Welcome? [Versailles/Public]

((THIS IS UNREASONABLY LONG- I DON'T EVEN KNOW. SORRY))

Auguste had finally settled into his car. The carnival, as he had been told, was waiting his arrival. Of course, even when he did come, they were unprepared. It was to be expected, one would assume that when working with these sorts of people. It had spread through the carnival that the major shareholder's son was here- and he had their money. He even had his occupation title on his car.

The people here were...strange to say the least. Auguste generally stigmatized these sorts of people. Auguste didn't want to look at the freaks, that was for sure. He rejected those that were too terribly different. These people were all terribly different. Here, he had to work with them, he had to pay them. Who had been paying the people here with the ringmaster gone? Auguste's Uncle used to supply him with the money to pay the others. He knew of no money that had gone out. They probably were getting it all from the profits they made- and not sharing the dividends with their share holders. That Austrian whore couldn't be in charge of the money. Auguste was in charge of their finances, now. Unfortunately, economics had never been his strength, he'd get someone else to help. His family had to survive this depression- he'd do anything for that. Even have sex with that Austrian.

He didn't feel right in this job. Truthfully, he wanted to be home. His neighborhood was a nice, upper class and normal neighborhood. His home city, Versailles, was beautiful, no- it was magnificent. It beat this dump. They were traveling all the time- hopefully it would be somewhere nice next. This place just seemed to be one giant bowl of dust so far.

He groaned, his overcoat was off, his sleeves were rolled up, the day was far too hot. He opened a window, but not the door. He didn't want people wandering into his room. However, if they had a reason, they could come in.

Someone then burst in.

“Chernobyl is gone!”

What? Why were they even telling Auguste this? Who the hell was Chernobyl anyways? Well- Auguste was probably the one they were supposed to talk to, about this. He was the outsider, but he had the money, he was their boss, even if they didn't know it.

“What...?

“Chernobyl, she's gone!”

“....Who...?” Auguste frowned, out of confusion. How did these people expect him to know who was who?

“One of the freaks. She has burns all over her, and- cataracts in her eye... from...the disaster...”

Just some girl with burns and cataracts? That sounded easily replaceable. Why would people even visit to see that? They could go to a hospital or something?

Auguste shrugged. “Well- we can replace her without much problems, yes? You can, if you want. We just need a fire-” he cracked a smile. Obviously, that was a joke.

However, the man didn't seem to realize that. He looked horrified, as he slowly backed away, and ran out of the room. Was that a mistranslation on Auguste's part...? How would anyone assume that Auguste would actually act on something like that...?

What was this place's management even like...? Were these threats real sorts of threats?

Actually, it was the Austrian who was managing things. That made sense.

Well, this was a setback. However, it made a good excuse to dock everyone's pay. Auguste had planned to anyways, but he didn't know how to without getting mass objections. Then he could fire the expensive guards. Someone would be willing to work for cheaper, for less than minimum wage. Maybe, they could end out ahead from this? What kind of person even came to a carnival to see burnt up girls?

Another sigh, and he poured himself a glass of wine. The time he was here for was indefinite- but it would be long. He was sure of that.

((I hope it's alright that I make Versailles moneyholder/ behind the scenes boss for the Carnival? I THINK I GOT PERMISSION.))

Piter couldn't say that he was too terribly upset to see Chernobyl gone. She wasn't important to his research (and she was a Ukrainian); she wasn't even interesting, for god's sake, just a nuclear plant gone wrong. People were too stupid to recognize the difference between accidents of nature and accidents of mankind.

However, after some investigation, he'd found the hole in the fence. This was a problem. If more freaks escaped, it would be bad news for him. It spelled boredom, which was the most intolerable thing in the world, in his opinion.

So he decided to take it up with someone. Not one of the carnies--they had no power (even if some *coughViennacough* were under the delusion that they did)--but someone...normal.

Stepping back as a rather frightened-looking man ran past him, he appeared in the doorway of the finance manager and rapped on the frame with the back of his knuckles.

"So sorry to intrude," he droned, looking entirely unconcerned, "But there seems to be a large hole in the fence that the mutants are escaping through. Thought you ought to know."

