Totally Buggin' (Buggy the Clown Live Action Fic)

I'll Need a Volunteer From the Audience

It was mid-morning and Buggy had gotten it in his head that the show needed to be rearranged, so he and some of his crewmates were in the backstage area of the tents doing exactly that. "Bohe and the acrobats' acts should switch," Buggy said, looking over the line-up sheet. "And Mohji should go on seventh, right before me."
Cabaji's eyes narrowed. "I go on seventh," he said.
"I know numbers are hard, but that'll put you on sixth," Buggy said like he was talking to a small child. The other crew members laughed.
Cabaji ignored the sarcasm. "I've always had the second to last spot before the finale," he asserted with annoyance.
"People want to see the lion, Cabaji," Buggy said dismissively. "Nobody cares about your little swords."
"The people are hostages, Buggy," argued Cabaji, growing angry. "They care about what we tell them to care about."
Buggy met his glare coolly. "Mohji will go seventh," he said with finality, the threat of violence clear in his voice. "Maybe if you come up with something better than pricking those little dolls of yours, you'll move back up."
Cabaji stalked out of the tent, grumbling about a different kind of 'prick'.

That evening, I sat in the big top watching the show, cozy in my new spot outside the circus ring. I was near the rest of the audience but no longer on the bleachers with them. "You deserve the best seat in the house, Princess," Buggy had said. He'd had his throne-like chair brought out for me and I sat on it a few feet away from the shackled mass.
Cabaji was on stage, doing his usual tricks of juggling swords and hitting straw-filled dummies square in the chest from across the ring. It was impressive, and the crowd made all the right sounds of excitement.
"For my next trick," Cabaji announced, his voice filling the wide space. "I'll need a volunteer from the audience." I'd never heard any of the performers ask for a volunteer before, and checked the audience; expectedly, no hands were raised. I turned back to the stage and my eyes went wide as I realized Cabaji was pointing at me. The spotlight lit up my chair, momentarily blinding me. "You, miss," he said with a shallow smile. "Would you please come assist me?"
I unfolded my legs and got up slowly, making my way into the ring under the beam of light. Cabaji led me to a cloth-covered structure, which he revealed with a flourish to be a giant wooden wheel with wrist and ankle straps built on. "Ladies and gentlemen, the Wheel of Death!" he boomed, receiving applause.
He indicated for me to step up to it. I did, and he stepped in closer than seemed necessary. "Is this a good idea?" I asked him quietly as he strapped me to the board.
"Why, did you need to go get permission first?" he asked rudely, pulling my wrist strap uncomfortably tight. I stared at him, surprised by the jab.
Once I was strapped in, Cabaji stepped away. When he'd gone about fifteen feet, he stopped and turned back. A knot had been building in my stomach, but it loosened slightly after Cabaji threw his first sword and it landed about a foot from my knee. He threw five more, each staying the same distance from my body. The audience clapped.
"What do you say folks, shall we make it more challenging?" he asked loudly to cheers of agreement. He gathered the swords before giving the wheel a spin. I breathed deeply and tried my best not to get dizzy.
Cabaji resumed his position and threw the swords again. I felt them thudding against the wood as the crowd gasped. When I'd counted six thuds, he returned and steadied the wheel, presenting it to the onlookers to show off his aim. Each blade had landed mere inches from me. The crowd applauded, and Cabaji grinned. "Should we see if we can get any closer?" he asked, and the assemblage responded positively.
He spun my wheel for a second time, and this time he stood about five feet further away. He put down his swords and, from a crate at the side of the ring, produced three foot-long, sharp-looking knives. Their silver blades flashed in the spotlights as he twisted them in his hand.
He pulled back his arm and threw the first one, and it struck right next to my inner thigh. My breath caught. The blade pressed up against the cloth of my pants, close enough that I could feel its coldness. "Whoops, don't want to go any higher than that," Cabaji jested to the crowd, "or the captain might not want her back." The audience laughed on cue, though I was sure they didn't understand the joke.
He threw the next one, and it buried itself in the wood above my shoulder, cutting through a sliver of my hair. "He might not want her back if we cut that off either," he said, watching the strand fall to the floor. Again, the crowd laughed.
I squeezed my eyes shut. Cabaji wouldn't hit you unless he was aiming for you, Buggy had said. I felt like I was going to be sick.
The last knife landed and I immediately felt the slight sting on my left side, above my second rib. I looked, straining against the still-spinning board; the knife had only grazed me, just enough to draw blood, but had sliced clean through the fabric of my top. I had to bend awkwardly away from it to keep from cutting myself further.
Cabaji stalked towards me and stopped the wheel's spinning. The world took a moment to steady itself, and I was only dimly aware of the crowd's applause. He collected his knives, his hands far too close for my liking, and undid the straps on my ankles and hands. "Might want to work on your aim," I said quietly.
"Next time I'll go for the throat," he threatened casually before smiling wide and turning towards the bleachers. "Give it up for my lovely assistant!" he shouted, and the crowd cheered.

I entered the backstage area in a huff, Cabaji following behind me. Morgana and Bohe were already back here, killing time before the grand finale. They looked at me with surprise as I strode across the room towards the sink in the corner, raising the side of my shirt to reveal the bloody cut underneath, just below my bra strap. I grabbed a towel and wetted it, dabbing it to the wound.
"It's just a scratch," Cabaji said, leaning against the entrance to the tent. The opening to Mohji's lion-tamer act could be heard in the background. "Don't be dramatic."
"You ruined my shirt," I said, "and cut me. On purpose."
"And what are you gonna do?" he inquired mockingly. "Run and tell on me?"
I blinked at him incredulously. "What is your problem?" I asked. "Did I do something to offend you?"
Cabaji huffed. "You don't belong here, and everyone seems to get that but you."
"Cabaji," Morgana chastised, her voice a warning.
"I'm here because Buggy wants me here," I informed him, trying not to let the hurt color my voice. "That's the only reason."
"For now," he spat.
"Cabaji! That's enough," demanded Morgana.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked.
"You think this little arrangement of yours is going to last?" Cabaji asked menacingly. "News flash: the second Buggy gets bored, you're gone."
"He's not going to get bored," I stated.
Cabaji barked out a laugh. "Of course he is! He's already starting to. You're just a playtoy to him, and once you're not shiny and new anymore, he'll throw you away like garbage." I noticed that Morgana wasn't chiming in anymore, and neither she nor Bohe were making eye contact with me.  My throat suddenly felt very dry.
"He said so himself," Cabaji continued. "In fact, I think his exact words were: 'we'll never see her again.'"
"You're lying," I said through gritted teeth.
"You're pathetic," Cabaji told me. "You think putting on some clown makeup makes you one of us? You're not a clown, sweetheart, you're just an idiot."
I pushed past him out of the tent, not letting the tears spill from my eyes until Buggy's trailer was in sight.