casswritesstuff

[casswritesstuff]

My dearest playlists

A few days ago, I created a "vibes" playlist for The Crimson Circus, spanning the past, present and future events of the book (which are obviously yet to come)

If you're interested in the general vibes of the story or somehow enjoy my music taste - you can find it here ! It'll be growing as I write and discover new pieces. I've also got one Lucanis Dellamorte-themed playlist (link here) and one dedicated to exam season hell (here) And if it's the first time we're seeing each other - here's The Crimson Circus, available on Ao3 Enjoy <3

[casswritesstuff]

Prompt time!

As a fun exercise (and glimpse into the future of The Circus), I decided to answer a prompt: "I think I've been in love with you this whole time" The thing that came to mind is the future relationship of Ratling (Dhalia/ Arleccino) and Colombina (Cynthia). Thus, this snippet was born! Enjoy! As a side note - it's my first attempt at writing romance, so all feedback is appreciated!

ACT II, SCENE ?

Dahlia was filled with a sense of relief as she finally stepped out of the circus tent. The past two weeks had been a relentless struggle, constantly under the watchful eye of Pulcinella, who was like a persistent chihuahua, nipping at her heels with every step.

With the last flaps of canvas securely in place, the Grand Circus tent towered over the residential area of Oyankato - the first stop on their journey.

After getting cleared for the rest of the evening, her steps led her to the white orchard on the outskirts of the town. It was the one thing that Dahlia could not expel from her mind ever since they arrived before the main troupe.

As she opened the old, brassy gate, a breathtaking sight unfolded before her. Each tree was adorned with a crown of crisp, white petals, swaying gently in the wind. The setting sun cast a warm, almost pink hue over the haphazardly planted patches of forget-me-nots. The air was filled with the sweet scent of tangerines, accompanied by the cheerful chirping of birds.

One of the chirps was louder than the others, with a distinct staccato tune that the girl recognised instantly. It was an old signal she and Cynthia - though she should call her Colombina now, the girls thought - had established back when she had just joined the Circus.

"Now listen, if you ever need to get out or could use a distraction, just chirp at me, and I'll chirp back every time, I swear" The mental image of Cynthia looked back at Arleccino, tooth gap proudly on display in the most sincere smile she's ever seen.  They've never been apart this long. She's always been there for her, drying every tear shed in training, going over drills when they were supposed to be sleeping, teaching her how to read even despite all the idiotic arguments that Dahlia's pride has caused. Just a constant, comforting presence amongst all this chaos. Her dearest...

She has to be somewhere nearby.

The girl kept walking along an old path that led deeper into the orchard, petals circling through the air, delicate as the flakes of snow. The chip became louder, coming from one of the trees before her, but the other girl was nowhere to be seen.

She could feel a soft pressure grazing her back, barely there. She turned back, a smile splitting her usually blank face.

Before her, hanging from one of the lower branches was Cynthia. Her copper complexion gleamed in the setting sun, making her more radiant than ever. The white petals tangled in the molten shine of raven hair that flowed in seemingly endless cascades. The typically grey eyes, so full of life and yet so serious, now shined playfully with green as lush as the first spring leaves.

"Hi," Dahlia stuttered out breathlessly, suddenly shy as she tried not to squirm underneath that soft touch.

"Really?" the girl replied, a smile stretching her lips, "'Hi' is all I get after a month?"  she mocked gently, with good humour in her tone.

"I missed you", Dahlia replied quickly, in one breath. She wasn't used to such open confessions, she realised as a blush began spreading down to her neck. "Quite terribly", she muttered quietly as if it were a secret.

The other girl stopped for a moment, frozen on the branch, before jumping down gracefully.

"I-" Cynthia stuttered, "So did I. Miss you, I mean",  her cheeks darkened as she bit her lip, unsure.

Dahlia glanced at the hand still gently placed on her shoulder, not having moved an inch. The realisation of Cynthia being so dear to her came a few weeks back, during another atrocious row with Pulcinella, when she caught herself thinking of all the good missions she had with Colombina. Cynthia. She hoped to speak to her sooner, really, but Capitano insisted on separating them on this particular mission. What if he insists again?

Taking Cynthia's free hand in her own, she babbled, filled with nerves. "Look, I've-" she pauses, stumbling over the words, "I've been meaning to talk to you for a while now but-" the other girl tilted her head in confusion as Dahlia struggled to find the words. "and I know this might come out of nowhere, or wrong, or-"

"Dahlia"

"No, no, let me say this at least once; I don't want to ruin anything between us", she let on with fervour, "if I'm reading all of this wrong, then nothing has to change and-"

"I love you too," replied Cynthia, almost succeeding in sounding casual if only the darkening of her cheeks didn't betray her.

