Three Ring (Gen, PG13)
Title Three Ring
Author Brutti ma buoni
Pairing/Characters Ensemble gen (Xander, Spike, Willow, Drusilla, Illyria, Darla, Angel)
Rating PG13
Words 1700
Prompt AU: circus; waddiwasiwitch gave me Illyria and Drusilla together, though probably not intended to be in this context
Setting pre-series, could almost be within a twisted canon if not for Illyria. It definitely doesn’t have to be read as all-human, though you can do if you like
“Just, don’t look at her too closely,” says the spooky British guy. His words drop, lead-heavy and pregnant with threat. Xander and Willow huddle a little deeper into their parkas (because the circus is cold, unreasonably unlikely cold for southern California, even if it is January), and ponder on how this school visit isn’t going even a little bit the way they expected.
It’s supposed to be the cool project, the fun part, before they move on to high school and work gets truly serious. Last year, the class ahead studied indigenous cultures, and spent a week living like the Chumash. A couple of kids got bitten, a couple got bizarre rashes of no known origin. Xander assumes that the school authorities were spooked, though the junior classmen were deeply impressed. Either way, when it came to their turn, Xander’s class was going to do a project on circus folk. Xander, among many others, felt a little let down.
But it has been fun, in a weird way, combining a whole lot of unusual phys ed with history and literature and art. Even some science, looking at how different acts can be achieved within the limitations of gravity and human biology. Willow and other math geeks have been working on a set of accounts for a touring company, one that has to feed animals and pitch tents in new places every week, and find space for dozens of staff to sleep. Complex enough to plan that the basicness of the math hasn’t bored Willow too badly.
And now, they’re here. Just for a tour, and for one single night, each group will stay with the circus and learn its routines.
Which was fine. Better than fine, it seemed, looked at from the normality and security of Sunnydale Junior High. Perilously like something other than schoolwork. Xander, obviously, was a teensy little bit scared that he might run and hide from the clowns like a big wussy crybaby, but Circus Aurelius wasn’t that kind of classic setup, and the posters didn’t give him the heebie-jeebies at all.
Now, they are here. Xander keeps repeating that to himself. He’s not sure why. Maybe because he can’t quite believe that this is real; or that he, ordinary teen that he is, can possibly be seeing this. Especially not with his schoolteachers’ permission. Ever since Spike, the ringmaster, greeted them and took them to see the animals, Xander has been pinching himself, exchanging silent wild glances with Willow, and generally, he suspects, projecting a massive what the fuck out at the world.
Spike is short, bleach blonde, heavily made up in a punky kind of way, and wears a leather coat in place of a typical ringmaster costume. He also carries a bullwhip, which is more traditional, but also disturbing, when you see it close to.
He took them first to see the empty big top, where the acrobatic apparatus was all set out. It was poised, waiting to be brought to life. A little spooky if you were so minded, but a group of ten teenage schoolkids didn’t contribute to any eeriness that might have been lurking. Then the horses, and that was no problem. Horses weren’t exactly commonplace, but they were known. They were safe, for a certain value of quadrupedal fretfulness. It’s since that point that the circus has departed from what Xander expected. “The other animals,” said Spike, with a jerk of his chin, and they walked into another area. Two cages, not comforting wooden stable furnishings. And inside…
Xander remembers Willow gasping, “They’re people!” And the way Spike tilted his head, catching his tongue between his teeth, looking at her with challenge. As if he would say, “Well, obviously. What are you going to do about it?” Except he never said the words.
The other animals were a man and a woman. The man, chained by his neck, roared and howled at them as they passed. The woman, sinuous and threatening, hissed through the bars of her cage. Her face was… wrong… too much brow ridge, eyes seeming yellow in the low light.
“We’re not allowed lions, these days,” said Spike as they left the cage room. As if that were the only thing that needed to be explained. They are staying the night here, and Xander can’t help but wonder whether they’ll see the lion people over breakfast, talking about the ball game and the stock market, or whether they stay chained, caged, all night and all day, fed hunks of meat when Spike remembers… No, that can’t be right. Can’t be true that people live like that, in a circus that obeys the animal cruelty laws. It’s crazy.
Now they’re in another part of the circus grounds, and Spike is taking them to see the mind reader. “Just don’t look at her too closely,” says Spike, and Xander thinks, distantly, that two hours ago he would have seen that as one of those classic circus tells, that there’s trickery going on and the audience is to be scared into overlooking it. Now, after the lion woman and the way she roared hot-breathed onto Xander’s cheek when he strayed too close to her cage… now Xander has no idea what he thinks.
