frenzy [Wales/open]

((I am now enforcing Admin's law meaning I do what I want~))

It was resting time for the freak show, all the shows were done for the day, most freaks laid in their respective areas tired out. Some even chose to sleep before stagehands brought whatever scraps of food they could for supper, Eleri on the other hand was rooting through things, her items were strewn across the floor, the guards had been viciously thorough in their search. Having taken all of Davies' screen play, Dylan's works and Ronalds' children books and much to her horror her notes on the Mabinogion. It was true that Cardiff's room contained better copies, some were even first editions but this...this had just broken her heart. What were they doing with them? Did they destroy them or were they reading them with their sticky little fingers. Eleri's mind fumbled with all the possibilities none of them favorable she was almost regretting opening her mouth now. Drama Queen was going to come through on her end of the bargain or there would be hell to play.

Slinking back to her tank (more like sliding on her back by propelling herself forward on her arms much like a cripple) she pulled the stagehands ladder closer and pulled herself up ring by ring till she was finally back in the water. Eleri stared at the her bundle of items in the corner, wishing she still had her literature to comfort her. But if all went according to plan she would have a nice pretty harp to be entertaining her soon.

This would be the last time she did anything for these freaks. Franze knew that for sure.

She had all the papers the fish-girl wanted, begrudgingly, of course. She hoped the women was suffering without her books.

She came without guards, no one needed to know she was negotiating with a freak.

The Austrian walked up to the tank and slapped the papers to the side. "There. Now what else do you know? I haven't got all day."

((So shorttttt sorryyyy))

He'd hadn't even finished playing the rest of his final piece for the night (Beethoven's Symphony no7, second movement, if anyone was asking), before they'd interrupted and informed him that the show was closing up. What. Rude. No appreciation for art.

Feeling somewhat off-put, he left the main tent and made his way to the cars where the freaks were kept. This was the time of the day when he mingled with those that the beautiful people dared not look at. But he wasn't one of the beautiful people, just a musician with an interest in ridding the populace of superstition when it came to deformity. There was really no need to fear the freaks; they were just people. Not that Piter cared for people much, but at least he recognized that much about them. Perhaps it was because he himself had always been a little 'off' that he could see it so clearly and without question.

It was strange, though; he probably treated them better than anyone here. Him. Piter. Who was notorious for having little feelings for the human race as a whole. It was a sad day when he was 'kind' compared to anyone.

He decided to start with the girl in the tank. Earlier, he'd witnessed her books being confiscated by men who carried the novels like they were sacks of potatoes. Though he always kept a stoic expression, some slight anger had flared up in his heart. Literature was sacred. It did not deserve to be handled so carelessly. He wanted to see how she felt about this.

But...what was this? Someone had gotten to her before him. ...Franze, of all people? Interesting. Very interesting. Keeping a safe distance to where he wouldn't be noticed, but could still catch snippets of the conversation, he leaned against one of the cars and pulled out a book of his own (always handy to carry, just in case one of these situations arose), pretending to be engrossed in it as he listened.

((Sorry, I wrote all this out before I saw babby's reply, SO I'M GONNA POST IT. :I Piter will just kind of hang around and eavesdrop until they're finished. XD To make up for the intrusion, here, have an amazing transcription of the piece I mentioned him playing.))

Eleri was quite certain she wanted pounce from her cage and sink her teeth in to the Austrian woman's neck meat. It showed in her expression, her eyes scanned the parchment methodically, reading every line with precision. Apparently Vienna only had four months to produce the instrument or she had to turn over the amount of the harp in cash to the office. Wow, she mused someone in the office must've really hated her. She mused what she could've told her, it was sort of a unwritten rule around here, you didn't snitch and you didn't get in the way. However the lie sometimes made much more sense than reality.

