Vik
Angst Enabler
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Ana slips in around nine.
She’s quiet, as if trying purposefully to go unnoticed. In her arms is an outfit that trembles along with unsteady limbs. She walks with a slight limp, tearfully making her way to the bottom bunkbed. The attire is simply dumped onto the mattress; could it even be called that. It’s immodest, humiliating pieces that have been a controversy these past few weeks.
Sitting across the tiny shared space is a male who stops what he’s doing completely. An aimless gaze wonders as he straightens up and stands from his stretch on the floor. He moves around easily, sitting down on the seat in front of their vanity. A hand is offered outward, directed where he hears poorly contained sniffling.
“Come here.”
She sobs, wiping her brow before falling beside the man’s legs. Ana clutches onto them and cries into the man’s robe when a hand touches her hair. It’s gentle.
“Told him to go fuck himself,” the woman confesses. “Said, I ain’t wearing that. It’s degrading.”
Akane’s eyes fall shut, his hand stilling for only a moment. He shakes his head and sighs. The hand on her head lowers to touch the blonde woman’s face. It grazes just beneath her brow and she flinches—hard. The skins swollen and hot, it’s wet too, but he knows that’s not blood. His hand retreats and resettles itself back on her tangled hair.
She’s been hit. He swallows the bitter taste in his mouth and bites his tongue. It’s short lived, there’s no stopping the words that come.
“He’s a coward, a tiny man with an ego to large.”
Ana releases a sound of dry approval. She calms down slowly, her breathing no longer rapid and uneven.
“—But as much as I hate to say this, just do as you’re told.” Akane tells her and shushes her when she starts back up. “Your contract is over in a week and I’d like to see you leave in one piece.”
There’s a scoff, but she doesn’t refuse. They both know the consequences of talking back. Hell—Ana’s faced it just tonight. It was fist that did all the talking, no listening. Akane can honestly say he’s never faced the wrath of it; he’s never spoken up either though. He was here because he owed the man. In spite of his cruelties, he put food in his stomach and gave him a place to stay. That didn’t mean there were no ill feelings toward the nasty ringmaster.
“I’m not going on tonight.” Ana tells him with a defeated sigh. He nods, undoing one of the many knots in her mass of curls. She laughs, but it’s far from humored. “No amount of makeup is gonna fix this, and nobody wants to come and see damaged goods.”
Akane clicks his tongue in dispute.
“I don’t know—I hear Leo’s not too easy on the eyes, but we still have an audience.”
This laugh is far more lively and forces a grin to take over, despite the ache in her face. She’s not shaking anymore and the grip on his ankle’s gone slack. He sighs, it’s unusually loud in the often noisy tent. Ana could talk your ear off, and Akane really didn’t mind listening. But now—she doesn’t have anything to say. It hurts to see her so resigned. He jumps in surprise when something touches his own hair.
“You go on tonight don’t you?”
Akane merely hums in confirmation. The hand on his head smooths down a spot in apology from the scare. It soon leaves and reaches for the brush on the table beside them. Ana brushes through it without a word, and they both fall quiet for the time being. There’s anxiety about going on. There were always pre-show jitters, but for Akane, they could swallow him up at times.
His friend sense this, trying to change the subject.
“Ya know.” She starts, taking a lock of hair and twirling it. “I remember the first day I met you. I thought, god—I’d kill for that hair.”
A smile gingerly tugs at the male’s lips.
“I know, you told me. Why do you think there’s never any scissors around here?”
Ana snorts, covering her mouth and pulling the brush away. She laughs from behind her hand speaks through giggles.
“No kidding?”
His eyes roll, teeth show as his smile furthers. Moment’s like these would be missed. Soon, the boxes he’s tripped over will be tapped up and gone. They’ll be loaded up with the possessions of the girl who happened to make his day a little easier. They always left, but it never cushioned the blow. He would always miss them, but couldn’t have been happier to see them go off and start anew.
The brush is set down with a clatter and the whole room goes dead still. Akane hears the sound of the tent’s flap being pushed aside. The fabric rustles and no one utters a word. Ana’s stepped away, the lack of warmth is noticeable and replaced by something colder.
Bergamot and rum, it’s close. Akane doesn’t lean away though any only lifts his hand in greeting.
“Leo.”
“Akane! Good evening, good evening! Are you ready?”
There’s no waiting for a response.
Their ringmaster takes the hand that isn’t offered. Akane tries not to pull a face as it’s settled on the man’s arm. He appreciates the assistance, but it doesn’t stop the crawly feeling. He stands up from his seat and leaves behind Ana who busies herself with packing and keeping quiet. They don’t spare each other so much as a look, and Akane doesn’t need his sight to know this.
They walk towards the actual event and the closer they get, the louder it gets. Akane tries to focus on something other than the cluster of cheers that come muffled through the ginormous tent. They are still incredibly loud and perhaps the least favorite thing about this whole profession; for him at least. It was always like this. Leo would pick him up, offer an arm and lead him to an area where he would stand and wait. The walk would be muffled screams and the smell of liquor.
It would be dark and there would be no one else. He’d deal with getting in position solo. There was never trouble when he touched the silks, they’d fall in his rosin covered hands with such familiarity. Akane specialized in two acts; the silks and the tightrope walk. They both required immense focus and endurance. A strict mindset that he has spent his entire life perfecting, but it would never be perfect. His act would have flaws, they often did. It was just the difference between twisting his ankle, or something far more deadly.
Akane now stands alone. He’s been left to tend to his act, and it doesn’t take long to prepare. All he can do now is breath—breath. He inhales deeply and only releases when the silks give a hard jerk. He hated this bit; when he was lowered, pinned down under harsh lighting, and suspended. It was all about falling. The audience fed off the thrill of danger, when a hand slipped, or a foot got caught. They’d gasp and lean forward, but they loved it. People would express their awe at the tricks when Akane twisted and flew.
The lights were bright and touched every corner with vivacious colors.They blanketed a stage beneath Akane that would present acts of all kinds, and then there was the crowd who watched from the stands, most with bated breaths. Toes brushed against the silk, fingers tug in, and he moves through them with practiced ease.
Then he would simply drop. His hands would let go, and the only thing to catch was air.
People screamed. They’d shout and gasp as the man twirled through the delicate fabric and made no move to latch these on. These falls always made his heart race, his adrenaline kicked and at the very last second both hands would shoot out to grip the silks and hoist himself back up. His arms would shake from exertion, but his hands had an iron lock around each side as he continued to move fluidly.
By the time it all ends. There’s not a second to even process the crowd’s applause. He wants down, and shakes as the curtain drops and he’s lowered. When his feet touch the ground, he loses the grip and falls completely. Gasping, he rubs his face and trying to calm his racing heart. He’s worked up especially so tonight and it may be the memory of Ana’s swollen skin under his fingertips.
Someone speaks nearby—asking that he return to the stage.
"Give me a minute." He croaks, touching his throat. "Just give me a minute."
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