The mind reader is in a tent, not a cage, and Xander feels better because of that. Until he looks too closely at her, and her eyes hold his with the power of magnets or glue or- He doesn’t know. Something powerful, compelling him to stay, still and gaping, awaiting whatever she chooses to do to him.
“What do we have here… what have you brought me, Spike,” she croons, stretching a hand out for the ringmaster, who kisses it lightly. “You’ve brought me some lovely new souls, and a white knight among them. He’s a hero at heart, and a peasant on the surface, and which of those will win, pretty Spike?”
Spike’s voice sounds hollowly in Xander’s head, as his gaze remains fixed. “Well, kiddo, Drusilla’s taken a fancy to you. Which is unfortunate, for your personal safety, though she can give you a hell of a reading if you care to risk it. But I suspect your school would be depressingly pedestrian about their response, and I don’t want the headache. So I want you to take two slow steps backwards, towards me, and then when I say the word, skedaddle the hell out of here if you value your eyeballs.”
Xander is belatedly aware that they are alone, the three of them. He wonders how much time has passed for him, trapped in this gaze. His group must have skedaddled already, and he is suddenly desperate to join them. For a second, his feet won’t move, but Spike taps lightly at his left knee, and it’s enough to give Xander back his control. One step, two steps… run like hell, blundering his way out of the tent, leaving Spike behind. Trying to forget the sight of Drusilla, leaping forward, long red fingernails clawed and heading for Xander’s eyes.
Spike rejoins them after a few minutes. He looks ruffled, but not displeased, and lights a cigarette with an air that Xander thinks is either French or post-coital or both. “So, kids, I think we’ve all learned a valuable lesson here, right?”
The students stare back at him, dumbly. Spike sighs. “Namely? Well, firstly, psychic women aren’t too stable. And secondly, listen when your Uncle Spike tells you to be careful, fucking well PAY ATTENTION. Right?”
They nod. Almost as though he compels it.
“Awesome. Just one more act to meet, I think, and then you can re-sawdust the ring, have a bite of dinner, and cuddle up to sleep in the wagons. So be nice, kids, and enjoy the strongwoman. On no account challenge her to arm-wrestle you, okay?”
The strongwoman is in one of the wagons, which seems to be hers alone. At least, it’s painted with her name (Illyria) and nothing else. The splashy murals on the outside turn out to be pretty accurate depictions of what Illyria actually looks like, even on this quiet day between performances. She is mostly blue, clad in tight leather, and about the same height as Spike. Slight and quiet, with long blue-streaked hair. She does not look like a crazed muscle-fiend.
“Greetings,” she says, poker-faced, and lifts Willow over her head, keeping her supported with just one hand as she holds out her free hand for the other students to kiss. “Cease your squeaking,” she adds, looking up at Willow, who stops her protests like she has just been gagged.
“This is a trivial demonstration of my power,” says Illyria, looking bored. “Who wishes to join the red witch to increase the challenge?”
(This seems a little harsh on Willow, but Xander learned his lesson in the mind-reader’s tent, and lets someone else be grabbed and lifted to show off Illyria’s skills.)
“She can tow trucks with her teeth,” says Spike as they leave. “Wouldn’t ever think she was christened Winifred, would you?” Which is undeniable.
Xander is trying not to think about how much less spooky the classic clown circus option seems now. And also not think about bedding down amid this crew. As they walk back to the big top to start their manual labour, he hears a roaring coming from the cages. “Tch,” says Spike, irritated. “Somebody forgot to feed the puppy.”
“You, uh, you like this life?” asks Willow, a little later. She’s almost recovered from Illyria.
Spike looks surprised. Partly because Willow has been so silent it’s a little as if a squirrel suddenly started asking him anthropological questions. Partly because, apparently, he can’t think of what else he would ever want to do. “There’s no life like it, you know?”
Xander thinks about sawdust, economic realities, never having a real home, the cages, Drusilla’s claws, Spike’s eyeliner, the blue skin and red leather of Illyria’s costume. He nods, silently. He can certainly see that.
As they head off for food and bed, Spike adds, “Everyone? Just be aware. Don’t come down this end of the camp tonight. It’s not-“ He never does finish that sentence with any specifics. Xander is pretty glad.
