[hider=Sigmund Iakovou/Pholcus] [center]True Name:
Sigmund Iakovou

A Stage Name
Pholcus, the Spider King

An Image:
[img]https://i.imgur.com/nhFuky2.png[/img]

The Date One Joined the Circus:
March 18th, 1937

An Act One Performs when not on the combat team:
In the face of feats such as pyrokinesis and future-sight, Sigmund’s power tends to stand out due to its sheer oddity: the control and command over spiders. As a direct result, his act, when pressed into it, largely consists of coaxing the creatures into performing like trained staged animals. 
Sigmund’s compulsion is the inability to tell a lie- even a kind or reassuring one. This leads him to be somewhat vague in his conversations with others, or, in some cases, incredibly blunt. 

Why One Joined the Circus:
Sigmund joined the circus in a last, desperate attempt to save his life. His work had lead him to become infected with polio, and as his muscles withered away, he feared the same terrible death that had taken many of his patients. When the ringmaster found him, he accepted the contract without hesitation- practically begging for it to be completed as soon as possible.

A Biography
Sigmund Iakavou was born in an era of chaos and growth for the common man. His family was not particularly wealthy, although his father and older brothers working away in the factories allowed them to stay above the threat of starvation. He and his family had a rather strained relationship- largely based on the fact that he had been born with albinism- and, instead of joining them in the factories, Sigmund chose to pursue education in hopes of becoming a doctor. He excelled in his studies, and soon came to work as the assistant to a notable surgeon within his city. What pay he garnered from the work was very little- the War and the Great Depression that followed had taken a severe toll- but he found his calling in attending to the poorly. 

Unfortunately, having worked so closely with the ill, he soon found himself joining them. Polio was at an all time high, and, as the months ticked by, Sigmund was further swallowed by the disease. His legs lacked the muscle that let them move, and he spent most of his time in bed, unable to do much else. Death was on his mind more often than not in those days, and he feared the terrible decline so many of his patients had fallen to. 

And then the Ringmaster came calling. 

In a haze of fear and fever, Sigmund cast aside his concerns for his mortal soul, and signed himself into the service of of Mr. Magnus. Many years have passed since then, and today the young doctor is often found toiling away over his most extraordinary patients yet, or preparing an assortment of poisons derived from his new, eight-legged companions. 

A Connection
Despite having contracted to join a demon-hunting circus, Sigmund holds little interest in performing. Instead, he chooses to serve as a sort of medic for his fellow carnies- stitching up wounds, prescribing medication, and treating the sort of afflictions that would be hard to explain at a regular hospital. The corners of his tent are packed with spiders lounging in their webs, and the man himself is rather brisk, but he’s very good at what he does regardless. 

The Audition
“Wolf spiders. If you’re a an arachnologist, you probably know it by another name- [i]lycosidae[/i]- but I’ve always felt that saying ‘wolf’ and ‘spider’ in the same sentence tends to catch the ear much better.”

The man strolled in idle, absent circles around the tent as he spoke, barely made audible by the microphone in his hand. Compared to some of the other performers, he was almost remarkable in how [i]un[/i]remarkable he appeared. Instead of a merrily-colored costume, he wore a simple pair of slacks and button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow. Instead of getting right to the thick of it, or even trying to garner some kind of reaction from the crowd, he practically droned into his mic- more akin to a decrepit trig professor than a carnie. The only thing that particularly stood out about him was his look- paper white hair, red eyes. An albino.

“They aren’t necessarily deadly, unless you happen to be allergic to its venom. It won’t be pleasant, but it won’t kill you. Still.” His eyes roved over the crowd, not landing on anyone in particular. “If someone was bitten by ten, twenty, the results wouldn’t be something pretty.” He shrugged, brushing some of his hair out of his face before gesturing over to the side of the tent. “Bring them in.”

Another performer walked into view, wheeling a dark brown box into the center of the stage. 

It took a few minutes before most of the crowd realized that the box was transparent. 

The contents twitched and writhed.

