Watch in Wonder [Alexandria/Private-ish]

"...as Our very own Arash -Fire Wielder from the Far East!- performs to you, the audience, his a-mazing human fireball act! You're in for a real treat tonight folks!" The gaudily dressed, yet upbeat ring leader was in the middle of what Alex concluded was Arash's act. What appropriate timing; she'd barely beaten the crowds into the Ragtag's main tent.

Alexandria fought a grimace as she struggled to keep still on the rickety planks the Ragtags considered a sufficient enough bench. The huge tent that encircled the bright red showrings was thick with the breath of strangers and the pacifying scent of all assortments of candy. The Egyptian has opted to trade her usual robe-over-costume garb for something more covert. Simple blouse, plain pencil skirt, hair pulled into a thick bun, and glasses across her neutral face. It was almost as if she was attempting to become a one-person crowd, all non-descript. She could have sworn that she was developing claustrophobia by the second as more people piled into creaking stands. "Where is he?" She grumbled as some fat kid beside her crunched obnoxiously on a bucket of popcorn. "I swear if he doesn't show after all the trouble I went through to get that ticket, I'll--."

Alexandria wasn't able to carry out her threat as the Iranian finally made his appearance. Leaning forward, she squinted through the thick lenses and front seats to better view of the man. He was just as battered and imposing as ever, but was able to carry a sense of dignity about him. Intriguing, to say the least; and there was much more to him than what he failed to clarify. Alex raised her hand to wave, but ceased the gesture. Why would she want to draw attention to herself? She looked at the dirty floor, slightly embarressed. Alex was an employee of Mistique, she was not supposed to be here. It had taken long enough to slip out of her caravan unnoticed, but why had she gone to all that trouble in the first place? This man was just another dimeshow stuntman, but Alex felt like there was something they had in common. But he had invited her to watch his act, so why look a gift horse in the mouth? There was more than one way to get answers. Answers that would wait until after Arash's performance. The lights were already dimming as the Iranian's fire drew all attention to the center of the ring...

He had peaked out of the curtain as they announced his act. The crowd was filling up. It was difficult to make out anyone. It was difficult to make out the girl who was supposed to be waiting for him. He couldn't find her. He didn't have time to search for her, he had to go up.

Arash had make up on. It hid his burns, in doing so it hid his incompetence and his inability, his weakness and most importantly, it hid himself. What would she think of that? The bin of petroleum, floating above, turned to spill on the Iranian. Some of it's contents formed a large puddle around him. Some must have jumped off into the nearby audience. His makeup never washed off with the petroleum, as far as Arash understood, it was made to be resistant towards it. He waited now. The crowd suddenly grew quiet with the dumping of the petroleum. It probably knew what was bound to come next. A box of matches were placed out in the dry. It was always difficult for Arash to get the matches started without burning his hands, and this setting his whole technique off. His quiet whispers to God marked this step. He whispered for assistance, but more often than that, he asked for forgiveness. It would have seemed strange if one could hear him. They could not hear him, though. Only God could hear him. Only God would be able to transcend the message to the boy's father.

Would his father listen to his shameful and disgraced son? Probably not. God would not even send the message, because God could certainly never forgive a boy who had tried to kill his own father.

Maybe- maybe Arash could pass through this fire unscathed. Maybe Arash could prove his innocence to God- and to the man who did not listen to God, but who could listened to the judgment of the unburning fire.

The match was struck, and it was dropped into the puddle. Any chatter quickly came to a hold. The puddle was lit, and it so quickly spread to the Iranian's body. The fabric of his shoes caught first. That spread up his legs, to his pants, to the long robe- The Iranian jumped back from the burning pile. There was some gymnastics incorporated into the move. The flame that had engulfed Arash began to engulf itself. The boy's mind was blank- he felt nothing, his graceful movements expressed no pain.

A door opened, slowly and quietly. A boy entered- a handsome and young boy, with thick curly hair. The boy did not look so young today. His skin, normally dark, was pale. The sound of his heart beat was the loudest noise in the house. There was a man, he was asleep and alone. There was a loaded gun that shook in the boy's hand. The boy, he tried to level it at the man, he tried to get his cold, sweaty hands to steady for the kill.

It must have been 10 minutes. The boy could not move, he could only shake. He was terrified. Terrified of the consequences, terrified of his father, terrified of himself.

An eye, the eye in the bed peeked open.

The gun was on the ground. Emotions- all kinds of emotions that were willing up inside of him, suddenly burst, he screamed-

-Then, only then did he feel the pain. There was the slightest break from his fluid movements. Arash could not scream this time. He had become so used to this certain burning. It was easy enough to suppress.

