that the faster they open, the more money they'll bring. Sacha didn't care much for the money, but angering the boss did not go well in anyone's favor. Besides, he was looking forward to a familiar setting of his tent and the feeling of his beasts being nearby and in cages at least slightly larger than only a couple of feet. So, he pinned his honey blond bangs back with one of the pins Clarisse had lent him and got to work as fast as he could to get the base of his tents set up, a couple of men (and Clarisse, who insisted she help) aiding in the process.
In a couple hour's time, the entire circus tents had been set up. That was all the boss cared about, really. As long as it looked prepared and the performance tents were all set to show off, he didn't care much about the storage or personal tents. He didn't care whether his employee's had their tents set to sleep in. He had left to his own private tent once the main ones had been set up, retiring for the night.
Clarisse scoffed from behind him, the taller woman shaking her head in contempt. She couldn't stand the boss - perhaps more than anyone else who worked for him. The bearded woman was constantly talking about how he was an abusive, horrible man, trying to convince young Sacha that the man who had so graciously brought him in was some horrible, horrible person. "Lazy bastard, he is," she spoke bitterly, glancing down at the boy and moving to walk beside him. He was walking from tent to tent, grabbing what few things belonged to him so he could make a cot for the night. He would likely sleep in the animal's tent, as he usually did. "Y'see how he didn't even help set up the tents? He just let us all do the hard part like we're some slaves or somethin'. I'm sick and tired of it, Sacha, I am. He doesn't even pay none of us and he acts like we're supposed to be doin' everything he says."
"He takes good care of us," Sacha simply defended, his voice quiet and hardly above a whisper at all. He was always worried that the boss would hear them speaking about him, recalling the one time he actually had. Sacha never said anything bad about the man. He was thankful for him, in fact. He always managed to ignore the fact that he and the others were constantly hungry, that half of them looked malnourished and often died because of lack of decent food. At least they did get food, he'd justify. He ignored the fact that they didn't paid, or they'd recieve harsh punishments for doing anything against his liking, or that they were expected to compose a perfect performance every single time. He ignored that they weren't allowed to leave and had practically sold their whole life to serving the circus. Clarisse was always so negative about things like that, he thought. The circus was a blessing. He was glad he had a place to sleep at night and a job he could count on each day. Many people, he learned from the radio, weren't so fortunate these days. "You are always so negative," he told Clarisse, his accent think and full of a joyous tone. That was typical of Sacha - to avoid uncomfortable thoughts and force a smile or a laugh instead.
The woman clenched her teeth, rolling her hazel eyes at the boy's blatant dismissal of how horrible the man really was. He'd always been like that and it got on her nerves every single time. She took a deep breath, leaning against a large stack of wooden crates that had been piled near the tent flap, staring at the back of the boy's head. "Whatever you say," she eventually complied, running a hand through her auburn facial hair, scratching it. She hated the damn thing but it was all for the show. "I'm going to go and have a smoke with the guys, okay? Goodnight, Sacha. Make sure you get some sleeping. And, Sacha, I love you. You know that."
Sacha smiled softly, nodding his head. He did know. Clarisse was the only one he considered himself particularly close with. The woman had practically raised him; he loved her like she was his own mother. "Goodnight, 'Risse. I love you too," he spoke, turning around so he could watch her walk out. "Have fun!" He shouted when she had walked completely out of the tent, slapping one of the crates twice before pushing herself off. He was never the type to smoke or drink, even though the guys had often asked him to join them. Clarisse always had been, though. It was always amusing to watch her get drunk, listening to her ramble on end about every single thought that came to her mind. He thought this as he gathered the last of what he could see belonged to him, a couple pairs of trousers and a single shirt. He didn't mind the fact that he didn't have much clothing. He always stunk anyway, Clarisse was always telling him. He worked with animals, after all. Most nights, he slept in a little nook in the animal's tent. Of course, the fact that they couldn't bathe often didn't help his case, but he didn't see a point in having many pairs of clothing if you were only going to smell anyway.
Now that he was alone, Sacha felt a bit at unease. Being alone wasn't something he enjoed much at all. So, he only gathered his things faster, eager to set up his sleeping area and hit the hay for the night. He was exhausted, after all. The day of work had drained him; the day spent in the sun taxing his eyes and making them feel heavy for the rest of the day. And he missed being able to sleep in the tent, even if the train had been far more comfortable. He missed the presence of his beasts even though they were loud and noisy and probably didn't enjoy his presence as much as he enjoyed theirs. He let out a deep, relieved sigh at the thought. He was glad to be home, he thought, and he giggled to himself a bit at it. It was funny, he thought, how they could travel to completely, drastically different places and his home would follow him wherever.
When he turned around, he did so with his eyes closed, still partly laughing at how bizarre the concept was to him. When he opened them, he was startled, to say the least. The mysterious stranger stood just near the entrance of the tent and Sacha couldn't help but wonder if he had seen him laughing at himself. He probably looked insane, he though, scolding himself for being so damn weird. "Oh!" He let out a startled exclaim at the sight of him, deep green eyes widening ever-so-slightly. The man who hadn't smiled at him a single time was now in his tent with him alone. Sacha couldn't help but wodner if he had done so intentionally. It wasn't like he had things to grab - he was new to the circus. Nonetheless, he was eager to get to know the man. "Hello!" He said exuberantly almost immediately after recovering from the initial shock. He placed the bundle of belongings he had gathered on the crates Clarisse had leaned on only moment before, extending a hand to the man for a handshake. And then, without even waiting for the man to say anything back, Sacha had begun speaking and speaking.
"I'm Sacha," he introduced, his accent thick and his tone full of curiosity and excited. "What's your name? What are you doing here? Not that I mind, of course. It is always very nice to have new people join us. Can I ask what your talent is? Are you going to be performing tomorrow? How did you find out about the circus? How come you haven't been smiling back at me? Do you want to be friends?"
cadence
in a quiet garden
The first thing that Flem noticed was the stench. The humid countryside air had been fine when the wind had been blowing over the grassy fields, cascading over hill and mountain, but in the dead night air and standing in the animal tent, Flem could hardly stand it. It reminded him of home, where barnyard animals such as horses and pigs rolled in the dust to cool down, and where chickens and geese shed their feathers to stay cool in the warmer seasons. The smell of the coop where he had collected chicken eggs for over twenty years came back to him now and it made him wrinkle his nose. He’d worked on his father’s farm since he could walk, and the smell of animals had been around him since he could remember, but this stench was unfamiliar. Lions, tigers, and bears weren’t goats, geese, and rabbits.
The second thing that he noticed was how shockingly beautiful the other man was. In a natural, filthy, rag-tag way. He appeared as untamed as a lynx, as disheveled as a wolf, yet as elegant as a swan. He struck Flem as being carefree, like a wildflower or an outdoor cat. Stunning, untouchable, but magnificent. He couldn’t wait to watch him squirm under his thumb.
Flem wasn’t here to make friends. He wasn’t here to become close with anyone, to make friendship bracelets with his besties, or to swap stories of childhood trauma. He didn’t want to hear about anyone’s dead cat, he didn’t want to have to pretend to care that someone’s father left when they were five, and he certainly did not want to attract any clingy new chums. Which is why he had to take care of this one particular nuisance.
