12: Mystic Horizon

     The circus's circadian rhythm changed significantly during performance weeks, as Fletcher learned. They performed six nights out of seven per week, and the show usually finished an hour or two after midnight. The day after, most of the performers didn't bother rousing themselves until eleven or even noon. So while they were all now shuffling around the usual eating area, breaking into smaller groups, and helping themselves to the large pot of stew that Brandon and Jenny had thrown together, it was functionally breakfast, despite being almost twelve in the afternoon.

     After pouring himself a bowl of the chunky brown liquid, inhaling the warm, homely scents, Fletcher wandered until he found himself near Dopesmoker. He saw the vaguely canine creature raise a spoon to the front of his mechanical ventilator, a tiny flap beneath the front dropping open just wide enough so he could slide the spoon in. Fletcher noticed he was careful about it though, always hesitant, making sure nobody saw too closely. The coyote found himself again wondering about the mystic, burning with curiosity at what had happened to leave him this way. The apparatus had to be Dead World technology, but that fact alone did not explain where Dope had gotten it, or why.

     “Good morning." Fletcher said, sitting next to him, trying to shrug off the awkwardness. The two hadn't spoken since Fletcher visited Dopesmoker's tent with Ursula a few nights ago, when he'd given them a cryptic, yet unnervingly accurate premonition. “Or afternoon, maybe."

     “Not just yet, Fletcher." Dope said between mechanical breaths, his stew making a slurping sound every time he pushed it into his little eating compartment. He didn't fail to notice that Dope had deliberately gotten a serving that was mostly liquid, keeping away from larger chunks of meat. “How are you today? Is Lyric well?"

     Fletcher narrowed his eyes, but nodded, blowing on a spoonful of his own stew. “Yeah. Aloysius and Lazarus managed to put together a wheelchair, so he's not really walking, but he can get around. Miss Meridian keeps cussing him out every time she sees him."

     “He'll leave as soon as he's able, I expect? Off to Blood Mesa?" Fletcher frowned, wondering why the creature had asked him exactly, as well as how he'd known. Far as the coyote knew Lyric had told nobody else of his plans.

     Maybe he really is clairvoyant. He thought, a sudden feeling of intrusiveness appearing in him. Maybe Lyric told him too? He suddenly wondered if Dope would help him in his goal to stop the jackal from leaving.

     “Maybe. I haven't spoken to him in a while." He admitted with a shrug. Since Lyric first woke up, there had simply been too much to do, and the jackal had been spending a lot of his time asleep.

     “You didn't sit here to talk about Lyric though." Dope said. “I make people nervous, they don't usually talk to me unless they want something." Fletcher felt guilt and indignation flare in him then, but it was true.

     “Sorry." He said, blushing as he shoved the spoonful into his mouth. “I just… need a bit more clarity on the things you told me. When you spoke about 'the children', and the 'whims of the mesa', did you mean they're going to come after me? I don't understand." Dopesmoker nodded slowly, inhaling deeply, the little canister on the small of his back bubbling as it cooked up more atmosphere the creature could breathe.

     “I don't have answers for you I'm afraid. The premonitions, they come when I enter a kind of meditative trance state, when I brew a very particular sort of inhalant. It's where I got my moniker from." Fletcher watched intently, as if just by staring he could decipher something about the shaggy figure. “It allows me to step back, and perceive the passage of time not as an ever ongoing river, but something more comparable to a physical space. In this way, I can look around, back and forth, sliding between the now, has-been, and will-be."

     Fletcher's eyes widened. “So, like time travel?" He asked, suddenly captivated. He'd read a story book about a time travelling gunslinger when he was younger, a hero that hopped dimensions, constantly on a quest to save a tower at the centre of reality. Chuckling, Dopesmoker shook his head.

     “No, I'm afraid not." He said, gesturing with his spoon. “Imagine. You're standing on a flat plain, and you glance from the east horizon to the west horizon. You can easily tell these are different places, you can see both, but they're much too far for you to travel to. In the same regard, you cannot be at both at once. My visions, are almost like that, except they go in every possible direction, and are both much larger and much more entangled than a simple skyline. I'm anchored to the here and now of this dead rock, but when I view the world from a higher perception, I can see farther. That's all. I understand it doesn't make much sense."

     “Oh." Fletcher's ears fell, and he looked back at his soup.