“I didn’t get a chance to count them all,” Pholcus said, ignoring the gasps and whispers that buzzed around him. “If I had to guess, there’s at least thirty in there. I didn’t want to crowd them too much.” He placed a hand upon the crate’s lid, then glanced up.

“If you have arachnophobia, then I really don’t know why you’re still here.”

With that, he flipped the lid open, and placed both hands upon the fur-covered mass within. It took only a matter of moments before his arms were swarmed, the spiders charging up his chest and shoulders in a frenzy. A spot of brown had begun to crawl lazily across his cheek as Pholcus lifted the mic again, completely unfazed.

“Well, would you look at that? They aren’t biting me after all.” He paused, carefully plucking a particularly curious spider from his bottom lip and bringing it to the safety of his shoulder. “That’s probably a surprise.” Pholcus let out a whistle, and the spiders travelled back to his arms as he walked, approaching some of the braver-looking fellows that made up the audience. “If you’d like, you can pet them. Just be gentle- if anyone is going to be killed in this tent, it would be them.” It was only when a few, hesitant hands reached out that the man smiled- a crooked, somewhat awkward grin- for the first time since the performance had begun. He murmured words of encouragement as an older woman pat one of the larger of the spiders, even going so far as to let her hold it for a minute before moving on. 

After a few laps around the tent, Pholcus returned to the box, thrusting his hand inside and whistling again. The spiders on his body seemed to stop all at once, then squirmed their way off his body and back into their cage- some creeping from beneath his shirt, others popping out of his pockets or his tangle of pale hair. Once all the spiders were accounted for, he neatly sealed the lid, turned to the crowd, and bowed. Screams of applause filled the air.

Or just screams in general. 

Neither was overly unexpected of a reaction. 
[/center]
[/hider]

[hider=Dawn/The Cryptic Conjurer][center]
A True Name:
Dawn Memoli

A Stage Name
The Cryptic Conjurer

[img]http://fotos.fotoflexer.com/65c0e40afedaf5449300c2b9d75047b6.jpg[/img]

The Date One Joined the Circus 
December 13th, 1855

An Act One Performs when not on the combat team:
Dawn is a magician with the schtick of making things disappear and reappear at will, or “changing” things into others- cards, guns, herself. Her power is the access to a sort of hammerspace, allowing her to store items within and draw them out as she pleases for performances and hunts alike. In addition, she can also pull herself into this space for a short period, effectively using it as a means of teleportation if necessary. She cannot bring anything larger than herself into her hammerspace, however, and she can’t bring any other living creature in besides herself. 
Her Compulsion is that, if someone happens to be speaking to her, she must stay and listen until they have finished, or have been made to stop talking. 
Seeing as she has been part of the circus for over a hundred years now, this has given her the patience of a saint. 

Why One Joined the Circus:
Dawn joined in hopes of protecting those who needed it, having caught sight of members fighting off a daemon in the streets near her house (and, as she has admitted in her later years, to have a sense of purpose in life). She tailed them back to the circus, and, after doing a bit of digging, approached the ringmaster. She asked her questions, had what could be answered answered, and, after giving it some thought, chose to forge a contract with him- her side of the bargain being that he would erase the memories of her family, not wishing for them to grieve her disappearance. 

A Biography
The youngest child of the Memoli family, Dawn was born the child of a European native and his American-immigrated wife. She grew up in the city of Lucca, Italy, years before Italy had come to exist, and lived in a decently well-off household for the times. For most of her childhood, the focus of her parents was directed onto her brother- the only son- but after he slept his way out of their graces and fathered a child out of wedlock, their eyes shifted to Dawn. In an effort to maintain their reputation after the little scandal, they set themselves to grooming her into a “respectable” lady. On the surface, Dawn appeared content with the decision, although she privately taught herself how to read and developed a dangerous interest in the matters of the world. Eventually, the Memolis were able to conceive another son after years of trying, and much of the pressure that had been upon her tapered off once again. While she doted on her new brother, the relationship between Dawn and her parents became somewhat distant, if not a bit strained due to a gradual shift of ideologies. 

