To The Circus

Copper Senses

Pairing(s): Implied Logicality, platonic Logince, platonic Nate & Logan, platonic Nate & Patton, and platonic Royality

Warning: Strong language, violence, racism, panic attacks, implied disassociation, mention of court, mention of hospitals, mention of blood, mention of injuries, and mention of guns
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Other than the wind being a little chilly, the night was as wonderful as ever.

Their audience adoring the show as usual, every act going as perfectly as they could, and even rumours of needing more seats due to more civilians wanting to see them perform. Everything was running smoothly, which allowed all members of the circus to relax and simply enjoy the adrenaline of performing. Both the day and night of the show had gone just as planned. Key word being had.

Now, Logan is sitting in the waiting room of a hospital, leg bouncing in a constant fast-paced rhythm. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. All he can do is wait whilst stitches are sewn into freckled flesh, pulling closed gashes and cuts. But that’s all they can do; close the physical wounds. There’s nothing the doctors can do about the images of red and blue flashing between the aroma of metal. Or about the constant clatter of stone reverberating in his mind. And what about the taste of salty copper that tempts the burning of stomach acid up his throat?

He almost wishes that these memories were fogged with panic, but if that was the case, he wouldn’t have been able to give the police such a detailed report of what happened. Was it that detailed? Does his mind want him to remember? Maybe the memories are being fogged with panic. But it’s his report that could send such monsters to prison.

God, he hopes they’re put away for a long, long time.
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It had started with the crowd slowly lessening until every member had made it outside of the tent. Logan was climbing down from the platform in which he’d been tightrope-walking on, lightly massaging his right hip, as the usual ache from leaning to one side had begun its torture. He could see Roman and Virgil chatting idly by the front entrance, possibly saying their goodbyes as Roman enjoyed taking night-time walks.

Patton, after stretching out his limbs, ruffled his fingers through the light curls of his hair and allowed Remy to guide him out of the back exit of the tent, towards their trailer. The corners of Logan’s lips twitched subconsciously, and he decided to check on the two of them after ensuring that Terrence was alright. The performer mentioned was stacking the multiple wooden chairs he had manipulated during the show atop one another, afterwards, dragging the pile into a corner. At the sight of Logan making his way over, Terrence grinned, pearly white teeth glowing past his exhausted eyes. “What’s up, Lo? Hurting much?”

“Only slightly. I do believe I’m getting used to the strain.”

A laugh bubbled from Terrence’s throat and Logan knew it was to hide how tired he was; Terrence tended to do that. “You’d think you already would be. I mean, you’ve been doing this for five years. Are you going home now?”

With a nod, Logan covered his mouth as a yawn escaped him, apologising for the rudeness before being cut off by a scoff from his companion. “Don’t apologise. Just go sleep, it’s obvious that you need it.”

‘Hypocrite.’

As he headed towards the exit, Logan could hear muffled voices. Hearing voices around that time of night was normal enough, that wasn’t what worried him. What worried him was the fact that the voices sounded angry.