Continued from yesterday:
Kurt’s head was spinning. The last thing he knew, he’d fallen asleep in the stuffy atmosphere of the tarp. Then, when he woke up, he was staring at Mama. Sort of.
She *looked* like Mama. Except she wore a scarf. And she spoke so *differently*.
Kurt was confused.
Maybe he’d gone to Heaven and wasn’t quite aware, yet. Suffocation was bound to have done something to him. All the angels were bound to come out when he realized where he was… and all this business with animal training and money was just something his addled mind cooked up to explain why he was here, away from the pain.
Maybe-Mama lured him close, and took him away from Karl. The other man had taken away Sir, negotiating money and contractual terms. They wouldn’t let *Sir* into Heaven… surely.
Kurt decided to exist in the moment. For now, he was padding softly by Mama’s side. Just like he used to, a long, *long* time ago. It was almost like the happy times.
Except Mama was still sick.
It *had* taken her years to get too sick to walk any more… maybe Heaven had yet to heal her all the way. Maybe they were testing how well he remembered.
Maybe-Mama nodded off on the stoop of a trailer. Just like she used to. So Kurt quietly nudged the door open, crept inside, and liberated a glass of milk, placing it in her hand and balancing it on her leg. Maybe-Mama didn’t notice him pretending to be innocent, but she did appreciate the milk.
Poor Mama. Still sick, but getting better.
He watched her take her pills, remembering the look of Mama’s medicine. Maybe-Mama was taking the same things. She fell into a seat and Kurt rubbed his way under her hand. Just like he did when she was too tired to lift it. It used to make her laugh.
And anyway, he was still scared Sir would find them here and ruin Heaven. Sir had drilled him endlessly on how to behave once he got where he was going, and swore that he had means of finding out if Kurt had done anything human. Kurt’s life depended on not making Sir come back for him and teaching him better.
Therefore, Kurt was *very* careful to only do animal things when anyone was watching. Even though that included Maybe-Mama.
She rubbed at his head, making him purr, and fell asleep.
Kurt looked around at the mess the place was in. Maybe… it wouldn’t hurt to help her out while she slept.
Just a little.
*
The lights were on when Celia snuffled awake. The clock said it was past seven. Her trailer had been - organized. The dishes were clean. The paperwork stacked, pencils sharpened, mail all lined up neatly…
“What the fuck…?” she murmured.
Laundry had been picked up. The bed made. Even her pills were arrayed neatly in their place.
Someone had even removed all the spoiled food in the fridge.
Her place was *clean*. For the first time since she’d got sick.
Sure, fellow circus workers came by and helped out, but it was usually when the piles threatened to collapse, or the smell started getting to people. At least one living saint came by once a week to sort out the laundry and the washing up… and today wasn’t Thursday.
Demon was keeping her feet warm by the simple expedient of sprawling across them. Was it her imagination, or was his belly bulging a little?
Celia reached down. Yep. That was one taut tummy. Stretched to capacity or close enough to it. So. Her mystery housekeeper had either fed the leftovers to Demon - a dangerous practice with an unknown and new animal - *or* Demon had helped himself.
The latter was far more likely. All newcomers to the circus got the ‘do not feed the animals’ lecture at least five times. Some of the slower ones still learned by trial and error, in which case they also received the marvellous spectacle of the entire circus saying, 'I *told* you so’ ad infinitum, or until their wounds healed - whichever came first.
Celia wriggled herself free of Demon, gathering ingredients for an actual *meal*. Nothing like having a clean kitchen for inspiring her to cook. She could freeze the leftovers for when she was less than inspired or just too tired from the medication or flat-out couldn’t be fucked.
Certain herbs and spices made her feel better, so she used them in abundance. Hell, even the *smell* made her feel good about her place in the world.
Down on the floor, a clinking indicated Demon had moved. “I’ll feed you soon, promise,” she said. “I’ll even make sure it’s better for you than the stuff from the back of my fridge.” And given how much he’d gorged, maybe it’d be better if he got a protein shake. In small doses.
