Tae's P.O.V
It's been a few weeks since "Mr Sharp", as TomCat likes to call him, arrived. I'm not sure whether to say he's been doing splendidly or is just the same as he was when he had arrived; he ventures around the circus dressed as if he were on his way to town. He'll help one of the crew members set up equipment in the Big Top, he'll herd an escaped horse back to AdventureCat's petting zoo, he'll even go ahead and welcome in vendors from around the state who came to sell their goods at the circus, (of course, the real owner doesn't know he's letting in strange cotton candy sellers with probably no license... perhaps I should tell someone).
Even though he seems charming to the others when I'm not around, I still avoid him like the plague. There's just... something about him that doesn't sit well in my mind when I think. When I first looked him in the eye, he had a familiar sense of false comfort that I've only ever felt when being addressed by my dad's friends. I didn't take a liking to that man and I've made sure to stay as far as possible to avoid anything unsatisfactory.
However, occasionally, I will accidentally run into him and he'll make a point to make sure that I'm thoroughly uncomfortable. His favourite thing to do seems to be making snide remarks about my unkempt hair or teasing me about how a real lady's toes shouldn't look so "hideous". I don't find anything wrong with my toes; I take pride in my rough calluses and long toes, thank you very much!
The things he says about how I look or anyone else, for that matter, are beyond strange; it's like he's so obsessed with his appearance, he's determined to make everybody else feel ashamed of being poor and employed by a circus, only so he can feel like the most handsome, rich devil in the room. Now don't get me wrong, Truman does have a handsome face and his position in society is something to admire... but I feel, in his youth, the ringleader can win the beauty contest quicker than the knife-thrower, and the quite obvious fact that Tom owns the circus Truman works at is far more appealing than just having money from parents.
Speaking of the ringmaster, TomCat actually left a few days ago to go all over the state in search of the abnormal. He was telling me that it was about high time we make this place a real sideshow. I quite agreed with him and wished him luck on his journey. He left the circus in FatCat's charge since the brute seemed to show a lot of leadership over the other performers and I have to say; FatCat's doing an excellent job! He's taking care of everything as a responsible supervisor should, and solving each problem quickly and without arguments. My only concern is how he'll take care of Precision, who is taking advantage of the absence of the ringmaster and being even viler than before; treating us more like his slaves than his coworkers. A few of the fellow artists had gotten so tired of the man's tyranny, that they decided to round everyone up and go through an hour's worth of gruelling exercise as payback for Precision's attitude.
It was no surprise to hear him complaining about five minutes into the workout. I'm only eight years old and even I managed to not only last longer than he did but also do more than he could. Everyone was thoroughly pleased with his agony that day.
As of today, Precision has been tolerable; he hasn't bullied anybody around at breakfast or lunch so, for now, today is a good day for everybody. I like to say he was too tired and sore to do anything.
What makes this day even better is when the deed for a pair of elephants just arrived in the mail; FatCat did the honours of taking care of that so now, in a few weeks the Nočne Mačke will have some pachyderms to take care of (however they will not be in our upcoming show, which is next week).
...
I peacefully sat at a table in the cookhouse, nibbling on a small chunk of sourdough bread. The cooks were out about town buying more items to add to our supply so I couldn't have them make me something nice like they normally would. I was hoping for a warm bowl of beef stew or maybe a sandwich, but unfortunately, I'll have to settle with the less-than-fresh bread.
I ate the bland, dry bread bit-by-bit; tearing small chunks off and eating them as I thought quietly about random subjects. Occasionally watching a few performers come inside to get some snacks as well. They all followed a similar pattern; they would come inside, acknowledge me with a nod or a quick hello, and briskly leave far quicker than they had come in. I could tell just from the way they all acted around me, that they still couldn't quite shake off my accident from several days ago. I don't blame them... I can't shake it off either.
As I calmly ate, deeply lost in thought and barely conscious of the world around me, the sound of shoes crunching against dirt clods and small rocks reached my ears and I instinctively followed the sound with my eyes. Precision was approaching, for once without his coat in the humid summer heat and a look of tired boredom written on his features.
Oh, how fantastic. I rolled my eyes and turned back to my bread, determined to ignore him as much as possible. The arrogant toff flashed me a judgemental stare but continued on to the breadbasket beside the oven. In my mind, he wasn't even there and I managed to successfully block him out of my peripherals to continue eating my bread in peace.
I assumed he was going to leave just like the others ( hoping would be a more accurate term); however, the man proved me wrong by sitting down right next to me, eating his hunk of bread quietly and giving me shrewd glances every so often. I couldn't ignore him any longer and I was eventually, I was driven to ask what he wanted.
The man stopped chewing and looked at me with an eyebrow raised, "Ah... just as I expected from a wench who hasn't been taught proper manners."
I turned to look at Precision in confusion and it took me a solid moment or two to finally realise that I should've addressed him like a "proper" lady. Very well... I can do that.
"Oh, apologies, sir," I started in my sweetest tone of voice. A small smile crossed the man's lips but it was quickly wiped away by what I said next, "What the fuck do you want, you greedy, self-conceited bastard?"
Precision glared at me and the look in his cold eyes made me recoil slightly in fear. I forced the defiant smile to make me seem far braver than I was.
"Well... with language like that, I guess I'm gonna have to have a talk with the kind ringmaster, aren't I?" he stated smoothly, although I could tell he was still offended by my choice of words.
"Tom doesn't care. He's the one who taught me how to say those words!" I found my confidence again as I said this, as I realised that the hopeless man wouldn't possibly dare hurt his employer's prized possession. Knowing this, I found humour in taunting him.
