The ringmaster was very displeased to find him thriving in his absence. Coldly he ordered him up and all his new friends scattered instantly, Darian himself rising with a slow sideways glance for his captor that held more than a touch of disdain for the other's... what was it? Jealousy? Displeasure? What else had he expected Darian to do? He was insouciant, and as he fell into step besides Jean-Luc only his glittering burn kept him from seeming the sulking teenager called to heel by a too-stern parent.

Someone had made the man up to be a proper ringmaster in the meanwhile; never soft, he looked even more distant that before with his great leather coat and gleaming black eyes. Either his anger or his absence had made him curt. He marched Darian like an executioner leading a sacrifice in the center ring.

Darian for his part was dangerously silent, building up another vicious little fit of anger about being led about by the nose - clearly, still not headed for his wand - and he might have flared up like he had earlier in the tent if what happened next had not derailed him completely.

In the center of the big top stood an old elephant, and as they approached the rest of the performers made themselves scarce. Jean-Luc urged him forward by a light touch on his back, and the woman standing next to the animal motioned him to come close. ”Come here, you can touch her here.” Darian was utterly bewildered. He stroked the elephant gently on the shoulder, marveling at her alien texture, the sweetness in her beautiful dark eyes, but also feeling intensely the surreality of the scene. He glanced back at Jean-Luc, and the look on his face showed him disarmed. "What do you want from me?" he asked, his capacity for taking strange things in stride stretched by the serene grace of the five ton animal shifting quiescently under his palm. Was the man doing this because earlier Darian had said he'd liked them? That had been - not a joke, but inconsequential, the heat of the moment, sure, fine, he liked elephants, whatever, but it seemed so strange for Jean-Luc to try to win him over now.

As the scene before him unfolded Jean-Luc didn’t react. He stood as stoic and as distant as the shadows on the wall, and watched it with a rather bored expression. If the sight of the boy moved him, it made little effort to be revealed on his face.

Elsa had not been an attempt to win him over, but of a deal struck—and a promise made with himself that he would at least give Darian this before releasing him to the world that would never appreciate him as he deserved.

’What do you want from me?’ The question one that he’d asked himself an hour before Darian woke, watching him sleep in wonderment as to what it was he thought he was even doing. What purpose had it been to take a man that he long since suspected to not be the victim of their pursuit.

“Nothing.” He answered blankly, eyes dead and mouth disapproving of the words that threatened to escape, “I want nothing from you.”

In the distant entrance little dancers watched with curiosity that was too precious to ever waste, and Darian’s admirers were among them. Little rumors flew of the man and his tailor hands, and how he flipped Jean-Luc’s world around. But disbelieving eyes peered through the darkness unable to see any sort of change in him.

“You are simply a victim of false information, Darian Morgan, a part you play very well,” His words slipped on the edge of cruelty, but he didn’t speak them so. “But, I could see his interest in you, and I would advise you to take better precautions in your future endeavors.”

From the breast pocket of his coat he withdrew Darian’s wand, holding it out for Elsa to take. Part of her routine had her carry a baton through the streets during parade, and she did so with Darian’s wand with pride. Her old and gentle eyes seeming happy and kind, but even this could not phase the man’s cold shoulder.

"Now get out."

Darian pressed warmly against the elephant's side, inexpressibly appeased by her dear delivery to him of his wand. His hands stroked the familiar wood with hunger. His breathe left him, and he suddenly turned and kissed Elsa's trunk where she bumped it, curious, against his shoulder. Her mouth opened in a happy v, pleased by the praise. He smiled up at her in thanks.

His attention returned shortly to Jean-Luc. He watched the older man, feeling complete again, in control. His dark eyes kindled with some subtle triumphal glint which was mischievous, or malicious, take your pick. The whip-flash of his white teeth as he laughed silently was wild; his lips peeled apart in a satisfied purr.

"Gladly."

He bowed, long and low, like the proverbial jester. The loose yellow sleeves of his robe touched the ground. For his host who had been once so accommodating and now so white-jawed terse, he made up for all the courtly cordiality Jean-Luc was lacking. The touch under Jean-Luc's waist which had lurked quietly in waiting now flared to life, a painful and inexorable tightening that would send any man to his knees. Darian smiled and smiled as it winched closer to the threat he'd been previously unable to deliver. Oh, he was completely fearless now, he was delirious with relief. He touched two fingers to his mouth and blew Jean-Luc a kiss which seared its way across his cheek. The crack of Apparition echoed in the tent. With it went the pressure, the pain, everything. He was gone.