****
Author Brutti ma buoni
Pairing/Characters Ensemble gen (Xander, Spike, Willow, Drusilla, Illyria, Darla, Angel)
Rating PG13
Words 1700
Prompt AU: circus; waddiwasiwitch gave me Illyria and Drusilla together, though probably not intended to be in this context
Setting pre-series, could almost be within a twisted canon if not for Illyria. It definitely doesn’t have to be read as all-human, though you can do if you like
“Just, don’t look at her too closely,” says the spooky British guy. His words drop, lead-heavy and pregnant with threat. Xander and Willow huddle a little deeper into their parkas (because the circus is cold, unreasonably unlikely cold for southern California, even if it is January), and ponder on how this school visit isn’t going even a little bit the way they expected.
It’s supposed to be the cool project, the fun part, before they move on to high school and work gets truly serious. Last year, the class ahead studied indigenous cultures, and spent a week living like the Chumash. A couple of kids got bitten, a couple got bizarre rashes of no known origin. Xander assumes that the school authorities were spooked, though the junior classmen were deeply impressed. Either way, when it came to their turn, Xander’s class was going to do a project on circus folk. Xander, among many others, felt a little let down.
But it has been fun, in a weird way, combining a whole lot of unusual phys ed with history and literature and art. Even some science, looking at how different acts can be achieved within the limitations of gravity and human biology. Willow and other math geeks have been working on a set of accounts for a touring company, one that has to feed animals and pitch tents in new places every week, and find space for dozens of staff to sleep. Complex enough to plan that the basicness of the math hasn’t bored Willow too badly.
And now, they’re here. Just for a tour, and for one single night, each group will stay with the circus and learn its routines.
Which was fine. Better than fine, it seemed, looked at from the normality and security of Sunnydale Junior High. Perilously like something other than schoolwork. Xander, obviously, was a teensy little bit scared that he might run and hide from the clowns like a big wussy crybaby, but Circus Aurelius wasn’t that kind of classic setup, and the posters didn’t give him the heebie-jeebies at all.
Now, they are here. Xander keeps repeating that to himself. He’s not sure why. Maybe because he can’t quite believe that this is real; or that he, ordinary teen that he is, can possibly be seeing this. Especially not with his schoolteachers’ permission. Ever since Spike, the ringmaster, greeted them and took them to see the animals, Xander has been pinching himself, exchanging silent wild glances with Willow, and generally, he suspects, projecting a massive what the fuck out at the world.
Spike is short, bleach blonde, heavily made up in a punky kind of way, and wears a leather coat in place of a typical ringmaster costume. He also carries a bullwhip, which is more traditional, but also disturbing, when you see it close to.
He took them first to see the empty big top, where the acrobatic apparatus was all set out. It was poised, waiting to be brought to life. A little spooky if you were so minded, but a group of ten teenage schoolkids didn’t contribute to any eeriness that might have been lurking. Then the horses, and that was no problem. Horses weren’t exactly commonplace, but they were known. They were safe, for a certain value of quadrupedal fretfulness. It’s since that point that the circus has departed from what Xander expected. “The other animals,” said Spike, with a jerk of his chin, and they walked into another area. Two cages, not comforting wooden stable furnishings. And inside…
Xander remembers Willow gasping, “They’re people!” And the way Spike tilted his head, catching his tongue between his teeth, looking at her with challenge. As if he would say, “Well, obviously. What are you going to do about it?” Except he never said the words.
The other animals were a man and a woman. The man, chained by his neck, roared and howled at them as they passed. The woman, sinuous and threatening, hissed through the bars of her cage. Her face was… wrong… too much brow ridge, eyes seeming yellow in the low light.
“We’re not allowed lions, these days,” said Spike as they left the cage room. As if that were the only thing that needed to be explained. They are staying the night here, and Xander can’t help but wonder whether they’ll see the lion people over breakfast, talking about the ball game and the stock market, or whether they stay chained, caged, all night and all day, fed hunks of meat when Spike remembers… No, that can’t be right. Can’t be true that people live like that, in a circus that obeys the animal cruelty laws. It’s crazy.
Now they’re in another part of the circus grounds, and Spike is taking them to see the mind reader. “Just don’t look at her too closely,” says Spike, and Xander thinks, distantly, that two hours ago he would have seen that as one of those classic circus tells, that there’s trickery going on and the audience is to be scared into overlooking it. Now, after the lion woman and the way she roared hot-breathed onto Xander’s cheek when he strayed too close to her cage… now Xander has no idea what he thinks.