Arleccino froze. Her body was stiff, with a look of shock splitting her features. Was it really that obvious? Was she so unsubtle in all her actions that she-

"Yes." the other girl chuckled slightly, moving her palm to caress Dahlia's cheek, "I was waiting for you to catch up," she said with a wink, coming closer.

"I think-" Dahlia began, sudden warmth blooming in her chest, "I think I've been in love with you this whole time. I was just too scared to admit it," she said with a quiet laugh, resting her forehead on the other girl's. "But I'm not scared anymore."

With that note of surety, she closed the distance between them and melted into Cynthia, their lips locking softly.

[casswritesstuff]

Thanks so much for the tag! I've got only one WIP right now, so I'll just do that, haha. The Crimson Circus: (Fantasy) What if the best-known circus on the continent was secretly an assassins' guild? And what would happen to a young recruit taken in straight from the streets of a steampunk city? Will humanity and artistry win, or will she plunge deep into the darkness within?

to continue the chain: @shouta-angstzawa @yonderly0ghost

Story base ideas tag 👩🏻‍💻

Thank you @winterandwords for the tag!

Rules: Share the original base ideas for your stories

The Blood Cleaners (YA Dystopia)

What if there was only one occupation of people who cleaned up blood and the the only thing they cleaned up was blood?

Sanctuary Calling (YA Dystopia) What if earth was abandoned as everyone left to live in space while the Amish were allowed to stay?

Brigid Aideen (YA Superhero Scifi Fantasy) What if there was a superhero whose only superpower was immortality?

Columbus Day (YA Scifi) The story of Pocahontas kind of like Avatar except the aliens come to earth and it's a platonic friendship not a romance.

Tagging: @kaylinalexanderbooks @agirlandherquill @buffythevampirelover @authordmalder @thelittlewritingcat

@kitty-is-writing @ieppiq @gioiaalbanoart @the-golden-comet

[casswritesstuff]

Meet the Troupe!

I thought it would be a fun exercise to show a bit ahead of the timeline (and let's pretend I'm not procrastinating on writing the next chapter) and give you a backstage tour. Every single thing has its place, whether it be the throwing knives, silks, cards or the tent canvas. So do the performers - after a period of general conditioning, they're assigned for specialised training to one of the factions. So, without further ado - here they are!

The Forgers

The Forgers are the most… explosive ones of the bunch. It's pretty self-explanatory when you realise that after so many years on the road, they become more fuel than humans. In short - they're the fire eaters. And breathers. And manipulators. All of them are slightly unhinged and have missing eyebrows (especially the trainees); they serve as a distraction or a really flashy public execution. Some people say what they do with flames is pure magic, and they won't correct them. They only have a semi-serious beef with the Clockworks - there are several ongoing investigations of missing flame fuel suspiciously going missing each time the new invention deadline approaches.

The Red Liners

Have you ever dreamed of flying a hovercraft? Or a zeppelin? There's a 78% chance they did as well. But with no generational wealth to their name, they had to find a different way to fly. The liners are your aerialists and trapeze performers, forever trying to defy the laws of gravity (and sometimes failing miserably). Perfectionists, by necessity (and sometimes a character), obsess over precision and artistry in every half spin and move. They align most with the "typical assassin" archetype, doing all the out-in-the-open ambushes and "everyday" assassinations.

The Steamers

Superficially, one of the weirdest combinations, The Steamers unify both your typical clowns and jesters with the quirky and mysterious illusionists. It was when the leaders of both strands realised how similar their specialised training was that they decided to merge. Out of this union came a straight-up disaster of the "mightier than thou" mentality, clashing with the easygoing mentality at all times. In later years, they realised that the principles of attention redirection and captivating the audience are similar enough not to try and kill each other in their sleep anymore. Instead, the wagons are filled with tons of practical (and not-so-practical) jokes. The Steamers are masters of poison and pickpocketing - you won't even realise when the deadly needle is in your neck.

The Valves

The Valves (or Valveguns, rather) don't even call themselves that. It was one of the polled names chosen at the last second with a quick throw of a knife at the bulletin board of a nearby poster. With this introduction, I think you could guess that they are precision experts. The jugglers, knife, axe,anything-with-a-blade throwers. They're your sharpshooters and always there if you need to shoot someone down from a distance. As such, they're actually called just that - The Throwers.

The Ballet

Most of the ordinary folks don't know what ballet is, not to mention seeing one in the flesh. As such, the circus ballet, composed of classical, contemporary or really not safe-for-work dances and acrobatics, is the model they'll have forever ingrained in them. All dancers are chosen for their agility and beauty as they have one of the dirtiest but necessary jobs. They broker information at every show and every corner of the world. Natural actors and masters of many masks, the dancers weave their web of information, poison and seduction to gather everything the circus could ever need from anyone.

