Perched atop his crate of trinkets and props, too weak and exhausted from last night’s performance to manage lifting it up to his trailer all by himself, Mike watches the circus staff, hard at work as they take apart the tents and prepare the convoy for the road. They will continue to travel south, chasing the oncoming spring. Winter still dampens their general income and though he’d like to have been eating an apple right now, he unfortunately has to settle for a small, stale bun, ripping one small piece off it at a time with his dirt-encrusted fingers.
He notices the Feral Girl, the white-haired savage who serves as the circus’ best-selling horror show, observe him from under the shade cast by her own trailer and, without thought, holds his hand out, the half-eaten bun grasped at its end, and calls out to her, “You hungry?”
@blasphimy!
It speaks to a domestic upbringing, the upkeep of her trailer and things. A bizarre contrast to her genuinely unpredictable behavior. But, with all of her chores squared away, it would appear she’d have some time to spare before their departure. Eyes cast to the folk doing the harder labor, thoughts of going over to offer another pair of hands briefly flit through her mind before they are reasoned away.
Instead, her eyes drift, searching, and settle, wide and wild, onto a single carnie. Her new, painfully obvious, fixation. Lilly’d found him curious, at first, in the same way she found plenty of the carnies curious. But, then, sometime ago, not remember exactly when, she’d heard it.
Her Mutti’s tongue. Henceforth, her curiosity turned into a full blown obsession.
On the outside, it could’ve been mistaken as a pup’s crush, seeing as the both of them appeared to be close in age physically. She certainly followed him around like a dog might. And when he beckoned to her, morsel in outstretched hand, she obediently came to his side.
Lilly steps close, too close for any comfort, as her fingers gingerly rest on the edge of his crate. It takes her a moment to regard his body language, rather than interpreting the words spoken. Strangely enough, the girl is still full from her last performance. Stranger still is the fact that she seemed just fine eating nothing for days, weeks even.
Lilly’s nose wrinkles, proceeding to shake her head and shudder. Afterwards, she snorts a quick laugh. With the corners of her mouth upturned and amused, the feral girl stares at him unashamedly once more. Heart racing, a pink-pale finger points to his hand, bright blue eyes electric.
Lips part and, for the first time since arrival, she speaks. “Schlechten Geschmack.” The voice is deceptively soft and girlish. “---Danke.”
The same hand audibly pats his crate. “...Brauchen Sie Hilfe?”
