❖︎𝕍𝕖𝕝𝕧𝕖𝕥 𝕆𝕕𝕕𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕖𝕤❖︎ 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝟦
•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•
The workshop door had barely swung shut behind you before Silas was already ushering you down the cobblestone alleyway in a flurry of huffs and theatrical distress.
“Would you stop shoving! You're going to make me trip, Silas.” You know he heard you, but the shoving did not cease. The cool metal of his palms pushed against your shoulder blades.
Hurry, hurry, hurry- this is exactly the sort of catastrophe I was hoping to avoid today!”
“You say that about literally everything.” You annoyingly shook out of his grasp to slow yourself to a standstill in front of him. He circled to your front to give you an exasperated look.
“My dear, everything is a catastrophe if you think about it hard enough.” He spun quickly on his spring-loaded legs and hurried ahead of you. He expected you to follow, and you did. Reluctantly.
You watched his form with quiet amusement as one side of his body clicked louder than the other, throwing his gait slightly off balance every few strides. He compensated by windmilling an arm dramatically whenever he stumbled.
The pair of you wove between pulsing bricks and ducked under low-hanging pipes that seemed to carry whispers disguised as steam, politely squeezing past the occasional walking mechanical creation.
“Where exactly is this problem of yours located, if you don't mind me asking?” you asked with a hint of feigned amusement. Trying to steadily keep up with your anxious guide.
You were stopped in your tracks by a rather unamused-looking Silas. You had to bite your lower lip to stifle a small giggle. He really did look ridiculous, but somehow desperate. “You know, for someone in a panic, you're absolutely glowing.”
His cyan optics zeroed in on you, squinting ever so slightly. “Was that a glitter joke?”
“Glitter? What glitter?” You were a master at poker face, but Silas knew you better than that.
He hunched forward and let his arms drape in annoyance. “Mon dieu…You really are awful, you know that?”
You snorted softly despite yourself.
He was already on the move again. “The underbelly of the opera hall-” He called out from over his shoulder. “I'm sure you've done work back there before, just try and keep up, please. And no more questions. Time limit- tick,tick!”
You fell back into a steady jog behind. The pathway atmosphere becoming louder now as you approached the main street. By now, the morning rush had given way to the bustling heartbeat of the early afternoon. Crowds flowed through the midway like colorful currents. Vendors, performers, and rattling mechanical carts that trundled along brass-lined tracks embedded into the pavement. Overhead, strings of lanterns swayed beside suspended neon marquees that flickered in shifting shades of violet, gold, and electric blue. Even beneath the daylight, the signs remained illuminated, casting ribbons of color across polished brass storefronts and rain-slick metal panels. Both of you spilled out into the main street and were hit with the familiar chaos. Somewhere nearby, an automated calliope played a cheerful melody, its tune occasionally interrupted by the soft crackle of a faulty speaker. The clanking of unseen machinery working vibrated the cobblestone under your feet. Decorative ironwork of storefronts were drapped in cables dancing in neon and soft, weather-ridden fabrics. Small huddles of people drifted past in shades of wonder. Everything felt alive, as it always does. And through it all, Silas urged you relentlessly forward, with the urgency of a man convinced the world would collapse if he arrived a minute late.
Still, something Henri had said lingered unpleasantly in the back of your mind. “Some truths arrive broken before they arrive whole.”
The thought followed you like static stuck to a power line. The bustling street faded to a soft hum in your ears, and you let the thought consume your senses.
A sharp hand suddenly grabbed your wrist, yanking you sideways just as a pair of acrobats carrying rigging poles nearly collided with you.
“Focus,” Silas hissed. “If she goes on stage with a locked…whatever it is- she is going to split herself in half dramatically in front of a paying audience, and then I’ll have paperwork.”
“No, but I resent the possibility.”
You allowed him to drag you through yet another narrow passageway. The noise was swallowed almost instantly. The scent of damp metal hung heavy in the air.