The Clockworks

You'd think that's all, right? Often overlooked, the Clockworks are the foundation of the modern circus. With their engineering excellence and boundless creativity, they're the ones responsible for light shows and all the "animals" performing in the circus. Well, if you can call a 2-meter, purely mechanical lion an animal, that is. Some say they were born with screwdrivers instead of fingers with the way the cogs and screws come alive underneath their hands. They're the recon and networking masters, with tiny drones disguised as files and beetles. They have the reluctant respect of almost every faction for their mechanical prosthetics, exoskeletons and equipment. So what if they steal the Forgers' fuel?! They need it. For science.

There it is! All factions within the circus are in one post. Hope you enjoyed this brief introduction! Out of pure curiosity - where do you think Capitano is from? Or, better yet, which one calls you?

[casswritesstuff]

Oh Gods. See, the only thing that's complicating this thing for me is that Ratling is still a literal child, half of the characters have not been introduced in the slightest, and the circus isn't really out for anyone to see. So none of the dynamics I want are there, BUT! I want to do this so bad!! Anyhow. I had to tweak those around a bit, but they work, I swear!

Rational Person (TM): We call that a traumatic experience. Rational Person (TM), turning Pierro: Not a "bruh moment". Rational Person (TM), turning to Colombina: Not "sadge". Rational Person (TM), turning to Ratling: And DEFINITELY not an "oof LMAO".

Arleccino: I never said I was gonna get back together with them. But I was thinking, he's finally back, would it be the worst thing in the world if I talked to him? Pierro: No. No, Dahlia, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. It would be the fourth worst thing. Number one: the fucking tent burns down. Number two: we burn down. Number three: Madame Ciella's knives are lost. Number four: You speak with Capitano again. Number five: Colombina gets eaten by a shark. Colombina: As Colombina, I approve the order of that list. And you know I really fucking hate sharks! Arleccino: So, Colombina broke up with me… haha… Pierro: Why are you looking up? Arleccino: I need to cry, but we're going on stage in five minutes! Thaks so much for tagging me pal <3

tag game: incorrect quote chain

inspired by this post!! but this time, use this random quote generator for ur oc(s)

these are all canon now thx

tagging @of-potions-and-blades-official, @eon-tries-writing, and @sarnai4!!

Eterna is a queer sci-fi fantasy about alien superheroes, magic, and the terror of falling in love. Follow this blog for updates and sneak peeks!

[casswritesstuff]

Oh my! Thanks for the tag! I haven't really considered the playlist The Crimson Circus so that was fun!

One word to describe your WIP:

Tragic

Two lines that are your favorite:

“The curtain’s up at seven. Sharp. Should you wish to come, of course”

“Ah, I almost forgot…” he faces me again, predatory gilt in his eyes, too-sharp canines on full display, “Il Capitano,” he announces, bowing down slightly, “At your service.” Both lines by Capitano because he's a gentleman. Sometimes. When he's not actively trying to kill you.

Three songs from your WIP/OC playlist:

Hymn to Virgil - Hozier

Army Dreamers - Kate Bush

What Could Have Been - Sting

Four feelings from/about your characters:

betrayal, ambition, belonging, identity

Five tropes featured:

the antihero

secret societies/hidden guilds

hate/love relationship

coming of age and identity struggle

point of no return

@circa-specturgia @shouta-angstzawa @yonderly0ghost

1 to 5 Tag (Nyx)

thank you @of-potions-and-blades-official for the tag!! doing this for nyx, the sequel to eterna 🩷

One word to describe your WIP:

complex

Two lines that are your favorite:

“Maybe this is where we were always meant to be: me drowning, and Clay holding me under water. Eyes locked, hands on my body, as I am crushed under the weight of what our love built. Maybe I like it like that. Maybe I don’t know how to love if it doesn’t hurt me.” -chia

"The woman couldn’t move a penny if you tattooed the enchantment on her tits!" -also chia, because they contain multitudes

Three songs from your WIP/OC playlist:

Ptolemaea by Ethel Cain

Show You a Body by Haley Heynderickx

Never Is a Promise by Fiona Apple

Four feelings from/about your characters:

love, heartbreak, loneliness, yearning

Five tropes featured:

enemies to lovers

love triangle

lawful good x chaotic neutral

ragtag group of revolutionaries

unhinged heroine

Tag List: @sarnai4, @did-i-do-this-write, @humbly-a-doppelganger

[casswritesstuff]

my fave writing reminder

honestly, this phrase has been on my mind more times than i can count. i've kidnapped it, taken it as a hostage with no ransom money because i need it to live permanently in my head.