((OH HEY BRO WHAT'S GOIN ON IN HERE--/shot Sorry if this is short or crappy, I'm on my phone. xD))

Someone was gone-- there was a hole in the fence, she'd been informed. And a blind girl with no shoes wouldn't have left on her own. That was all she knew, though. Why was no one else alerting her about this? Chernobyl was so popular-- it was a loss of a major investment.

Yet no one was asking her what to do-- they should have, according to the hierarchy, she was the new leader. But they were all going into another car. And she intended to see why.

She had pushed through people to get to the car, but she had eventually gotten in, with a scowl on her face. It immediately turned into shock.

"You...??"

((I just realized someone else had posted XD but I figured this is when she would figure it out, so ignore this if you want XD))

Auguste was just getting to drinking the wine- and then somebody's knock intruded.

"But there seems to be a large hole in the fence that the mutants are escaping through. Thought you ought to know."

What...? Why would they tell him this? Couldn't they have just gotten a stage hand to fix the hole? What was this even? Who was this? A groan escaped the Frenchman's lips. It was too hot for Auguste to actually have to do anything. He placed his glass of wine down. He had to get up, and he did, opening the door for whoever the voice was.

The man outside was surprisingly normal looking. No one here was really normal looking. Even the Austrian whore was not that normal. Auguste nodded to the Russian.

"Is there...? Tell one of the stagehands to patch it up, then." He sighed, rubbing his sweat knit brow. Auguste hated to sweat, it felt disgusting- and he had to use so much perfume to hide the smell, but everyone was sweating today.

No, maybe Auguste didn't want to pass up the meeting of this normal looking man. He needed sane company. Who was this guy, even? He couldn't be a carni? Maybe he had a position similar to Auguste's?

"Non, non- ah-" Auguste called out to a stagehand that was already passing. "You get someone to patch up the hole next to the freaks cage-" The man did not seem to like being addressed. "- if another freak escapes none of you will be getting money." Even if Auguste's accent made it near impossible to understand- the man seemed to understand, as he was off.

Auguste sighed, glancing to the Russian man.

"Pardonne-moi, Monsieur-," He pushed the door further, just for the man. "Please join me, I am in need of someone to help me finish this bottle of wine-Was there anything else you would like to-"

"You...??"

And there was his Austrian whore. His smile did not waver, even if he was repulsed at the sight of her.

"Ah- Mademoiselle Schuetzeneur- The Chernobyl problem is being taken care of." And a polite nod of the head. He didn't need to invite her for wine, the whore would probably invite herself in. Austrians were such vulgar people. "The freaks are not a problem anymore. You're all safe."

"It's not my position to tell the stage hands what to do, unfortunately. I am just the pianist," he responded in fluent French (whatever snide remarks he might make in passing about the French, he was very fond of the language--often, he'd even put snippets of it in his writing...and it was just too damn bad for anyone who couldn't understand), "The hole in itself is not the biggest issue...I felt I might need to discuss this with someone of actual intelligence." Not that he knew if this man was intelligent or not. But he was in charge of the money, which was the closest to a position of power as anyone was going to get to, so he assumed that some level of intelligence was to be found here. ...And if not, he wasn't above manipulating idiots.

At the invitation, he stepped inside graciously, "Thank you, I appreciate your time." Offering a handshake, he introduced himself, "Pyotr Romanov." In his own country, he would have introduced himself with his patronymic, but unlike some, he understood that this was not the cultural norm elsewhere. ...And besides, it might as well be known that he wasn't just some commoner.

But before he could go on, there was an interruption at the door. Turning slightly, he raised an eyebrow at the woman whose expression suggested more-than-mild shock. Vienna. Oh, why was he not surprised.

((idk if Pitey and Franze would know each other or not, but w/e. HE IS CONTEMPTUOUS EITHER WAY. /shot))

((Fffuuu- I hate when literary classics throw in French. :l I'm just like 'wtf, stop it. No hablo.' ))

Auguste was ecstatic to meet another French speaker. Auguste had worried that he'd be stuck with English, his whole time here. And a pianist too- this man was so refined, Auguste would not let this man out of his sight.

"Pyotr Romanov."