And then she’d have to see to his accomodations for the night.
Work, work, work…
Demon was no longer where she’d left him. Not as though he could go far, but still… the last thing she needed was a surprise in the form of scat in an unwelcome place.
Wait. Was that the *toilet* flushing?
Celia put her dinner in progress on low and investigated.
Yes, the water in the bowl was swirling to a halt. And yes, Demon was in the bathroom and the tap was on.
“Clever boy…” she murmured. Celia squeezed into the claustrophobic confines and turned the tap off. It took a little juggling to get his paws dry and things untangled to the point where she could get him to sit on a handy chair, but it was worth it.
Okay. So he purred like a cat, but he didn’t do anything *else* like a cat. He fell to heel like a dog, and yet had zero doglike qualities.
He was certainly one of a kind.
Were it not for the way Demon perched in his seat, Celia could have *sworn* he was *human*.
He was eager to please, for an abused creature. Maybe his rehabilitation wouldn’t be such a terrible chore after all. Celia went back to her cooking, glimpsing at her newest charge every now and again.
Just what *was* he?
~
_That was close,_ Kurt thought. _Got to be more careful._
It had been luck more than timing that had made him take up a more animalistic posture when she nearly caught him washing his hands. Something in that encounter told him that being clean *and* careful may well be more trouble than anything he’d ever encountered before.
But should he fear Sir? Or hope that he’d found Heaven?
He wished someone would give him some kind of hint.
The man who had driven Karl back in the car and taken Sir away poked his head into the trailer, making Kurt jump.
“You must be getting better, Cee. I could smell that cooking clear on the other side of the camp.” He let himself in. “And you’ve cleaned up.”
“Not I, said the fox,” said Maybe-Mama. “Someone let themselves in and did the saintly thing, I guess. They even cleaned out the fridge.”
The man’s eyes found him. Kurt instinctively backed away, even though there wasn’t much 'away’ to back into. “Still haven’t found a place for our new friend?”
“I told you. I fell asleep, Seth. I barely have the energy to cook. Finding a cage for the night and setting it up’s just too damn much effort, right now.”
“And so’s cleaning 'little presents’ out of random corners, Cee.”
Maybe-Mama gave off stirring for a while. “That’s the really weird thing…” and then her hands moved in a peculiar ballet.
Kurt’s hands twitched in sympathy, trying to understand. He looked down at his hand. Not enough fingers, anyway.
Seth seemed surprised, and replied in kind.
They were talking. With their hands. Did they know he could understand? Or were they just guessing?
*
“[I think he knows how to use the toilet,]” Celia signed.
And he thought he’d seen everything he *could* see in the circus. He glanced at the creature. “[You’re certain?]”
“[I heard it flushing… and caught him washing his hands. Or front paws. Whatever. Look at him,]” she briefly did so. “[He’s smart. He’s already figured out *what* we’re doing, even if he can’t understand what we’re saying.]”
Seth considered the creature watching them. The intense, too-human gaze coupled with a posture that was pure animal. It gave him chills. “[If he’s smart as you say he is, then we’d *better* make friends with him.]” He forced himself to stay calm as he approached Demon. “It’s all right, now,” he cooed. “I’m a friend.”
Demon was wary, sniffing but not touching.
“Not too certain, is he?”
“I don’t know,” Celia went back to her cooking. “He took to me like a duck to water. Maybe he doesn’t like men.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Seth sighed. He’d taught Celia everything an animal handler needed to know, and a few nasty tricks that every *good* handler needed to know *about* so as to avoid them… and how to regain the trust of some poor, abused creature that had fallen victim to them.
“Hah,” he smiled, spotting the brush. “He might not let *me* touch him… but I’ve never met a creature that didn’t like to be groomed.” Slowly, cautiously, he approached Demon with the brush. “There, now. I’m just going to brush your fur. I’m *good* people.”