[casswritesstuff]

[casswritesstuff]

THE RATLING

The true artist strikes again! The incredible @loowretta (whose work you can find right HERE) portrayed The Ratling as an adult and a full-blown Circus performer (they grow up so fast *sob*) If you ever wondered what the mask looked like in my mind's eye, here's your answer! Be sure to check out more of her work over on Instagram. Enjoy, -Cass

[casswritesstuff]

The Crimson Circus, Act I, Scene IV The whole chapter is now posted on Ao3 right HERE! It'll also be posted on Tumblr at a later date.

We're finally meeting Gerda, and all that also comes from it (good or bad) Hope you'll enjoy this ride with me

-Cass

[casswritesstuff]

when the scene was great in your head but now you see it on the page…

[casswritesstuff]

Come find me!

Hello everyone! "The Crimson Circus" will be mostly published on AO3. Here's the description, and hopefully, I'll see you there! Welcome to this bleak world, where violence and hunger greet you like old friends. In here, you may rest, live a little. Maybe even wonder. In the Crimson Circus, the impossible is always possible. But not everything is as it seems. Let us cordially invite you to our latest, hottest show. Our Star Performer, Arleccino, will take you on an unforgettable journey of love, loss and humanity at its best (or worst). Come in, take a seat, stay a while. The Curtain's up at seven. Sharp. In other words, sink into the fantastical world of assassins and circus performers. Become one of them—or both. But be careful not to lose yourself! Nobody will come to save you. If you prefer that form or would like to pay a visit and chill there, you're more than welcome to pop in and maybe (hopefully) leave a kudos and comment or two. See you next time, -Cass

[casswritesstuff]

Here's the actual masterpiece - Il Capitano and Ratling Drawing by the fantastic and incredibly talented @loowretta - you can find more of her art here all the kudos, admiration and love to her!

I'm curious - does this drawing align with how you saw Capitano? -Cass

[casswritesstuff]

The Crimson Circus, Act I, scene III

The world is… blurry. The shouts from the market are distant, and the bright midday light seems to dim as the feeling in my limbs comes back with a sharp tingle. I have to leave. Now.

The torn messenger bag lies exactly where He threw it, just by the window sill. I stash the two broken pieces of the mask quickly. The jagged edge slices cleanly through my fingertips, spilling even more blood. The urge to scratch the drying droplets on my neck is almost overwhelming, but that would only make it worse. It's all over my clothes already. Disgusting. But I need answers more than a clean shirt.

I almost don't want to leave this room. I could pretend that this is all a terrible, terrible dream.

Only one person could even attempt to explain all of this to me. Maybe. Gerda is my only shot at trying to understand all of this. The rooms seem to be closing in, walls collapsing around me in the galloping beating inside my chest. I can't let this set in. Not now.

The stupid window refuses to open, the handle rattling. Shit. That could draw attention from the outside.

In. Out. In. Out.

It feels as if I haven't taken a real breath in years. A strange sort of stillness overcomes my body, feeling strangely sure. Sure, the world is still blurry, but I've never felt steadier. The hinges slide open under the softest touch.

The remnants of adrenaline make the journey back to the Gutters almost pleasant. Every jump is light and effortless; no one is supervising the roofs. There's only me, the bag swinging from my shoulder in a nice rhythmic pace, and the unending sea of rooftops.  

The only thing rattling around in my head is Gerda. I'll have to face her today before I go to the performance. She should know more about this whole circus situation. Bitterness spreads across my chest with a pang, disturbing my body's strange state of tranquillity. Before I can even react, my foot slips on the heating pipe.

'don't trust anyone', says Gerda, as her hand is the only thing keeping me in the musty room. The river below murmurs gently, inviting. The grip on my forearm is tight and bony, painful. Her eyes seem to pierce my soul, gleaming in the low light. The only thing I can do is pray, to any God, that she does not let go. Please don't let go. Please. Please. PLEASE. 'Because when you do, they'll eat you. Alive.' She lets go.

For a second, I think I'm flying, the crisp air wheezing in my ears. Then, the crushing pain in my chest flares up. The water breaks. It's cold—so cold.

I can't swim.

Gasping for air hurts. There's no water; I'm not cold. No water, no cold. No water, no cold. It's just a fall. A stupid, avoidable fall. Nothing feels broken. Calming down takes an effort, and breathing still hurts, but it's slowly receding.

"Oi! You there! What the fuck were you doing there, huh?" an angry voice shouts from the distance. Shit. One look tells me everything I need to know - dark uniform, metal boots and gloves. It's the Steels. I can't run in this state. "don't even try it, boy, I can see you!" The man casts a shadow, but his eyes are looking past me. He seems tense, ready to strike. Metal boots clang against the cobblestone, and a loud thud breaks the bustling of the street. The boy with a messenger bag so similar to mine flails against a wall,  but the Steel has him in a tight grasp. He jostles him several times, drops him, takes the bag and leaves. The body is limp against the wall, not moving. Still and loose. I don't think he's alive.