That name could not have pleased him more. Royalty, Auguste was in the prescence of royalty. Or at least, someone who was faintly related to royalty- as was the case with Auguste.

"Auguste Yves-Marie Bourbon." He smiled, shaking the hand. The Bourbon in his last name would distinguish itself as an equal to the Romanov.

"A Romanov as the pianist in a place like that- you're hardly deserving of that." he sighed. It was a shame, what these families had come to, the depression knocked down even the greatest. "But these are desperate times, I would rather be anywhere else, but my family can not lose the investment we have in this carnival." He had to laugh. "It seems as if, in these times, the carnivals are the only things making money."

He wasn't going to make royalty wait for some Austrian. Really, Franze could help herself in. Auguste wouldn't be harmed by being aloof, he was convinced she was in love with him. Everyone was in love with him. He was just so charming.

"Do you have a preference of wine, Monsieur Romanov?" Auguste asked, entering the small kitchen of the car. He pulled out a glass, and then walked back to the man.

"What other than the missing girl, did you wish to discuss?"

"Wait-- wait--" What the hell was going on? "What are you even doing here? Why-- why are all these people going to you??" Wasn't he just passing through?

She scowled as the attention was turned to Piter. The worst person to see right now. How could Auguste even respect him? He was odd, he hung around the freaks, and he was just an ass. The most well-composed ass she'd ever met, but still an ass as big as the next. Not to mention he had gained some weight over the years-- so he did, literally, have a big ass.

"This is my problem to deal with, I'll deal with it." She asserted to both of them. And why was she getting less attention than Piter? Wasnt there something between her and the Franchman?

Nothing in the world could make Piter ecstatic. That wasn't to say he wasn't pleasantly surprised, though, when he instantly recognized the name he was given.

"Well, it's a small world, after all," one of the corners of his lips twitched upward, momentarily (his version of a smile), "When I was just born, my father went to visit the Bourbon family. He was quite enamored with their sense of architecture; one of our palaces is modeled after it."

It was like meeting a long-lost friend that he'd never known to begin with. They'd probably grown up in very similar settings...and not just as far as the interior decorating was concerned.

And yet, after his father died and his so-called (for he did not believe they were truly related) brother took over, he stopped caring about his former home, even in these hard times. "My less-than-capable older sibling is currently running the household into the ground," he explained with a hint of bitterness in his tone, "It really is in a bad state right now. So I decided to pursue my own interests--traveling, that is--until something decidedly awful happens to him, and I can return." There was no hint of a joke in his voice. He wanted his brother dead.

He was completely ignoring the presence of the Austrian. She was inconsequential, to his mind. And annoying.

Instead, he thought about the wine and decided, "I'll leave it up to your expertise." He knew wine, but he wasn't going to kid himself that he knew it better than a Frenchman.

((Hurrrr- can I ask you to edit that to fit with the guidelines babby just said. I AM SUCH A NOT RULE BREAKER SORRY. >_> ))

((EDITED. Hopefully this is okay. I feel so uncomfortable with it. :( ))

"Franze- Franze," Auguste gave a welcoming smile. "Please, if Monsieur Romanov does not mind, you are welcome to join us." He stated, his tone was so comforting, it was almost antagonizing. She was like a girl who came into her father's room, while he had a meeting. And if the meeting was informal, the father could play along. That was how he spoke to her, like a daughter of sorts, like someone he loved, but controlled.

And his attention turned to the main attraction shortly after.

"Really- I hear our architecture is spread all throughout Europe. I have yet to really see it, though. He has visited the gardens, yes?" there was some unnoticable glint of sentimentality in his eyes. His emotions were rarely real, but they were when talking with a foreigner about his home. He loved his home- and he missed it.

Auguste listened to the Romanov's story, he frowned, as if genuinely concerned about the wellbeing of his house hold.

He got the wine out from the wine cabinet. Beaujolais-Villages, a very light wine, for hot summer days. Auguste knew that light wine was going to be the only things he could drink, unless the nights would cool down. He got another glass for the Austrian-

Pouring their glasses, he offered them a seat. Then he took one for himself.

"Oh- I'm sorry to hear that. I understand your situation- to some extent, but I suppose my brother is slightly more capable than what you describe. I would not wish for his injury, though. Mine- not yours. I really would not be too bothered if your brother died." He smiled, with a slight shrug.

