Like several of his fellow performers, Sigmund had made a prompt beeline for his tent after the performance, weaving past the prying gazes of some of the circus’ more...enthusiastic fans, and into the prying gazes of the little guests he happened to share his makeshift home with. As one would likely expect from the so-called “Spider King”, the corners of his tent were line with dozens of arachnids of varying species. Sigmund frowned a little upon seeing one of his examination tables covered with a batch of crab spiders, and let out a whistle, watching as they immediately scampered off and out of sight at the command. 

[color=#989898]“Alright,”[/color] he said, quickly changing out the table’s paper covering before giving it a pat. [color=#989898]“You can come in, now.”[/color] 

With clear hesitance, a young woman stepped through the tent’s curtains, flinching a bit as a tarantula ran past her foot and dove beneath a chair. She was one of the newcomers to the circus- a diver, maybe- and still not quite used to the...state of the local infirmary, to say the least. Sigmund didn’t blame her. It had taken him a while to get used to all the legs himself, after all. 

Once she was properly seated on the examination table, he pulled on a pair of gloves, gesturing to her side. [color=#989898]“Lift that for me, please.”[/color]

[b]“Oh- oh, right. Sorry.”[/b] The girl, Lisa, cast one last wary glance to the corners of the tent before pulling up her shirt to just below her ribcage. A long, vicious wound was clearly visible against her skin, lined with neat stitches. Giving her a nod of thanks, Sigmund leaned in, gently laying his fingers just below the wound. 

[color=#989898]“It’s a bit swollen,”[/color] he murmured, [color=#989898]“but the wound itself seems to be healing fine. Have you noticed any discharge? Anything abnormal?”[/color]

[b]“I don’t...think so, no.”[/b]

[color=#989898]“Have you been dressing it like I showed you?”[/color]

The response to that particular question was silence. Straightening up, Sigmund shook his head and had opened his mouth to speak again when he was cut off by the ruffle of feathers and an alarmed bird cry. Squawking furiously, a pigeon bat its way into the tent, spiders dripping from its feathers like water.

Well.

That didn’t bode well.

Sigmund quickly rushed to the shelf, and, scanning it, plucked a bottle and thrust it into Lisa’s hand. [color=#989898]“Take two of these per day, start dressing your wound. The last thing you want is an infection and sepsis. You can go now.”[/color]

He gave his best attempt at a smile for the poor girl before whistling again, freeing the poor bird of its assailants. It was strange, Sigmund thought. He would have thought that a pigeon lacked the requisite facial muscles to look infuriated, but it was openly glaring at him as it ruffled its feathers and slipped back out of the tent. Stripping his hands of gloves, Sigmund followed, allowing it to lead him. It was usually ravens that served as a guide around the circus, but a pigeon wasn’t too large of a shift to warrant surprise.

It had been some time since he had been called on a hunt, though. Perhaps it was a means of precaution after the circus’ recent, unfortunate loss, perhaps not. That was up to the ringleader himself to determine.

Approaching the tent of the man in question, Sigmund was greeted by the sight of several of his fellow performers lingering around the entrance, or, in some cases, inside with Parry. 

[color=#989898]“Evening,”[/color] he said simply, fishing a spider out from his hair and relocating it into his pocket. 

[color=#989898]“Should I ask why Mr. Magnus is waiting for us without a shirt on?”[/color]

[hr]

Petals.

Everywhere, there were petals. Stuck in her hair, clinging to her coat, somehow lodged in her shoe. Dawn paused in her way to her tent to shake some of them loose from her hat before continuing on her way, pleasantly greeting a few visitors who had decided to linger after the performance had ended. As the population of the world boomed, so did the crowds that the circus drew in, fattening them up with curious eyes and skeptical frowns. It was a good thing. The larger the crowd, the more kept out and safely away from the path of a Hunt. And besides- even in her age, performing still managed to stir a certain warmth in her chest. It brought back memories of a younger self.

Although, given how long it had taken for her to gather up all the anemone blossoms, and how large of a mess it left behind, it would likely be for the best to change some of the methods that her younger self had devised.

Bringing herself out of her little reverie, Dawn slipped into the privacy of her tent, putting a pot of coffee to boil and settling down among the cushions to wait, some gushy, ham-fisted novel appearing in her lap. She opened it, reading without reading. It was going to be a long night. 

It had been several weeks now since the death of Michael. She had known the young man distantly, had greeted him when they crossed paths, given information when requested. Hunted with him once or twice. Death was not an uncommon occurrence within the circus- not with so many among their numbers, and not with the neverending threat that daemons posed- but it was sobering nonetheless. No matter how long they had lived, no matter their power, they all were still very much mortal. The only thing they could do was prepare the best they could, put all they had into the fight, and hope for the best.

Dawn stood, book still in one hand, and went to pour herself a cup of coffee from the whining machine. She had begun to take deep swigs of the stuff, musing on whether she should try and use the hours to rework her performance or arrange her armory, when a gentle coo from outside caught her ear. Blinking owlishly, Dawn crossed the tent, and peeled them back to reveal a lone pigeon. Strange. As soon as it seemed satisfied that it had caught her attention, it took flight, heading off in the direction of the ringmaster’s tent. 

It was like that, then. Finishing off the last of her coffee (and mercilessly burning her throat in the process), she put the emptied mug down, shut off the lights, and snatched her hat from the ground, restoring it to its rightful place as she strode into the dark.

A large group of her coworkers had gathered in and around the tent, and Dawn gave them an amiable smile as she approached, bowing her head in greeting. [color=#B048B5]“Hello, everyone.”[/color] The hints of an accent dripped off her words, giving her voice an odd sort of cadence. [color=#B048B5]“It’s nice to see you all again.”[/color] Some among the group she hadn’t grown to know too well. Others, she did. The sentiment stood regardless. 


Dawn stepped inside the tent after the others, although she found herself pausing a moment upon seeing that Magnus was stark naked from the waist up within. Her brow rose in silent bewilderment, but she gave no comment, quickly regaining her composure. With one pale hand, she swept her hat off, pressing it against her chest. [color=#B048B5]“Good evening, Mr. Magnus.”[/color]

He was a friendly, if not somewhat eccentric man. Also very likely not human, but still. Friendly nonetheless. She stepped off to the side of the tent’s wall, allowing anyone still outside to enter without obstacle, and waited for their ringleader to speak.