There was a circus in town.

Not that Darius knew which town this was, even as he wandered its streets. He'd wandered out to this mid-sized village in an attempt to escape the ennui that seemed to swallow windy, rainy London. Normally, he wouldn't have allowed the weather to affect him so severely. Yet, in the aftermath of the Dementor attack on the Black Chimera, all dark thoughts seemed heavier and lingered longer. Within the confines of the city, he found himself unable to escape.

Thus, he found himself here, in a village whose name he did not know. The crowds and songs and noise of the circus should have driven him away, and still he found himself in their depths. The wagons and stalls and traveling folk reminded him of the caravans and markets of his youth, back before his family had been driven into the walls of that hated city. He shuffled through the streets, unacknowledged save for the occasional startled spectator, taking in the sights and the sounds and the smells...

And then, he saw her. In a fine cage alongside one of the tents perched a proud bird with feathers the color of cinnabar. If the audience contained a keen Muggle ornithologist, he might have identified the creature as an alba-mutated Indian penhen whose feathers had been dyed red for the show. Darius, whose expertise lay in avians of magic, recognized it a Vermillion Bird.

Heart pounding, Darius approached the so-called 'Chinese Phoenix' to insure that he hadn't been misled from a distance. He hadn't, though the sign that hung from the creature's cage had -- perhaps purposefully -- been mislabeled. No mage or wizard would be fooled by the 'phoenix' name attached to this bird, but the Muggles were another story. Children and adults alike paused at the tent's entrance to gawk at the lovely creature before disappearing inside to appreciate her fellow beasts on display.

Darius hovered near the cage, feeling an immediate surge of affection for the fine specimin. When he was certain that no one lingered nearby, he lifted his head to speak to the bird.

"Hello," he whispered to it, in the unwritten language of the Roma. The Vermilion Bird opened one soulful brown eye and turned it to him lazily. A corner of Darius's lip twitched into something resembling a smile. "A fine day to you, oh Master of the South. I see you are, as always, content to lure the eye of men."