Demon froze, watching the brush descend.
“There. See? No bad things…” Three more sweeps and Demon was beginning to relax. A further dozen and he was leaning into each stroke. Seth even managed to earn a tentative purr. And a small mound of shed fuzz on the furniture. “There,” he laughed. “I also just volunteered to dust-bust, didn’t I?”
Celia looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Oh, hell yeah. You’re dust-busting and a *half*.”
Demon flexed itchy spots into the path of the brush and Seth risked giving one a scratch. Just more contented purring. Good. He was getting hair all over himself, but that was just one of the hazards that came with handling animals.
He reached the much-abused shorts, easing them down, and the amenable purr just instantly switched to a menacing growl. A mere instant later, Demon was cowering from him behind Celia’s legs.
“Ack! What *happened*?”
Seth signed to her, “[Since when do animals have 'no go’ zones?]”
“Only when they’ve been badly injured,” said Celia. “And he’s not. I checked him over, first thing.”
“Never saying you didn’t.” Seth found the dust-buster and began getting the drifts of blue fur. “Whoever knew the old man had so much blood in him?”
“Pup,” said Celia.
“Eh?”
“Pup. Or whelp. Or kitten. Our blue friend, here, hasn’t finished growing. Just look at his paws.”
“And I thought he was impressive *now*…”
*
Impressive? *Him*?
Kurt became curious enough to not be afraid of this Seth any more. There hadn’t been punishment for running away. Just quiet words and calm discussion of the facts. That… never happened with Sir and Karl.
Maybe-Mama knelt down and petted him, moving his face closer to hers. “Okay, Demon. Let’s see what you’ve got in there.” And, very carefully, opened his mouth. “Huh. Omnivore with carnivorous overtones. And very well-kept teeth. Not a cavity in sight.”
“That’s weird.” Seth came close, but didn’t touch. “Never seen any creature that didn’t have at least one thing wrong with their mouth. Especially from someone like the Wagners. These are *beautiful* teeth… I half-expected a mouth full of rot.”
Maybe-Mama removed her fingers. “Something’s rotten in the state of Michigan, Seth. This whole situation just… doesn’t *fit*.”
Kurt shook his head as she stood. Did they know? Was he in trouble? Was Sir going to come back?
Seth, too, stood. “I know. You can *see* he’s been malnourished, but he’s also *clean*.”
“You can feel the old breaks in some of his bones,” added Maybe-Mama, “There’s abuse and neglect written all over him… but the progress he’s made - just *today*… I don’t even think he needs the leash, Seth.”
“One way to find out.” Seth didn’t give him time to flinch. Just a quick twist and a click and the weight that was so familliar was just - gone. “Humph. Why did they think they needed such a heavy grade? You could just about lead a bear with this stuff. Hardly appropriate.”
“The Wagners don’t know the trade,” said Maybe-Mama. “That’s pretty clear.” She sighed. “Don’t you just *love* getting puzzles?”
“I have to say this is my first big one.” Seth inhaled. “Mmmm… smells better than ready.”
Kurt’s stomach growled. It had evidently found an empty spot and voiced its discontent. Well. Time to act like an animal. He sat up and begged, pawing at Maybe-Mama’s leg just a little to remind her he was there.
She laughed Mama’s laugh, and tousled his hair. “Okay. *Fine*. I’ll share. My own fault for being a good cook, eh?”
Dinner was delicious, even though he had to eat it like a creature.
Hot food. He couldn’t remember when he’d last had real hot food. He purred just *chewing*.
Had to be careful. Had to remember to act more like an animal. Had to.
Or Sir would come back and take him straight to Hell.
*
Celia reached down to rub between Demon’s shoulderblades. Her hand came back with a collection of hairs. It was *barely* almost spring. Either Demon was shedding early - unlikely - or he was defoliating as a side-effect of the stress he was under. It would likely peter off after Spring turned warm, and the circus was on the road.
