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Dream is still doing an AMA !

Jack was not well.

This much was obvious to anyone who knew him; though he put up an extraordinarily convincing facade for those who didn’t. It was particularly easy for him to deceive the audience; dressed to the nines and coked-up like he was ready to take on the gods themselves. The showman turned into an entirely different animal the second he stepped on stage. He held such a presence about him whenever he performed; as one would only expect from the ringmaster of such an elaborate and marvelous debacle--but it went above and beyond expectations, here. Each performance was a dare to push himself further, push the audience further; so much of what he did was improvised and yet it came so naturally to him it was almost like breathing. It had always been like that for as long as he could remember; in both work and life as a whole. He liked to instill reactions. He felt at home under the spotlight, he felt at peace upon witnessing the stunned faces of his crowd. If only for those few hours.

But tonight was different. Tonight, perhaps for the first time in his career, Jack didn't want to perform. He had never been one to get stage fright, ever; but he couldn't shake the nausea that had been plaguing his gut since the night before. Generally, it was a sensation he could push himself through with enough chemical influence; he never took sick days. He wouldn't admit to it if he was ill or injured; even now, with his left shoulder and forearm stiffly wrapped in soft bandage beneath the camouflaging flairs of his vest and tailcoat.

His firebreather had forced him to eat again before they went on; something he very much resented her for as his body rejected the contents not long before showtime. He hadn't had a single moment in the day to process everything that had occurred within the last 24 hours; or before. It was difficult to tell anymore. Jack was thankful that his traitorous body did provide him with one saving grace: it was a lot easier to push all of the feelings aside when he had to focus every bit of effort in maintaining a pretense of good health.

He knew it was a lie by now. Although he hadn't bothered to formally take his temperature, he was absolutely certain he was running a fever; and likely not a low one from how foggy and disoriented his mind felt. It made everything seem less impactful, easier to ignore. That included the sickening pain that throbbed through his arm like ice in his veins. Perhaps it had been a poor idea to imbibe in his injectables again, despite the obvious infection festering in his flesh. He truly didn’t think it would catch him out so easily. He never did know his own limits, until he hit them.

The audience was mostly clueless about how sick he actually was; though the row of predominantly women at the front was not quite so easy to persuade. They appeared as a small collection of groupies, lost girls who would follow the caravan for the expressed purpose of trying to catch the eye of the charming man in the ring. They'd talk speculatively amongst themselves about how he wasn't nearly so interactive this time, or how he had a new mark on his face beneath his makeup-- how his gait was off; any number of inane criticisms intermingled with vague concern for their offbeat idol crush. Jack paid them no mind today. Jack paid no mind to anyone in the crowd, except the familiar face of a friend he caught somewhere in the second half. He noticed the jester take his leave during the grand finale. It was okay. It was fine, he'd go speak with him after the show. He was okay.

That final act was a performance overshadowed--literally-- by the great and terrifying hydra beast he affectionately entitled 'Antumbra'. It was some form of miracle that he managed to make it through most of that night without any real hiccups. He and the captivating, gigantic creature flowed together in their act as one; it was almost as if they shared a mind. It was always the jackal’s favorite part of any performance that season; though tonight he put much less humor or feeling into it-- he didn’t have enough energy for that. Still, he stumbled through the remainder of the act, both mentally and physically-- always catching himself before he could really give his disposition away.

That was, until the closing act.

The man would always end a show with a short statement; he alone under the heaviest lighting of the night for a solid 3 minutes before the various other performers would join him and offer the mesmerized audience one last peak. The night shows were always a touch darker and more intimate than the day shows, and Jack had the freedom to express himself fully during these performances; no restraint. He had a tendency to go off-script and pull stunts without warning: which, more often than not ended up...surprisingly well. The audience was thrilled by his off-color and occasionally horrifying antics, it was all an act, wasn’t it? It got them extra bank and it had earned him a few nicknames amidst the carnival circuit that he was frankly, quite proud of. But tonight, it was a curse.

No one in the audience seemed to be especially alarmed when the man’s tired voice faded into an exhale mid-sentence. No one could see his skin go pale beneath all that facepaint and sweat. No one thought to help as he stared blurrily into the sea of faces; empty-eyed and lost in whatever thought had grasped him during those final moments. He’d seen the shadow of his god near the back of the tent. Umbra had left 10 minutes prior, but wearing the human glamours that allowed him to roam freely. He took the same route his friend had gone earlier on. It should have concerned him more, but he couldn’t think quite properly at all, now.

By the time he realized he was going to lose consciousness, he was already falling. A number of people even laughed when his body smacked into the podium, a notable ‘thunk’ of dead weight on hard material. It wasn’t really unreasonable for them to assume he was just pulling a last-minute gag; even his own troupe didn’t seem to think there was a need to intervene. For the first minute or so, anyway. After a few uncomfortable coughs from the audience, it became more clear that this...wasn’t just some stupid prank, he had actually blacked out. The lights would follow him shortly after that, and the voice of a woman would come through the loudspeakers to offer some words.

“We apologize for that, everybody, he’ll--haha -- he’ll be fine-- just some technical difficulties. Thank you so much for attending our show tonight; gift bags and refreshments are located near the information tent. Have a wonderful night!” Her very brief and very anxious closing statement was immediately followed up by a looping musical number. It wasn’t a bad song to listen to, but it was obviously being played to cover up the sound of whatever was happening or being said in the darkened ring. Most of the audience didn’t care enough to stick around and check their facts; though. The gift bags were free with every ticket, after all. They had little plush toys in them, and delicious carnival candies.

@crucifix-and-the-rosary