Moving past him to get to Gerda is tough, the gathering crowd surrounding him. They're all trying to scavenge something useful before anyone collects him for a burial. Or worse.

I catch a glimpse of his face, twisted in a scared grimace. It's Tommy, the post-boy. He is a nice kid; likes making rounds around the city, rather chatty for a place like this. Likes. Liked.

Gerda's Den is just around the corner. My heart starts hammering in my chest. It's now or never.

[casswritesstuff]

The Crimson Circus, Act I, scene II

Stepping over the ledges should be as simple as breathing by now. Just another window, just another step, just another heist. But this room. It’s breathtaking. Spacious, with hazel flooring and creamy walls. There’s a desk in the middle of it that could feed me for the rest of my life. There’s no way it’s not literally nailed to the floor, though. The walls are covered in some sort of golden ornaments, large and slim swirls. Pretty, but useless. Couldn’t push it even if I somehow managed to get it out of there. Oh, here we are. Something interesting.

The shelves are enormous, lining the opposite side of the room to the very ceiling. Deep, almost dark wood littered with dolls and figurines, all of them in vibrant costumes. Pretty, expensive. It’s not like they’ll notice one or two of them missing anyway, and they’re worth a whole new coat. Maybe even gloves if Gerda has a good day. They’re in my bag before the thought stops forming in my head, softly clattering against other shinies.

Then I saw it. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever placed my eyes on.

A mask, made of porcelain, just like the dolls. It must be the same craftsman. Big enough to cover up my whole face, starkly white. It’s like a beacon, tempting and shining from the dark wood of the shelves. Taunting. Golden swirls curling around its temples, traversing down to the cheekbones, only to finally form a set of fangs where a mouth should be. They’re different from the rest of the swirl, a red hue tinging the golden ornament. Dangerous. Magnificent.

I should leave it alone, it’s no more sellable than the desk pinned to the floor. It’s too much, too theatrical. Too distinct. But maybe- no. I shouldn’t. Though it would do better in my care, not collecting dust on this shelf. The centerpiece of my shitty table, in my shitty room. Something important, something beautiful. Just for me. Picking it up is almost like the rites of the Orchids. They say the Gods quiet their mind and fill it with cold. The cold is in my hands, radiating into my brain. It’s smooth and cool to the touch, and the ornaments have a rough line against its soft curves. It’s mine.

Soft shuffles come from outside the doors. Shit. Muffled voices. Time to run. The doorknob starts turning, and I sprint. Quick. Quick! The wind almost bites my face again, close, so close, I can feel the ledge under my foot. I tense up, kicking under to jump until-

The crushing burn in my throat is almost overwhelming, just until my whole body collides with the drawers of the desk. Every hard plane is a source of that dull, persistent pain. I can’t see through the sheen on my eyes, just a dark outline of a man and a blotch of burgundy. There’s a faint rustle as the figure perches on the ledge, blocking my escape.

“What do we have here, hm?” A smooth voice, dripping with pointed amusement, forces my focus, dispersing the mist from my eyes, “Another gutter ratling, hoping for a big break?”

I can finally see him clearly. A looming figure with crimson cloak on his broad shoulders, covering a vest as ornate as the mask in my hands. Shit. Is it the owner?

“Nothing to say, eh? And Gerda said that this one would at least talk” The man speaks again, but there’s something weird to his voice. As if he’s… sad. No, worse. Disappointed. Why would he-? Wait, Gerda?

“Well, no matter,” he continues, his stance shifting, tensing. “Guess we’ll have to resolve this otherwise”

Gerda? Did she sell me out? What does he know? Why would he even know her? I don’t understand, what others, what “this one”? There’s sweat trickling down my shirt. I’ll have to wash it. Gerda? Why would she-

There’s a blade on my neck. It’s cold, just as cold as the mask in my hands, but it bites into my skin. There’s something warm trickling down my neck. My shirt. So it’s not sweat.

“I truly did not wish for it to come to this, ratling” Now there’s regret in his voice. Clear as day. Why, why, WHY?

“Why are you not mad?” My voice is barely a whisper, the blade pressing deeper, sharper into my skin.

“What was that, ratling? I’m not used to entertaining useless mumbling,” the pressure relents just a fraction, “and I’ve heard that silent roof hoppers end up dead in these parts. There’s a twinkle in his eyes, I’m sure. They’re dark and twisted, like the river in the dead of night, but they’re gleaming with something. Amusement. He’s laughing at me.

“I said - why are you not mad?” I spit out, as loud as the bite of the blade allows, “I robbed you”

”Rob? Oh please, it was an attempt, if you can even call it that” A twitching smile begins to stretch his lips “, and from where I’m standing, you’re one bad move from being another dead stray.” And he’s right, but there is something that must be keeping me alive. There’s something he must want from me, that’s why I'm not bleeding out, right? That has to be it.