The bumpy cobblestone from the main drag shifts to much smoother iron plates beneath your feet, darkened with rust against the walls. Moving over sections of metal-grated flooring suspended above humming machinery below. Each step produced a different sound: solid, hollow steel, the sharp metallic ring of brass, and something more delicate. All forming an odd little rhythm with your hurried pace. The cramped corridor twisted between towering brick buildings. Their walls stitched together with blackened steel supports and copper piping. Faint blue pulses from the thoroughfare bled across your path in fractured ribbons. Threads of white filigree slithered along stone, like veins flowing along bone with electricity. At last, he slowed before an unassuming little door carved into the back of an aging shop wall. You might have passed it hundreds of times without a second glance. Its weathered wooden placement was its only folly against the brick, for it was unmarked. Hidden in plain sight.
It was familiar but only slightly.
Silas gripped the time-polished handle without hesitation and pressed open. No sound came from within, only a faint tinkling sound. Like that of chimes made of glass. The scent of sweet vanillin and a woody musk enveloped you as you crossed the threshold. You let the door click softly closed behind you. “This way, follow me.” Silas called out sing-songy as he skidded past tall shelves that disappeared into the shadows overhead. Every inch of them is packed with curious treasures. Shiny trinkets and painted figurines with frozen smiles. A delicate music box shaped like a cathedral caught your eye. Swirls of magenta and honey from an invisible light source seeped through the cracks in the shelves, bathing the floors in shifting color.
You couldn't help but notice the eyes. Some glass, some carefully placed gemstones. Dozens of painted faces stared from every passing shelf. None of them moved, but each one seemed to be watching. Not in a way that evokes paranoia, but patient in the way a spider watches the center of its web. Then, it hit you. “The Gilded Grin. Of course.” You knew this shop well, actually. Most of the frames lining your walls, you bought here. You recall something undeniably unsettling about it after hours, when the shadows seemed to relax and linger. “I thought we were going to the opera house.” He had thankfully slowed a tad, so you didn't have to yell. Both of you rounded a corner into a darkened alcove between the bronze statues of two pierrots. Your hurried footfall ceased completely. You let your gaze travel up to flick between both sad faces. The one on the right was curiously missing his glass eye. A pitch-black loft you had never noticed sat just behind them, which piqued your interest. Silas wasted no time in crouching down to slip his fingers beneath what appeared to be an ordinary section of flooring. With practiced ease, he lifted.
The entire panel rose with a wooden creak, revealing a staircase descending into softly lit gold.
“And here I thought you knew every shortcut. Tsk Tsk.” He shot you a cheeky grin as he motioned you to go first. “Fleshies first.” He added. Your eyes widened as you descended. Dark wooden steps moaned under your feet. The air shifted cooler with each step down, thick with smells of grease paint and perfume. Music pulsed faintly from somewhere below. You looked over your shoulder to make sure you weren't alone. Not that you thought Silas would leave you, just an internal reflex. The last stair gave way to the softer feel of carpet. Your jittery tour guide took the lead once again, absentmindedly brushing aside a dark velvet curtain that separated one corridor from the next. All these years, and you never knew that the odd little bauble shop could spill you out into the hidden underbelly of the Palais des Masques itself.
You were always in awe of the performers and atmosphere of the opera house. Cold silicone always absentmindedly passing with a tight squeeze in the narrow halls of the backstage. Chrome joints clicking softly beneath delicate embroidered lace. Laughter, not quite human, escaped out of cracked doorways along with the popping sound of champagne bottles and rattling of glasses. Hidden holographic marquees flickered between antique frames, advertising performers before dissolving into showers of shimmering pixels. The low glow of suspended amber paired with the quick glances of fluttering optics around every corner left a shiver of excitement across your skin. A feeling you weren't all that accustomed to. You didn't really know your way around this maze, not like the one above, and somehow that was equally exciting. Something new.
Just as you started to peek inside a crimson-lit dressing room, curious sounds spilling out freely and wonderfully human in their intent, Silas shoved open a double door with unnecessary force. The sudden startle giving you whiplash and making a faint, embarrassed blush heat your cheeks.
“I'm back! And I’ve brought your mechanic!” He announced dramatically. Sweeping an arm toward you as if presenting royalty.
You could have just said my name.
“Enfin!” came a sharp voice. “Tu es parti depuis longtemps, idiot-” The woman sprawled across a chaise on the other side of the room looked up sharply mid-rant. Her slitted damson eyes shot immediate daggers at you, to which you quickly mirrored.
You turned to see a sheepish Silas tapping an anxious finger against his temple. Looking anywhere and everywhere except at you.
“Colette. You want me to fix Colette?” The question came out calmer than you expected from yourself.