This boy wouldn’t stop smiling at him. Any maybe Flem was a little drunk, and maybe he was a little on edge, but it was seriously creeping him out. So, he had been purposely avoiding the boy, hoping that eventually he would give it up, but the man was relentless! He persisted despite Flem’s obvious disinterest and it was beyond beginning to tick Flem off. What’s worse was that the boy was physically attractive to him, so he couldn’t stop thinking about how much he wanted to fucking bone him. God, just thinking about it made him feel obligated to have a smoke to chill out his crazy thoughts.
He took a pack from his back pocket and he withdrew a cigarette, lighting it and then returning the pack to his pocket in a fluid motion, all while ignoring the earthy boy’s extended hand. He took a long drag off of his cigarette while his eyes scanned the tent, focusing on nothing in particular until they finally settled back upon the boy before him. He gave him a cool expression of disinterest and then he shoved his left hand into the pocket of his slacks. In his other hand he held his cigarette. Smoke rose in tiny spirals up and up until they disappeared into the dark folds of the tent canopy above them.
“I’m not looking for friends.” Harsh, but honest. He was not looking to make long-term or lasting relations with anybody, not even a beautiful crystal-eyed lion tamer who he desperately wanted to plow into a mattress. And as such, he didn’t care if he hurt the other’s feelings by ignoring half of what he was saying. He moved to the side and he found a crate to lean against. He focused on his cigarette for a minute more before he spoke again.
“Flem. No talent,” he said, having decided to throw the boy a bone. “And I don’t like smiling. So, quit it.” He threw his cigarette on the ground and he put it out with the heel of his boot, watching as the smoke dissipated into the air between them. “I’m just looking for a quick fuck.” He admitted quite blatantly, his dark gray eyes glancing up to meet those emerald beauties staring back at him.
The second thing that he noticed was how shockingly beautiful the other man was. In a natural, filthy, rag-tag way. He appeared as untamed as a lynx, as disheveled as a wolf, yet as elegant as a swan. He struck Flem as being carefree, like a wildflower or an outdoor cat. Stunning, untouchable, but magnificent. He couldn’t wait to watch him squirm under his thumb.
Flem wasn’t here to make friends. He wasn’t here to become close with anyone, to make friendship bracelets with his besties, or to swap stories of childhood trauma. He didn’t want to hear about anyone’s dead cat, he didn’t want to have to pretend to care that someone’s father left when they were five, and he certainly did not want to attract any clingy new chums. Which is why he had to take care of this one particular nuisance.
This boy wouldn’t stop smiling at him. Any maybe Flem was a little drunk, and maybe he was a little on edge, but it was seriously creeping him out. So, he had been purposely avoiding the boy, hoping that eventually he would give it up, but the man was relentless! He persisted despite Flem’s obvious disinterest and it was beyond beginning to tick Flem off. What’s worse was that the boy was physically attractive to him, so he couldn’t stop thinking about how much he wanted to fucking bone him. God, just thinking about it made him feel obligated to have a smoke to chill out his crazy thoughts.
He took a pack from his back pocket and he withdrew a cigarette, lighting it and then returning the pack to his pocket in a fluid motion, all while ignoring the earthy boy’s extended hand. He took a long drag off of his cigarette while his eyes scanned the tent, focusing on nothing in particular until they finally settled back upon the boy before him. He gave him a cool expression of disinterest and then he shoved his left hand into the pocket of his slacks. In his other hand he held his cigarette. Smoke rose in tiny spirals up and up until they disappeared into the dark folds of the tent canopy above them.
“I’m not looking for friends.” Harsh, but honest. He was not looking to make long-term or lasting relations with anybody, not even a beautiful crystal-eyed lion tamer who he desperately wanted to plow into a mattress. And as such, he didn’t care if he hurt the other’s feelings by ignoring half of what he was saying. He moved to the side and he found a crate to lean against. He focused on his cigarette for a minute more before he spoke again.
“Flem. No talent,” he said, having decided to throw the boy a bone. “And I don’t like smiling. So, quit it.” He threw his cigarette on the ground and he put it out with the heel of his boot, watching as the smoke dissipated into the air between them. “I’m just looking for a quick fuck.” He admitted quite blatantly, his dark gray eyes glancing up to meet those emerald beauties staring back at him.
cadence
in a quiet garden
The man was even more of a mystery now than he had been before. Sacha couldn't help but wonder what he was even doing in the tent. It obviously hadn't been to talk to him - he had barely said a word. He ignored his extended hand and began to smoke, remaining as silent and expressionless as he always seemed to be. As happy as Sacha tried to be, he couldn't help but let his smile fall a bit when he didn't shake his hand. "Okay," he had mumbled a bit sarcastically under his breath, nervously moving his hand to stick it deep into the pocket of his trousers. The beast tamer couldn't quite understand why the man would find himself in the tent with him and then not even bother to shake his hand and get to know him. It was impolite, he thought. He was taught to shake hands with just about everyone he met; Clarisse told him that's what proper men do when they want to come off as friendly and respectful. She wouldn't approve of this man at all, and oddly, that only made his curiosity grow.
For a while, Sacha didn't think the man was going to speak at all. He simply leaned against the crates as Clarisse had before, smoking a cigarette and staring at him with eyes that Sacha could only describe as piercing. His silence and mysteriousness both intimidated and appalled him. He kept his eyes on the other man, moving his eyes up and down, taking him in. He was handsome, Sacha thought. His smile completely fell when he did, a pained look of confusion taking its place on his face. He wasn't looking for friends? Sacha wasn't exactly surprised but he remained confused. "Then why are you here?" He asked, a brow cocked. He didn't intend to sound impolite; he was merely curious why he had seemingly followed him into the tent on purpose yet had no intention of befriending him. He crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his hands into the crook of each of his elbows. He didn't exactly what to stick around if he wasn't, somehow, going to make a friend through their meeting. He remained there anyway, his curious gaze remaining on the brunet.
Another minute passed before the man spoke again. For the first time in quite some time, Sacha was speechless. The minute of silence had been excruciating; Sacha badly wanted to speak, but he hadn't, hoping that appealing to the wants of the other would make him more likely to open up. He waited for him to speak, and again, Sacha thought that he wouldn't. So, when he finally did, he couldn't help the toothy grin that appeared on his face once again. "That's a nice name," he told him honestly. He really thought it was; it was unique, Sacha hadn't heard anyone with the name before. "How are you working for the circus if you don't have a talent?" He asked the next moment, curiosity getting the best of him. He was back at it with the questions - he just couldn't help it. He frowned when he was told to stop smiling, trying his best to do so. He was eager to please the man, after all. If he didn't like smiling, for the sake of befriending him, he would try not to.
Forcing himself not to smile wasn't a very difficult task, because the next moment, the man informed him that he was only looking for a quick fuck. Instantly, feelings of offence and embarrassment showed themselves, turning his face a bright shade of red. "I'm not a slut," he defended, voice raising a pitch a bit. There he was, innocently trying to make a new friend, and the only thing on the other's mind had been sex. He grit his teeth, willing himself not to be too upset. He was upset, though, he couldn't hide it. Flem had barely shown any emotion at all, refused to shake his hand, gave him short answers and hadn't shown much interest in him at all. Yet he wanted to screw him? He let out a deep exhale, attempting to calm himself down enough to grab his things and leave. He couldn't bring himself to leave, though. Sacha pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing himself to look at the man once again. "Are you serious?" He asked after a moment of silence, doing his best to sound reformed instead of offended and confused. He failed, though. His voice was still high and etched with bitterness. He opened his mouth to say something else, but immediately snapped it close, shaking his head. He scoffed a bit to himself, wondering if the man truly thought he was going to get what he wanted from him.