“I wouldn’t be breathing if you didn’t want something." Confidence and curiosity make me sit a little taller, but the blade follows my every move. No confidence, it's no place for stuck-up pride! “Not that you’d need anything from me, Ser! Of course!” His eyebrows just rose. Great. You idiot, it’s not the way to diffuse it now-

“I haven't heard that one in ages. I'm almost hurt, ratling - here I was thinking we were so much closer than cautious politeness,” he chuckles with a sharp smile on his lips. It's almost playful. The pressure of the blade relents. “Now sit,” he points the dagger with a flourish, motioning to the chair across the desk. “You’ve still got options”

I stand up in a daze, legs barely functioning. There’s a fog in my brain, obscuring most rational thoughts. I’m alive. Still alive. I’ll need to play this out well to keep it that way. All evidence of guilt points to Gerda; she sold me out, she must have. I thought she cared, in some way. Uniquely her, cruel and twisted way, but cared. The one person I thought was on my side. How foolish.

Time for consideration will have to wait though, at least until after I’m out of here. If I can make it out, that is. The chair squeaks, leather hard and unused. The warm feeling trailing down my neck has stopped; nothing is left but the stiffness in my muscles. He’s looking at me expectantly, clearly waiting for something. I take the time to truly look at him. Try to crack something about him. Anything.

But there’s nothing in his face that would betray something different than the taunt emanating from those dark eyes. No curve to his lips, no scrunch in his nose. Nothing. Just the hawk-like line of his nose, dark eyes and sharp cheekbones. It’s a schooled expression we all must learn at some point - reveal nothing to get everything. Same thing with posture. Casual, relaxed. Unmoving, save for the cape gently swishing near the window. There’s nothing but the expectation in his eyes, marring the high forehead with a shadowy line.

There are two ways in which this can go - option one, which I don’t like and option two, which will probably be acceptable but will demand something ridiculous. That’s how “negotiations” usually go around here. So the probable choice is between the Steels and maybe some dodgy job. Or worse. But I can work with that.

Sitting down feels foreign. Here I am, sitting down in a ridiculously comfortable chair, waiting for the verdict of a maybe-madman that will probably dictate fate. It’s strange, to put it lightly. What if he wants something impossible? Like stealing the crown jewels on a rainy night, or maybe placing false leads in the Steel's headquarters. I can feel a tightness setting in around my chest. I can’t breathe. “Consider everything, be ready for all” sounds in my mind. Somehow, I manage to take a deeper breath. It’s now or never.

“What… options?” leaves my lips before I can further second-guess it. It seems like the question he wanted, if the slight twitch of his lips is anything to go by. The man turns to sit on the ledge of the desk, almost perched.

“The way I see it -” he begins, caressing the dagger’s edge, “there seem to be three ways out of this. The first one starts with you running and ends in the ditch the Steels call a prison.”

This is the first option, the one I don’t like. Those prisons are nothing but a glorified butcher’s block. So, no running. What will it be then?

“The second, you leave that bag with me and leave. Simple as that,” It seems fair. Too fair. I come in and try to steal his stuff, so I leave with nothing. Embarrassing, sure, failing so miserably after doing this for so many years, but it would leave me with nothing to worry too much about other than… Gerda. Do I even face her after this betrayal? Maybe if I could do something else-something more…

The room grows silent. The bustling of the market seems distant, and I finally notice how close he is, almost bending over me, caging me in the ornate chair. Blood leaves my face, body tensing as he leans in even closer. I didn’t even notice when the distance disappeared.

“But there is another way,” is a whisper, almost a caress, “a better way,” the blade kisses my skin once more, forcing me to look directly into his eyes. They seem to soften ever so slightly. “you could always come with us” the blade lifts off my chin as he straightens.

Us? I scan the room, but we’re the only ones here: us and the distant sounds of the festival. Festival. The tent in the market is almost as ornate as this room. As the mask. The mask is still, somehow, in my hands.

“The circus.” I can’t stop the triumphant note from entering my voice, “You’re with them.”I figured him out! Maybe I could-

“Oh, I knew I liked you, ratling!” The smirk is back, and this time it seems to reach the eyes “You’re quick.” his hand shifts onto the mask I’ve got in my grip. “Of course, this would mean leaving it all behind” He caresses it with affection, fingertips following one of the golden swirls, “The pain. The hunger. Gerda.” The atmosphere grows more serene as he pauses. It doesn’t look like I have a lot to miss. “But I think we could work well together”

“So what, you would just… take me in? Just like that?” I ask with apparent disbelief. It makes no sense. “You want to make a freak show out of me or something?” I can’t control the anger in my voice, my whole body threatening to boil over. How dare he-

“No, ratling.” his face contorts into a thinly veiled grimace “We don’t do pasquinades,” he spits out as if disgusted by the mere notion. “We could make you into an artist. Something raw. Something real. We could make you fly.” His eyes soften again, and a ghost of a smile, a real smile, dances on his lips.

