Circus of Silence

Having Faced The Consequences

~*~

The Ferris wheel looks like jolly good fun,

So you show your ticket to the taker

who regards you with a frown.

~*~

                "I beg your pardon?" Rosalind managed through grimace of gritted teeth. She was trying to smile, but doing so was a trial. Her face felt like a bed of smouldering coals. Her heart was racing like a pack of untrained, untamed foals. It had been Romeo and Juliet he had quoted. He must be confused, Rosalind tried to convince herself, his transformation has gone to his head.

Indeed. The boy's face flushed and he hid his eyes with his hands. "Sorry," he squeaked, "I didn't mean to say that out loud. It's just.... when I was a tiger, everything came out... meowed." He didn't have a filter, was what he meant to say, but Rosalind Maybrush still didn't think it okay. Sure, little boys were little boys- but he was just that: little. Nine years old to her almost-eighteen. On his little crush, she wasn't keen.

Harrison, thank God for Harrison, understood. He told her, in her head, that he'd do what he could. "Ferran," he said with his best attempt at a smile. "Why don't we chat for a while?"

The boy nodded sheepishly and pulled himself off the ground. He dusted off his pants, waving 'goodbye' to his sister as he went to Harrison's side. The Circus Psychic patted him on the back, seeming right proud of himself. Something about it made Rosalind feel smug. She could have done it without a single bug. She could whistle or hum, and he would have had no choice but to come.

Reality roused Rosalind with the sight of Whisper standing, starting to follow the two boys away. With the talk she was pretty sure Harrison intended to have with the boy, Rosalind didn't think that was such a good idea. The poor boy would be embarrassed enough already. "Whisper!" she called out, trying to keep her voice clear and cheery. "Would you mind helping me out with my father, if that wouldn't be too much of a bother?" She indicated the Faceless Man with a flourish of her hand. She was sure the Silent Girl would understand. 

Whisper stayed still.

Rosalind took that as a 'yes'.

The two of them watched the boys as they walked away, but then Ferran remembered he has something to say, "Rosie-" he started, then realized his mistake and tried again after slapping himself in the face. "God, I'm sorry. Miss Maybrush, Your Witchiness, ma'am?"

"Rosalind."

"Rosalind. What I meant to say earlier was... I meant to ask you if you could please give my sister her words back-" She opened her mouth to tell her she was trying, but she needed more time, but Harrison told her the boy wasn't finished yet. She straightened. "Paper-words, I mean. Her reading and writing. Your Grandmother took her literacy away, remember? The night she burned her Voice book to the last ember."

Not really. 

She didn't really remember that ever happening. Everything from that night, that night that not actually been so long ago, was a blur, just as Shula and her Grandmother had planned. They'd played with her mind, made her real memories impossible to find. It had taken her until morning to remember her name. Rosalind, she thought, and not Rosaline. She was the heroine of 'As You Like It', and not the determined virgin Romeo left behind.

"Harrison is a fine oracle and all, but he can't always be with Whisper. Please, Rosalind, she wants very much to be able to write again."

Rosalind told her she'd see what she could do. Perhaps her father, once he'd been freed, could help her see it through.

~*~

               Rosalind had to position her father herself, as he could not see the place she wanted him. She had to take his arm and lead him to the flowered plot of grass before the carousel where Stripes the Tiger had once stood, surrounded by pulverized glass in a ring. He obeyed her command without her needing to sing.

"It only works on people my Grandmother altered physically," explained Rosalind to Whisper, who stood at the ready. The Silent Girl brought her fingers to her throat. "No," she said sadly. "I don't think she did anything physical to you, my dear. Your vocal cords are still in tact. It's just the voice, the sound, that is lacked."

Whisper stomped her foot on the ground. Not rudely, and not in argument, but in questioning. A silent demonstration.

"I don't know how, it just is. Perhaps you do have noise, but none of us can hear it?" She snapped her fingers with her next idea. "Perhaps it's the circus! Maybe we can't hear you inside the circus's range?"

Whisper considered this for a moment, then nodded. She made a writing motion with her hand, scratching invisible words into the sky. Write. She wanted to tell Rosalind what she really thought. It was really a shame the new Witch's time had been bought. "Help me with this first, and I promise I'll try. Which horse do you think is his?"

Whisper leaned in close to the man, studying his features... or lack thereof. The man she thought was Algernon Maybrush had no eyes and no nose and no mouth. He was a blank canvas of sun-kissed skin and hickory hair. Not even Rosalind remembered the face that once resided there. She didn't remember the visages of either of her parents.

Yes, this would be difficult.

She'd identified Ferran's foal by its fiery hair and small stature. Whisper's was the slender, solemn one beside his. Harrison's was proud-postured and hers had lapis eyes. Her father, on the other hand, had almost no identifiers at all. Whisper would have to guess.

The young Witch watched her make her rounds round the Carousel. Watched her cover her ears to block out the Forever Song. Rosalind supposed one would grow tired of listening to the same song for fifty long years. Finally, the youth stopped- pointed. She looked to Rosalind with utmost assurance.

Green eyes, tawny skin, brunet hair. Possible. Rosalind shrugged, but Whisper went on, indicating the horse's boastful posture, pointing out the way it seemed to prance over its stage. Then, Whisper indicated Rosalind. The Witch scoffed. She would have been offended, had she not witnessed her father's behaviour just a short while ago.

She'd rode the Carousel and had seen memories, seen the story of Algernon Maybrush's disqualification from his position as successor. The face had been washed from her memory as soon as the experience had finished, but the man's personality had clung to her like dirt did the soles of her shoes. He'd been excessively arrogant.

"That's the one," sighed she. She took a gulp of air, and then went to work setting him free.

~*~

You ask him what's the matter

but he only waves you on

the ride lurches

and begins

~*~