The mind reader is in a tent, not a cage, and Xander feels better because of that. Until he looks too closely at her, and her eyes hold his with the power of magnets or glue or- He doesn’t know. Something powerful, compelling him to stay, still and gaping, awaiting whatever she chooses to do to him.
“What do we have here… what have you brought me, Spike,” she croons, stretching a hand out for the ringmaster, who kisses it lightly. “You’ve brought me some lovely new souls, and a white knight among them. He’s a hero at heart, and a peasant on the surface, and which of those will win, pretty Spike?”
Spike’s voice sounds hollowly in Xander’s head, as his gaze remains fixed. “Well, kiddo, Drusilla’s taken a fancy to you. Which is unfortunate, for your personal safety, though she can give you a hell of a reading if you care to risk it. But I suspect your school would be depressingly pedestrian about their response, and I don’t want the headache. So I want you to take two slow steps backwards, towards me, and then when I say the word, skedaddle the hell out of here if you value your eyeballs.”
Xander is belatedly aware that they are alone, the three of them. He wonders how much time has passed for him, trapped in this gaze. His group must have skedaddled already, and he is suddenly desperate to join them. For a second, his feet won’t move, but Spike taps lightly at his left knee, and it’s enough to give Xander back his control. One step, two steps… run like hell, blundering his way out of the tent, leaving Spike behind. Trying to forget the sight of Drusilla, leaping forward, long red fingernails clawed and heading for Xander’s eyes.
Spike rejoins them after a few minutes. He looks ruffled, but not displeased, and lights a cigarette with an air that Xander thinks is either French or post-coital or both. “So, kids, I think we’ve all learned a valuable lesson here, right?”
The students stare back at him, dumbly. Spike sighs. “Namely? Well, firstly, psychic women aren’t too stable. And secondly, listen when your Uncle Spike tells you to be careful, fucking well PAY ATTENTION. Right?”
They nod. Almost as though he compels it.
“Awesome. Just one more act to meet, I think, and then you can re-sawdust the ring, have a bite of dinner, and cuddle up to sleep in the wagons. So be nice, kids, and enjoy the strongwoman. On no account challenge her to arm-wrestle you, okay?”
The strongwoman is in one of the wagons, which seems to be hers alone. At least, it’s painted with her name (Illyria) and nothing else. The splashy murals on the outside turn out to be pretty accurate depictions of what Illyria actually looks like, even on this quiet day between performances. She is mostly blue, clad in tight leather, and about the same height as Spike. Slight and quiet, with long blue-streaked hair. She does not look like a crazed muscle-fiend.
“Greetings,” she says, poker-faced, and lifts Willow over her head, keeping her supported with just one hand as she holds out her free hand for the other students to kiss. “Cease your squeaking,” she adds, looking up at Willow, who stops her protests like she has just been gagged.
“This is a trivial demonstration of my power,” says Illyria, looking bored. “Who wishes to join the red witch to increase the challenge?”
(This seems a little harsh on Willow, but Xander learned his lesson in the mind-reader’s tent, and lets someone else be grabbed and lifted to show off Illyria’s skills.)
“She can tow trucks with her teeth,” says Spike as they leave. “Wouldn’t ever think she was christened Winifred, would you?” Which is undeniable.
Xander is trying not to think about how much less spooky the classic clown circus option seems now. And also not think about bedding down amid this crew. As they walk back to the big top to start their manual labour, he hears a roaring coming from the cages. “Tch,” says Spike, irritated. “Somebody forgot to feed the puppy.”
“You, uh, you like this life?” asks Willow, a little later. She’s almost recovered from Illyria.
Spike looks surprised. Partly because Willow has been so silent it’s a little as if a squirrel suddenly started asking him anthropological questions. Partly because, apparently, he can’t think of what else he would ever want to do. “There’s no life like it, you know?”
Xander thinks about sawdust, economic realities, never having a real home, the cages, Drusilla’s claws, Spike’s eyeliner, the blue skin and red leather of Illyria’s costume. He nods, silently. He can certainly see that.
As they head off for food and bed, Spike adds, “Everyone? Just be aware. Don’t come down this end of the camp tonight. It’s not-“ He never does finish that sentence with any specifics. Xander is pretty glad.
****