Bateleur
Hide Week 2017 Day 1: 永 eternity // forever
Summary: The Night Circus is an enigma that none have been able to understand. It appears, entertains, then vanishes, and all who have witnessed what lies within have never come out the same. Hide is but one of its various centerpieces, playing the role of a charismatic magician. He soon comes to realize that some roles come with a steep price to pay.
Notes: This work is Hide-centric, and will be featuring multiple pairings with Hide, namely TouHide, HideKane, and TsukiHide. Give him all the love this week <3
Leave kudos/comments on the AO3 ver.! (link is on my bio)
Chapter 1 of 7: truth of a coin
The circus arrives without warning.
He was barely seven when his memories began at their clearest and it could be said that none of the earliest ones were very pleasant. His first memory alone was grim enough to ruin many a dinner party. He preferred not to dredge it up, but it was inevitable that he would return to it, because then he could disillusion himself when days passed that were so casual it was nearly cruel. Now things appear so bleak as to destroy his vision of a peaceful eternity in his new home, with his new family.
And so he would occasionally remember that night, so black it was like the heavens had turned its back on him. He remembered, with disturbing clarity, the rough, callused palms on his bare shoulders shoving him forward. He could still feel his old shoes slipping and sliding beneath him on the sea-salted, lantern-lit cobblestones. The smell of fish and sweat, cold sea spray and beer, jostled together in the air like the crowd around him. There was a night bazaar going on along the dock. Merchants, having unloaded their wares from their ships, were shouting to be heard over the din. People were everywhere he turned. The breeze was nonexistent. Everything was sticky with heat and words travelled from mouth to ear and crawled all over your skin.
“Move,” said the voice behind him, rough with a dozen nights’ of absinthe and insomnia. The voice expected obedience and reminded him of the countless times he had not obeyed quickly enough. He scrambled forward, pushing into the crowd and feeling inexplicably like a camel being shoved through the eye of a needle. He squeezed past men and women clamoring to see what they could spend their money on. Crushed from all sides, he soldiered forward, never looking behind him.
The crowd began to peter out where the bazaar itself ended, just a few yards away from the wooden docks. Here it was darker and quieter, and the sea breeze was prevalent. He found himself inhaling deeply, marveling at the sheer difference between standing here and standing in the midst of a crush of people shouting and sweating underneath their frilly clothes. He wondered how they could even endure the suffocation for more than a minute when they could simply come out here and breathe and everything would be so much the better. Silly adults.
Then he was shoved forward again and the time to enjoy himself was over. He moved clumsily in the night, startling one or two cats slinking around nearby. There, in the shadows, beneath the carved figurehead of a siren at the prow of a moored ship, stood a man with his arms crossed. His eyes were impatient slits and his clothes bespoke an affluent background. When he spoke however, his tone was completely pleasant.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, sir…?”
“Names are unimportant,” said the gruff voice.
The man raised his eyebrows but made no comment. Then his gaze fell upon The Boy for the first time. “This must be him.”
“Yes.” The Boy was nudged rather sharply in between his shoulder blades. “Show him.”
It was undeniable what The Boy was being asked to show. He fished out a coin from his pocket and closed his fingers around it. Then opened them to reveal that the coin had vanished from his palm. The man watching frowned.
“I hope for your sake that you didn’t bring me here to witness a few parlor tricks,” he said, a sharp edge to his tone.
“Hold out your hand,” the voice ordered.
A muscle on the man’s jaw twitched and it was clear that his patience was being tested. But he held out his hand, palm up. The Boy placed his hand over it, and let the coin wink back into existence between their palms. He held up his hands and let the man study the coin with a nearly emotionless stare. He also glanced at The Boy, noting his bare arms.
“Alright, how much would you like for him?” he asked after a few minutes of scrutinizing The Boy and the coin in his hand.
“One hundred pieces.”
“Rather steep, for parlor tricks.”
“Parlor tricks. I think we’ve shown you enough to prove—”
“Fifty or none.”
The temperature seemed to rise despite the proximity of the sea and the absence of the sun. The man had a calm demeanor, despite being pushed to the edge of his patience earlier, as he leveled his gaze at the voice behind The Boy. For a long, long moment, nobody spoke and it seemed as though the deal would never be brokered—though of course, The Boy didn’t really understand the repercussions of such a deal. All he knew was that he stood between two of possibly the most dangerous people in his world.
