The evening was dark and grey, yet the sun laughed her way down the horizon while illuminating the underside of the dark clouds with little brushes of orange. The air was rather warm despite the little drizzle of rain that had plagued the day, but what bit of hope for an early spring was stolen by the bitter wind. And for this very reason the fires were already ablaze, casting eerie shadows across over the brick streets while the shows prepared for their nightly haunt. Wine ran like blood in the streets as laughter skipped over the stones, and in this wild world of the Underground it would only be a matter of hours before nearly ever sin could be scratched off the night's to-do list.

"Welcome, welcome, Good morning my children," A voice pulled from beneath the flashing lights, the devil's smile of a painted mask, and through the darkness like a ghost. "It is good to see you up so early," Jean-Luc touched the tip of one of his doll's faces, the woman smiled up at him and gaudy red lips whispered back his praise.

"But the night has just begun," She said against his skin, and only pouted when her advance was ignored,

"So it is, My Pet, and we have much to do, much to see, lives to ruin, and places to be." He turned on his Kingdom, made of broken glass and painted masks, and cast them a wicked dark smile upon the protest. It was early still, he thought to himself, let them have their fun. In the dead of winter, their days were much longer, when the sun went down much earlier. 

Dark clouds hovered in the sky like an ominous warning, but were stained by a slight apricot color as the sun slowly nodded off to do her duty on the other end of the planet. A bitter wind tossed leaves about his feet and threw his blonde hair into the air, flushing his cheeks and chilling him to the core even though the day its self was warm for winter time. Dressed in a muggle fashion, with a pair of fashionably torn jeans, a blue tee and a medium washed denim jacket, Ryder stalked down the brick rode, oblivious to the light, red powder that was gripping into the soles of his shoes. He’d apparated a bit further away then he would have liked, and the miscalculation would cost him valuable time: if he was going to sneak into the circus before show time to avoid paying an entrance fee, he’d need to not waste a single second. Eyes narrowed, Ryder hurried his pace, one hand holding tightly to his wand while the other slid into the back pocket of his jeans.

The first he saw of the circus was the flames, whipping about in the slightly howling wind and giving the tents and wagons a slightly eerie complexion. For an instant, the eighteen year old drew himself to a stop, reconsidering: he’d heard there was a circus on the outskirts of London, and had decided he’d check it out, if only for the distraction from the slight boredom that had became his life. The slight problem of not having any money if there was a fee to be paid at the entrance was easily fixed: he wouldn’t ask Balthy, but would instead take his chances with something that embarrassed him, and could potentially be dangerous. The risk, of course, had been what had saddled him on the decision, like a rider digging his heals into a horse to get it to take a precarious jump, and soon enough he’d been pulling clothes on and heading out.

Tapping his bottom teeth, now, he gave a small jerk of his head and insisted himself forwards, once again quickening his paces as he came closer to the circus ground. A mirage of freaks was making their way around, and a soft smirk grew upon Ryder’s face at the sight of them. He was close enough now, though, to be seen, so he found himself bending down, his body almost bent in two as he quickly ran towards the nearest sitting of tents. Pressing against them, he paused to calm his suddenly heavy breathing, a small smile breaking upon his face: he was in, he thought –only to be interrupted by the sheer force by which a hand curled around the neck of his tee and started to drag him around.

Suddenly panicking, Ryder’s feet kicked out, toes digging into the earth in an attempt to gain purchase and wiggle away, but the person dragging him along –with the long, red hair it was impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman with a flat chest- was strong enough to not let him get away. For some reason, he kept quiet; his body the only sign of his struggle as he bucked his hips and twisted his shoulders, kicked his legs and scratched a thin arm. A few minutes later, they came to a stop and Ryder found himself being thrown on the ground near one of the licking fires, with a pair of boots quite close to his head. Not sure what to do, he slowly lifted his gaze to stare into the face of a man that managed to put a bit of fright into his heart –but fear was not something to be shown. “What?” He snapped, treading his toes into the dirt once again and pressing his palms into the dirt so as to push himself into a standing position. One thing he was vastly aware of, as he looked at the man before him, was that he was now filthy. Suddenly aware it was best not to show off any sign of his upbringing; Ryder cocked an eyebrow and slouched his shoulders, letting a slight lilt invade his voice. “What yer lookin’ at? He growled.