You waited for anything. For Silas to feign idiocy and leave with you in tow, for the fire alarms, the roof to cave in, anything to let you escape this lavishly uncomfortable position you had quickly found yourself in.
None came, just the searing heat that was currently being bored into your frontal lobe by a snooty metal ballerina.
A small silence followed by your retreating footsteps made Silas spring into action.
“Emmie, sweetheart, whatever you’re thinking, don't. I know you and Ms. Delacroix have… history, but for the love of all that is mechanical, please be professional.”
“Don't please me, Silas, that woman is insufferable! And I'm always professional!” You feel his light hold on your arms as he pleads.
“Shh-SSHH. She’ll hear you, and then I'll have to reap the consequences!” He said as a hushed groan.
You do your best at trying to wiggle free from his grasp. A beat passes, and you finally make eye contact. His stare was urgent and pleading. Glitter still clung to his face and hair. He looked ridiculous.
Silas whispers. “Please.”
You internally growled at your empathetic demeanor. “Fine, Silas, I’ll take a look, I guess.” Pushover.
From across the room, a sound similar to that of nails on a chalkboard. “I heard all of that!”
Silas freezes, and his grip on you fades down your arms. “I know, mon pet.” Both of you made your way to the center of the lavish room. The space looked less like backstage quarters and more like the private chambers of royalty. Crimson velvet draped from the ceiling in elegant swaths, catching the warm glow of brass vanity lights that framed an enormous mirror. Costumes embroidered with metallic thread hung neatly along the back wall, every feather perfectly preened and every jewel meticulously polished. A mechanical parrot perched atop the ornate clothing rack, occasionally shifting with quiet clicks as it watched the movement with jade set eyes.
Colette Delacroix. A mix of hauntingly human beauty and delicate synthetic. Equally irritating.
She hadn't moved. Reclined elegantly across a chaise as though she had all the time in the world. One mechanical leg extended before her while the other remained bent gracefully beneath layers of ivory silk and burgundy satin. Her auburn curls cascaded over one shoulder in deliberate waves, not a strand daring to rebel. She continued applying a deep wine-colored lipstick with precision, studying her own reflection instead of either of you. Only after blotting her lips and capping the lipstick did she finally lift those unmistakable damson eyes towards you. They swept over Silas first. He visibly shrank just a fraction. Then they landed on you.
You inclined your head. “Ms. Delacroix.”
“I see you have come to my rescue.” Her old French emphasis bled into every syllable.
“I see you have-” you were interrupted by the clearing of a throat. Silas. His eyes caught yours as he played with his collar. “Careful with your choice of words, young lady.”
“I see you are still as…radiant as ever.” Puke.
Her ego beamed at the compliment, fake as it may be, she didn't care.
“So, what is your issue?” Your asking was genuine this time. You were serious about being professional. Mostly.
She threw a dramatic hand down to her leg. “It is my knee, same as last time, just a different leg. It seized in my attempt at a grand jete.”Setting your pride and dignity aside to be kicked out the door, you immediately went into skill mode. You sat on the edge of the chaise to get a better look. “May I?” you gestured toward the delicate appendage. “Bien sur.” she waved an unbothered hand as she inspected her nails. Pulling out a small tool kit you keep hidden on your belt loop, you held the back of her knee gently with your free hand and gave it a small tug forward. “That's not going anywhere.”
“Established.” Colette yawned into her hand. Your sight flicked toward her as you corrected an eye twitch. You went back to examining more closely. Unlike the sturdier builds you’d seen elsewhere around the circus, her joints were intricate, more complex. There was an internal elegance to everything, with thinly polished components woven together with dancer-like precision rather than brute functionality. Built with grace in mind, and unfortunately, not durability. Which explained the problem almost immediately.
Colette's eyes narrowed in on you. “Why do you say ‘Oh’ like zat?” She mocked you as best she could with the accent she was working with. You couldn't be bothered to look up.
“Because I found it.” You stated plainly.
A hyper Silas leaned over your shoulder. “Found what?”
You carefully nudged aside part of the decorative plating near the knee joint, revealing a snapped tension wire tangled deep between the rotational gears.
You looked up slowly. “Did someone seriously tie stage ribbon around a load-bearing mechanism?”
Colette avoided eye contact, busy fiddling with a strand of hair.
