sinking|namor

|06-Memories|

13 YEARS AGO, CIRQUE EL LATIQA
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Kalahari sighed, fingering the polaroid. It was of her and Kitty the day before their parents had disowned her. A weight tugged on her heart as memories flooded her brain, and her breath hitched, betraying her to the boy beside her. He glanced over, his deep brown eyes welling with panicked tears. He was always a bit nervous when it came time for a performance, but today was there most important of their circus careers. If they messed up, they were goners. They would be erased from each poster, viewer's mind, schedule, and performer's memory. There were no reassuring nods or comforting words that could soothe either teen, so he only linked her middle finger with hers before disappearing into the ring.

The crowd's roars deafened her, filling her ears as she shoved her emotions down her throat, smoothing her jade tutu as she listened to the cheers and screams. Clint's name was repeated, like a chant throughout the packed bleachers. And then there was a call for her. A scream. A request for her undervalued presence. A rare smile graced her glossy lips. And then she stiffened, her spine adjusting into a more rigid posture, a pleased look enveloping her features as she parted the curtain, stepping out.

The ballerina tiptoed gracefully towards the center platform, spreading her arms wide as if to beckon the entire ring forwards. The audience gravitated towards her, enticed. They paused, leaning forwards, their breath hitched, frozen momentarily. All eyes followed her perfected movements, only seeing the professionality born from pain. Molded from blood, sweat, and death. Even the vendors stopped halfway through their route, making their way through the stands, to watch her performance.

A stream of profanities filled her mind as she arabesqued uncomfortably. She could see the other performers in her peripheral. Rosalba, the trapezist was swinging delicately from a silk rope. Anakin and a large tiger were circling each other, ensnared in a terrifying dance, and in the center of the platformed stage, Clint was shooting flaming arrows through staged rings.

It was home. It was a cage. They were trapped.

She stumbled, twisting her ankle as she misstepped, falling daintly to the ground. She pinwheeled, her arms spinning furiously as she collapsed. Her bruised arms smashed into the ground shielding her head as she grit her teeth.

She glanced up to see the packed stadium had fallen into a heavy silence. A hush wrapped around the ring, fear twining into her bones as she looked around, the terrified faces like reflective panels, mirroring her thoughts.

And than she heard it, the crunch of feet churning gravel as the ringmaster lumbered towards her, his blocky arms raised in a vicious stance. She braces herself, preparing for the worst as his palm beat her face.

He chewed her out voraciously, forgetting the way he was being publicly viewed. Publicly judged. She winced, avoiding the pain of breathing.

T-T Speaks:
sorry for the postponed short update
but I hope this conveys some more information about her past
but uhmmm
gregg sulkin