“What yer lookin’ at?"

The Angel moved with the solid grace of any winged creature, his motions slow yet intoxicating as he the pleasure of his perfected task brought him great joy. At the hand of the Ringmaster, Askel smiled as his cheek was brushed with the barely there warmth of the master's palm, and he slipped into the shadow of the ever watchful eyes while Jean-Luc moved to interrogate their intruder. To one knee the man went, his body coming down like the sea and his thumb to touch the boy's chin. The ever sharp edge of his nail forced the young man's head up from his state on the ground, and he was met with a smiling face--and ever black eyes.

"You do not think it is wise to pay before entering?" Jean-Luc's voice boomed like thunder, his endless dark gaze as threatening as black clouds, and his body a fortress. His other hand held onto the cane that supported his weight, but despite the outward appearance of having needed it the man seemed nimble enough to kneel before the subject with ease.

"Do you have a name child? And do you have business here?" For now he would not aid the boy to stand, but simply have service with him on the circus floor.

"Or do you come for pleasure?" The last word was followed by laughter, but it wasn't his own. A wild and intoxicating sound that came along side wild dogs, and the sort that made the whole experience seem surreal.

Ryder’s face was stained by both dirt and anger as he forced himself to glare up at the imposing looking man whose feet he’d just been staring at. He was actually tempted to lash out, incapacitate the bloke and then hope he could make a clean getaway by apparition –but it was a risk too big for the eighteen year old to take it, so instead he continued with his impoverished act of slouched shoulders, dangerous facial posture and impure accent. The red haired man who’d had the bollocks to drag him along mud and grass and Merlin knew what else slipped away into the group of circus performers, and Ryder was left basically alone with the bloke who seemed to be the Ringmaster. He sneered, hoping to prove he wasn’t a frightened little boy –even if, deep down, he somewhat was.

He then lowered his head as the dark haired man knelt, fearful that looking into his eyes would reveal his lies –and a rich upbringing was certainly not something he wanted these people to know he had. But a second later a sharp nail dug into his chin and a hand pulled his head up again. Ryder pursed his lips and forced hatred into his eyes, shoving away any hint of disgust, as his eyebrows rose on his forehead and he glared at the bloke who’d actually had the courage to touch him. There might have been a smile on the pale face, but the stranger’s dark eyes –and the loud, booming voice that left his lips when they spread open- were a good enough indication that the man was as kind as a nesting dragon. Still, Ryder glowered, and let not a trace of insecurity overcome him, as he feared it would be his downfall.

The laughter that roared around him at the stranger’s final words infuriated him enough that, for an instant, he no longer gave a damn about the threat these men and women could mean: with a snarl, Ryder reached up and yanked the bloke’s hands from his chin, pushing back on his own heels to stand. It was now him who stared down at the Ringmaster , if only for a second, and he did so with a glowering sense of danger in his green eyes. “I came to join,” In his reverie, he forgot the lilt, his pure English accent shinning through in all it’s dangerous glory, revealing him as someone quite higher born. “I thought the Circus could be rather fun, a new family,” Stepping back, he rolled his eyes and the laughter that pressed past his lips was cold and denigrating as he spat down at the dirt next to the stranger –a ballsy choice, but if all went well he’d be out of here soon. “I see how wrong I am, though,” Ryder quickly reached for his wand. “So I’ll get out of your bloody hair.”

He turned on his heels and fought the temptation to run as he began to walk, hoping his harsh words and actions would be enough to startle them for however long it took him to escape. Just in case, though, his wand was at his side –and his heart was beating a heavy rhythm against his ribcage.