Silas looked offended beyond belief. “You did WHAT?!” If this weren't a serious situation, you might’ve laughed.
It was her turn to look offended. “Well, excuse me for wanting artistic cohesion, Silas!”
Here we go. Folding both hands in your lap, you stared at your reflection in the vanity mirror, wishing to be anywhere but here at this moment.
“You cannot prioritize aesthetic integrity over structural integrity! Especially, not doing what you do in front of HUNDREDS of people!” he barked. Was that steam?
“Says the man wearing velvet pinstripes!” Colette gestured toward him.
“This is complementary!” He bit back.
You sighed. “Do either of you actually want me to fix this?” You looked up between the two, half expecting them to turn on you. You could practically feel the heat radiating.
Colette pointed sharply at the leg. “FIX!”
You bit back a snide remark and quickly, but gently, got to work.
“Alright, see if you can stand.” You bounced off the chaise and were quick to offer her a hand. You could hear Silas hopping anxiously behind you, his springs making sharp tinking sounds. Colette reluctantly took your offer, her hand cool and smooth in yours, without imperfection. You gave her a firm tug to the edge of her seat. Your attention stayed on the movement of her leg, watching for the slightest hitch. If something were to hang up now, it would be back to square one. And as thrilling as this has been, your stomach was starting to grumble as your thoughts went to that Prism Noodle cart you passed while being dragged behind Silas. You dared a quick look at her features, and to your surprise, she was already looking at you. For the briefest moment, something flickered across her face. The sharpness she had worn since your arrival had softened into something quieter, almost uncertain. The look caught you off guard, and as quick as it was there, it was gone. It was almost as if she had been caught in a lie, and quickly looked to her feet. You didn't enjoy her company, persay, but the way her grip shook slightly in yours softened the way you perceived her for a moment. You let your grip on her hands tighten softly. You forget sometimes that emotion here shows up differently.“It's okay, take your time.” What she thought of your gesture, you’ll never know. It had simply felt right to you in the moment, like she needed something other than words.
She slowly stood upright on her good leg, so to speak, before slightly shifting her full weight to the one you had fixed. Her hands were still firmly gripping yours.
“Good, now see if you can walk.” you coaxed her forward with a gentle pull before releasing her at her own pace. Your hands still stayed outstretched, in case she were to need help. She nodded in simple agreement.
One step. Two steps. Three steps. The three of you held your breath. Colette cautiously shifted her body as she walked. The polished joints whispered softly as they compensated, everything meshing together with precision, as it should. She took another step, no hesitation.
The mechanisms responded flawlessly. Silas made a tiny, strangled sound somewhere between a gasp and a relieved laugh.
“…It…” He blinked rapidly behind the glass of his optics before looking from the leg, to you, and back again. “It works!”
You couldn't help the small smile tugging at your lips. “That was the goal.”
She continued walking the length of the dressing room, each measured step growing surer than the last. The stiffness she’d carried moments ago gradually melted from her shoulders. By the time she reached the far wall, she’d turned with enough confidence that the hem of her costume gave a graceful little sweep across the floor.
Pivoted. Not a single hitch. The repair had held. Only then did you allow yourself to exhale completely. Another slow turn to fully face the two of you, and etched across her features; a smile. A genuine one at that. One that softened the entirety of her face. She looked...beautifully content. You looked over to give a nudge to Silas, but stopped just before your elbow made contact with his ribs. For there was something much more human etched on his. His eyes never left her form as she twirled about the room with perfect ease. Your eyes followed his line of sight, from Colette, back to him, back to her, before a quiet recognition hit you. You giggled into your sleeve, but you might as well have kicked the invisible gramophone. The sharp look that Colette wore earlier snapped back when she noticed the attention.
“Acceptable.” There she was.
“Acceptable?!” he cried. “She saved your leg, not to mention YOUR SHOW THIS EVENING!”
“Tch- I do not require saving. Bon sang !” She had already grabbed a magazine from the corner of her vanity and started making her way back to the chaise. You looked to her, then to Silas, then the door. “Well, if I'm not needed for anything else, I will, uh, take my leave.” They were too busy throwing French words at one another to notice the dressing room door click shut.
You had left quietly, and made your way back toward the staircase. You were halfway up before a familiar springy sound came from behind you.