Seth sighed, leaning back in his seat. “Ah. *Lovely*… Now, alas, we have to see to our friend’s accomodations.”
“We can’t put him with anything else,” said Celia. “We have no idea how any other animals are going to react to him. Or vice-versa.”
“We could always move Aslan in with the other girls. It’s about time and we have a future to think of.”
“True, but that’s a stopgap measure for now. Anything else *would* have to wait until we find out how much money he can make.”
“Which neatly brings up the subject of display,” said Seth.
“He’s already nervous and edgy… not exactly the frame of mind *I’d* want before I shoved him in front of a bunch of sticky-fingered grab-a-lots.”
“Limited access, then. Adds to the mystique. We could bill him as the eighth wonder of the world…”
“Too Barnam,” said Celia. “How about… one of a kind?”
*
It was clean. Sheltered. He had food and water, even though the former was some kind of animal kibble. It only smelled faintly of lion, but had clean, fresh straw layed down.
It was still a cage.
And Maybe-Mama had locked him in it.
Kurt had explored its limitations within a small handful of minutes. After that, his options included pacing, and making himself comfortable with what he had.
After all, he deserved little better.
He’d killed Mama.
Maybe this was a pennance of sorts. Purgatory, before he got properly into heaven. But that left the question of why Mama was in purgatory, still recovering from the illness that killed her. What sin demanded that of her, when she hadn’t even been *able* to sin in those last, agonizing months?
_Oh…_
That was his fault, too. He hadn’t prayed enough for the respite of her soul. And now she was stuck here because he was with her.
No wonder she locked him up.
Kurt gave off pacing and scratched the straw together. Half to sleep on and half to cover him against the chill of the night. He still had his rosary and locket. Which bought up an interesting question - did God accept prayers from those trapped in Purgatory?
Kurt decided to try, at the very least.
There was no sin in *trying* to be good.
He hid his praying under the straw. _Forgive me, father, for I am sin…_
*
Celia made her rounds. In her case, that meant supervising her staff. All of them, despite animal liberationist complaints to the contrary, loved animals. She wouldn’t hire anyone who didn’t, for the simple fact that one had to *care* in order to make sure that said animals were actually cared *for*.
Thus, it was natural for them to continue better than standard maintenance work on the various animals, even in her absence. Her rounds mostly involved checking up on the creatures in her care, making sure nobody had any alarming news or concerns, keeping track of who was using what medication on which creature and why, and miscellaneous chitchat that mostly involved concerns for her health.
Celia had delegated a lot in her personal war on cancer, leaving her with one, brand-new charge.
Demon.
At first glance, it looked like he’d found a way to escape… until she looked closer at the pile of straw in the middle of the floor. There was a tuft of indigo at one end, and a few hints of cerulean blue peeking out at the other end.
Okay…
They had a *burrowing* critter with catlike qualities, some doglike behaviours, and some supremely interesting physiognomy. And an apparent dislike for carnivore kibble.
Well. Since he was asleep, that meant summoning the troop vet to look him over here, instead of over at his workplace.
Celia sighed, preparing to troop over to Jon’s trailer, only to discover that one of her loyal underlings had summoned him already. Jon had his tranq gun and kit all ready and waiting.
“Walking’s *supposed* to be good for me, you know,” she drawled.
“Say that to the seeming hundreds who say you look exhausted after every walk,” Jon grinned. He was the veterinary equivalent of Doogie Howser. No matter what he did, he looked painfully young.
“I *am* exhausted after every walk,” she said. “It’s just that I need to keep doing it in order to get *over* being exhausted. Who tattled, Jon? Was it Jaime?”
Jaime worked as the strong man, and had a unique way of being a mother hen to anyone smaller than him. Considering that Jaime stood at slightly over six foot seven, that included just about everyone in the troop.
Hell, Jaime had spared the troop the expense of a wheelchair in Celia’s worse moments, carrying her around on an adapted swing like some bizarre drag queen with a handbag. It had been one of the few things that made her laugh.
