homies!

alain

cast (for reference, the ages are set on when Alain was 16. They do get older as the story progresses.)

mieko- 16

mioko- 20

Berryl- 16

Francis - 40 (ignore the pigtail i forgor to cut it out smhsmh)

Sir Kamui//Kam (The scars are fake and the eye patch is unnecessary, the red eyes are not natural but the ears are.)

dancing.

dancing was the only thing Alain could do well.

Math, science, magic.. All of it was hard for Alain. His math was always wrong, his science work always ended up in disaster, and his magic never healed as it was supposed to. He was good at studying magic though- Just not in practice.

But whenever he danced, it was as if everything was fine. It was as if he'd been dancing happily since birth, as if nothing bad had ever happened. Almost as if the midnight troupe had always been his home, as if they were his family.

But everyone knows that wasn't true.

When he was younger, although not that younger- only three years, when he was 13- That was the day in which he was left to the troupe.

Protesting was useless but he himself knew it was just a show. He never felt any negative emotions about being away from Them. It was in his best interest, truly- They were never supportive of him doing anything but sports. However, Alain was and always had been a frail child, resorting to tinkering with items and the like. When he encountered a friend, he would try to play, but usually the child found him boring and 'weird'. 

Maybe his life was meant to be put on a stage- He certainly didn't mind. But he also didn't mind being left alone to his devices. It was a win whichever way. Up in the spotlights, he could put on his show, and reap the bounty. Left alone, he could learn and try new things without the major possibility of needing to use his near useless powers. Sure, he did enjoy being able to have friends, but nobody truly liked him, nor did they truly enjoy his company.

At least, thats what he believed from his younger years. For most of his life, he was living in a very rowdy, traditional home. His brothers would tend to the shop, his sister to the house. His father was gone most of his life, on trips to do 'business,' until he vanished completely, rumored to be off with one of his countless mistresses. His mother was tainted by this relationship- She'd been kind as a young woman, but as she met with Alain's father, she got less and less accepting until she was the husk she is now. 

When Alain was 13, as said before, he was left in the care of the troupe. The Insulto troupe was kind, very. The six (excluding Alain) were accepting, albeit with their quirks. Mieku and Mioko, the sisters, had fine singing voices, but were always fighting. Sir Kamui was a chunibyo who aspired to be the ruler of the world- A grandiose delusion, but he was incredibly kind when not gathered in his 'Maniacal Plans'. And Francis, the leader, and his daughter, Berryl, were incredibly talented dancers, and musicians. Berryl was sleepy and out-of-the moment, and Francis was a master of all talents, a jack of all trades, who knew his way around this world five times round.

Alain was quickly accepted, and his acts and duets with Berryl were soon the talk of the town- Mio and Mie opening, starting the song, Francis and Sir Kamui providing the orchestra, and then the two dancers, easily flowing across the stage. The shows sold out, but unfortunately the troupe was not perfect, and tragedy easily befell when least expected. 

During one particular open-practice, a lit match was thrown onto the stage. Of course, the venue was anything but perfect, and flames quickly crept. Everyone got out safely, with the exception of Alain- He was alive, yes, but his right (your right) leg had been caught in the flames.  Rendered unable to walk, he was forced to use his magic, which although doing its job, did not fully heal the foot. 

He was rendered unable to truly dance. He could barely walk without pain, let alone dance. 

What could he do now? What places were left in this world for someone like him? 

Where could he go?

. . . . . . . . .

Oh the black carriage / It drives

Past and through / The mourning sky

Deep into that darkness / harboring a hostage

The carriage laughed

It threw its ghost / against the hauls /

I am shorn / of my witchcraft

I crave the satanic, / silent sanctuary

Back into my memories lancing / The silent sorcerer salvaging