Scars Of The Wicked (Alastor X Reader)

Chapter 1: The Pilot

It was a home with a traveling area code, where the only friends you had were the ones you lived and worked with. One had no time to get to know anyone on the outside, you had no interest in the matter either. You tried not to get too close to anybody anymore, you learned that the hard way... But all in all, it was a way of life you were comfortable with.

You were the child of the ringmaster and a trapeze artist; the leaders of this small traveling show. You took after your mother and the other aerial artists, your favorite skill was aerial silks. It made you feel weightless, powerful, dare you even say enchanting when you were in the air; dazzling the audience as you danced and spun to music. On many occasions you even trained to sing whilst performing like that. Which was very uncomfortable in practice, felt like getting punched in the stomach while trying to sing, but you made it look and sound easy. You were one of the bigger stars of the show, although you didn't start out that way.

No, just because you were the daughter of the masters didn't mean you got any special treatment. You were a part of the side shows for your entire childhood and most of your teenage years, learning slight of hand magic tricks and then how to juggle on stilts or a unicycle; and even eat fire and sword swallow in your later teenage years. And when you weren't performing or practicing your sideshow acts, you were training with your mother. You worked your ass off to get to where you were. The issue was, you were always a bit of a problem child. Ain't much had changed now that you were in your twenties, except that you had gotten smarter and sneakier.

Like playing black-jack and partying with some of the clowns and roustabouts, gambling with the money you had pick-pocketed earlier than night for example.

"Y/n if you win this round I swear to god-"

"What? You'll what, Reggie?" You teased.

"You'll run and tell her parents?" Shannon joked. "Don't you fuckin' dare, they'll send her to work with us for a week and then she'll be our problem. And, it ain't her fault you don't know how to play."

"Get good or get wrecked." You chuckled.
"Hit me."

Paul let out a soft sigh, shaking his head as he dealt you another card facing up. Presently there was a king, a jack, and an ace in front of you; you had hit 21 exactly. You grinned as you looked down at your cards and looked back up at Paul, who revealed his down-facing card which mount up to only 20. Another king and a ten. The others beside you either slammed their fist onto the metal table or swatted their cards right off it in defeat, you smiled and danced in your seat.

"Damn I'm on fire, tonight!" You giggled, displaying a toothy grin as you held your open bag just under the edge of the table and used your hand to slide your winnings into it. "Good game though guys, for real."

"You're not playing another round?" Paul asked, taking all the cards back and shuffling them as you and the others watched you grab your bottle whiskey and place it in the bag as well, before tying the cinch-string and draping the strap over your shoulder.

"Nah, I'll quit while I'm ahead." You hummed, getting up from the rectangle of hay you were using as a chair and wiping any remnants of it off the back of your legs. "I'm not that lucky, and I want you all to actually have fun. I'll see ya's in the morning at breakfast!"

"See ya, Y/n!"

"Goodnight!"

You smiled over your shoulder and waved goodnight to the other roustabouts, clowns, tumblers and daredevils as you made your way out of the small beige tent. (Small compared to the big-top, anyway.) Once you swept the curtain door aside and crossed that threshold, you welcomed the sound of crickets and the whooshes of cars rushing by on the near by street. You took a deep breath, greedily taking in the cool summer air as you walked through the back yard. (Which was what you all called the area off limits to the general public.)