     “Ah, making friends with the resident mainliner are we?" Fletcher looked up at the new voice, realising that he had been cast into shadow. Standing before him in a vaguely feminine pose, was a slender, pale brown greyhound. He wore a long black trench coat over the top of a purple and silver button shirt.

     “Good morning Raime." Dopesmoker said, meeting the greyhound's gaze.

     “Hello." Raime said. “If you're hoping to score my boy, you may want to look elsewhere. Our resident automaton isn't about to start sharing with anyone but himself."

     “I've told you before Transeldaimor, they aren't any kind of narcotic you could breathe." Dopesmoker replied curtly, setting his bowl aside and standing stiffly. The greyhound was almost a full head taller than him, though Dope still looked substantial when put next to Raime's slender frame.

     “And I to you, that I don't want your drugs." The magician said, turning to Fletcher. “Be glad your tent isn't next to the cyborg's my good lad, it's rather hard to sleep when you wake in a small cloud of heavy scented smoke and incense."

     “An accident. As painful for me as for you." Dopesmoker replied. sighing. “Have a good day Fletcher. Good luck with your training." And he shuffled off.

     “There's a reason everyone thinks I'm rude." Raime said, after Dopesmoker was out of earshot. “But I simply say what most of us are thinking. The robot gets far more leniency from Miss Meridian than any other member – I simply enjoy calling out the double standard."

     “Er, alright." Fletcher said, standing and looking to get away. “He seems okay to me."

     “If you have no problem with lying to people." Raime snorted. “I trick and deceive, but my audiences know deep down I'm not really doing magic. Dope's little freak-show only sells if his honeypot can ensnare the slowest of flies." He readjusted his coat. “Have a good day my boy, and you're welcome, for the rescue."

     I didn't need rescuing. Fletcher thought, frowning as the greyhound left. He felt bad for Dopesmoker, the man was clearly ostracised, or at the very least on the outskirts of the circus's social circles.

     Fletcher, with nothing much to do, next found at himself at a table with more familiar faces. Thume and Clementine were deep in conversation, and Narem sat next to them, amicably watching the exchange.

     “Hello there, Fletcher." The leopard said, perking up a little as he sat.

     “Where's your brother?" Fletcher asked, seeing no trace of the quieter twin. Next to him, Thume went on, gesticulating dramatically.

     “It's a perceptual thing though, can't you feel it? It's that static, the radio-grade levels of mental bandwidth being used up! In that way you can get a sense of others, get a sense of things. Don't you ever get a feel for a landscape, that… magnetism, floating through the air?" The tiger stared back at him, blinking.

     “I have no idea what you said Mister Braider, but you have my curiosity and attention." Clementine said, chuckling. Thume frowned, but began to go further into depth, Fletcher catching the words 'moon', 'equatorial divergence', and 'atmospheric pressure'.

     Narem rolled his eyes, returning focus to the coyote. “Oh, Nobu? He is off courting his twisty flower." He said, his tone just a touch contrite. “They are like kittens almost, fawning over one another. I do not know what the kitten-equivalent of a sergal is but certainly she is acting it." Fletcher raised an eyebrow.

     “Jealous?"

     “Well," Narem scoffed, glancing away with a hint of beneath his fur. “No. But… it can't be denied, if you spend all your time with someone, it feels a little callous when they decide to suddenly abandon you for someone else, no?"

     “So I'm just chopped liver then?" Narem giggled, brushing down the yellow and black fur on his head, amber eyes darting around.

     “No, n-no, never Fletcher." He stammered. “But, you only just arrived. I saw you were previously occupied with Transeldaimor, lucky you."

     Fletcher sighed. “Not a subtle bone in his body huh? First time we've really talked, and all he did was insult DP." Narem nodded.

     “Lyric hates him too, but he's a good performer, so we put up with him. Just rude."

     “He reminds me a little of my father." Fletcher said, without thinking. Narem stared at him, his tail flicking. Next to them, Thume and Clementine were talking about reincarnation and soul-pairing. Fletcher ignored the nonsensical chatter, focusing on the leopard, who was watching him very intently. "What?" He asked.

     “Was your father really the Baron of Fulbright? Or are the rumours just rumours?"