“Yesterday three men were hanging around my fish tank, one man with grey hair, I think he was really old at least 60 but you humans all look the same to me, was wearing a metal bracelet and I realized they must've been convicts. He had a crazed look in his eyes and said to me “We wouldn't hurt anyone if they don't scream” he then started to look around the car. For what I assume was a hiding place when he spotted the blind one Sonya. When I threatened that I would call the stagehand to alert the police, he grabbed her up by the neck and said if I said anything he was going to kill her. Petrified I couldn't do any till one of the men came into my range and I spit on him . They only got mad and left through a hole they made in the fence with a pair of bolt cutters they stole from the crew and I couldn't help poor, poor Sonya. The men drove away in this new flat bed truck, very fancy, I think they must've stolen it from a far away town because it was mucked up with dust but the I could see the new blue paint underneath. I hate to think this but the girl Sonya she could be dead now.” She turned her head to the side and squeezed her eyes closed like she was in unbelievable agony.

However she doubted Vienna could tell the difference nothing screamed out of the ordinary like the truth did. “The snake charmer might've seen something see wasn't aware she conversed with two of horrible men. The 60 year old was in one of the Animal cars at the time so I doubt she would've seen him. They were playing nice around her though, so I don't think she wouldv'e known regardless” if Alex could get in trouble as well this would be absolutely marvelous. It was killing four birds with one stone.

((It feels tremendously weird that I'm snitching to the same person I'm snitching on XD))

When the mermaid finished reading, she crumpled the paper and threw it next to the tank. That was her copy. Passive aggression had always worked for her.

She really couldnt tell if she was lying or not. It seemed really implausible that anyone would even want anything with the blind girl. Especially not a sixty year old man. And what was a sixty year old man doing as a convict?

Well... there were some really seedy people around. But she still didn't quite believe it. She would just have to ask Alex, someone who would actually talk to her. And if the girl was really dead, then... Oh, well. Her time there she was practically dead anyways.

"We'll see." She replied curtly. "For your sake you better be right."

“Or what? You'll threaten me? Poison me? kill me? Harm me? Starve me? Or god forbid fire me?”
She smiled, sad and sweet like the sun had just set on a perfect Sunday. “Even if I die it'll be just more lose of revenues dear sweet Franze. And do you know what I heard today around the rumor mill?” Eleri's smile turned sadistic, the loss of her books being a much deeper cut than she had expected. She knew this girl for many years having stayed here for a long period of time herself. So she knew just where to prick the skin when she whispered those sinister words. “Heard you're being replaced by a couple of dandies, dear sweet girl. Fresh ones too. How long have you been here? 10-11 years? I've could've sworn it's been longer....”

The young welsh girl knew she would be suffering a long, long, time after this but for a chance to mess with the Austrian woman's mind like this was once and a lifetime for someone like her. “But then again these are tragic, tragic, times the talents are just scraping the bottom of the barrel these days. Though I must admit that snake charmer has such skill, truly awe inspiring beautiful, just the other day I heard a man say how he would do anything to marry her. Isn't that sweet?” She smiled with the one last ounce of false bravo she had left, truly she was hoping a cat fight would break out between the two mentioned parties.

Truthfully she didn't mind Alex so much as Franze and her condescending behavior, and she was willing to bet that Alex would win a slap fight hands down. But she made a mental note to be semi-nice to Alex for the next week to relieve her guilt. Well not so much as nice and more like no make any rude gestures.

((I'm sorry I'm so mean to Vienna :C truly I don't mean too /sobs))

Her face twisted into something of a scowl, but in it was also fear. She knew what she was saying was true. she had been here her whole life.

But replaced... Auguste would never do that, would he? She had exploited herself for him too much to just be cast aside.

The thought of it just brought her halfway to tears. Unable to make any noise except for a sob, she kept quiet, though her lip twitched from the stress of keeping it in.

With one final tear-filled glare, she smacked the tank hard with the side of her fist before pivoting on her foot and stomping off angrily, looking for a Place to waste her tears.

