Information


Bleakly has a minion!

Thunderous War the Nightstare




Bleakly
Legacy Name: Bleakly


The Chibi Experiment #76166
Owner: Reaper

Age: 9 years, 11 months, 3 weeks

Born: November 2nd, 2010

Adopted: 9 years, 11 months, 3 weeks ago

Adopted: November 2nd, 2010

Statistics


  • Level: 44
     
  • Strength: 110
     
  • Defense: 101
     
  • Speed: 70
     
  • Health: 100
     
  • HP: 100/100
     
  • Intelligence: 56
     
  • Books Read: 54
  • Food Eaten: 0
  • Job: Scuba Instructor





His teeth are too sharp, eyes an unnatural shade of violet with a disarming glow to them. There’s a heavy lining of black that drips down beneath them, looking for all the world like creatively applied eyeliner though it isn’t. He can make it fade back into his skin, but he can’t do anything about the eyes or teeth. When the Circus makes its way to a new town, the locals rightly assume he’s part of it, though they think he’s a member of the sideshow instead of the one in charge. Mostly in charge. Enough in charge, anyhow. He doesn’t bother correcting them, doesn’t see the point. He tries to avoid leaving the Circus anyhow, prefers to stay within its borders unless absolutely necessary.

He’d made a run earlier, had to restock some of their more mundane supplies, and it had felt wrong to hide his marks again, to try to pretend at normal. He could usually get one of the others to do it, but he’d needed to lay the trail today. The Circus hadn’t even intended to stop here for a show, was merely resting, hidden from sight. But he could feel the presence of someone special as soon as they settled. He’d told the others that they’d be doing a show after all, would need to set up for a few nights, and received a lot of grumbles and a reminder that they didn’t have enough concessions for that. So he’d gone to town, collected what they needed, left some flyers in a few conspicuous places.

And, of course, on his way back he let the magic drip and dribble from him, steps winding on a lesser used road as he laid the trail. They didn’t call him The Magician for nothing, after all. The others could feel it when he returned, eyes sparking with interest and a new sense of excitement for the days ahead. They loved performing, but there was a pattern and a plan to it - they didn’t enjoy breaking from routine. Not unless there was a very good reason, and if he was leaving trails to entice someone specific, then there was definitely a good reason for putting on the show.

He dresses with care, making sure every strap and button is in place, his hat drawn low to shadow his eyes. The others joke and tease, but he knows it’s all in good fun. The Circus needs new life, he’s trying to ensnare them some. It’s even better when night falls and the lights go on, eerie green and glowing. It casts them all in shadows, and they can feel the woman approaching - they can feel her trepidation soon, but they’d all been in her shoes once before so they don’t worry. They’ll stay as long as they must to add to their rank. He goes to fetch her, enjoying the way she fights her instincts to get a closer look. When she asks what this place is, he can’t help but give her the truth, though it’s not what is printed on the flyers for the townsfolk.

“Welcome to the Wild Circus.” His words curl and tantalize, a little push of power behind them as he bows, sweeping his hat down until the tips of the feathers brush the grass, magic sparkling at the contact and sending a small shower of violet lights. He recenters the hat on his head and then brandishes his hand in a flourish, asking for hers in return. It only smarts a little when she merely glances at it before stepping forward toward the entrance.

“Interesting name, not what it says on your sign.” She tilts her chin toward the marqueed entryway, brows raised a bit in question. He knows what it says, Circus of the Fantasitcal, thinks it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever seen honestly - but he just shrugs his shoulders.

“Can’t go letting the mundanes in on all our secrets can we. Names have power, puppy, and we don’t give ours out to just anybody.” She scoffs but a genuine smile flashes across her face and she resumes walking to the ticket booth. He shadows her, nodding his head to Clark and watching him pass the woman a ticket without accepting her payment.

“Thanks. So, what’s your name?”

“You can call me The Magician - everybody does. And you, puppy?”

“You can keep calling me that, names have power after all.”

“Touché.”



art by Infected Colors

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