He could feel the hair and flesh on his arm burning away. There was not much hair left, but the bit that was growing back, was gone now. His whole concentration was thrown off. He continued like nothing had happened, but something had happened. He stopped, and then took a bow. Water fell down on him, just like the petroleum that preceded it. The Fire Wielder from the Far East exited the stage.

There was a tub of water in the back, Arash washed up with it. He was a little out of breath. His mind did not allow itself to think straight. His shows always ended up like this. It was emotionally and physically taxing.

He had almost forgotten- that girl was supposed to be here. He worried about it beforehand- but then the thought had so quickly left his mind, when he went on to the stage.

Was she even watching? Did she notice how Arash had screwed up? Suddenly, he had so much to worry about. He did not pass his daily test of forgiveness. He had to get patched up by the doctor. He had to see if she was in fact out there. The robe was all burnt and charred now, Arash was as well, but he ditched the robe for something else that was lying around. He looked slightly more respectable? Right? He entered the grounds of the carnival. It was something he wasn't supposed to do. Not while he was all charred up. He could ignore those orders, today. Something more important was at hand.

((THIS IS SO LONG AND RAMBLES, SORRY FFFF, Just wanted to get Arash's reason/emotions in catching himself on fire down.))

Although she didn't vocalize her amazement like the crowd's around her, Alex was impressed nontheless. This Arash was different from the one she had met a few days before during his prayer time. The previous Arash seemed unsure of himself, and very emotionally charged- unstable. Now, performing onstage, this Arash was confident and efficient. Even if he did slip up once and the fire scorched him some, he never lost face. Still, the minor slipup had made everyone, even the Egyptian woman, cringe. Fire was a constant danger in her hometown with it being as ancient as it was. Amazingly, Arash was able to brandish fire without the slighest hint of fear. He had previously admitted that he was still learning, but now he had earned a waxing sliver of respect from Mistique's dancer. It was a start.

Even after the show had ended, the crowd buzzed about the acrobatics and such that they had witnessed. Alex slowly made her way out of the shuffling crowds, moving gradually closer to the exit flap of the tent where only the employees could enter and exit. Normally Mistique would have hired bouncers to keep would-be snoops at bay, but the Ragtags were apparently just as lax on security as they were commodities. Minding her manners, she waited outside the flap for her- perish the thought- acquaintance. Circus folk meandered to and fro, casting her a curious glance but not questioning her purpose.

Through the mix of scents both pleasant and putrid, Alex could barely pick out the whiffs of burned hair. It was a horrible scare, seeing Arash on fire. She wrung her hands, wondering how one could willingly subject themselves to such extremes. He had his reasons for sure. Alex held her emotions close like a floodgate, dangerous yet trusty, but there was something in Arash's expression that had caught her off-kilter. He seemed somewhat troubled, not that it was any of her business, but still.

A few minutes into waiting, she grew weary of waiting for the Iranian. Tired and feeling unclean from being sandwiched between people of questionable hygiene, she stood on a bucket to peer into the crowds. Honestly, how hard was it to tell the difference between balding men and singed ones? Alex dared not to call out since she was determined to stay incognito throughout her entire visit, especially if that exiled Viennese saw her. What would her co-workers at Mistique think? Would she be fired like Franze? Discredited and destitute? Alex bit her lip anxiously. "Arash, where did you disappear to?"

((Has anyone told you that you should write novels? :I Just sayin'. /golf clap))

There was a large crowd, it was one of those somewhat rare and somewhat common busy days. Arash tried not to even notice these things before his performance. They would inevitably throw him off. Something always threw him off. He made a mistake every time. The ragtags all knew that. But he guessed his skill, though amateur, was still valuable.

People would move out of the way when they saw the Iranian, let alone smelt him. He just gently pushed through. He still couldn't find Alexandria. His eyes darted through the crowd. He wanted desperately to find her. He hoped desperately that she did in fact show up. She had a free ticket! She could use it for whatever she wanted. She could use it to sabotage Ragtags. Arash didn't care what she did. He just wanted her to show up. This would be one of his few- well, possibly the only chance to find someone suitable to be a wife. This girl was almost in the same situation as him. Well, the Egyptian was remarkably well off compared to the Iranian- but still, she was a carnie, just like him. She would understand his position, she maybe would not mind being married to a man without a surname and without a real family.

But no- even this woman could not live like that. The fact that Arash was going to be alone forever was becoming increasingly obvious, as he searched for the girl. A frown grew deeper on his face.

But at least he had his mother--

Suddenly, Arash spotted someone, not someone, but the Egyptian girl. She did in fact show up. A smile spread across the scorched boy's face.

"Alex!" he called out. He almost touched the girl's shoulder, to grab her attention, but pulled away quickly when he remembered his morals. Another awkward movement, and his cheeks grew red, not that she could even see that. His face was too dark with the soot and the petroleum.

((fff no. B) I think you should.))