Precision took a deep breath and gripped what little remaining bread he had in his fist until the poor morsel crumbled. "I guess that's to be expected from a young, immature Irishman, isn't it? Nothing but cursing and yelling!"
"That's not true!" I interrupted the man. "Tom doesn't curse a lot and he only yells because he's supposed to so we can hear him!"
"Whatever, girl. A boy such as him shouldn't be in charge of a young girl such as yourself... let alone an entire circus!" Precision huffed, brushing the smashed crumbs off his hands and flinging them to the floor. I frowned angrily.
"Tom is very able to be in charge! He knows what he's doing!" I defended.
"Well, then... why is he wasting his precious time personalising metal clamps for... I assume... personal reasons?" he snapped back, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a very queer-looking metal clamp. It was painted blue and had a shiny gold clasp with black leather padding lining the inside. It was too small to be for any of the animals and definitely too fancy and pristine as well.
"What were you doing in his office?" I wondered suspiciously. Precision caressed the smooth leather padding with his thumb and chuckled.
"Relax... I found it hidden at the bottom of that crate in his office when I was searching for a costume. I was curious."
"It's a costume piece, then. He'll need that, so put it back!" I answered his "curiosity" in the best way that I could as I reached for the clamp in an attempt to grab it from him. Precision held it away from me and smiled in amusement.
"Now why would a young man such as him need this disturbing... toy?" he questioned, watching the clasp gleam in the sunlight.
"It doesn't look like a toy, so it's not. Put it back, it's not yours!" I ordered firmly, standing on the table bench to convince the thief that I meant business. Precision eyed me up and down as if I were a joke and scoffed.
"Very well, if you insist. But first, I would like to conduct a little experiment," the knife-thrower agreed and stood up from his seat. I continued to glare at him firmly, making sure he didn't do anything stupid. However, before I could even process what he was doing, the man had placed the metal clasp around my neck. As soon as Precision had lunged towards me and the leather padding of the clasp began to squeeze my neck tightly, I gasped in surprise and fell back onto the table.
Eventually, he let go of me to watch how I reacted, a strangely fascinated expression plastered on his disgusting face. I writhed like a fish out of water on top of the table, tugging at the suffocating clamp and acting purely on instinct. My heart was pounding in my chest and my breath came in rapid gasps of fear; I was no longer in control of what I did. So much so, that when the man had finally decided I had had enough torment and came forward to set me free, I bared my teeth and growled viciously at him like some beast.
Precision recoiled in surprise, for once his features displayed an emotion other than that which represented his ego. He gave me a horrified stare and looked around as a child would do if they had broken a plate and didn't know what to do. Meanwhile, I continued to panic and scream as I tugged on the clamp.
Finally, the bastard composed himself after realising he had, indeed, made a terrible mistake and lunged towards me to keep me still. I screamed bloody murder and snapped at him with the mindlessness of a rabid animal; however, the man firmly held my head against the table and quickly unlocked the clasp. The moment my neck was freed, he let me go and I immediately fled, never looking back for an instant to see if the man had followed.
Yet, my blind run to nowhere was abruptly put to a stop when I suddenly collided with someone. The force bounced me back to the floor and I landed with a breathy grunt. Too dazed to even be scared anymore, I let my obstacle lift me to my feet and hurriedly dust me off.
"My god! Tae, are you alright?! I heard screams!" a deep voice wondered. I blinked my dizziness away and looked up, and to my greatest relief, I saw the kind, fatherly features of FatCat staring back at me.
As the heavy feeling of solace took over me, I could do nothing at that moment but cry and bury my face in his leg. FatCat picked me up into his burly arms and held me comfortingly. However, the look in his eyes expressed everything but sympathy as he glared in concern at me; his eyes, added with the ruggedness of his face made him seem a hundred times more terrifying than normal.
"What happened? Tell me," he ordered.
"P-P-Prec-sion s-scared me..." I stammered through a wave of tears. I probably would've told him the whole story, but seeing as I was still a nervous wreck, those words were the only sounds I could muster. FatCat understood me nonetheless, and, with his frightening glare growing even more enraged, he stomped all the way to the cookhouse with me in his arms, ready to confront the disgusting rich creep.
"YOU!! RICH BOY!!" FatCat yelled once we reached the tent. The knife-thrower, who appeared to be just about to leave, paused in his tracks and looked up in surprise and for a split second, I could've sworn, I saw a flash of true fear in his eyes.
FatCat didn't stop until he was nearly eye-level with the man and once his stature was made clear, he gave an angry huff; one that reminded me of an angry bull confronting his fighter. Precision seemed so small compared to the brute of a man and nothing he could say would possibly outmatch FatCat, for the strongman had smarts just as much as he had brawn.
"If you bother little Tae again, I will personally make sure this whole circus knows, so we can beat you to a pulp all at once and leave you to rot in the woods where no one will care that you're gone! Understand, creep?" FatCat threatened harshly, glaring swords into the knife-thrower's eyes. Precision couldn't find his words at first and his lips stammered with no sound to match their movements. FatCat wasn't being merciful, however, and he grabbed Precision by the collar of his fancy shirt and shook him.
"UNDERSTAND!?" he screamed and the knife-thrower nodded without hesitation. FatCat huffed once more and, after shoving the rich snob's shoulder, turned briskly on his heel and left while carrying me in the crook of his arm. My decision was made that day, and that decision was to remain close to FatCat when Tom wasn't around.