Year One
Harry Haly had spoken: If the Graysons couldn't come to the circus, the circus was going to come to the Graysons.
They arrived in the early hours of the morning on the outskirts of Gotham - the same field upon which they had performed the night Dick Grayson's parents were killed. Superstition had since kept them away, but tonight would be a different matter. Tonight, the youngest member of the Flying Graysons would be formally introduced to the heritage of her family; to the memory of her grandparents and the life they lived.
The azure and gold field of stripes towers into the sky, bedecked with primary-colored lights. The midway in front is a hive of activity, the sounds of laughter and labor rippling into the humid fall air, interspersed with the discord of animal presence. Lippizaners are led through their paces in rehearsal, jingling their red tassled finery in time to the music. Sawdust scatters in the mud, traipsed in and out by performers, staff, and animals alike.
Above, the trapeze is rigged, the ropes tested, double-checked, triple-checked. Everyone who enters the ring does so first-foot forward, some cross themselves in accompaniment. Though the methods of running the operation were much modernized, and the lighting more precise and focused; to set foot on these campgrounds is a brief step backwards in time. Time itself seems to slow down, becoming its own comforting wrap of cotton candy, peanuts, manure and sawdust.
It is a comfort Dick Grayson has never forgotten.
It is a comfort he wants for his daughter to have.
Today, the entire circus is on tenterhooks, eagerly awaiting her arrival. Even the animals seem to know that this particular day is different from all that have gone before, picking up the anticipatory mood of their trainers.
This afternoon is a private affair. No press, no strangers. Only those closest to the Graysons are permitted to attend. A special performance for the first birthday of Mary Donna Barbara Anne Grayson.
They arrived in the early hours of the morning on the outskirts of Gotham - the same field upon which they had performed the night Dick Grayson's parents were killed. Superstition had since kept them away, but tonight would be a different matter. Tonight, the youngest member of the Flying Graysons would be formally introduced to the heritage of her family; to the memory of her grandparents and the life they lived.
The azure and gold field of stripes towers into the sky, bedecked with primary-colored lights. The midway in front is a hive of activity, the sounds of laughter and labor rippling into the humid fall air, interspersed with the discord of animal presence. Lippizaners are led through their paces in rehearsal, jingling their red tassled finery in time to the music. Sawdust scatters in the mud, traipsed in and out by performers, staff, and animals alike.
Above, the trapeze is rigged, the ropes tested, double-checked, triple-checked. Everyone who enters the ring does so first-foot forward, some cross themselves in accompaniment. Though the methods of running the operation were much modernized, and the lighting more precise and focused; to set foot on these campgrounds is a brief step backwards in time. Time itself seems to slow down, becoming its own comforting wrap of cotton candy, peanuts, manure and sawdust.
It is a comfort Dick Grayson has never forgotten.
It is a comfort he wants for his daughter to have.
Today, the entire circus is on tenterhooks, eagerly awaiting her arrival. Even the animals seem to know that this particular day is different from all that have gone before, picking up the anticipatory mood of their trainers.
This afternoon is a private affair. No press, no strangers. Only those closest to the Graysons are permitted to attend. A special performance for the first birthday of Mary Donna Barbara Anne Grayson.