(ODO; Don't kill me for joining. No Stargate this time. *Sheepish grin* )
"Annabelle! Come on!" Morte called in irritation, adjusting his mask.
Annabelle could only gasp in amazement, not because of her mentors more than strange appearance, no she was used to that by now. It was the fact that he was juggling witch-lights in between adjusting his mask and trying to teach her. There was no doubt in his level of skill, he worked in a circus that based themselves in the Whisper Forest when they weren't travelling, though Annabelle did wish he'd speak to her about other things. 'Annabelle, flick your wrists, Annabelle catch this, Annabelle you're not doing this right'. She echoed is voice on her head.
"Annabelle!" he called again.
"We're moving on to knifes today." "What?!" she yelled back.
"I can't even master witchlights.""These? You'll probably never get those right. For me it was a lucky fluke that I learned to solidify them."The blow was surprisingly painful, so she was never going to learn her mentor's most valued trick? She was never going to be as good as he was? She had to admit that stung, and on top of that she was going to risk life and limb juggling knives?
"Morte, sir, I-""You think I'm stupid enough to let someone of your calibre juggle sharpened ones? They'll be a sharp one for the demonstration, I'm going to change them over, you just have to catch that one once." "Good..." Annabelle sighed in relief.
"And what do you mean someone of my calibre?""I would not have chosen you as my successor had I not seen potential, I was merely commenting on your tendency to let things spin when you throw them." With Morte's juggling reaching climax a small crowd had gathered, mostly those Seth had been impressing earlier no doubt. After that display they would be tough crowd, there was no doubt of that.
"Ladies, Gentleman, those of the undead!" When the crowd laughed he tittered.
"'Tis no laughing matter, my friends. I'm half undead myself, on my mother's side, infact." he said as the crowd laughed again.
"Anyway, where was I?" All the time he was talking, he kept juggling. In the light of day the lights he was juggling were not as fabulous as they were at night Though they casual chatter which he kept up while doing so was truly baffling. Really, he was keeping his eyes firmly on the juggling, he was just a good enough actor to pretend this was easy. One by one he dismissed the witchlights, it was a draining process, but it was worth it for the effect.
From somewhere in the shadows, a menacing violin tune began to play.
"Now, my charming assistant and I will preform the last act of one Tyrone Chauncey and his assistant. In 1907, both Tyrone and his assistant were tragically impaled by the very swords they were juggling! Now, lets hope that the incident doesn't repeat itself on the anniversary of their tragic demise." From a velvet lined case Morte pulled no less than seven rapiers, each completely ornate. "Watch." His voice was barely above a whisper, he pulled a fine silk handkerchief from his pocket and let it fall gently on to the sword. It was swiftly split in two.
Without warning the red head man threw the sword at his assistant which threw it back, swiftly. Soon the air was filled with seven glinting swords. Morte was the complete showman, there was sweat on his brow and his eyes were alight with concentration. Their seemed to be nothing he couldn't catch, he even managed in-between throws to catch and throw back a coin someone had dropped. Even if that someone was getting payed for doing so.
Annabelle gasped for breath, cursing the day when she'd ever agreed to this madness. She'd quickly found out that
someone hadn't swapped the swords at all. She was in deep water, and the hospital if she caught one wrong.
Soon, both of them exhausted, and dripping with sweat turned to the cheering audience. Annabelle more so than Morte, mind you he was actually half undead. (He'd lied completely about how be came that way mind you.)
As the crowd disburse, Annabelle turned to Morte, her hand bleeding slightly, and expression of fury on her face.
"Why?" she demanded.
"The fear on your face was something even the best actor couldn't reproduce. I had faith in you, Annabelle. You weren't going to mess up. I could tell.""I. Hate. You." she moaned, gasping for breath.
"It's for the best. Trust me." "I wish I could."(Long reply. O.o; EDIT: Click for human form. ^3^)