     The coyote nodded. “Yeah. Haven't thought about him in ages though. Feels like so long ago." In reality, it had been little over a week and a half since bounty hunters had been set on them. “My father, I… I don't know. He was hard, very strict. He did want what's best, but I don't think he ever saw me as a person, more like a thing he owned. He wanted me to do well when I was studying, and to be a good politician when I got older, but only because of how it made him look." And eventually he had tried to sell his son into a marriage for trade leverage.

     “What was your mother like?" Narem asked softly, leaning closer.

     “I don't really remember." Fletcher admitted. “I've got like, memories of the feelings I had, but I don't know. She died when I was young."

     “How? If I may ask." Fletcher paused, biting his lower lip.

     “I don't know." He said quickly, looking away. The leopard paused, blushing.

     “I have dug up bad memories, I am sorry my friend."

     “It's alright." They went quiet for a few minutes, listening to Clementine talk about her philosophies, and Thume his own madness. He was talking about magnetic poles now, and how their shifting was relevant to his emotions.

     “Would you like to go practice?" Narem asked suddenly, almost causing Fletcher to jump. “I have a fun idea, if we go out to the woods?"

     “Um…" The coyote looked around, but this was the circus's night off anyway. People had things to do, but there wasn't any dire need for him here. “Yeah, I suppose. Should I bring my rifle?"

     Narem snorted. “Of course you should." He shook his head. “What a stupid question."

     The two climbed up to leave, Clementine and Thume not even noticing the departure. They retrieved Fletcher's rifle from his tent, and Narem dropped his shirt and coat at his own; claiming the weather was 'far too fair' for silly things like shirts. They marched the fifteen minutes out to where they'd practiced before, with Miss Meridian and both the Raiji twins.

     Fletcher couldn't deny that walking alone with Narem was peaceful. The topless acrobat walked with a jubilant skip in his step, smiling at the world. He was all joy and playfulness, and seemed to take things easy. He didn't care that Fletcher's father was the Blood Iron Baron, he didn't care that his presence had led a band of killers to their home. He was just glad for the friendship. Nobu was nice too, Fletcher had decided, but quieter and more reserved; Narem was easier to like, simply because he liked everything else.

     No wonder they didn't get on with Lyric.

     They found the tree and Fletcher hit some static targets, followed by a few plates that Narem tossed in the air. If they got the timing right, and the leopard threw one after another in quick succession, they discovered the coyote could hit seven in a row without a miss. He could also spin around and hit a moving target with ease, and hit things at extreme distances – provided they weren't moving.

     “We'll have to get you to try some revolvers." Narem said, crossing his arms as Fletcher reloaded, shoving in the new ammo that Theodore had purchased for him. “Or one of those fancy guns that Lyric uses."

     “I don't know. I've never used a handgun before." The coyote admitted. “They seem, I don't know, kinda crude?"

     “Perhaps. You do make an art of it." The leopard nodded. Fletcher blushed, trying not to focus on the cat's muscled chest and arms. His belly was lighter than the rest of him, dark lines running down his sides, everything packed tightly into the lithe acrobatic body. The fur on his stomach looked soft to the touch.

     Fletcher shook his head, staring intently back at his gun.

     “Ah, I'm only good at the one thing though." He stammered. Narem spun at that, eyes wide and delighted.

     “Can I try?"

     “What?" Fletcher blanched.

     “Can I try shooting? I'm wondering how difficult it is. If I try and find it easy, I can make fun of you, no?"

     “Oh, I don't know…" Fletcher began, looking around, as if slightly suspicious that at any moment Lyric would appear and tell him off again.

     “I will aim for a stable target sitting in that tree!" The leopard pointed. “And you can help. Please Fletcher?"

     “Well…" He felt nervous, but there wasn't any harm, right? Narem's orange-brown eyes were soft and pleading, and Fletcher relented. “Alright. Here." He passed the safety-locked rifle to Narem, who took it gently, watching carefully as Fletcher explained the parts. “It's bolt action, so with every shot you have to pull this slide back, then slam it back into place to load the next round. These little iron notches line up with where the bullet will go, but if you're shooting far away you have to remember there's gravity and wind. Yep, like that, press the butt of the stock into your shoulder, spread your feet a bit… okay good." He was pointing, but Narem wasn't quite getting it.

     “Like this?" The leopard asked, leaning in close as he aimed, and hefting his arm at too-high an angle. Fletcher frowned, not sure why. He's seen people shoot before, why is he doing that?

