His heart dropped into his throat when the lights went out, irritants riling his stomach acid and the foul necrose that had been splintering his ability to consume food like a normal human for months ( maybe longer — it can go dormant, he remembered the doctor saying that, always the possibility it’ll come back ). Thumb and forefinger pinched the end of his button nose, his free arm bouncing and swaying absently the second that AJ began to wail, sensing the distress of everyone around her. Cyrek was shite at clamping down on his emotions, and some would see it as morose necessity in the presence of children. This time, it was not his own unhinged ridges bursting through the canvas and erupting despair for the offspring that he had bore into the universe, at times unintentionally. The chaos of others was translated to them, and after momentary composure, he turned to face the sound of Ellie’s voice in his right ear, saying over the caterwaul, “Are the triplets with you?” They were the vulnerable ones, four months and defenseless to sit upright, not that AJ was in a better position.
The mention of clowns forced his eyes shut, intangible fear that cascaded eliciting the sensation of the earth opening beneath his feet to pair the uncontrollable nausea that he was now experiencing after indulging in one too many joints with Evren. What was meant to subdue the boiling volcanic magma in his abdomen was insistent on being known as his stress levels rose, hissing, “If I see that fuckin’ clown again, in the dark, I’m gonna puke on his shoes —” Literally. Focus bleared away from his own breathing, torn between the mounting concern about which sobbing baby to tend to and the immutable panic as he realized he had no idea where Evren had gone. Now would be the perfect opportune for someone to spring out, and the itching, burning sensation of all eyes on him was incomparable to the attachment of a stage. There was muted malignity tainting the air, and if he were capable of inhaling the aroma on the air, Cyrek was convicted it would have changed. “I’ve — I’ve got her,” he said after a pause, a low growl escaping then when Lula screamed loud enough to pierce his good ear, “I don’t have enough fuckin’ hands for all these kids.” Spoken out of pure frustration, he lowered AJ to sit on the ground between his feet, detaching Tuffy the black stuffed bear from his punk pants and shoving it into her arms. “We’re gonna have to get creative. I’ll take one, you take the other two. Soomi and Amaris are just gonna have to cram in the fuckin’ stroller and —” God, he fucking hoped Stella still had Joelle. “I gotta fuckin’ find Evie when the lights are back. Or someone else so you’re not a one-guy fuckin’ army if they don’t.”
You’ve got the triplets with you? Hell, Ellie was their designated driver the entire evening — not that he was complaining. Although he did encounter a moment wherein his intrusive thoughts encouraged the bassist to begin zig-zagging throughout the paved out carnival streets with their shared stroller like it was Tokyo Drift, alas he was a reformed person as of the last... Eight months or so, and even before then he would’ve thought they needed to breach at least one year of age until he embarked on joyrides with the infants. “Yeah, yeah. Right here,” Absentmindedly patting the handle of the stroller as if his brother could even see the gesture that was meant to reassure and ease his conscience. “I’d count ‘em if I could, but, well, this doesn’t feel any lighter to cart around than it did earlier?” The petite blond supplied, nervous laughter jolting through his sternum.
Oh, shit. The clown thing. He should’ve kept his lips tightly sealed and not said a word about the encounter, even if it was a halfhearted attempt at diffusing the quickly developing tension as the darkness implored more and more occupants to begin screaming out for their loved ones like it were some sort of infinite pocket dimension. Might’ve been. You never really knew in Paris, Ellie found. “Look, forget about the clown. I’d never forget AJ with that jerko— weirdo,” he held his tongue, watching his invectives in Cyrek’s stead. “Okay, yeah, see? You got her. I’ll get the others. I’m great at multitasking.” Not technically untrue, though a vast majority of those incidents occurred whenever he was under the spell of a manic episode and he felt as if he physically couldn’t keep his hands from acting on their own volition. That counted for something, didn’t it? That he possessed that capability, even when they came only when his mood was rapid cycling like hell. “I can be a one-guy army if I want. You oughta see how many set pieces I can carry at once. I think Ziv likes seeing me juggle so much with my little spaghetti arms. I’m almost like a circus freak. They should’ve hired Uncle Ellie to work here, huh, Amy?” A gentle nudge pressed against his eldest niece’s shoulder in an attempt to counteract any panic that could’ve begun brewing as the lights remained off. “Just don’t puke, Cy. That’s all I ask of you. I just washed these chucks for the first time since I bought them.”