Sacha uncrossed his arms, walking beside the man to grab his things he had set down on the crate. He wasn't as interested in getting to know him at this point. He was still curious about him, sure. He couldn't help but wonder where he had come from and why even after he had been so blatantly disrespectful. He grabbed his things, once again tucking them under his arm. He was nervous being this close to a man who only moments before basically told him he wanted to fuck him, but Sacha was desperate to leave already. He could try befriending the man another time. He was exhausted and far too tired to deal with horny newcomers. He wanted to set up a sleeping area and then do just that: sleep. He took a step back when he gathered his things, looking at the man for what he hoped would be the last time for the night. "I'm going to sleep," he told him, back to his normal tone and sounded much less offended. "I'd like to do so without you here," indirectly implying that he would like the man to leave now.
For a while, Sacha didn't think the man was going to speak at all. He simply leaned against the crates as Clarisse had before, smoking a cigarette and staring at him with eyes that Sacha could only describe as piercing. His silence and mysteriousness both intimidated and appalled him. He kept his eyes on the other man, moving his eyes up and down, taking him in. He was handsome, Sacha thought. His smile completely fell when he did, a pained look of confusion taking its place on his face. He wasn't looking for friends? Sacha wasn't exactly surprised but he remained confused. "Then why are you here?" He asked, a brow cocked. He didn't intend to sound impolite; he was merely curious why he had seemingly followed him into the tent on purpose yet had no intention of befriending him. He crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his hands into the crook of each of his elbows. He didn't exactly what to stick around if he wasn't, somehow, going to make a friend through their meeting. He remained there anyway, his curious gaze remaining on the brunet.
Another minute passed before the man spoke again. For the first time in quite some time, Sacha was speechless. The minute of silence had been excruciating; Sacha badly wanted to speak, but he hadn't, hoping that appealing to the wants of the other would make him more likely to open up. He waited for him to speak, and again, Sacha thought that he wouldn't. So, when he finally did, he couldn't help the toothy grin that appeared on his face once again. "That's a nice name," he told him honestly. He really thought it was; it was unique, Sacha hadn't heard anyone with the name before. "How are you working for the circus if you don't have a talent?" He asked the next moment, curiosity getting the best of him. He was back at it with the questions - he just couldn't help it. He frowned when he was told to stop smiling, trying his best to do so. He was eager to please the man, after all. If he didn't like smiling, for the sake of befriending him, he would try not to.
Forcing himself not to smile wasn't a very difficult task, because the next moment, the man informed him that he was only looking for a quick fuck. Instantly, feelings of offence and embarrassment showed themselves, turning his face a bright shade of red. "I'm not a slut," he defended, voice raising a pitch a bit. There he was, innocently trying to make a new friend, and the only thing on the other's mind had been sex. He grit his teeth, willing himself not to be too upset. He was upset, though, he couldn't hide it. Flem had barely shown any emotion at all, refused to shake his hand, gave him short answers and hadn't shown much interest in him at all. Yet he wanted to screw him? He let out a deep exhale, attempting to calm himself down enough to grab his things and leave. He couldn't bring himself to leave, though. Sacha pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing himself to look at the man once again. "Are you serious?" He asked after a moment of silence, doing his best to sound reformed instead of offended and confused. He failed, though. His voice was still high and etched with bitterness. He opened his mouth to say something else, but immediately snapped it close, shaking his head. He scoffed a bit to himself, wondering if the man truly thought he was going to get what he wanted from him.
Sacha uncrossed his arms, walking beside the man to grab his things he had set down on the crate. He wasn't as interested in getting to know him at this point. He was still curious about him, sure. He couldn't help but wonder where he had come from and why even after he had been so blatantly disrespectful. He grabbed his things, once again tucking them under his arm. He was nervous being this close to a man who only moments before basically told him he wanted to fuck him, but Sacha was desperate to leave already. He could try befriending the man another time. He was exhausted and far too tired to deal with horny newcomers. He wanted to set up a sleeping area and then do just that: sleep. He took a step back when he gathered his things, looking at the man for what he hoped would be the last time for the night. "I'm going to sleep," he told him, back to his normal tone and sounded much less offended. "I'd like to do so without you here," indirectly implying that he would like the man to leave now.
cadence
in a quiet garden
Flem had to admit, even his face became a little flushed when the boy’s cheeks turned red in response to his blunt request. It was a bold statement for him to make, and if he weren’t in such a remissive state of mind he might not have said it, but he had recently lost all concern of morality or virtue and he wasn’t about to lie to the boy and say he wanted to be in a meaningful relationship. He was leaving soon, and it didn’t make sense to him that he should delay the inevitable with small talk if all they were going to do was have sex. But then again, he probably could have worded it less offensively. And what had he expected? For the boy to say yes? Maybe he hadn’t intended anything at all.
He considered staying. He considered it purely out of a desire to spite this random boy who had denied him a relatively simple yet very personal pleasure. But he wouldn’t; he had no reason to, and he had not the energy to waste on tormenting a flighty little bird. So, he stood upright, and he cracked both of his knuckles, waiting for the boy to step away and finish speaking before he made any movements to go… but he stopped himself. Something in the back of his mind was telling him that it would be a bad idea to let foul air linger between them. Was his previous statement retractable? Guess he’d find out.
“Now… hold on,” he took a step towards the boy, his gray eyes reflecting his desire for the boy to listen. “I didn’t call you a slut.” He cupped the other’s shoulders with his empty hands, trying to persuade him not to turn away. “If I wanted to sleep with a slut… I would’ve chased a bird that didn’t fly…” Okay, so maybe he was a little drunk, and maybe he smelled that way, but that didn’t deter him from trying to use his Tennessee charm to woo the boy into no longer believing he was intending to rape him in his sleep.
“But…” He released the boy, taking a slow step backwards and then letting his head loll to the side. “I can see that you don’t want me here… so I’ll go.” He gave the boy a wonky smile, seemingly oblivious to the other’s discomfort. He spun on his heel and left, the cool breeze rushing to meet him as he exited the tent. He stood there, letting the refreshing night air wash over him and his drunkass, and then he went off in search of the men he had been drinking with earlier.
He doubted that he would have trouble finding someone to have sex with, but whether it ended up being a man he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t opposed to having sex with a woman, but it wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as the rough sensuality of a man beneath his calloused hands. And as he was returning to the place where he and the other workers were meant to sleep, he realized… that nothing would satisfy him more than the jade-eyed beauty he so desperately desired to possess. And the thought that spurred him on? The boy hadn’t outright condemned him for his sexuality, and therefore… perhaps… the boy wasn’t totally disgusted by the idea of them.
He went to sleep atop a burlap sack stretched out on the tent’s grassy ground. Other men and boys who worked for the circus slept, smoked, or played poker on propped up wooden barrels in the dim light of a flickering lantern. They were a ragtag bunch, dressed in muddy slacks and old shoes, ungroomed hair slicked back with dirty hands, grimy faces grinning wide in the yellow lamplight. And Flem loved them all. His last thoughts before drifting to sleep were how fortunate he was to be among such fine company.
