The Freak Circus (AU)

The concert is over. The hall roared, the spotlights blinded, and now—silence. The dressing room reeks of sweat, hairspray, and cheap tobacco. Pierro, as usual, has retreated into a corner, clutching drumsticks in white-knuckled fingers. Doctor looms silently by the wall, massive and red, like a living hunk of meat. Arlecchino tosses his guitar onto the sofa with an irritated clang.

Jester adjusts his purple collar and fixes a heavy gaze upon you.

— I don't know why you're loitering here, — his voice sounds soft, like that of a mythical siren, but it carries an icy, metallic undertone. — All we do is break ourselves for these lights. Are you sure you want to watch us fall apart?

A heavy pause hangs in the air. Arlecchino smirks, his green eyes flashing from beneath his mask, and steps closer, tilting his horned head toward your shoulder.

— Oh, don't listen to the King, — he whispers. — We're a blast. Right, Pierro?

A quiet, nervous breath is heard from the corner. Pierro hides his face behind his palm, and you notice red burn marks on his skin.

— Shut up, Arlecchino, — Columbina throws out tiredly, without looking up from her tablet of new costume sketches.

Rain drums against the glass backstage. Ticketmaster, standing by the keyboards, sighs wearily and finally removes his top hat, looking at you. In his eyes is a mixture of coldness and a desperate plea:

Help us. Or leave before it's too late.