"Oh, excuse my manners again, Would you like me to get your coat...?" he had to ask. The man could not be comfortable. Auguste was only in a light weight shirt, pants and a vest- and he was dying.

"But I..." She found herself unable to form words. He had just assured her everything was alright... So maybe it really was.

She took a seat (who cared if Piter really had an opinion about I or not?) next to where Auguse had been sitting. "Sorry... Things have just been... Sort of hectic..." she was still confused. "You... Work here?"

She knew Piter did, but had no idea of what Auguste's role was in all of it. "People are supposed to come to me when these things happen... I don't know if you know..."

In reality, the assurance was comforting. To have someone say they took care of it for once was really relieving. She supposed he cared a great deal about her, and found herself smiling at him decidedly over the thought. She had no idea how much she was manipulated. She wasn't even saying anything about wanting Piter to leave.

"No, I don't mind," he assured without even the slightest shift in expression, "I would never miss an opportunity to needle the fraulein." It was very difficult to tell if he was being serious or not. He was. And he had no problem with admitting it as bluntly as he did. Being cruel to Franze was one of his favorite pastimes, and he certainly had a reason for it...he just couldn't always recall what it was.

As he took a seat, he nodded along, offering up only an 'of course, of course' to the question of whether or not his father had visited the gardens. He assumed he had. But even if he hadn't, it wouldn't matter; the man was dead, now.

And as for his no-good brother... "No one would be bothered if my brother died, I assure you. ...Ah, well, I say 'brother', but he is not even a Romanov." He couldn't hold back a contemptuous sniff. A non-Romanov, overtaking his household. It was disgusting. He generally refused to talk about the details about it, other than in situations like the current one: to explain why he was in this caravan of losers, to begin with.

Watching carefully as the wine was selected, he noted it's type for, if not future reference, then for the sake of knowing. Knowing what wine a Frenchman would select on a hot evening, so that he could be a wise-ass about it if the situation ever arose again.

But balmy though it was, he declined the offer to take his coat with a polite wave of the hand, "I'm fine, thank you." He didn't seem bothered in the slightest. It was not that he liked hot weather--he despised it, actually, but not because it caused irregularity in body temperature. Piter disliked hot weather for reasons that likely only Piter would understand. It was the same way he hated children, dogs, and fascism.

Staring at the wine in the glass--appreciating the color--he snorted when Franze had to ask if Bourbon worked here or not, and at the suggestion that everyone came to her when 'things happened'. Really, she didn't know anything outside of her own little world. Even concerning the carnival that she thought she ran.

"Sometimes I dare to think that you couldn't possibly become more witless, Frachenka," he said mildly, "But you manage to prove me wrong every day. It's amazing, really."

"I am the financier for this business." he said, offering a smile to Franze, before taking a sip of his wine. How he waited for the heat to die, so he could drink something other than light wine. "I'm the one who's to pay you- Your new boss, if you will... They will come to me, now " Another smile, he pulled the wine away from his lips and kissed her cheek. "That is not a problem?" Even if it was, that didn't matter. She was like clay, or like land, so easily malleable. She didn't even need to answer- he pushed her aside to talk to the more important guest, again.

He took another sip of his wine, he had to crack a somewhat unorthodox smile at the way Piter treated Franze. He hated to reveal his real emotions- but this slip up was acceptable. The smile could have been at anything. The Austrian whore was too simple to know it was insulting her, anyways. Auguste did nothing to defend her, why would he?

"Our brothers would probably be good friends with each other-" he smirked. Auguste's brother came from no upper class background- but neither did Auguste. However, Auguste deserved his name, by adoption. His brother did not. "They seem similar- though mine is not so awful." He paused, swushing the wine in his glass. Just once, was his brother particuarly awful.

He did not want to talk about that, though.

Another smile.

"We should take a tour around the grounds. I've yet to even visit the freaks. I've seen a handfull of the others, but not the freaks." He seen some people like Franze, obviously, the carnies. Romanov was not a carnie, he was normal, normal and wealthy like Auguste.

"After our wine, if you would be up for that?"

