Spectacle of Souls

1:1 - Running Away To The Circus

"What did you say your Act was?"

"Huh?" Dace's vision came back into focus as she blinked several times at the squat woman in front of her. This place smelled of leather and dust; reminding her of the uncomfortable waiting rooms she'd frequented as a child. 

"Your Act. You have to have an Act to ride the train. Or at least a skill we can make use of." The woman wore a glare that was somewhere between boredom and frustration, her blazer clad torso was practically slumped over her desk and even her jade green dreadlocks seemed somewhat sad and lifeless. To Dace this seemed remarkably odd; the man in the queue behind her had two heads that were debating rather loudly over whether a tax on plastic bags would serve to lessen the effects of pollution or were simply an annoyance. As one head began to lick the other in disagreement with an eight inch indigo tongue, Dace decided that the disinterest in the woman's eyes was applause worthy.

"Dear lord, you're not a dancer, are you?" The woman moaned, pulling back Dace's attention, "we've got dancers coming out of our ears on this train. Could feed the bloody lions for a year with the number of dancers we've got."

Dace looked down at herself, at the body she'd been meaning to get into shape for the past three years but hadn't, at the pair of thick, towering legs beneath her scruffy old jeans and the size nine feet shuffling about the wooden flooring. "I'm not a dancer."

"So what are you?" The woman's tone grew impatient as she straightened herself upright. Only then did Dace see the red branding around her neck, like a collar made of scar tissue.

"Do I have to be anything?" Dace stuttered jokily as she took a step back. "What happened to being myself?"

"Being yourself won't keep the circus running, girl. If you don't have anything to offer then why are you here?"

The train's carriage trembled as Dace contemplated this, her rich brown features twisting into a frown. Why was she here? No journey sprung to her memory, nor any burning desire to queue up and speak with this sunshine of a lady. In fact Dace's first clear recollection beyond leaving the house that morning was the woman's initial question. Everything between these two events felt murky and surreal; like trying to see through swamp water.

"I needed to get away from something." She found herself saying with a frown. Whether this was the truth or not was impossible to know.

"Well, hopefully it wasn't animal dung, dear, because that's exactly what you're in for." The woman began to scrawl something down on an official looking document before thrusting a small card in Dace's direction. "This is your ID card. Dace Livigin, shit-scooper. Have fun."

"What?" Dace laughed shakily, accepting the card, "I'm not here to clean up animal mess! I'm here to... to..." For a sliver of a moment the reason had been crystal clear in her head, the memory of someone calling out her name was like a shout from across the room, but the moment she opened her mouth it was flushed out and scattered into the stifling air of the woman's reception-like carriage.

"The cages are ten doors down," The woman held out a clawed hand to the door opposite them. "Go before I change my mind and have you thrown off."

As her blue eyes flashed bloody crimson Dace flinched away with an uncharacteristic squeak before scurrying out the door, pushing the two headed man aside in the process.

The corridor was painfully narrow. Dace had to turn sideways in places as she passed several rooms along the train obscured from her view by unpainted wooden doors and delicate silk curtains. From behind them she heard roars of laughter, the rush of chatter, and even the sound of one woman's shrill, tortured screams.