"Sweet Dreams Darling!~" This would probably be Eleri's last conversation with the girl and she couldn't help to think good riddance. Over the years the girl had become more and more monstrous than the last, and each year the welsh girl had grown more cynical and harden like a the scales that adorn her body. But this meeting, it felt almost destined somehow, like it was inevitable, but it was pure blasphemy to think that a beautiful would ever grace their presence here. She floated on the top of her tank to tired to move.

Franze should be thanking her for alerting her to the immanent danger of her not so secret ambition, but instead all she got was physical retaliation. Maybe it was it inevitable that she would be punished for the rest of her life.That seemed more likely.......

((Sorry shorty shortness))

Piter remained with his book, not really reading the words in front of him, for quite some time after Franze had already left. He wanted to thoroughly process what he'd heard. This was just getting better and better. He loved watching people from the sidelines; it was like watching a movie. You never had to put yourself in danger, while enjoying all the action.

Stepping out and snapping his book shut, not even attempting to hide that he'd been eavesdropping, he approached the tank and addressed the girl inside, "Good evening. How are you today, Elenya?" It was his customary greeting when he visited the 'freaks'; they were all used to seeing him regularly by now. Sometimes for research, sometimes just to chit-chat. When he told Bourbon that he preferred the company of the freaks over the carnies, it had not been a lie. He even gave them all Russianized nicknames... If he wasn't so deadpan about it, it might have been endearing. Maybe.

He considered questioning her about the whole story she'd given to Franze about Chernobyl being kidnapped, but decided against it (well...for now). Whether it was the truth or not, he couldn't say he cared all that much about the missing girl. Sonya was not an accident of nature, but of science; she did not interest him. And on top of that, she was Ukrainian, so she really had less value than even normal people, to his mind.

No, he opted to ask about the thing he'd come to talk about in the first place, "I saw that your books were being confiscated earlier. I'm truly sorry. It's sacrilege, the way they were being handled." And though his voice was quite flat about it, he was not being sarcastic. Books, chess, and music were his life. Mistreating any one of the three was like an act against the god he didn't believe in.

A snap of a book broke her from her reprieve, out of the corner of her eye she watched that strange man approach her tank. He was in here often, and talked to the many of her fellow freaks in all sorts of languages and dialects, she had counted at least 4 that she knew of but the list could go on and on with all the others. Eleri was fluently bilingual herself but it was peanuts compared to this man. And she also knew it was likely he was a rich one at that, because the more languages one knew the more money was spent on their education. Still he seemed to be a …...stimulating conversation for time to time, not the usual pompous prick. Even though he rarely had the common boundaries of normal people otherwise he wouldn't be conversing with freaks.

He even renamed her which she didn't mind too much because she liked 'y's they were vowels in her first language. “Hello Mr. Romanov, I'm as fine as I can be considering. It's a bloody travesty. That bitch took away my notes! Can you believe that?! My notes on a ancient book, that's taken me fives years to transcribe and review! I won't go even into the fact that she had those illiterate slobs do it! I bet they threw them in the trash. Now I'll spend the next week rooting through the trash looking for them.” Eleri scrunched her nose in distress and disgust that the effort she and those authors put into their works wasted all on the whim of a priss.

"Typical Frachenka," he remarked dryly, using his less-than-flattering nickname for Franze. That woman. Was nothing sacred to her?

...Not that he could really be judging. She could have burned down an orphanage, and he wouldn't have batted an eye, so long as the books were saved. He called it 'prioritizing his empathy'. Most people called it sociopathy.

"I can attempt to find them and put them somewhere safe," he offered, making a rare effort to help someone purely out of goodwill (well...if it were anything but books on the line, he probably wouldn't have), "Though I can't guarantee anything." If he did manage to recover them (not that he would go to lengths like rooting through garbage), he couldn't just give them back to her, unfortunately. They'd only be taken away again. It was a real shame, the people running this place had no respect for knowledge or the arts or anything worthwhile.