The next few seconds happened in a blur. The Boy was pushed forward with a roughness that hardly surprised him. He stumbled a few steps, then another hand steadied him with a firm grip on his upper arm. There was the sound of coins jingling together inside a small sack cloth pouch. It was tossed and caught, examined and then pocketed. The Boy looked up and the hand on his arm fell away.
“Follow me,” the man said.
The Boy followed him. They moved past the ships that resembled hulking beasts in the blackness of night. The man walked with a bit of a limp, The Boy noticed. He felt the urge to look back, but he ignored it. Somehow, he knew that the voice behind him would never speak to him again.
They rounded a corner and suddenly they were looking down an alleyway that opened up to the busy thoroughfare of the night bazaar. A wooden sign indicating the entrance to an inn hung over a grimy old door set into one side of the alley. The man knocked on it and when it swung open, he beckoned The Boy over before ducking inside.
The familiar smell of alcohol assaulted him, alongside the smells of cooked meat, stale bread, and sea salt caught in the dry wood holding up the upper floors. There were about a dozen patrons milling about in groups by the few windows open to the docks or near the bar where the innkeeper returned after unlatching the door for the man and The Boy.
A few minutes later, they found themselves seated at the bar with plates of breads and meats being placed before them. The Boy stared blankly at the meal, until the man elbowed him a little in the arm.
“Eat,” he said. “You’re thinner than a twig. Did he feed you at all in the past week?”
The Boy didn’t answer, but obeyed the order to eat. He picked up the bread and tore it in half, dropped a shred of meat in between and bit into it. He chewed slowly and soundlessly.
“My name is Marude,” the man said and after waiting in vain for a response, continued, “Itsuki Marude. You might know me as Papilio.”
The Boy did not know him as Papilio, or by any other name. He ate until there was no more food on his plate. Perhaps Marude was waiting for The Boy to recognize him or to convey genuine surprise. When he elicited neither reaction, he pushed his plate away and nodded in thanks to the innkeeper. The Boy followed him up the stairs and into the third door on the left. Waiting for them were two twin beds and an unlit fireplace. It was a luxurious space, much larger than The Boy had ever seen for a bedroom.
“You like this?” Marude asked him. Immediately, whatever wonder he felt was quashed by the reality of the present. He made no response and his gaze followed Marude as the man strolled over to the fireplace. Then, without warning, the logs within began to crackle and pop with heat until flames engulfed the wood and warmth began to permeate the air around The Boy’s thin sleeveless shirt. Marude peeled off his coat, damp with the sea, and placed it over a nearby grille to dry by the fire.
Marude instructed The Boy to bathe first and later, both of them were sitting by the fire in casual loose pants and linen shirts, all owned by Marude and hung from The Boy’s small frame.
“I’m going to take you on a ship,” Marude said, as the fire seemed to snicker softly. “And you will possibly never set foot on this island ever again.” He looked at The Boy, who was staring quietly at his toes, now free of weeks-old dirt and filth.
“You will never see your father again, and I am going to teach you the things that he never understood. All the things that you can do.”
The Boy raised his eyes at him now. Nobody but the old voice behind him had ever been so forthright about his outlandish abilities. Still, he said nothing.
Marude held up a coin—his coin. Held it between thumb and forefinger, heads side facing The Boy. Engraved into the flat circle of gold was the visage of the king, framed with olive laurels and a tiny dove with wings outspread as it landed upon the laurels. Then, suddenly it was flying. Its minuscule wings beat up and down and it was flying in smooth circles within the confines of the coin metal. The king’s shoulders sagged, and he seemed to sigh, as if relaxing from holding the elegant pose for too long. He caught The Boy’s eye and smiled graciously. The laurels’ leaves fluttered ever so slightly from an unseen breeze.
“Your world is infinitely more vast than you can ever imagine,” Marude told him as he watched the dove nestle into the king’s cupped hands. “Your world is not theirs. Yours is magic.”
“Magic,” The Boy whispered. His first word in weeks, maybe months. His eyes widened at the scratching in his throat, the sensation of sound finally escaping his lips. When he looked up, Marude was smiling, his eyes glinting with pride.
The next morning, Marude and The Boy were boarding a merchant’s galleon bound for the mainland. As the island shrank and vanished over the blue horizon, The Boy pushed off against the railing, the salty wind whipping his golden brown hair up and about his head. Marude stood nearby, watching not the island but the vast empty sea that they were sailing headfirst into.