It all sounds good. Too good. A mystery man swoops in, catches me red-handed and instead of going straight to the Steels, he offers me… a job. The last time something like that happened in the Gutters, Maria disappeared. She came back several months later, battered and bruised. She was always the most gullible of us, bordering on stupid, so nobody was all that surprised when she left. But I’m smarter than this.

“How do I even know you’re telling the truth, then? That it’s not some elaborate plot to lure me to the next ‘Under the Mermaid’?” my voice cracks around the words. Shit. I might’ve just shown my entire hand to him. Not good.

“You don’t”, the man begins, chuckling lightly, “but I suppose we could strike up a deal, yes?” he continues, turning to sit behind the obnoxious desk. The cape swishes gently as he starts scribbling on a piece of parchment. “This-” he picks up the note “is an informal ticket to today’s performance. The barkers will be outside the main entrance. You’ll need to get their attention somehow, but they will show you in.” A scrutinising gaze washes over me, appraising, looking for something. Then, he slowly extends the hand with parchment in my direction. It’s a stark contrast between his dark leather gloves and the creaminess of the paper. “Enjoy the performance, it’s going to be especially… grand, tonight.” The weird glint returns to his eye. The piece of paper taunts me, as if calling my name. I’ve never seen a show like this. It wouldn’t hurt to at least watch it, right?

Wait, it was supposed to be a deal.

“What would you like in return, then?” My knees creak slightly as I begin to stand up. A note of uncertainty creeps into my voice, “This doesn’t sound like a deal so far-” I stop myself abruptly, pressing a hand into my lips. What is wrong with you?! Can’t you just shut up?! Stupidstupidstupid.

I can see his shoulder begin to shake. Great. He’s pissed. I’m such an idiot! Just when I was about to start apologising, the unthinkable happened.

The man begins to laugh in earnest. A weirdly warm, but still rough barking sound left his chest, raw and unpracticed. Sharp canines glint in the midday sun as he shakes his head lightly, the sound slowly dying out.

“Oh, ratling” the sound dies out with a light shake of his head “you’re truly something else, aren’t you? This straightforwardness is… refreshing” his face pulls back now, seemingly back to discussing this ridiculously unbalanced deal. “Your part is simple - watch us and think about my offer. Seriously consider it. Once you do, ask for me - then we can… work out the kinks.” In a fluid motion, he rises and saunters towards my chair. He places the piece of parchment in my hands, with a final caress to the ornamental golden swirls of the mask.

“The curtain’s up at seven. Sharp.” A gloved hand caresses my cheek - warm, fleeting - before he straightens and turns towards the door, “Should you wish to come, of course”

The man straightens and adjusts his gloves in a precise, practised motion. Then, as if nothing had happened, he strides away. He’s going to leave, just like that. I don’t even know who to look for in that blasted tent!

The cloak swishes dramatically as he reaches the door, hand lingering on the doorknob.

“Ah, I almost forgot…” he faces me again, predatory gilt in his eyes, too-sharp canines on full display, “Il Capitano,” he announces, bowing down slightly, “At your service.”

Then, without another word, he leaves, the door snapping shut behind with a quiet click. Finally, I am alone, a strange mask weighing heavily in my hands.

[casswritesstuff]

The Crimson Circus, Act I scene I

I never wanted to be a thief, but it’s not like I had a choice. Nobody in the Gutters does. If you’re in the world alone, abandoned, then there is no way you’ll get a meal without doing something questionable.

So I turned to thievery.

Granted, I had help - if that could be considered helping. The explosive “lessons” from Gerda were brutal, unforgiving, and left scars, but that’s the price you have to pay around here. That, or your dignity.

“Blend into the rooftops," her cane coming down on my head when I stepped too close to the street lights. “Step lightly," the cane coming down on me again and again and again, until my shins were too bruised to carry more than the softest steps.

“Grab only what sells” left a nasty scar on my right wrist that sometimes still burned on particularly rainy days. If there’s one thing to say - those lessons stick, even after the hardest of bruises fade. However, the one skill that you respect the most in the gutters is appraisal. You need to know what to take, and what will sell. It’s this snap judgment that will determine if you’ll eat that day. You take practical, everyday junk that will sell for a couple of coppers' worth. It gets you the stale bread from the 5th and, if you’re lucky, some watered-down stew from the stall by the river. It’s enough.