Amidst the bustling crowds that were exiting the main tent to meander through the rest of the circus to find refreshments or games, Alex's already low expectations were heading even further south. It was difficult to see above the heads of the Americans, being as tall as they were and Arash being somewhat shorter than average. She could smell the charred man, but couldn't locate him. Had he already left the tent?

She huffed in exhasperation, failing to turn around in time to notice the sea of people slightly dividing as the Iranian made his way to her. Shouting her name got her attention, momentarily startling the Alexandrian. Twisting this way and that, she finally pinpointed the source of the shout. "Oh!" She wobbled on the bucket a little before carefully hopping down. "You scared me for a second, where--," then she noticed the burns on his arms. Alex did her best to avoid touching the sticky petroleum, but was relieved to see that the burns were barely first degree.

"Have you gone to the doctor yet? And if you leave this gunk on you long enough, these could get infected!" She didn't mean to sound harsh, but medical problems were serious business where she came from where supplies were limited and often unsanitary. A small workhand jostled by that same moment with a bucket of water. Without so much as a word of warning, Alex snatched the youth's bandana that was dangling out of his back pocket and dunked it into the water bucket. Ignoring the young laborer's shouts of indignation, Alex handed the rag to Arash. "Here. Clean up before you get sick or something."

She leaned against the fencepost and waited for the Iranian once more. This had better not become a habit. "I was able to watch you perform," Alex broke what could have been an awkward silence, "it was very impressive, but you had a lot of people worried for a moment. Still, you did very well. Thank you for the ticket, Arash." It certainly wasn't mandatory that she arrive; she did so out of curiousity. Besides it wasn't as if she had anything better to do than dance and read.

((FFFF someone please explain why this is so crappy and late :C))

Arash took the rag, and began softly rubbing it near his latest burn. He then turned to his face. However, the rag did little to his face except rub the muck around. That mixed with the smeared make up, and the general awful look of his face left quite the mess. It was not too different from the first time he met her. A slight smile formed on his face, as he took a quick and awkward glance at her.

"You- did you watch the other shows too?" He asked, quickly. "They're very good. Except Faraz...and the Strongman... The Strongman doesn't have any talent." He snapped quickly. He still hated that man for the unprovoked and painful beating. Even if Arash got his revenge- he wouldn't forgive. He didn't forgive easily. "But you liked mine...?"

He paused, to rub the back of his neck. It was also covered in that goo. "I- I that mess up was just part of the show. I do it usually...you know... It keeps the crowd hooked..." and another awkward and somewhat strained smile fumbled itself out. He had to lie to get her respect. Normally Arash was a good liar- but not in these conditions.

"The burns aren't too bad from it... And I'm used to it...so it's not a problem."

Alex had in fact seen some of the other shows. The strongman was brawny and appeased the spectators, but every circus had one. It was almost cliché. The next act had been Arash's younger brother- what was his name?- ah, Faraz. Yes, the younger boy was certainly a crowd pleaser with his tigers. Even Alexandria had to admit that she was somewhat astounded that a small boy like him could hold command over such ferocious carnivores. Not to mention that the child was positively adorable had it not been for his attitude. Alex had been worried about Arash's questionable disciplinary action last time, but she had deduced it had might have had something to do with the closeness in age difference, and how much freedom (and instability) circus life warranted.

"Now I wouldn't say that," Alex shrugged, "your brother has just as much talent as you, which is quite impressive in itself." The Iranian was visibly nervous; it was almost pitiful. Yet he voiced his obviously displeasure at the strongman and his sibling. Alex was tempted to ask Arash why, but refrained. Now was not the time nor place. "But I thought you did very well. Just try to be a little more careful with 'keeping the crowd hooked.'" Taking the pilfered bandana back, she sloshed it around in the abandoned water bucket to cleanse it, even if the thick petroleum refused to move. "Get burned enough and they'll have to move you to the freak show as the "Human Callous," she laughed dryly. "Other than that, I'm glad I was able to visit."

Alex moved to brush the dirt from the tent canvas from her skirt. "I don't think you've attended one of my shows yet, have you?" It wasn't that she was doing him a favor, just that she was curious about the competition. Until now, she'd had little to say about Ragtags other than they were the enemy. Her opinion, however biased, was slowly changing. The motley performers, however crude, were not everyday street actors. They were exponentially more unified and casual than Mistique, which could become a problem in the near future. "Not that I mind, there's not much to see, really. I perform mostly during intermissions. You haven't missed much."