He considered staying. He considered it purely out of a desire to spite this random boy who had denied him a relatively simple yet very personal pleasure. But he wouldn’t; he had no reason to, and he had not the energy to waste on tormenting a flighty little bird. So, he stood upright, and he cracked both of his knuckles, waiting for the boy to step away and finish speaking before he made any movements to go… but he stopped himself. Something in the back of his mind was telling him that it would be a bad idea to let foul air linger between them. Was his previous statement retractable? Guess he’d find out.
“Now… hold on,” he took a step towards the boy, his gray eyes reflecting his desire for the boy to listen. “I didn’t call you a slut.” He cupped the other’s shoulders with his empty hands, trying to persuade him not to turn away. “If I wanted to sleep with a slut… I would’ve chased a bird that didn’t fly…” Okay, so maybe he was a little drunk, and maybe he smelled that way, but that didn’t deter him from trying to use his Tennessee charm to woo the boy into no longer believing he was intending to rape him in his sleep.
“But…” He released the boy, taking a slow step backwards and then letting his head loll to the side. “I can see that you don’t want me here… so I’ll go.” He gave the boy a wonky smile, seemingly oblivious to the other’s discomfort. He spun on his heel and left, the cool breeze rushing to meet him as he exited the tent. He stood there, letting the refreshing night air wash over him and his drunkass, and then he went off in search of the men he had been drinking with earlier.
He doubted that he would have trouble finding someone to have sex with, but whether it ended up being a man he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t opposed to having sex with a woman, but it wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as the rough sensuality of a man beneath his calloused hands. And as he was returning to the place where he and the other workers were meant to sleep, he realized… that nothing would satisfy him more than the jade-eyed beauty he so desperately desired to possess. And the thought that spurred him on? The boy hadn’t outright condemned him for his sexuality, and therefore… perhaps… the boy wasn’t totally disgusted by the idea of them.
He went to sleep atop a burlap sack stretched out on the tent’s grassy ground. Other men and boys who worked for the circus slept, smoked, or played poker on propped up wooden barrels in the dim light of a flickering lantern. They were a ragtag bunch, dressed in muddy slacks and old shoes, ungroomed hair slicked back with dirty hands, grimy faces grinning wide in the yellow lamplight. And Flem loved them all. His last thoughts before drifting to sleep were how fortunate he was to be among such fine company.
cadence
in a quiet garden
Sacha stilled as the man cupped his shoulder, flinching just slightly under his touch. The man was so close to him now that Sacha could smell the alcohol on his breath. Strangely, the fact that the man was likely drunk was comforting. Perhaps it was just his drunkenness speaking just now. Perhaps, when the man as sober, Sacha could attempt to befriend him again and he wouldn't say anything about his desire to fuck him. He took a deep breath, exhaled through his nose, and allowed himself to relax a bit. He pulled his belongings to his chest, wrapping his arms around them to secure them. The man's touch, though unwelcome, didn't bother him enough for him to whack it away. So, he didn't. Instead, he met his deep gray eyes with his own, giving him a look of impatience. Whatever he had to say, Sacha hoped he would be quick about it. He was willing to talk again, but for now he was tired and irritable and all he wanted was to sleep.
"You just thought I'd say yes then?" Sacha didn't exactly know what constituted someone as a slut, but anyone who was willing to have sex with a stranger on their very first meeting was close enough to one in his book. "When I don't even know you?" He continued, sounding more confused than as offended as he had before. He took a step back when the man finally released his shoulder, keeping his eyes on him the entire time. At his goofy smile, his expression softened a bit. He really was desperate for a new friend. The boss always called the circus a big family and it was true, really. Sacha never doubted that every single member had each other's backs through thick and thin. But he couldn't help but feel incredibly lonely despite growing up with them. He had Clarisse and he loved her more than anyone. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew good and well that Clarisse preferred spending time with the older members. She was twenty years his senior, after all. She had known him since he was a child and still treated him as such. He wanted to know someone closer to his age. He wanted to fall in love and experience life outside the big tents. He supposed he was desperate enough to befriend the drunken newcomer. He sighed, nodding towards the exit with his head. "Get some sleep," he suggested, his tone soft. It would be best to speak in the morning, he figured. Then he would be well-rested and Flem, his name was, would hopefully be sober. Then again, the men in the circus tended to drink all day long.
He stayed completely still until Flem had left the tent, his belongings still pressed tightly to his chest. He couldn't shake the feeling that things were about to change; for better or for worse, he couldn't tell. He had to force himself to stop thinking about such things - to walk himself to the animal's tent and prepare an area for him to sleep. And just that, he did. He could smell the tent before he even entered it. He could tell the animals had already messed their cages, giving the tent the stench it seemed to carry no matter how many times it was cleaned. Sacha smelled of it too: shit and hay. After twenty years of being around the animals, he was far used to it by now. He barely even noticed it. He gave a brief glance to the assortment of animals as he stepped in. They lived in cages far too small than what he knew they needed, sitting in stacks of two, one cage on top of the other. Nothing but a sturdy sheet of wood sat between the cages to prevent the animals' feet from falling through the bars. It saddened Sacha anytime he thought about how trapped they must feel, but he knew there was nothing that could be done. He had to ignore it as he always did, making sure all of the animals were well and situated as he made his way towards the opposite side of the tent. When he was sure the animals were fine in their cages, he began to work. He had finished setting up a place to sleep in only a few minutes. He pushed two crates together and laid on top of them using his arms to cushion his head. He didn't have a pillow or a blanket and he didn't really mind. He hadn't had either for most of his life and the weather wasn't cold enough to warrant a need for a blanket. Within minutes, the familiar sounds of birds squawking and the low purrs of the cats sleeping, Sacha was lulled to sleep.
~ ~ ~
Sacha woke up with the sun, bright and early just as everyone was expected to do. Not minutes after waking up, he had found himself waiting in line for breakfast with Clarisse. He woke up hungry, having not had dinner the night before. So, he rushed, hoping Clarisse had the same idea. He hadn't even bothered to change out of the clothes he had worn the previous day, and it must have showed, because Clarisse had her nose shriveled up in a dramatic look of disgust when he finally found her, stepping in line after her. "You smell like shit," she commented, grabbing two tin bowls before passing one back to Sacha. He just laughed, looking over her shoulder to see what was being served that morning. Porridge and biscuits, it seemed. A bland, yet filling meal. It was a common one; the ingredients were cheap and easy to access and the meal was easy to prepare. Sacha didn't mind, though. Food was food and he was lucky he got any at all. He was well aware of the starving states many people seemed to be in these days thanks to the Depression. Clarisse, however, seemed discontent. "Slop again," she mumbled under her breath, not wanting to offend the staff women who prepared it. It wasn't their choice, after all. They simply cooked what was provided.
"Be grateful," he reminded, holding up his bowl as a scoop of oats and a biscuit were placed in his bowl. He thanked the young woman before turning on his heels to follow Clarisse, expecting to sit at their usual table. Many rows of wooden picnic tables sat in the open air just outside the food tent, meant for customers who wanted to stop and grab something to eat. Of course, when the circus was open to guests, the women would prepare something more tasteful than bland oats and bread. He stopped walking, though, when he saw the auburn-haired man from the night before sitting at one of the tables with a group of crewmen. He bumped shoulders with Clarisse, nodding towards the table with his head. "Let's sit there," he suggested, a dimpled grin finding its way on his dirt-covered face.