But - and those are Gerda’s words, not mine - you should never go for the obvious and the flashy. Those get you killed. Or caught by the Steels. Either way, you’ll be long gone by the time someone even notices you’re not here. It doesn’t matter if you’re a kid like me - you’ll disappear anyway.

This is why I’m here - leaving the Gutter’s Market with a slab of bread covered in jam, filched off Gerda. It’s loud, almost too loud, even for our quarter. Skipping through the crowded street, I approach the tangled downspouts on the edges of the proper market. The one where servants shop for produce and the factory managers spend their free moments arguing about the best wood for beer barrels. It’s bustling, even on the edges, with mouthwatering smells filling the air. Oh, the cheese! I’d give a kidney for a piece of cheese. 

Stomach churning around the bread, I start to look for an opening to get on the rooftops. There it is - the unfinished heating pipes, all brass and copper. Most of them were stolen two weeks ago.

They’re always placed so conveniently, giving just enough leverage to hang onto during the climb. Courtesy of local workers, surely. “Let’s get this over with” is generally the motto I follow while starting the climbs and this time is no different.

The job’s simple - get on the roof, find and peek through an unguarded window, open it, stuff your bag, and run to Auntie Gerda who will give you the coins needed for dinner. Easy enough.

Mercifully, it’s not raining, and the pipes don’t slip from my grasp. It happened once, during one of the first runs and I had to go hungry - hungrier for a week until my ankle healed up enough to try again. After this incident, I climbed the pipes relentlessly during storms - I would not be caught this unprepared ever again.

The rooftops are empty, as they usually are. They’re a great vantage point, spanning over the whole marketplace. There’s the usual haggling and screaming going on below, and the air, even this high up, is filled with the smell of fresh bread and grilled meat. My stomach clenches again. Ugh. I’d want to be down there, with greasy chicken in hand, looking at the carnival performers scattered in the street. Both they and I have a job to do, though. My stomach clenches around the remnants of bread, painful. Better get on with it, there won’t be a better distraction than the carnival and the ridiculous circus tent in the middle of the marketplace.

The first window is easy, giving in with a soft click. The loot, however, is disappointing. A small room, filled with blankets and nappies, nothing of value even in the Gutters. The blankets are too big for the messenger bag slinging off my shoulder. Onto the next one.

Jumping between the buildings was always my favourite. Well, at least once I stopped fearing the fall. I started slowly trotting towards the edge of the building. Nearing it, I picked up speed and coiled my body like one of those mangy street cats, leaping over the ledge. Short flight. Wind in my face. Finally, a quiet thump and familiar ache in my feet and shins. I’m through.

With burning lungs, I reach the next window, repeating the same old thing again. It gives, again. This time there’s a shaving kit, some pens, and an expensive-looking ashtray. Passable. It might even get me the stew if the price goes high.

Slipping quietly from the window, I approach the ledge when a gleam in the next building's window catches my attention. People from around here know not to leave anything open, even in the middle city. It’s tempting. It’s just one more spot. Autumn is fast approaching and I should get a new cloak. Maybe even gloves?

Screw it.

Jumping the ledge is exhilarating every time, but this one’s tricky. It’s almost out in the open, so you need to be quick - the street below is always patrolled by at least one of the Steels and it’s deceptively wider than a regular street. There’s no room for error.

I run up the ledge, picking up speed with every step.“Step lightly. Remain unseen.” Gerda’s words vibrate through my head as I coil into the jump. The wind bites at my face - the familiar thrill of a short flight. But it’s too long. Panic sets in. Landing slams me into the ground like a ton of bricks. Pain flares through my knees and ankles, sharp and blistering. Shitshitshit. My lungs burn in panic, memories flooding back.

“Ne’er go for an open glass”, she drawled, cane raised menacingly above my hands. Strike, pain, bruise. No tears, not anymore. “or door. ‘s all the same”. Strike, pain, bruise.  The musty smell of her room, the air thick with smoke. Dimming district lights. Strike, pain, pain, so much pain. It was the fifth day after the ankle sprain. Hunger twisted and burned. Stomach churned over nothingness. Pain, hunger, pain, hunger. “Listen well, child, and you might just live”. It goes just as rapidly. I feel the wind on my face, coupled with the somehow distant sounds of the market. Right. Nothing feels broken, at least. With one final check, I approach the window and push it lightly. It’s open, perfect for a quick break’n’run. There are no voices coming from inside the room. A thief’s dream.

[casswritesstuff]

Hi!!!

I'm kind of new to Tumblr and its culture, but this here will be a sort of weird love letter to my current WIP - The Crimson Circus. I've only started recently, so there's not much, but it's honest work. Anyhow - if you like steampunk vibes, fantasy elements, circus themes and questionable choices made by an even more questionable guild of assassins - welcome! I'll be posting some scenes/chapters here. Reviews, opinions and questions are most welcome. -Cass