It was strange to say, but Alex was somewhat- dare she say it?- jealous of Arash. His act brought forth "oohs" and "ahhs" from the audience. There were times that Alex felt as if she were one of Franze's music box dolls (but less creepy), dancing the same dance to the same music. Maybe it was just women's intuition, but she was getting the feeling that her contributions to Mistique mattered less than her dancing. It was irritating enough having to endure lewd whistles from workers and audience alike, or being referred to as a "harem girl" by stupid ringleaders. In the back of her head, the Egyptian began to doubt her role at Mistique. Her circus was certainly more powerful, better equipped and wealthier, but how was she benefiting? Warm food and a fully stocked caravan in exchange for her looks and dancing? There were times when Alex wondered if she were less of a dancer and more of an exotic pet.

((TL;DR "good job, arash. why am i a hobag?"))

"No he doesn't." Arash snapped. "People just like him- have sympathy for him because he's small, and 'cute.'" He frowned. It was a mystery to Arash how they could even find that little demon cute. Even when Arash tried to explain why he was a demon- they didn't even believe him. Appearance always won out, Faraz had that on his side, and Arash didn't. He couldn't even properly discipline the boy. Faraz would bitch about it to somebody- he always did that. "Animals just like him, that's not even a talent. He's filthy like all of them, they probably just assume he's another animal." the snipe was probably not necessary, but Arash could not have this girl believing (like everyone else did) that Faraz was so angelic.

A very slight chuckle slipped out at the 'human callous' remark. He didn't laugh very often with others- only with his mother, sometimes with Itakshir. He did know that a serious burn was possible- if he did get seriously injured, he probably would wind up in some freak show. Where else could he go? The slight smile turned away, as his eyes blurred into introspection, and shortly after, snapped back to reality, and the girl in front of him.

"I- I haven't seen you...but I'm sure you must be very good... Maman, she says you dance very well..." He had obviously mentioned the girl to his mother. The women had hopes in her son's romantic life- Arash tried to raise hopes for himself, but it all seemed very impossible. It always seemed like his mother must have been looking at a different person when she remarked on how 'handsome' her son was. The Egyptian must not have seen that handsome son- but maybe he could make himself seem more handsome? "I am sure you must be one of the best... I- I hear that Mistique is very overrated..." he stated with a slight nod.

"Not you- but the others!" he wiped his face again with the sleeve of the shirt he borrowed. "If you would like to come here again, you can! You can come whenever you want. Don't tell the others, though... But you can...."

Needless to say, Alex hadn't expected such a venomous response to her observation of the young Iranian boy. What had happened to their family was still obscure to Alex, but she dared not to ask why to either boy. When she had stayed the night in the women's caravan, the Egyptian had written it off as mere youthful rebellion, but now she was slightly concerned about the long-term effects of such negativity.

"Now I wouldn't go so far as to say that," she wrung out the sticky washcloth and motioned to the black grime staining it. "As I recall, it seems like flames have an affinity for your person," she laughed softly as she wiped the petroleum from her hands. Maybe it would do Arash some good to spend less time brooding about his losses and more thanking God for what remained. "But thank you for the compliment; your mother is very talented at what she does. It's an honor to hear praise from someone like herself," Alex answered automatically. The two women were years apart in age, and adept in different styles of dance, but work didn't impede on pleasant conversation partner. Fellow Middle Easterners were few and far between in this land, and beggars can't be choosers after all. Although she seemed a tad naïve, Arash's mother was a breath a fresh air. It certainly was nice to chat with another person, especially a woman, who was so welcoming and who doted on everyone like they were her own children. Still, it was unfortunate that the woman be stuck in such a wasteland. She was easily Mistique caliber. But that was one thing Alex admired: she stayed with her son no matter what. It was easy to see that they were all the other had left of their previous life, minus the infamously independent Faraz.

"And you are correct, for the most part," Alex's tone grew slightly more sharp. "Most are Europeans who've never worked a day in their life: moaning and groaning about having to work for a living, about dust in their clothes or food- I lived with that for my whole life!" Her knuckles were white as she wrung nearly every drop of moisture from the cloth in her hands. But then she remembered Franze, remembered watching her leave Mistique almost in tears. "However, not all are bad or corrupt. Just the ones in charge," she trailed off, frustrated at the absence of control she had over the circus.

Arash, who had been patient enough to listen for her entire tirade, again offered to let her visit. Red flags went up in Alex's mind, but her opportunistic tendencies reached her lips first. "That's very generous of you, Arash, but I couldn't possibly do so without repaying such a kind offer. Come visit my show whenever you can find time. I can't promise that you'll be admitted every time, but I'll see what strings I can pull." She dabbed the side of his face to remove the last bit of petroleum. "I just so happen to be performing tonight. I certainly hope you can make it, but don't let someone like me distract you from your job here." The Egyptian woman stood up and handed the cloth back to Arash. "Thank you again for the ticket, but promise me one little favor- do be careful next time you play with fire." And with that, the Alexandrian walked towards the exit of Ragtags, already mulling over her routine for the evening show.