This was one of The Boy’s fondest memories, but also one of his most terrible ones. It wrought in him an irreparable pain and yet it was the hopeful and lighthearted beginning of his new life.
Years later The Boy stands watching the sun sink into the treetops of a faraway forest. He flips a coin, up and down, up and down, lost in thought and reminiscences. A hand clasps his shoulder and he turns around.
“Hide,” Touka says, her hair looking beautiful as ever in the dying light of the sunset. “I’ve been looking all over for you. The twins absolutely massacred their set and it’s going to take far more than just me and Yoshimura to fix everything by midnight.”
He raises an eyebrow and his lips quirk into a mischievous grin. “Heads or tails?” he asks.
Touka rolls her eyes. “This isn’t the time—”
“It’s always the time.”
“Fine. Tails.”
The coin is tossed and it flips twice before vanishing. Hide bends down and plucks a flower bud from the ground. He offers it to Touka, who accepts it with pursed lips. The flower blooms between her fingers and the coin falls from within its petals. She catches it with her other hand and it lands squarely on her palm.
“Tails,” she reports as she hands the coin back.
“Oh really?” Hide says, smirking. “It looked like heads to me.” He smiles, takes the flower from Touka and tucks it in her ear. His fingers trail down her jaw to her chin. “I think someone owes me a kiss.”
For a moment it seems as though he’s swept her off her feet, but then she scowls and pushes him away. She turns away, her ears turning red. “I told you, it’s not the time for your insipid games.”
“And I told you that it’s always time for a bit of fun.”
She turns to him with a grimace. “This is why all the girls hate you. Go ahead and stay here however long you want, then, and we’ll see how Papilio will deal with you at dinner next week.” Then she stomps away, trampling a few flowers and buds in her path.
He watches her go, like the island of his memories vanishing from view. Looking down, he can see the king chuckling in his coin. He already knows what “Papilio”will do if he doesn’t hurry after Touka and help fix whatever damage the twins have done. He sighs, then calls her name.
It’s after the traditional dinner party that the circus holds after a week of performing in one place, that Marude tells Hide to stay. Touka shoots him a look that screams I told you so before she leaves, her rouge dress accentuating her figure so perfectly that he has wonder if she wore it for the sole purpose of tormenting him.
Marude is thirteen years older than he’d been when they first met on a small trading isle in the tropics. The age doesn’t show on his body, but in his eyes as he gazes at Hide with an unreadable expression. They are in his office, just one room of dozens in this old manor of his. Despite not using the place for a month or so in between dinners, everything remains pristine and dustless. Hide is unaware of any maids who come and go to clean, and he is more or less sure of the true reason behind the spotlessness.
“Have you been well?” Marude asks him. “We hardly have the time to see each other, ever since…” His voice trails away, leaving the sentence unfinished, but the implication clear. Both of them know exactly what he is talking about.
“Nothing has been too difficult, Father,” Hide replies smilingly. He can’t recall when they’d last spoken casually, nor could he remember when he’d last called Marude his “Papa.” He continues, nevertheless. “I’m grateful to your thorough instruction. I would be unable to perform otherwise.”
Marude nods slowly. “Yes. I’m glad to see you’ve adjusted quickly.” His gaze is faraway, almost thoughtful, when he falls silent for a moment. The lull in conversation is awkward, as expected from a conversation between a father and son who haven’t spoken in nearly half a year since a rather horrific falling-out. When Marude looks at Hide again, his expression has hardened. “I called you here to tell you that we will be having a new addition to our array of performers.”
Hide is unfazed, though he indulges the announcement with the feigned surprise and interest it is due. It is not unusual to have a new performer. In fact what is unusual is that Marude took the painstaking effort of informing him when the matter could have easily been skirted around entirely until the new performer physically arrived. And yet he also knows that there can only be one possible explanation for this private announcement… no, warning.
“You have probably guessed it by now, but the man currently sitting on a train on his way here, is the one I told you about six months ago.”
Hide licks his lips and stands up straighter. “What is he called?”
Marude has scarcely opened his mouth to reply when the door unlatches itself and a stranger lets himself in.
“I am Souta,” he says, tipping his hat to Marude. He produces an apple out of thin air and holds it out to Hide, grinning wickedly. “Pardon the intrusion, but I simply couldn’t restrain myself. It was the perfect stage cue.”
“My name is Hide.” He does not take the apple. Instead he stares warily at the man he is supposed to fight to the death. “Welcome to the Night Circus.”
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