     “Er, not quite, if you shoot like that, the kickback could break your wrist."

     “Oh, it's that strong?!" He sounded surprised.

     “Yes." Fletcher said. “It's loud this close too, so make sure your ear plugs are in properly."

     “Alright, alright… so how do I use the slide again?" He looked to the coyote nervously, fluffy leopard brow furrowing in concern.

     “Flick that safety off, then pull it up and slide it back, you'll hear a little metallic click as the casing fits into place."

     “Um…" The leopard got the safety after two tries, but the bolt wouldn't come up for him. “I don't know…" He said, flustered.

     “Just pull, you won't break it, flip it up, as far up as it goes and then… no, not like that." Fletcher tried to sort of mimic the action, but Narem sighed, cursing.

     “Can you just, show me? Where does my paw go?" Fletcher paused, blushing as he realised what was being asked.

     It's natural though. He told himself. This is how Thume taught me to stand properly.

     “Umm, alright… okay." He said, face hot as he stepped closer. He pressed himself against Narem's topless back, wrapping his right arm around the leopard's shoulder and guiding his paw into place. His other snaked around Narem's waist, as he explained how to position his hips, pushing them into place. They were as firm as they looked, like pushing on oak. “You don't wanna hurt yourself." The leopard let out a slight purr – almost too quick to catch - as Fletcher used a foot to kick his apart a bit, his grip tightening on the cat's wrist.

     “Like this?" Narem asked, and Fletcher nodded. This close up, it was impossible not to feel Narem's butt pushing against his crotch. Fletcher just willed his privates to behave, and not embarrass him by doing something crazy. It felt silly, but also kind of exhilarating. He was shaking a little. He could smell the leopard too, it was a gentle scent, not as strong as Lyric's, but definitely still definable. The cat wiggled his hips against Fletcher, purring slightly again.

     “Uh, y-yes." Fletcher said, struggling to breathe, his face burning as the leopard's tail coiled around his leg. “Just make sure you don't move too much…" He had one paw still on Narem's waist, the fur there tickling his pads, while the other hovered just next to his trigger arm. In one swift motion, the leopard flicked the bolt up and slid it back, textbook. “Perfect!" Fletcher exclaimed.

     “Don't let go, I might need help." Narem insisted. “So I just…?"

     “Slam it back to where it was, did you hear a click?" The leopard nodded. “Then do it." He did, and it all slid in perfectly. “Now raise it to eyelevel, but don't put your face too close to the hammer at the back."

     “Can I pull the trigger like this?" Narem asked bashfully. “I'm, er, a bit nervous." He giggled again.

     “Yeah, okay, but be ready for the kick."

     “I will." And the cat pushed his other earplug in, making sure it was properly placed. Fletcher did the same, and tapped Narem's shoulder to let him know he was ready. He could feel the warmth radiating off the cat, the tail still coiled around his leg, hips pushed against Fletcher's front, ostensibly for stability. There was a slight tickle in the front of the coyote's pants, but he told himself it was just the pressure and closeness – natural for a twenty-one-year-old.

     Just please don't get hard. He begged, trying to imagine Thume watching them.

     Narem pulled the trigger. The gun went off, kicking back violently, the cat not knowing how to properly compensate for the recoil. He cried out instantly, the slug going wild and missing the target completely. They separated and Fletcher quickly took the rifle, laughing as he watched the big cat cry out in shock, rolling his shoulder and massaging it, hissing.

     “That fucking hurt!" He cried, after pulling an earplug out. Fletcher nodded.

     “I told you to be ready!" He said.

     “Still, I've been punched before, and it didn't feel too different. Old Gods Fletcher, you do that every time?" He shook his head, and began to wind himself down, coming closer in. He paused. “Thank you, for the help though. I'll admit, shooting is… more difficult than I anticipated."

     Fletcher tried not to react as Narem came in closer than he was ready for, close enough their toes were almost touching. “Uh… That's alright. It's fun though."

     “Mhmm." The leopard said, eyes flicking up and down the coyote's body, his paws gently touching at his sides. Fletcher felt embarrassed at the soft flesh there, a stark difference to Narem's toned midsection. “You're very good at it."

