[log] Balmunk, Milan
Title: A Gentleman's Affair
Characters: Balmunk (shinigamikender), Milan (kendraxplague)
Timeline: Three months before meeting Gamma.
Rating: PG
Summary: The circus needs a new audience; Milan and Balmunk discuss who it will be.
The show was closing down for the night, the smell of carnival delights and the cheap scents of the sawdust and gasoline that made their lives so much easier. Balmunk lifted his hat, smoothing back sleek black hair with a gloved hand.
As he returned the top hat to its original place, he glanced over the performers of his deadly circus, lips curving slightly as he watched them practice their respective arts before his dark eyes fixed on one out of their number.
"Midge, if you will?" he called to get the other's attention.
Milan glanced up at the familiar voice, calling above all the others. "Finish up here," he told his sisters with the air of one very used to being obeyed.
"Of course, big brother~," the girls chorused, stepping out of his way. He did not acknowledge him past that -- they knew what was expected of them.
"You called?" he inquired, head tilted at Balmunk. His body language, as always, was perfectly executed; he managed to look both interested and bored at the same time, though the latter was only to ensure that he did not appear over-eager to do Balmunk's bidding.
That impeccable control was what allowed Milan to rise so far in the ranks, his cool efficiency making him an intriguing rival and companion for the sadist of a ringmaster. Balmunk gave the other a gentle smile, turning his top hat to a sharp angle for the effect.
"Indeed, I did," Balmunk replied with some flourish to his words, "For the show has been arranged. All that's left now is to decide on the audience, I believe."
Milan understood the question; he understood that it did not mean "Who will enjoy us most?" but rather "Who shall we kill next?"
He twirled a knife around in his hand thoughtfully, a habit of his that clearly meant he was thinking. "Personally, I have no feelings one way or another." He arched both eyebrows, making eye contact with the ringmaster.
"Do you?"
Balmunk's finger met the knife's edge with an almost gentle tap like a finger to his lips. However, despite the dangerous, his eyes fixed neatly on the other's, as if daring Milan to drive the knife through the rest of the way.
"There's rumor of another ring drifting about, Midge," Balmunk murmured, "I'd be interested in following that."
The knife-thrower paused in his twirling when the light pressure was applied. It was a hushing motion, one that he understood. Milan set little store in facial expressions, as was obvious by the mask he wore. It made him think more about his hands, the positioning of his legs and torso, whether his spine was straightened or not, the way he walked, rather than a particular twist of his nose or a nasty curl to his lip.
He stopped his knife twirling, understanding the silent "hush your nervous habits" command. There were few people Milan would obey -- Balmunk had proven himself to be one such person, time and time again. "I have not heard such a rumour," Milan replied thoughtfully. "Do you believe it is true, or merely talk?"
Balmunk drew his finger away, instead motioning Milan to follow him with a gentle gesture as he strode out of the brightly colored fabric of their tents and into the city, offering his charming smile to those he passed.
"A slight of hand, nothing more, a bland one, but well played. The last town was loud about their rumored ring, but this one, while nearby, is quiet," he gestured to the citizens as they passed, "Suspicious? I believe this is the silent hand that holds the trick."
He did not even bother to check with his sisters; they were doing fine without him, he was certain, and if they were not, they would pay the price later. They knew what to do; they always had known, and always would.
Milan did not even bother to be particularly genial with passers-by, instead concentrating solely on the ringmaster. "What do you suggest?" Milan inquired quietly, looking at the people rather than Balmunk himself. "As you say, it may be worth looking into."
"The show will run for three nights, grander each one, until finally?" Balmunk claps his hands together like a thunderclap, keeping them together before slowly opening them to reveal the petite form of a dove curled between his hands and setting it free.
"The last night will be the night no one in this town escapes alive until the ring is in our palms. A warning, perhaps, to those who might feel they should attempt the same."
Milan watched the magician's antics. He was always impressed by magic, by illusions, though he hardly ever expressed these opinions, particularly not to Balmunk himself. Little things seemed to happen everywhere; Milan had noticed that his sisters truly did disappear into the tent wall to dissolve into targets, and that, unlike before, they were not the ones changing the directions of his knives. The weapons did it by themselves, by Milan's wishes -- and he could not help but wonder if it was the atmosphere of the circus in general, or a gift in the form of slight magical abilities from Balmunk himself.
"I believe this is a wise course of action," he said agreeably. hiding his knife back in his sleeve. "Though I suggest keeping the most dangerous of the troupe until the very end. I, for instance, should not be playing with knives prior to the night of the massacre -- suspicions may be aroused." His eyes narrowed, and it seemed like, underneath that white cloth that hid his mouth from view, he might have been smiling.