"You want to woo the newcomer? You always do this, Sacha. He's gonna shovel up shit until he's enough money to be done with this damn place. He'll leave in a month, I'm tellin' you. " She laughed bitterly. "He'd be wise to." For a moment, she had a worried look. Sacha did always do this. He befriended any new face who stepped into the circus. Each and every time, he had his heart broken. They always left. Each and every time. Even though Clarisse prided herself on being a strong woman who could care less about anyone in the circus, it was anything but the case. Frankly, she didn't want to see Sacha chasing some new person around again. She knew it was inevitable, though. She gave Sacha the same talk every single time he mentioned talking to the new face. Every single time, he ignored he warnings.
"His name is Flem," he told him, ignoring her comments about him leaving. He wondered how much of the events of the night before he'd share. He decided he would be vague. If he shared the full details, Clarisse would probably be pissed at the man. "He came to my tent last night after you left. I think he wants to be my friend too," he beamed, giving the older woman a reassuring smile. Of course, he left out the part where he was, in fact, very drunk and apparently wasn't looking for a friend at all.
He didn't wait for her to reply before he picked up his pace, taking a free seat on the bench across from the man. He acted as nonchalantly as he could, as if the conversation they had the night before hadn't taken place at all. "Good morning," he said to all of the men at the table, though he looked directly into the gray eyes of the newbie as he spoke. He hoped his desire to start over was evident. He also hoped the man would agree. Perhaps they could befriend another on terms aside from that didn't relate to sex. He wasn't interested, after all. He was an emotional person. He valued personal relationships far more than sexual ones. He wouldn't make an exception for some handsome new guy who expressed his interest in him on only their first day of meeting. The bearded woman took a seat beside him, immediately pulling out a cigarette so she could smoke with the men. Ever the person for small talk, Sacha began to speak. "How'd you all sleep? Enjoying your poridge?"
"You just thought I'd say yes then?" Sacha didn't exactly know what constituted someone as a slut, but anyone who was willing to have sex with a stranger on their very first meeting was close enough to one in his book. "When I don't even know you?" He continued, sounding more confused than as offended as he had before. He took a step back when the man finally released his shoulder, keeping his eyes on him the entire time. At his goofy smile, his expression softened a bit. He really was desperate for a new friend. The boss always called the circus a big family and it was true, really. Sacha never doubted that every single member had each other's backs through thick and thin. But he couldn't help but feel incredibly lonely despite growing up with them. He had Clarisse and he loved her more than anyone. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew good and well that Clarisse preferred spending time with the older members. She was twenty years his senior, after all. She had known him since he was a child and still treated him as such. He wanted to know someone closer to his age. He wanted to fall in love and experience life outside the big tents. He supposed he was desperate enough to befriend the drunken newcomer. He sighed, nodding towards the exit with his head. "Get some sleep," he suggested, his tone soft. It would be best to speak in the morning, he figured. Then he would be well-rested and Flem, his name was, would hopefully be sober. Then again, the men in the circus tended to drink all day long.
He stayed completely still until Flem had left the tent, his belongings still pressed tightly to his chest. He couldn't shake the feeling that things were about to change; for better or for worse, he couldn't tell. He had to force himself to stop thinking about such things - to walk himself to the animal's tent and prepare an area for him to sleep. And just that, he did. He could smell the tent before he even entered it. He could tell the animals had already messed their cages, giving the tent the stench it seemed to carry no matter how many times it was cleaned. Sacha smelled of it too: shit and hay. After twenty years of being around the animals, he was far used to it by now. He barely even noticed it. He gave a brief glance to the assortment of animals as he stepped in. They lived in cages far too small than what he knew they needed, sitting in stacks of two, one cage on top of the other. Nothing but a sturdy sheet of wood sat between the cages to prevent the animals' feet from falling through the bars. It saddened Sacha anytime he thought about how trapped they must feel, but he knew there was nothing that could be done. He had to ignore it as he always did, making sure all of the animals were well and situated as he made his way towards the opposite side of the tent. When he was sure the animals were fine in their cages, he began to work. He had finished setting up a place to sleep in only a few minutes. He pushed two crates together and laid on top of them using his arms to cushion his head. He didn't have a pillow or a blanket and he didn't really mind. He hadn't had either for most of his life and the weather wasn't cold enough to warrant a need for a blanket. Within minutes, the familiar sounds of birds squawking and the low purrs of the cats sleeping, Sacha was lulled to sleep.
~ ~ ~
Sacha woke up with the sun, bright and early just as everyone was expected to do. Not minutes after waking up, he had found himself waiting in line for breakfast with Clarisse. He woke up hungry, having not had dinner the night before. So, he rushed, hoping Clarisse had the same idea. He hadn't even bothered to change out of the clothes he had worn the previous day, and it must have showed, because Clarisse had her nose shriveled up in a dramatic look of disgust when he finally found her, stepping in line after her. "You smell like shit," she commented, grabbing two tin bowls before passing one back to Sacha. He just laughed, looking over her shoulder to see what was being served that morning. Porridge and biscuits, it seemed. A bland, yet filling meal. It was a common one; the ingredients were cheap and easy to access and the meal was easy to prepare. Sacha didn't mind, though. Food was food and he was lucky he got any at all. He was well aware of the starving states many people seemed to be in these days thanks to the Depression. Clarisse, however, seemed discontent. "Slop again," she mumbled under her breath, not wanting to offend the staff women who prepared it. It wasn't their choice, after all. They simply cooked what was provided.
"Be grateful," he reminded, holding up his bowl as a scoop of oats and a biscuit were placed in his bowl. He thanked the young woman before turning on his heels to follow Clarisse, expecting to sit at their usual table. Many rows of wooden picnic tables sat in the open air just outside the food tent, meant for customers who wanted to stop and grab something to eat. Of course, when the circus was open to guests, the women would prepare something more tasteful than bland oats and bread. He stopped walking, though, when he saw the auburn-haired man from the night before sitting at one of the tables with a group of crewmen. He bumped shoulders with Clarisse, nodding towards the table with his head. "Let's sit there," he suggested, a dimpled grin finding its way on his dirt-covered face.
"You want to woo the newcomer? You always do this, Sacha. He's gonna shovel up shit until he's enough money to be done with this damn place. He'll leave in a month, I'm tellin' you. " She laughed bitterly. "He'd be wise to." For a moment, she had a worried look. Sacha did always do this. He befriended any new face who stepped into the circus. Each and every time, he had his heart broken. They always left. Each and every time. Even though Clarisse prided herself on being a strong woman who could care less about anyone in the circus, it was anything but the case. Frankly, she didn't want to see Sacha chasing some new person around again. She knew it was inevitable, though. She gave Sacha the same talk every single time he mentioned talking to the new face. Every single time, he ignored he warnings.
"His name is Flem," he told him, ignoring her comments about him leaving. He wondered how much of the events of the night before he'd share. He decided he would be vague. If he shared the full details, Clarisse would probably be pissed at the man. "He came to my tent last night after you left. I think he wants to be my friend too," he beamed, giving the older woman a reassuring smile. Of course, he left out the part where he was, in fact, very drunk and apparently wasn't looking for a friend at all.