What an interesting conflict, this child among men--into the grasp of the shadow world yet still longing for the sun. He didn't have a place here, despite what his lying eyes gave away. Was this simply a game? Had he any right of passage here? Any wandering youth would look in on the painted face and bright attraction lights and wonder if they too could have a place amongst the stars. Yet, Jean-Luc didn't think of this young soul like that. However, he didn't worry of the other's intent too much, because frankly they welcomed the sort of trouble that came from spoiled brats seeking out to prove their existence.

'I came to join.

An imortal set of four words, ones that often sealed the fate of lesser men, but there was something interesting in the little wild soul before him.

'I thought the Circus could be rather fun, a new family...I see how wrong I am, though...So I’ll get out of your bloody hair.' Upon the boy's retreat a ghost of a hand came to touch his shoulder, spider like fingers pressing into the bone of his shoulder in his way of expressing his desire for the young man to stay just right where he was.

"Oh come now," The reverb of his voice boomed, and his chest rattled with every word, "I wouldn't go that far, M'dear. Do not leave so soon." With a wave of his hand the eyes fell away, yellow ugly things that waited with hunger to leap out upon the lost boy, but one by one they blinked closed.

"Come, tell me about the family you wish to replace," Jean-Luc motioned to the long path that led to the Circus' main tent, a seemingly daunting walk that would be fit of any adventure.

The cacophony of his blood beating in his veins filled his ears, deafening him to the sound of the wind and blinding him to the fact that the sun had finished her trajectory and the sky was now lost to the world of darkness. The air smelt of rain once again, but his intent was to be out of the circus and back at Balthy’s flat before the storm controlled the world all over again. His desires, however, were not always to be accomplished, and the long fingers that came to rest on his shoulder before he managed to make two steps were proof of that, as he realized he’d made the monumental mistake of insulting these men and not escaping. Ryder closed his eyes and breathed in, fighting for control of the fear that wrapped her hands around his heart and squeezed as if trying to force it into action. He paused, and he tightened his fingers around his wand, knowing that if he was ordered dead there was little he could do against this crowd, so much more numerous than him. His one hope was that they wouldn’t –that they’d simply turn him away and tell him never to return.

The eyes of those around him turned away, however, and Ryder found himself turning to stare at the Ringmaster, Fear still squeezing his hart with strong gestures that set his pulse all too quicker than it should be. But his face showed nothing but coldness as he stared at the imposing man with his pale skin and curtain of black hair, and the question the Ringmaster asked was likely the last he had expected to hear –yet the only words that could spell doom even easier than an order to kill. He had sinned, and he had lied, and he had desperately tried to get away, and was now aware that he might have to pay the price –just as he was paying the price for ignoring the will of his Father. But Ryder Renwick was not one to repent: instead, he’d keep on acting however he saw fit to get whatever he wanted. At the moment, what he wanted was to step away –but the only way back was forwards, for as long as he could see.

“I don’t know your name,” He stated simply, as the wind’s fierce cry became loud enough to fill his eardrums, and he felt a fat drop of rain burst against his hair as it finished its trajectory from the heavens. Ryder raised his head and saw the deep red that the clouds had turned, a bloody color that predicted disaster. “A storm is coming,” Another drop of rain exploded against his lips as if in confirmation, as the eighteen year old lowered his head and glared at the Ringmaster, nodding his head towards the tent previously indicated. “We might as well take shelter.” His green eyes breathed in the sight of bending trees and the air carried the aroma that finished out a recipe of disaster: a large storm was about to break, both literarily and metaphorically.

The laws of nature were such that the sky could be bright blue at one instant, and the lands drenched by the powerful wrath of rain the next, and they were put to good use now: as Ryder took a step around the Ringmaster, wondering if walking down the path to the tent was a smart idea, if he wouldn’t step through the flaps only to never leave again, the storm broke: the skies seemed to open up, and though it was not yet a downpour, the rain came faster, the wind beat harder. “If you’re not going to let me leave, at least hurry,” He glanced back towards the man and almost ordered.