"Oh..." But she still ran things. She was sure. "Bu anything that's not finances... That's me... Right?" Why did it come out as a question?

She listened to them for a while, until Piter made a joke about her. And that stupid nickname. Shooting a glare at him, she could have almost spit on him. Her man wasn't even defending her. Appalling.

"Did you just hear what he said...?!"

He took a sip of his wine as he carefully noted the Frenchman's reaction (or lack thereof) to his remark about Franze. Very interesting. He wondered what their relationship was--it was clear to him that Bourbon did not truly care for the Austrian. Perhaps he was secretly some sort of a romantic, but even he believed that, if there were mutual feelings between a man and a woman, they would defend each other in such situations. Or at least say something.

This could be the start of a very good friendship.

"I would be happy to show you around." (Well, 'happy' was subjective; he was not exactly a cheery person.) "I've seen the freaks many times... Sadly, before this meeting, I was convinced that they were the most decent company around here." A direct insult to the carnies.

Taking another sip, he added, "The wine is excellent, by the way. Naturally." Obviously, it would be. 'Bad', 'French', and 'wine' were three words that would be sacrilege if put together. But one had to offer such compliments anyways, for the sake of politeness.

"We'll see..." Auguste smiled to Franze, dismissing her. Money ran everything, of course Auguste had control now. If somebody misbehaved, he had the power to fire them. Franze- she had no official power, just something fake. Again, so much resembling a child. Her dillusions of grandeur were made up. Nobody else was living in Franze's reality. They needn't listen to the girl. He ignored the issue of having heard the insult or not. She should understand, he was in... more important company.

Auguste laughed at Piter's response. His laugh was notoriously obnoxious, however, it generally fit in quite well with pretensious company.

"Of course the wine is-" he had to add in. "It's been a little difficult to find familiar wines in this country, though."

"I've only met a few of the...performers, here. I've hardly been impressed, either. The whole ensemble seems a little tacky, but it is what people pay to see. Money is money, no matter how we get it." He took the last sip of his wine, then the glass was empty. He would wait for the other man's glass to be empty before they could get going, though. "I've visited this carnival before... but I've never really seen the freaks-" he was afraid of them, when he visited before. He knew he caused some sort of scene over them, he didn't remember, but that was what he was told.

"They're not dangerous...?"

His features did not so much as twitch at the man's laugh, though it was easily one of the worst he'd ever heard. This was one of the reasons why Piter did not indulge in laughter. Or smiling. He wasn't even sure what he was like when laughing, but god forbid it sounded anything like this.

"Unfortunately you'll find that it's not only good wine this country lacks," he replied without missing a beat, "It's difficult to find anything of real value here. That's why, even though you and I," (not 'we', because that would include Franze), "would consider this circus to be a tacky one, it's sadly still far superior to anything else you can find here."

Finishing up his wine as well, he set the glass down on the table with the softest of clinks, "Forgive me if I sound bitter; I've always been a patron of the performing arts. It's almost an insult what's regarded as 'entertainment' these days." There would never be any great masters again so long as amateurs like these carnies were allowed to run amok. People had forgotten the finer things in life; he hadn't seen a single theater or symphony since his travels began, or even anything close. Art was dead.

Perhaps that was why he had a little less contempt for the freaks, as opposed to the carnies. At least on the whole, they didn't hold any fantasies that they had any great performing talent. They were there because they had no choice.

"Dangerous? On the contrary, they are much less of a threat than the average person. Most are disabled, even, in some way," he reassured. But though he spoke of their disabilities, there was no hint of empathy in his voice. Just because he studied the lot of the freaks didn't mean he was interested in vying for better treatment of them. He understood, unlike most, that they were just people. ...And he'd never felt that people were worth much.

“Yes-" Auguste gave a faint smile. "It is not refined, but it is extravagant. I've only visited the place a few times, and as a boy, but it was always so compelling to me. Not a place I would ever want to be part of. It is only a circus, and circuses are cheap. Now, the place seems in complete disrepair. The old ringmaster, I didn't know him, but back then the place was a little more...classy" his eyes did not shift to Franze, but he was talking about her. "I'm not sure who took his place. There is no definite ringleader, if I'm correct, just these ambitious, little de facto rulers? They are not doing a very good job. That's obvious just by looking at the profits." This place was now so without class. As trashy as a woman who would sleep with a man on their first meeting.