"Of course," Balmunk agreed with a more than congenial smile. The secrets of his circus were things to be revealed in due time. Until then, he could refrain from the happy accidents that trailed after his circus wherever they went.
"You will be in the city during our performances, paying close attention to those who are not at them, for some reason," Balmunk glanced over his shoulder, giving Milan a knowing look.
Milan bowed his head in acquiescence. "Alone?" he inquired. It would be, admittedly, much simpler to keep an eye out on his own. He would have to uncover his face, but he had nothing to hide. His mask was not there to hide disfigurements, but to focus attention elsewhere. It would not be much trouble to go without it for a few nights.
He finally turned to Balmunk. "You truly have a strong gut feeling that one exists here, then?"
"My sense as a performer tells me so," Balmunk laughs, "Those who came in search of the ring wouldn't pay attention to such a tiny voice of a rumor when a much flashier one stood in its way."
"The distraction protects this town quite nicely, giving the ring a particularly potent camouflage. It's practically elementary, Midge."
Milan did not acknowledge the other man's words for a few minutes, instead watching as the sun began to set, the colours blurring into one another until they became interchangeable.
"Yes," he said quietly. "I agree with this course of action, although you know very well that you do not need my approval for any plans you have." And Balmunk did -- Milan was beneath him, after all.
"Khorosho!" Balmunk exclaimed, encouragingly, knowing full and well that his consulting with Midge was a courtesy, set in place to give the assistant ringleader a look into what he intended, perhaps even to voice his few opinions on the matter. He was, after all, one of the few the criminal trusted with his precious plans.
"The preparations have been set, then! And the stage is waiting for our show," the fire in his eyes was undeniable, "Shall we open the curtains with a bang?"
The courtesy was not lost on Milan, and he appreciated the fact that he was deemed crucial enough to Balmunk's troupe to be told such important information. His opinions were valued, whether Balmunk agreed with them or not.
Milan's smile was almost visible, teeth bared, his vibrant green eyes becoming slits. Even with the cloth on his face, there was no mistaking the viciousness and the sadistic pleasure and anticipation that made his life worth living.
"With a bang," he repeated with finality resounding in each, perfectly enunciated word. "And it will end similarly."
Characters: Balmunk (shinigamikender), Milan (kendraxplague)
Timeline: Three months before meeting Gamma.
Rating: PG
Summary: The circus needs a new audience; Milan and Balmunk discuss who it will be.
The show was closing down for the night, the smell of carnival delights and the cheap scents of the sawdust and gasoline that made their lives so much easier. Balmunk lifted his hat, smoothing back sleek black hair with a gloved hand.
As he returned the top hat to its original place, he glanced over the performers of his deadly circus, lips curving slightly as he watched them practice their respective arts before his dark eyes fixed on one out of their number.
"Midge, if you will?" he called to get the other's attention.
Milan glanced up at the familiar voice, calling above all the others. "Finish up here," he told his sisters with the air of one very used to being obeyed.
"Of course, big brother~," the girls chorused, stepping out of his way. He did not acknowledge him past that -- they knew what was expected of them.
"You called?" he inquired, head tilted at Balmunk. His body language, as always, was perfectly executed; he managed to look both interested and bored at the same time, though the latter was only to ensure that he did not appear over-eager to do Balmunk's bidding.
That impeccable control was what allowed Milan to rise so far in the ranks, his cool efficiency making him an intriguing rival and companion for the sadist of a ringmaster. Balmunk gave the other a gentle smile, turning his top hat to a sharp angle for the effect.
"Indeed, I did," Balmunk replied with some flourish to his words, "For the show has been arranged. All that's left now is to decide on the audience, I believe."
Milan understood the question; he understood that it did not mean "Who will enjoy us most?" but rather "Who shall we kill next?"
He twirled a knife around in his hand thoughtfully, a habit of his that clearly meant he was thinking. "Personally, I have no feelings one way or another." He arched both eyebrows, making eye contact with the ringmaster.
"Do you?"
Balmunk's finger met the knife's edge with an almost gentle tap like a finger to his lips. However, despite the dangerous, his eyes fixed neatly on the other's, as if daring Milan to drive the knife through the rest of the way.
"There's rumor of another ring drifting about, Midge," Balmunk murmured, "I'd be interested in following that."
