[center][h3][color=#2eb8b8][b]O[/b][/color]z[/h3][hr][/center][sub][i]Greytry - Edge of the Circus[/i], Kingdom of Etrid | [@Sep][/sub]

[indent][indent]Ozymandias was walking about the very edge of the circus, his book no longer in hand but now stuff inside his satchel. Turned out the black beast [i]was[/i] being particularly fickle, though that had less to do with the beast and more about Oz's inability to keep his excitement under wraps. He tried his best to keep the urge buckled and strapped down but it oozed in droves off him and the animals, sensitive as they were, reacted to it appropriately. Humans were different, they felt it, he had [i]seen[/i] them, but their rational minds or bravado typically pushed them to ignore it. That was all the better for the Grim Jester and himself; his victims often left themselves wide open to him. 

Before he had realized it, he was amongst a crowd of people, animals, and odors. A tiger roared nearby, not too far, and some screaming or protesting had mingled in with the babbling rapture. It was much too loud but Oz had nearly perfected the art of seeming unbothered. His gaze flitted about him until he caught sight of man tossing a dark-skin woman over his shoulder. Her struggling groans reminded him of his last victim; it would be a month in three days. And that was pushing the killer in him a bit far. Maybe...

And then he felt the most devious part of him come alive. It brought a sparkle to the detached calm in his eyes. It would be quick, he'd decided, cause he had everything he needed. His hand found the mask in his satchel. The crowd of people were manifesting a taste of chaos itself. People were dipping in and out of eyesight; large animals displaced noise here and there. Oz paused and through a shimmer of glass-like dust a knife formed in the palm of his hand. He smiled once more and with a deft hand, he flipped the tip onto his index finger. Conditions had been set upon creation; once the knife had stopped moving it was to vanish. The Mask often appeared on his face when he felt he could get away with it; the jester's face after all was divine. The joyous smile and malicious eyes were his soul's reflection.

[color=#2eb8b8][i]At worst, the girl will be blamed. At best, she will be saved. Your life hangs in the hands of chance.[/i][/color] A grave laughter bounced in his head. The throw was quick, precise, strong. He had threw it through the opening sitting between three passing circus hands. It sliced through, a whisper on the wind as it aimed for the man's cranium. If it missed, he figured another try wouldn't hurt too much.[/indent][/indent]