What happened to the people, even? With the absence of a ringleader, they got too far ahead of themselves.

The man's wine was done, and Auguste stood up.

"Would you like some more, or should we head out now?"

It was strange, but Auguste always had some fear for lesser people. He was not offended by inequalities, no, he knew that some were naturally better than others. Some people were born into privilege, and others weren't. It was all for a reason. All for a just and righteous reason. The Romanov must have understood that. Auguste was afraid of the freaks. He didn't want to look at them, but he had to look at the people he'd be paying. This would, almost without a doubt, be his first and last time looking at them.

"Franze, please come along, we can escort you back to your car."

She may have chosen to ignore some things, but she could not ignore this. She was getting the hints, and could not believe he thought of her like that.

And now he was continuing to order her around?

That would just not do.

Franze continued to keep her composure, though. She would not allow either of them the pleasure of seeing her lose control of a situation.

"No, I think I can find someone else to escort me," She smiled bitterly at Auguste, and it completely dropped when she looked to Piter. "I'm sure I'll see you again." Hopefully not.

She exited the car and made her way back to her own, feeling angered and dejected beyond belief. She would just have to take control away from them, then. Just because one declares themselves in charge doesnt mean people will listen. But people listened to her... Right?

((SON. OF. A. BITCH. /accidentally refreshed when this was all written :I))

Piter knew exactly who was being insinuated when he said 'de facto rulers'. But unlike Bourbon, he did not make any show of keeping his gaze away from the person he was insulting.

"In my favorite piece of literature, the writer proposes a theory," he said, still speaking to the Frenchman, but looking directly at Franze, "That the world is divided into...for simpler terms, 'leaders and followers'. Most people can never hope to be leaders, but they sometimes think that they can. But they only set themselves up for failure."

Standing, he added in a lighter tone, "I read too much into things sometimes, though. This is just a circus, after all."

He would be amused to see what course of action the fraulein would take. The way he'd set it up to sound, if she tried and failed, then it was because she had no hope of succeeding in the first place. But if she tried and won, then she was...what? Queen of a circus? Whoop-dee-do. And if she didn't try at all, then she gained nothing and lost what power she thought she had. Which he knew wouldn't please her, either.

The way she was being treated, someone ought to have felt sorry for her. Piter certainly wasn't going to volunteer to.

Watching her expressionlessly, noting with satisfaction that her smile instantly dropped when she addressed him, he broke his gaze off when she got up to leave the car. His work was done.

"Yes, I think we should go now," he said to the Frenchman as though nothing had happened, "Before it becomes too dark outside." No need for the man to have to see mutants cast in half-shadow when he was already hesitant enough, as it was.

He listened to Piter's words, and this theory. It sounded accurate. He would have commented- but the Austrian whore got up, causing some scene with her. Auguste had to break up the conversation to feign concern.

"Franze- don't-" he reached out for her, but she was out of the door already. He walked to the door, only hoping that she would here his footsteps. She would think that he wanted to follow, but could not because of civility with the Romanov. He'd just go to her car later, apologize then get her to take her dress off. He didn't want to have sex with her again, but it was what he had to do. That would patch everything up. He watched her only for a few seconds, as she stormed off to her car. He looked sad, just for anybody else who was looking.

When she was out of sight, he turned back to Piter. A smile crept back on his face. It was one of his rare smiles that actually reflected how he felt. Nobody could tell his real smiles from his fake smiles, because he never gave out real smiles. She would come back, and he knew it. Now he could not help but smile at her behavior.

"Excuse me-" the words came out strange as he choked back a laugh. Did this child really think she was in charge? It was ridiculous. She was just like a child. She was just wearing the clothing of an adult. Someone told her to wear her own clothing, and she stormed away. Auguste never had such a hard time composing himself, but this was hilarious. The extent that Auguste looked down on Franze could not even be measured. He put a finger up, indicating that he needed a second, a second to fabricate new emotions.

He had choked down the laugh, and he turned to Piter with a smile.

"Yes, yes, Monsieur- you lead-" And he pushed the door open for the man.