The knife-thrower paused in his twirling when the light pressure was applied. It was a hushing motion, one that he understood. Milan set little store in facial expressions, as was obvious by the mask he wore. It made him think more about his hands, the positioning of his legs and torso, whether his spine was straightened or not, the way he walked, rather than a particular twist of his nose or a nasty curl to his lip.
He stopped his knife twirling, understanding the silent "hush your nervous habits" command. There were few people Milan would obey -- Balmunk had proven himself to be one such person, time and time again. "I have not heard such a rumour," Milan replied thoughtfully. "Do you believe it is true, or merely talk?"
Balmunk drew his finger away, instead motioning Milan to follow him with a gentle gesture as he strode out of the brightly colored fabric of their tents and into the city, offering his charming smile to those he passed.
"A slight of hand, nothing more, a bland one, but well played. The last town was loud about their rumored ring, but this one, while nearby, is quiet," he gestured to the citizens as they passed, "Suspicious? I believe this is the silent hand that holds the trick."
He did not even bother to check with his sisters; they were doing fine without him, he was certain, and if they were not, they would pay the price later. They knew what to do; they always had known, and always would.
Milan did not even bother to be particularly genial with passers-by, instead concentrating solely on the ringmaster. "What do you suggest?" Milan inquired quietly, looking at the people rather than Balmunk himself. "As you say, it may be worth looking into."
"The show will run for three nights, grander each one, until finally?" Balmunk claps his hands together like a thunderclap, keeping them together before slowly opening them to reveal the petite form of a dove curled between his hands and setting it free.
"The last night will be the night no one in this town escapes alive until the ring is in our palms. A warning, perhaps, to those who might feel they should attempt the same."
Milan watched the magician's antics. He was always impressed by magic, by illusions, though he hardly ever expressed these opinions, particularly not to Balmunk himself. Little things seemed to happen everywhere; Milan had noticed that his sisters truly did disappear into the tent wall to dissolve into targets, and that, unlike before, they were not the ones changing the directions of his knives. The weapons did it by themselves, by Milan's wishes -- and he could not help but wonder if it was the atmosphere of the circus in general, or a gift in the form of slight magical abilities from Balmunk himself.
"I believe this is a wise course of action," he said agreeably. hiding his knife back in his sleeve. "Though I suggest keeping the most dangerous of the troupe until the very end. I, for instance, should not be playing with knives prior to the night of the massacre -- suspicions may be aroused." His eyes narrowed, and it seemed like, underneath that white cloth that hid his mouth from view, he might have been smiling.
"Of course," Balmunk agreed with a more than congenial smile. The secrets of his circus were things to be revealed in due time. Until then, he could refrain from the happy accidents that trailed after his circus wherever they went.
"You will be in the city during our performances, paying close attention to those who are not at them, for some reason," Balmunk glanced over his shoulder, giving Milan a knowing look.
Milan bowed his head in acquiescence. "Alone?" he inquired. It would be, admittedly, much simpler to keep an eye out on his own. He would have to uncover his face, but he had nothing to hide. His mask was not there to hide disfigurements, but to focus attention elsewhere. It would not be much trouble to go without it for a few nights.
He finally turned to Balmunk. "You truly have a strong gut feeling that one exists here, then?"
"My sense as a performer tells me so," Balmunk laughs, "Those who came in search of the ring wouldn't pay attention to such a tiny voice of a rumor when a much flashier one stood in its way."
"The distraction protects this town quite nicely, giving the ring a particularly potent camouflage. It's practically elementary, Midge."
Milan did not acknowledge the other man's words for a few minutes, instead watching as the sun began to set, the colours blurring into one another until they became interchangeable.
"Yes," he said quietly. "I agree with this course of action, although you know very well that you do not need my approval for any plans you have." And Balmunk did -- Milan was beneath him, after all.
"Khorosho!" Balmunk exclaimed, encouragingly, knowing full and well that his consulting with Midge was a courtesy, set in place to give the assistant ringleader a look into what he intended, perhaps even to voice his few opinions on the matter. He was, after all, one of the few the criminal trusted with his precious plans.
"The preparations have been set, then! And the stage is waiting for our show," the fire in his eyes was undeniable, "Shall we open the curtains with a bang?"
The courtesy was not lost on Milan, and he appreciated the fact that he was deemed crucial enough to Balmunk's troupe to be told such important information. His opinions were valued, whether Balmunk agreed with them or not.
Milan's smile was almost visible, teeth bared, his vibrant green eyes becoming slits. Even with the cloth on his face, there was no mistaking the viciousness and the sadistic pleasure and anticipation that made his life worth living.
"With a bang," he repeated with finality resounding in each, perfectly enunciated word. "And it will end similarly."