"If it's any consolation," he added, "Frachenka's fall from 'power' seems like it will be a long and painful one. ...Although, it sounds like you've already heard about it." How she was getting 'replaced' by Bourbon. But really, she'd never had any real power to begin with, so the whole thing was really just a major blow to her psyche. Which he didn't mind. At all.

Kindness......it was not foreign to her just.....she didn't expect it from near strangers.

“ Oh Thank you. I believe that the likeliest places you would find them in would be either in Franze's car or her bodyguards' which is right next to hers. If you find them you can keep them for the time being if you would like to read them. They usually have a decent English translation included or have been written in English. But it's just the notes that are vital, the rest of the books just have sentimental value the notes are my life's work.”

God, those notes and books were what kept her sane these last years without them she was adrift with no connection to her homeland what so ever. She massaged her temples and considered what Mr. Romanov had said, adding the name Bourbon to her collection of knowledge. Eleri smirked at the stoic man “You shouldv'e seen the fireworks yesterday I outsmarted her in front of the stagehands. All this is just backlash of her temper tantrum. See for yourself.” She pointed to the crumpled wad of paper next to her tank. She smiled victoriously. “I can't wait for my gift to arrive.”

It was a very strange task he'd offered to take up. Normally, this was the kind of thing he'd hire or manipulate someone else into doing for him. He had a policy of never getting his hands dirty, if he could help it. But he'd made a decision to not get directly involved in the silly power struggle that took place here, so he had no one to boss around. Really, being just a musician, he was actually on an even lower level than the carnies in the social hierarchy here. He couldn't even tell the stage hands what to do.

(Not that it meant he wasn't planning on securing some form of power for himself. Bourbon seemed to like him, it was only a matter of time before he was able to start pulling his strings from the shadows... His favorite tactic.)

"I'll see what I can do. I'll consider having something new to read an extra incentive to find them." He was getting bored already of the books he'd brought from home. Some were his own works, some were from others. All were classics, things he'd read many times over and thought he'd never tire of. Apparently, he thought wrong. It put things into perspective when he was left with but a tiny fraction of his personal library.

Eyes shifting to land on the paper she indicated, he leaned over to pick it up. Smoothing it out as best as he could, he glanced over it briefly, raising an eyebrow. He was sure he wasn't filled in on all the details, having not seen the incident she mentioned, but if he understood correctly, it seemed like she'd managed to coerce Franze into buying her a harp. "Impressive. Personally, I prefer piano and violin, but good choice, all the same." And no doubt, it made Franze furious. If it were him, the free instrument would seem like a fringe benefit compared to the victory of making her life all the more awful.

Something lit up in Eleri's eyes, if felt like pure unadulterated joy, like a child laughing for the first time at a shiny bobble just lying around. With exuberance she spoke to the man about the specific harp she wanted. “It's not just any harp Mr. Romanov it's a triple harp. They predated the invention of a pedaled instrument so to compensate the lack of sub tones a marker put three rows of stings side by side. Imagine if they took the pedals off your piano and replaced them with thrice the sting and keys stacked upon each other. It's absolutely thrilling to compose on one Mr. Romanov”

The young welsh fish-girl hanged her body over the edge of her fish tank so she could look the Russian in the eyes which she has never done before. But such is the cost of passion when the girl named after a surfeit was thoroughly excited. “The only maker lives in Wales, they are undoubtedly cheap due to fact everyone who plays the harp wants a pedal, quitters if you ask me. But the beauty of it is that drama queen will never know where to look for one, she will worry about it till her hairs turn gray but she will never think to look in the “land of my fathers*”. I bet all my scales that she's only going to send a letter to Austria inquiring about one and come back empty handed. Then she'll have to hand over a over-estimated sum I disclosed earlier. Hell I can even by two harps for the amount I listed, but I figure if the office asks me where to find one I'll send a letter to the maker explaining the situation and he'll price it higher and throw in some sheet music all at the expense of Franze. But think I'll have real sheet music in god knows how long!”