One day, a circus came to the city- boasting all sorts of lights and attractions and mischiefs. Dawn’s family left to attend, leaving her to her own devices in the house. Not long after they had gone, however, she was drawn from the house by the sounds of shouts and cries of alarm. Concealing herself in the shadows of the alley, Dawn found herself watching a confrontation between a group of oddly-dressed individuals- ones that wielded fire, ice, and the very winds themselves at their fingertips- and a disturbing creature. Eventually, the troupe managed to take down the daemon, and left to return to wherever they had came.

They didn’t go alone, however. Dawn was unable to simply brush off what she had seen, and decided to tail the group, determined to seek out answers. She followed them to the very same circus her family had decided to visit, and approached the ringmaster, politely explaining her reason for her arrival. After receiving as much of an explanation as she could gain, Dawn asked if she could join as well. She contracted with him that night, her wish being that her family would forget about her. 

Throughout the years that she has been with the circus, Dawn has thrown herself into her work, hunting down daemons and working as one of the intel hunters of the circus when not performing- through research or otherwise. 

Although, lately, she has seemed a bit more sober than before. Bothered. 

A Connection
Dawn tends to be a fairly amiable presence around the circus, if not a bit formal and soft-spoken. She’s willing to offer advice to those who ask for it, and is typically willing to set aside the time if someone wishes to speak with her- partly because her contract doesn’t allow her much choice otherwise. When not otherwise preoccupied, Dawn will often be brushing up her knowledge on whatever city the circus is attending at the moment, making her a good source of information to those in need of it. 
She can occasionally be found in Sigmund’s tent, getting a refill on her pill prescription. The two are on decent enough terms, although they’re hardly close. 

The Audition
The “Cryptic Conjurer”, Harley thought, was shorter than her name was long. 

She was a wisp of a woman, all dark hair and pale skin and gloomy eyes as she took center stage, waving up at the audience with one hand. The fact that she was all dolled up in black- save for the little red flower-brooch-thing pinned to her lapel- didn’t do her too much favor when it came to having a stage presence.  As Harley idly thumbed the cigarettes in her pocket (at the ringleader’s announcement, she had quickly snuffed her old one out, grinding it into the stand with her heel), the Conjurer clapped her hands together, then drew them apart to reveal-

Harley leaned forward, squinting. In what had earlier been completely empty hands, there was now a large wad of fabric- tablecloth or something. The woman unravelled it with deft movements, gave it a little shake to show that nothing was inside, and tossed it over the empty table beside her. 

Upon pulling it away, she revealed a set of neatly arranged glass bottles, and one single revolver, metal winking in the spotlight. The audience clapped politely, although it was pretty obvious that they weren’t too impressed by the little trick. Hell, Harley herself wasn’t, either. Compared to the chick who burned herself nude, or that floating-teleport guy, it was a bit less...much. The magician didn’t seem unfazed by the lack of response, however, instead grabbing the gun from the table in one hand, and several bottles in the other. Smiling, she tossed the latter into the air, and shot each bottle before they had completed their descent. Shards of colored glass rained down upon her, and CC lifted her hands to catch them, seemingly oblivious to the threat they held. 

Her hands, which just so happened to be glowing with a pale light. 

There was a flash of light, and when it faded, all the fragments had...vanished. The Conjurer took a moment to dust herself off, holding out her palms to show that they were empty, then rolling down her sleeves. No secrets there. Once she was satisfied that the audience had seen, she threw up her arm, as if throwing an invisible ball- only for thousands of violet petals to shoot out from her fingers, raining down from the tent’s roof. 

Harley reached out, catching one, then ran it between her finger and thumb. Anemone blossoms. She looked up to see the Conjurer seemingly slip her revolver into her hand- not picking up, but pushing it through like if her hand wasn’t there in the first place- then bow deeply before unceremoniously slipping off stage and out of sight, petals fluttering behind her before coming to a still. 
[/center][/hider]