“Em-wait!” Silas was hot on your tail. You turned to peer down the steps at him. For being someone who didn't have lungs, he sure was out of breath a lot.
“Wait! I-” The words died on his tongue. “Here, take this. She’s never been one to say a proper thank you, but think of this as her own little show of gratitude.”
You held out your hand, and he gently pressed something into your palm. It was heavier than you expected. Something cool rested against your warm skin, settling into the curve of your hand. You instinctively curled your fingers around it before opening them again.
You look down, and nestled in the crook of your hand rests an intricately crafted necklace suspended from a delicate gold chain. Your eyes went wide with surprise.
The first thing you see is the front silhouette of the circus crest painstakingly worked in gold filigree. Tiny rubies no bigger than pinheads rested amongst the intricate metalwork. Along the outer edge, tiny diamond cogs sat tucked beneath the design. Just enough mechanical charm to remind you where it came from. Tracing a thumb gently over the raised crest, admiring the craftsmanship before curiosity got the better of you. You carefully turn it over to see a tiny mechanical ballerina no bigger than your thumbnail displayed in the middle, her skirts painted the faintest blush pink. Beneath a polished glass cover, small gears shifted almost imperceptibly with the movement of light, causing her little arms to lift and lower in a graceful, endless dance. Just at her feet, your index finger catches the faintest groove, like that of a locket.
“Pretty, isn't it?” Silas stated. You hadn't noticed the way his optics flicked from the pendant to your face. Watching your every reaction. “She received that after her debut. She never wore it, but I would catch her admiring it ever so often. Usually before her bigger shows.
You cupped it with both hands now. Afraid a hiccup would shatter it. “It's beautiful. You sure you didn't snag this on your way out, because if you did, Prima Donnas gonna be pissed.”
Silas hung his head. Your retort was expected. “Your vocabulary worries me sometimes, you know that? Didn't V teach you much better vulgarity?”
You snorted. “Well, Henri taught me a few.”
“Such a lady, and no, she wanted me to give you this. Well, at least I think she did. I recall it being chucked at my forehead along with the word payment when she noticed your absence.”
You took a moment to look at the gift once more, taking a small fraction of time to appreciate it once again. You don't know if it was the current privacy of the softly lit stairwell or the tender moment in itself, but something bold shifted in you. “You care for her, don't you?” The question caught even you off guard. You expected him to turn and hightail it down the hall. Typical Silas behavior, but instead, he surprised you.
“Yes.” It was said without even a sprinkle of hesitation. You waited for him to continue.
“I don't even know where the infatuation began, or how it even sparked, because believe you me, that woman is about as cuddly as a cactus plant.” Your eyebrows furrowed with a quick giggle, he continued, still.
“I just know, when we share glances, something flutters deep in this cold, hollow chest of mine. Something warms- and for a moment I feel alive.”
Silence settled between the two of you. Just the soft pulses of something electric within the walls was heard. You found yourself smiling before you even realized it.
You felt something pang in your own chest. He was vulnerable with you in a way you hadn’t thought he ever would be, and the realization of your current status with him made something warm settle quietly beneath your ribs.
“…I hope you tell her how you feel someday.” You offered a kind, tight-lipped smile. His eyes trailed down, once more to the trinket clasped in your hand. The delicate strands spilling softly between the gaps in your fingers.
Silas watched as you carefully fastened the slender chain around your neck. It settled against your collarbone, the cool weight sending sharp prickles fast across your chest.
“There. That looks better.” He said with a small grin.
You laughed softly. “I'm still not convinced I should be keeping this.”
“Oh, trust me.” He waved a hand dismissively. “If she wanted it back, she would have tackled me halfway down the hall.”
“Fair enough.” Another comfortable pause and then-
“SILAS!” A feminine voice boomed from the hall behind him.
You looked to your friend with wide eyes as his springs gave their familiar little boing as he suddenly straightened.
Before you could say anything, he was already back down the staircase, calling over his shoulder.
You couldn't help laughing. The rhythmic twang of his springs echoed farther with each footstep.
Shaking your head as you turned to ascend the stairs, you reached up absentmindedly, your fingers brushing against the pendant resting upon your chest. It was warm now, along with a new feeling.
Just as you pushed the wooden floorboards up to reveal daylight, the smell of sizzling Prism Noodles drifted under your nose through an open window.
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