She slinked back into her into her tank, the spell broken, she continued to avoid contact with Piter other than verbal discussion they were having now. It was no intentional offense to Mr. Romanov she just felt uncomfortable making eye contact with people other than freaks. It made her skin prick unpleasantly. She spoke with much less exuberance now, her normal solemn tone to take over her voice. “....This afternoon, she walked into the main tent after I was finished practicing for my big swan dive next week. Asking where the blind one went and in return she would give me something I wanted. I asked for a triple harp but I knew she would never make a deal with a freak, so I asked for our agreement in triplicate, notarized, with two witnesses present so she couldn't back out of it. But then she took away my books saying I was too smart. That conversation we had earlier that you “overheard” was my end of the bargain.”

*-land of my father's is a nickname for Wales

Perhaps Piter wasn't the most expressive of fellows, but at least he could listen well when being spoken to. Almost unnervingly so, at times; he did not have any problem with making unbroken, direct eye-contact with someone until they became uncomfortable. It was his way of showing that he was being attentive. And he was. He nodded along appreciatively to the description of the instrument. Inwardly, he desperately missed the theaters back home (the Mariinsky, especially; he was almost frightened to think of what had become of it in these dark times)--conversations like these were the closest he could get to being back with the symphony.

"I'd like nothing more than to see Frachenka's hair turn prematurely gray, truly," he responded evenly. His own hair already had silvery streaks in it that the artist constantly forgets to draw, ever since he was but a teenager--it would be delightful to see the same curse falling on the vain Austrian.

There was one thing, in particular, that interested him. "I'm curious: do you know if this is coming out of Franze's pocket, or the carnival's?" He'd secretly been keeping an eye on the expenses made by Mistique, as of late. His friendship with Bourbon could prove to be a hundred times more interesting if the carnival began to have money problems... And there was no friendship too good for him to use for his own advantage, if only to have something to amuse himself with. The Frenchman could very well become his next puppet, all strings attached.

Watching her sink back into the water, her tone towards him changing considerably, he showed no signs of being particularly offended or moved. His expression remained blank. People thought that Piter controlled his emotions well, when in fact, he always considered himself to be the type who wore his heart on his sleeve. ...It said a lot about the young Romanov.

"Ah...so you know what happened to Sonya. Is it true what you said, then?" He asked pretty bluntly, figuring that he would either get the truth or he wouldn't. Either way, it wasn't like he intended to interrogate her on the matter. He was just mildly curious. "If it's not, rest assured, I don't plan on enlightening Frachenka any time soon." If anything, he might tell her an even more ridiculous story, just to plant a seed of doubt in her head.

It was of sound notion that the girl who bore scales would not assimilate correctly into the general population. Her only friend in the world, she had once set fire to upon their first untimely meeting, so it was also of sound notion that she did not easily trust those who did not wear the same stigma's as her.
The first question was basic information however, which she responded to accordingly “Of course it should come out of her salary that all main acts get in equal pay. But there's a rumor that expenditures such as those are charged directly to Mystique as a show expense. Apparently it's a clause in the contracts that all the main acts abuse.”

In contrast the second question was not common knowledge and she found herself struggling to trust the Russian man with that much information. Eleri would not have felt as anxious if she just swindled Franze, people would have expected her to. But if the information fell in to the wrong hands that she openly lied when paid to the Viennese girl she could be swimming in a chloride poisoned tank for days. Normally, a cryptic answer which she was fond of in these situations was as not suitable for the man she was conveying the riddle to, for he would most likely puzzle it out. Instead she chose to tell the sweet and simple truth. “All factual information I gave Franze was true and all subjective was not. But I doubt anyone could hold it against me, like no one could hold it against a historical text for being inaccurate.”

Truly Eleri was much more cunning than most could perceived her as, and for many that didn't, it had quickly became their disadvantage. But she did not feel hostile towards Piter, strangely he was refreshing in a very very strange sort of way. Plus he played beautiful music which often softened her heart to even the most vuglar of Englishmen.