He didn't wait for her to reply before he picked up his pace, taking a free seat on the bench across from the man. He acted as nonchalantly as he could, as if the conversation they had the night before hadn't taken place at all. "Good morning," he said to all of the men at the table, though he looked directly into the gray eyes of the newbie as he spoke. He hoped his desire to start over was evident. He also hoped the man would agree. Perhaps they could befriend another on terms aside from that didn't relate to sex. He wasn't interested, after all. He was an emotional person. He valued personal relationships far more than sexual ones. He wouldn't make an exception for some handsome new guy who expressed his interest in him on only their first day of meeting. The bearded woman took a seat beside him, immediately pulling out a cigarette so she could smoke with the men. Ever the person for small talk, Sacha began to speak. "How'd you all sleep? Enjoying your poridge?"
Jewel
spirited
In 1929 the stock market crashed as a result of an unsustainable boom in share prices in the preceding years, which were caused by the irrational exuberance of investors, buying shares on the margin, and over-confidence in the sustainability of economic growth. The public, encouraged by the growth of the economy, boosted the rapid growth in bank credit and loans. This Great Crash, as it was called, was the biggest crash ever recorded. In Toronto and Montréal, liquidation records were made. In the midst of this economic disaster, seeds were planted, seeds which grew and blossomed into the Great Depression. In 1933, nearly a third of Canada’s workforce was unemployed.
During World War I, back in Tennessee, Flem recalled how his father and other farmers alike had worked tirelessly to produce crops and livestock, but when prices fell in the crash man farmers had gone bankrupt and lost their farms. Flem’s family was fortunate, and they hadn’t lost their farm, but they were certainly bankrupt. Tension had been high when Flem had left, and his father, with his poor heart, had been exempt from the draft of World War I and had saved his money, but it was quickly running out and the prospect of losing the farm had been looming over them. Not that Flem cared about his father’s tobacco farm.
He hated his father. That was no secret. His mother, his sisters, and any farm hand could testify to the cruel and unusual treatment of Hadriel Thatcher’s son. Flem had grown up believing that his father was preparing him for the big mean world, that he was especially hard on him because he was his only son, that he punished him severely to teach him discipline… until he became older, and the abuse didn’t stop. The childhood belief that he’d clung to wore and chipped away, like the white paint on his father’s goddamn beloved picket fence.
Flem woke up in a hot sweat, to the feeling of a foot jabbing into his side. Ernest. Ernest was a short boy with white-blonde curly hair and round brown eyes. His lips were nearly always parted, as his mouth just remained open slightly at all times, and his eyes were always wide. It was endearing… but kind of annoying. He also looked and sounded like he was three words away from bursting into tears at all times. Flem didn’t mind being around him, but he viewed him as fragile, and therefore purposely often avoided him, since he knew himself to be an insensitive ass with a poor mind-to-mouth filter. But Ernest wasn’t bad company. He had interesting stories, most of which Flem rarely chose to believe.
“Hey,” Ernest whispered, nudging him with the toe of his boot again. “Hey, wake up. We’re going to miss le petit déjeuner.” Ernest hadn’t noticed that Flem was awake, and he continued to nudge him, harder. “Wake up, friend!”
Flem jerked upright when a swift kick was delivered to his ribcage. He whirled, angrily, opening his mouth to cuss at Ernest, when he saw Paul standing there instead, his broad shoulders and athletic figure looming over him. Henri was a tall, blunt man in his early 30s, with yellow hair and a sharp nose. He had an intense gaze and a straight mouth, and he rarely spoke but to condemn Flem for his misgivings or mistakes. Flem was both simultaneously fascinated and frightened to death by the big man. He was one of the guys that he felt slightly more comfortable being around, but he couldn’t help but constantly second guess himself in the man’s presence, terrified of offending or upsetting him and ruining their semi-friendship.
“Get up.” Paul grumbled, his slanted eyes boring straight into Flem’s soul.
Flem scrambled to his feet and he pressed his hand to his ribs, shooting the back of Paul’s head a dirty look while he followed his companions out into the bright morning sunlight.
Goop for breakfast. They sat on creaky benches, chatting and smoking. Flem almost smiled to himself. His head ached from a hangover and the sun was stinging his eyes but being surrounded by these jovial strangers gave him a brighter outlook on his current position. That being said, he still had no intention of becoming close friends with any of them, and he was relieved that the only person who was trying to get to know him was a whiney mouth breather whose feelings he could almost care less about. Oh, and that boy from last night. The smiling boy. He’d totally forgotten about him.
That is, he’d almost completely forgotten about him until he was seating directly across from him, speaking directly to him. Why was he staring at him? Was this about the night before? Flem frowned, trying to recall everything that he had said. He’d… gone into the tent… told him to fuck off maybe… hmm. Oh, right, he’d demanded sex from the jade-eyed lion tamer. It was kind of funny, in retrospect. Hopefully the boy wasn’t trying to passive-aggressively come at him or something. He thought it best to ignore the boy and then maybe duck out before things could escalate. So, he pretended not to hear, until Ernest was elbowing him in the sore ribs. “Flem,” Ernest whispered, his bottom lip trembling for no evident reason. “Flem, don’t be rude.”
Flem reluctantly turned his tired narrow eyes to the boy across from him. His expression was apathetic, the turning of his head lethargic. By his body language it could be suggested that he really had no desire to speak to the boy. “Well… thanks… uh… what did you say your name was?”
cadence
in a quiet garden
Sacha was certain Flem wanted to be his friend as badly as he did. The young man had completely disregarded just about every red flag that arose within the past two days. He thought nothing of Flem telling him he wasn't looking friends and that he only wanted to fuck. That was just the alcohol talking, right? Flem wouldn't have shown up at his tent and specifically looked for him if he wasn't as equally determined to befriend him. Right? He ignored Clarisse's warnings as well. It didn't matter whether Flem was going to leave or not. At least, in the moment, he'd have a friend. That's all he wanted, really. Someone his own age to talk to and share stories with. Plus, Flem came from the outside. It was the main reason Sacha was particularly drawn to the shit-shovels, as the circus called them. They knew so much about the outside world and Sacha was incredibly fascinated by it.
What he hadn't expected ... was this. The man didn't even remember his name. He was drunk at all, sure. Sacha didn't hold it against him. But there he was, sitting all stoic and expressionless and, frankly, it pissed him off. How could he say all the things he said last night and then act like they hadn't happened at all? He supposed he was doing the same thing, but then again, he hadn't been the one who stalked up to some stranger and demanded sex. Who did the man think he was? Some self-entitled outsider who thought he had a right to have sex with any stranger and got all ignorant when he didn't get his way? Sacha was silent, clenching his fists at his side. It wasn't really like Sacha to be upset about something so trivial, but there he was, mad. Clarisse must have noticed this, because she nudged him with her elbow. "What's gotten into ya?" She asked under her breath, pulling out a half-empty pack of smokes from the front pocket of her blouse. Sacha being quiet was a strange sight. Plus, he had been so eager to get to know the man before. It was then that the woman figured she didn't know the full details of their encounter the night before. Curious, she stroked her beard before deciding to let it go for now, asking one of the men at the table to light her cigarette up.