“Naw. Jaime’s officially scared of your wrath, now. It was Betty.”
Celia rolled her eyes. “Oh *God*… *Betty*…” Known publically as the tattooed spectacular, Betty was almost as bad as Jaime when it came to mothering everyone. Plus, she had absolutely no fear of any wrath that anyone might engineer. “If you see her before I do, could you tell her she doesn’t have to worry until I’m turning ghost-white and leaning on things?”
Jon put his kit down on the steps, readying the tranq. It was a supreme irony to wake an animal, only to put it to sleep again. It was also a vital necessity with unknown factors *and* ordinarily wild animals. Teeth and claws, weilded in a moment of confusion, had been the source of many a hospitalisation… and even deaths. It was far better to have the animal in a state where it could not lash out.
“Demon…” Celia called. She added a few clicks of her tongue.
Demon surfaced from the straw. Groggy, he stretched.
{Papht!} The dart hit him square in the upper thigh.
Demon yawped and ran, even going up the side of the bars until he slowed. Slipped down to the floor, and fell slack and panting on the bare boards.
“Wow,” said Jon. “What in heck *is* he?”
“That’s what I’m hoping your check-up will help uncover.” Celia unlocked the cage, leaving the door open for Jon. She rolled Demon into a better position and checked his pulse and breathing.
Then she saw it.
Demon now had a rosary wrapped around the 'wrist’ of his left forepaw.
She lifted the limb in question. “Where in hell did *this* come from?”
“Picked it up from the ground?” suggested Jon. “Got himself tangled in it?” He snapped on his gloves and checked Demon’s teeth. “Good *lord*…”
“I know. They’re *perfect*.”
“And weird. Our pal has some interesting teeth in here. They’re almost human. I’m going to have to talk to our dentist and borrow some of his gear for a cast…” He peeled an eye, checking the pupils. “Safely out of it. Good.” He felt the neck. “What the–?”
“Something wrong?”
“Yeah. This 'animal’ has the vertibrae of an upright primate.”
“Huh?”
Jon directed her hands. One at Demon’s neck, and the other at his own. “Feel the difference?”
“No…?”
“That’s my point. Before today, I could have sworn there was only one species on Earth with that bone structure. This guy’s arranged to walk upright. Just like us.”
Those last three words gave her goosebumps. Celia let go. “Is he… *human*?”
“Opposable thumb. Vertebrae…” Jon moved down and manipulated Demon’s hips. “Pelvic arrangement… He’s put together a hell of a lot like us. And Seth told me about the shorts…”
“But he walks around on all fours without discomfort.”
“And he has digigrade legs,” noted Jon. “The tail’s a puzzle, too.” He picked it up and fiddled with the spade. “Given the range of possible motion, I wouldn’t be suprised if this whole thing is prehensile.”
“And when was the last time a human had a prehensile tail?”
“Point, but you have to admit our friend’s pretty unique. We have to tread carefully. *Very* carefully. For all we know, he’s faking at being dumb. That could lead to some serious retribution down the line.”
“And in the meantime, we have to pay his fees to that ass, Wagner,” Celia grumbled, unwinding the rosary from Demon’s wrist. “We *have* to put him into some kind of show.” Demon’s paw/hand twitched as she removed the rosary. “Meantime, I can keep this safe in case someone comes looking for it.”
“Our best bet’s showing him in the cage for the customers, and keeping him in a trailer. Maybe yours?”
“I have a spare bunk,” Celia said. “We could get a toothbrush for him, and I get to practice selective blindness to whatever 'human’ things he does.”
“Trouble?” guessed Jon.
“He was *abused*, Jon. The Wagners… they should never get him back. No matter what it costs.”
Jon, too, had felt the healed breaks. He knew the signs as well as Celia did. “Agreed. And I’ll write up whatever bullshit excuse we need when the time comes.”
She breathed a lot easier at that.