"Sacha," he eventually answered through clenched teeth, forcing himself to smile even though Flem was really beginning to get on his nerves. If he didn't want anything to do with him, he figured he should at least be up front and let him know. Sacha didn't want to play games and chase after someone who really had no interest in him as a person at all. He calmly brought his hands up to the top of the table, swirling his spoon around in the watery cup of oats before he bothered taking a bite of it. He hummed a bit to himself, wondering if he should say what he wanted to say. Sacha wasn't usually a bitter, petty person. It wasn't like him to rat somebody out for the sake of offending them... Then again, people didn't generally get under his skin the way Flem was in the moment.
"You know," he started, speaking cautiously. His calm suggested he wasn't very mad about the situation at all. His words, however, as passive aggressive as they were, did. "I'm surprised you can't remember my name. I figured I made quite the impression on you ..." He paused, really considering if he wanted to continue on being petty. He knew it likely wouldn't turn out well for the man if he decided to. Homosexuality was a thing that got people beat - and often worse. Well, in the heat of the moment, he didn't really care. "Considering what you asked last night and all."
Clarisse lifted a brow at that, shoveling a spoonful of porridge in her mouth despite the cigarette she pressed between her lips. "What'd he ask?" She questioned, looking directly at the blond and ignoring the other faces at their small wooden table. She wasn't a woman of manners and spoke through a mouthful of porridge, the liquid meal dribbling down the sides of her mouth. She simply wiped it away with her sleeve, spooning a new bite into her mouth.
"I'm sure Flem would love to tell you," he offered, glancing from the woman to the auburn-haired man across from them. He raised a challenging brow, wondering how Flem would go about explaining it. "It will help his memory, right? I don't want you forgetting anything, really." He paused, letting his words hang in the air. He then raised a finger, as if he had just come to a sudden realization. "Then again, you were pretty drunk."
What he hadn't expected ... was this. The man didn't even remember his name. He was drunk at all, sure. Sacha didn't hold it against him. But there he was, sitting all stoic and expressionless and, frankly, it pissed him off. How could he say all the things he said last night and then act like they hadn't happened at all? He supposed he was doing the same thing, but then again, he hadn't been the one who stalked up to some stranger and demanded sex. Who did the man think he was? Some self-entitled outsider who thought he had a right to have sex with any stranger and got all ignorant when he didn't get his way? Sacha was silent, clenching his fists at his side. It wasn't really like Sacha to be upset about something so trivial, but there he was, mad. Clarisse must have noticed this, because she nudged him with her elbow. "What's gotten into ya?" She asked under her breath, pulling out a half-empty pack of smokes from the front pocket of her blouse. Sacha being quiet was a strange sight. Plus, he had been so eager to get to know the man before. It was then that the woman figured she didn't know the full details of their encounter the night before. Curious, she stroked her beard before deciding to let it go for now, asking one of the men at the table to light her cigarette up.
"Sacha," he eventually answered through clenched teeth, forcing himself to smile even though Flem was really beginning to get on his nerves. If he didn't want anything to do with him, he figured he should at least be up front and let him know. Sacha didn't want to play games and chase after someone who really had no interest in him as a person at all. He calmly brought his hands up to the top of the table, swirling his spoon around in the watery cup of oats before he bothered taking a bite of it. He hummed a bit to himself, wondering if he should say what he wanted to say. Sacha wasn't usually a bitter, petty person. It wasn't like him to rat somebody out for the sake of offending them... Then again, people didn't generally get under his skin the way Flem was in the moment.
"You know," he started, speaking cautiously. His calm suggested he wasn't very mad about the situation at all. His words, however, as passive aggressive as they were, did. "I'm surprised you can't remember my name. I figured I made quite the impression on you ..." He paused, really considering if he wanted to continue on being petty. He knew it likely wouldn't turn out well for the man if he decided to. Homosexuality was a thing that got people beat - and often worse. Well, in the heat of the moment, he didn't really care. "Considering what you asked last night and all."
Clarisse lifted a brow at that, shoveling a spoonful of porridge in her mouth despite the cigarette she pressed between her lips. "What'd he ask?" She questioned, looking directly at the blond and ignoring the other faces at their small wooden table. She wasn't a woman of manners and spoke through a mouthful of porridge, the liquid meal dribbling down the sides of her mouth. She simply wiped it away with her sleeve, spooning a new bite into her mouth.
"I'm sure Flem would love to tell you," he offered, glancing from the woman to the auburn-haired man across from them. He raised a challenging brow, wondering how Flem would go about explaining it. "It will help his memory, right? I don't want you forgetting anything, really." He paused, letting his words hang in the air. He then raised a finger, as if he had just come to a sudden realization. "Then again, you were pretty drunk."
Jewel
spirited
Flem didn’t notice the sudden change in the attitude from the boy across the table to him. He was too busy laughing and joking with the guys, carrying on their conversation about non-memorable topics and laughing about things that were only remotely funny to anyone else. Or, perhaps he did notice the change in the other boy. Maybe he noticed it, but he didn’t care. He told himself that the boy was harmless and, really, what was he going to do? Cry? Flem hardly had the time to worry about some kid who had pompously denied him sex like it was some big deal, because really, to Flem, it wasn’t.
But, when the other began to speak, Flem went stiff. He whipped his head around to stare at the boy with an expression of mixed shock and dismay, as the other began to… threaten him? Flem’s frown increased. He didn’t like that. He was staring so intently at the boy across the table that he hadn’t noticed that Ernest had stopped talking to listen to the other carnival boy, and he didn’t see the strange curious expression that came across Paul’s features. He stared at the other boy with his dark eyes and he glowered.
As the other continud, Flem became increasingly angry. Just what was the boy hoping to accomplish? Was this revenge? He clenched his fists under the table, and he remained still, his gaze unwavering. He released his fingers and then he gripped his fists tighter. He clenched his teeth and he said nothing. This was ridiculous. Why was the boy making such a big deal of it? Apparently, Flem had misjudged the boy. He’d thought that he was pretty passive, but evidently this boy had more nerve than Flem had assumed. Guess he’d have to deal with this fucking mess now.
He stood, rattling the table, and he stepped over the bench. He circled the table, grabbed the young man by the front of his shirt, and he yanked him to his feet. Wordlessly, he dragged the boy into a nearby tent which had recently been erected. It was empty, but they weren’t isolated. Flem thrust the boy against a wooden stake that had been put up to hold the tent up. It was firmly in the ground and the tent remained solid, but he heard the thud of Sacha’s head hitting the pillar. He held him there, his arm across the other’s chest.
“I know what you’re doing.” He growled, his face near to Sacha’s. His gray eyes bore deep into the other boy’s, and his angry demeanor conveyed his frustration. The smell of animal clung to Sacha’s clothes, and once again Flem was reminded of his life back on the farm. This did nothing to quell his hot rage. “And I will fuck you up.”
He released the boy with another shove, stepping away and then crossing his arms. “You want to run around and tell people about last night? Go ahead. But you’ll regret it.” He turned to go but then, he hesitated. He turned back to the boy, his scowl lessening. He grabbed the boy by his shoulder, and he gazed into his eyes again, a hint of curiosity revealing themselves in his cold eyes. “What do you want from me anyway? And why is this such a big fucking deal to you? Like you said, I was drunk. Are you really so upset?”
cadence
in a quiet garden
The angry stare Flem shot him was far worth the unusual petty tone he took on. Sacha hoped he was mad. He wasn't sure what he was trying to accomplish by speaking up, practically threatening to out him to the entire circus, but he didn't really care. Flem had upset him and he would upset him back; that's just how the world worked. "Go on," he urged as the man continued to stare, waving his spoon in the air impatiently. He had his brows knit together as though he actually cared about what he had to answer instead of simply wanting to piss him off, a feigned look of innocence gracing his features. "We're all waiting," he dramatized, waving towards the others who looked in on them. It probably wasn't even a lie. They looked on in interest and confusion; Clarisse even had a bushy brow raised.
When Flem stood up, Sacha was almost positive he was going to run away instead of confronting the events of the previous night. He snorted, steadying his bowl of porridge after the other man had so rudely shaken the table. Despite how dramatic Flem was being, Sacha was rather pleased with his results. He had successfully managed to piss him off, he figured, and that's really all he wanted. He watched as he stalked around the table, half expecting him to run off to whatever tent he was living in. But he hadn't. The blond grew concerned as he made his way directly towards him and not the tents, green eyes widening a bit. "What are you -?" Before he could finish his question, Flem had reached over him, grabbing his shirt into his fists. "Let go of me!" He screeched as soon as he did, punching at the other's arms the best he could from the rather awkward position. As expected, Flem hadn't let him go, and his attempts at running from him failed. Nonetheless, he struggled the entire way, intent on not making it easy for the other.
He gasped in pain when his head thudded against the wooden stake, shooting Flem an enraged glare. Before he could feel his head to check for blood, Flem had his arm pressed across his chest, causing Sacha to snarl at the man. For now, he didn't say anything to the other, figuring he would suffer through whatever Flem had in store for him and be on his way before he pissed him off anymore. That didn't mean he would be happy about it, though. He glared at the man the entire time he spoke, cringing and turning his head away from Flem's. He had to hold his breath to prevent himself from smelling Flem's, a foul mix of cigarettes and breakfast. He scoffed when Flem threatened to 'fuck him up,' pretending he wasn't afraid of the man at all. He moved his eyes to stare into Flem's grey ones, maintaining the glare he held the entire time. "Fuck off," he grumbled, assuming the man was all bark. He seriously doubted he knew what he was doing, as he claimed. Sacha himself wasn't even sure of what he was doing. He was only trying to piss the man off; he didn't expect him to be this dramatic about it.
He managed to catch himself before he stumbled to the ground, immediately bringing his hand to his now throbbing head after Flem shoved him away. He wanted to fight; wanted to walk over and punch the man directly between his eyes. But he didn't, knowing it would only end up pissing the man off even more. Then he probably would fuck him up and, as much as he pretended he wasn't afraid, Sacha really didn't want to find out what he meant by that. He scoffed once again as Flem continued to threaten him, glancing at his hand to found out there, thankfully, was no blood before placing his hands on his hips. "If you don't want nobody finding out about last night, why'd you fucking ask in the first place?" He asked, genuinely curious. He might have been drunk, but that was no excuse to go around asking a random bloke for sex.
"Yeah, fuck off, putain," he spat when the man turned around, glad he would finally leave him alone. He wanted to befriend him before, but now, Sacha couldn't wait until he was out of his sight. He couldn't understand why he was so pissed. Why was he being so goddamned dramatic when he was the one who asked him for sex like he was some kind of slut who willingly gave away his body to any person who asked? Flem turned around the next moment and Sacha couldn't help but roll his eyes, giving the other an incredulous stare. He was incensed and the longer he spoke with Flem, the more it increased. "A big fucking deal to me?" He laughed, acting like he was all surprised. Honestly, it was kind of a deal to him and Sacha could recognize that he was being rather dramatic. Still, he was heated and he wasn't about to let Flem get away so easily. "You're the one getting all physical 'cause you don't want no one finding out you're a pillow biter." He moved his hands from his hips, grabbed Flem's arms by the wrists, and shoved them off of his shoulders. "Don't fucking touch me."
When Flem stood up, Sacha was almost positive he was going to run away instead of confronting the events of the previous night. He snorted, steadying his bowl of porridge after the other man had so rudely shaken the table. Despite how dramatic Flem was being, Sacha was rather pleased with his results. He had successfully managed to piss him off, he figured, and that's really all he wanted. He watched as he stalked around the table, half expecting him to run off to whatever tent he was living in. But he hadn't. The blond grew concerned as he made his way directly towards him and not the tents, green eyes widening a bit. "What are you -?" Before he could finish his question, Flem had reached over him, grabbing his shirt into his fists. "Let go of me!" He screeched as soon as he did, punching at the other's arms the best he could from the rather awkward position. As expected, Flem hadn't let him go, and his attempts at running from him failed. Nonetheless, he struggled the entire way, intent on not making it easy for the other.
He gasped in pain when his head thudded against the wooden stake, shooting Flem an enraged glare. Before he could feel his head to check for blood, Flem had his arm pressed across his chest, causing Sacha to snarl at the man. For now, he didn't say anything to the other, figuring he would suffer through whatever Flem had in store for him and be on his way before he pissed him off anymore. That didn't mean he would be happy about it, though. He glared at the man the entire time he spoke, cringing and turning his head away from Flem's. He had to hold his breath to prevent himself from smelling Flem's, a foul mix of cigarettes and breakfast. He scoffed when Flem threatened to 'fuck him up,' pretending he wasn't afraid of the man at all. He moved his eyes to stare into Flem's grey ones, maintaining the glare he held the entire time. "Fuck off," he grumbled, assuming the man was all bark. He seriously doubted he knew what he was doing, as he claimed. Sacha himself wasn't even sure of what he was doing. He was only trying to piss the man off; he didn't expect him to be this dramatic about it.
He managed to catch himself before he stumbled to the ground, immediately bringing his hand to his now throbbing head after Flem shoved him away. He wanted to fight; wanted to walk over and punch the man directly between his eyes. But he didn't, knowing it would only end up pissing the man off even more. Then he probably would fuck him up and, as much as he pretended he wasn't afraid, Sacha really didn't want to find out what he meant by that. He scoffed once again as Flem continued to threaten him, glancing at his hand to found out there, thankfully, was no blood before placing his hands on his hips. "If you don't want nobody finding out about last night, why'd you fucking ask in the first place?" He asked, genuinely curious. He might have been drunk, but that was no excuse to go around asking a random bloke for sex.
"Yeah, fuck off, putain," he spat when the man turned around, glad he would finally leave him alone. He wanted to befriend him before, but now, Sacha couldn't wait until he was out of his sight. He couldn't understand why he was so pissed. Why was he being so goddamned dramatic when he was the one who asked him for sex like he was some kind of slut who willingly gave away his body to any person who asked? Flem turned around the next moment and Sacha couldn't help but roll his eyes, giving the other an incredulous stare. He was incensed and the longer he spoke with Flem, the more it increased. "A big fucking deal to me?" He laughed, acting like he was all surprised. Honestly, it was kind of a deal to him and Sacha could recognize that he was being rather dramatic. Still, he was heated and he wasn't about to let Flem get away so easily. "You're the one getting all physical 'cause you don't want no one finding out you're a pillow biter." He moved his hands from his hips, grabbed Flem's arms by the wrists, and shoved them off of his shoulders. "Don't fucking touch me."