     “I practiced a lot." Fletcher said headily, almost whispering. It felt weird being this close to Narem, he could feel the leopard's breath on his neck fur, his fingers lightly tickling at the sides of his abdomen. He felt a strange pressure on his chest, and even through the light yellow fur, he could see the leopard was blushing as much as he was.

     What are we doing? He wondered, ignoring the obvious. In his pants, his sheath was again hardening ever so slightly.

     “You have really nice eyes Fletcher; you know that?" Narem said softly, a faint smile on his lips.

     “Oh. Thank-thank you." The coyote stuttered. Narem opened his mouth to speak again, but promptly shut it, his eyes narrowing as he glanced over Fletcher's shoulder. His paws pulled back and he stepped quickly away, brushing down some of his fur, staring at his feet, as if ashamed.

     “Oh good, just who I wanted to see." He mumbled, crossing his arms. Fletcher turned, raising his eyebrows as he saw Lyric hopping toward them, one foot held off the ground, a crutch beneath each arm.

     The tailless jackal glanced between the two, as if seeing them for the first time. “Hey you two."

     “What are you doing out here?" Fletcher asked. “Where did you get those?"

     “Aloysius had 'em laying around." Lyric admitted, trying – and failing – to shrug. “Were ya practicing? Why ain't the cat in a shirt?"

     “Yes, we were." Narem snapped. “Shouldn't you be in bed Lyric?"

     “S'two in the afternoon boy." They all went quiet, and Fletcher felt the weight of the tension in the air. Eventually the jackal broke it, pretending at obliviousness. “I… saw you two goin' off together. I assumed it was to practice. I been meanin' to talk with Fletch for a while now, figured since he'd be out here, wouldn't be a half bad time to do it. Away from… curious ears. And, if I'm honest, I really needed to get out of the circus grounds a bit."

     “Well maybe we are still practicing." Narem said, tail coiling, his paws flexing. His ears were flat, and his eyes were glaring daggers.

     “I mean, it didn't look too serious, since you were the one doin' the shooting." Lyric said. “That yer first time with a gun Narem?"

     “Why do you always interrupt us?" Narem spat.

     “This isn't the same as last time though." Fletcher interjected. “We have been meaning to talk." Anxiety tightened in his stomach, as he remembered his abysmal attempt at showing Lyric some affection three nights ago. His heart raced at the sight of the jackal, eyes going over his wide shoulders, nose tasting his overpowering scent. Fletcher's erection had died the second Lyric opened his mouth, but it now threatened to return.

     We'll talk later. The jackal said. Was that a good or bad sign? He seemed amicable enough, not in a foul mood – rare these days. His mouth was dry, he didn't know what to do.

     “I just wanna chat." Lyric said. “You can practice again tonight Narem, I ain't meanin' to start nothin'."

     The leopard scoffed, shaking his head. “Just because you're trying to kill yourself Lyric, doesn't mean you're automatically in charge of everyone else!" He said, the anger showing in his shaky voice.

     “It's not like that…" Fletcher tried.

     “Narem…" Lyric began.

     “We were training!" The leopard snapped, cutting him off. “You don't own all the people here! Even if you would like to."

     “S'the last thing I want Raiji. So you was still training when I got here then huh? It's not what it looked like to me boy." Fletcher was feeling nervous, and stuck. He liked both of them well enough, they were nice people, and it hurt seeing them fight. On top of that, who know what Lyric was going to say? Did he really want to hear it?

     “Perhaps Fletcher does not even want to speak to you right now. Did you even consider that, you arrogant prick?" Narem hissed. Lyric looked slightly taken aback, and he cocked his head, glancing at the coyote.

     “Want me to leave boy?" He asked gruffly. Fletcher paused, eyes flicking over to Narem as he shrugged apologetically.

     “We did agree to talk…" He began. The leopard stared back, and then shook his head.

     “Alright." He said quietly. “Yet again, Tellurian is the centre of the world, just because he can't stop killing people." And with that he stormed off. When he was out of earshot, Lyric sighed.

     “Well." He said, taking a seat on a nearby log. “That wasn't what I came expectin'. Somethin' I should know 'bout you two boys?" He asked, studying Fletcher quizzically. The coyote sunk into shame, rubbing the back of his neck and stuttering.

     “N-no, we… we're just friends."

     “Mhmm." The jackal replied. “I see. And Narem knows that?"

     “Y-yeah." He lied. “I was just showin' him how to shoot."

     “Fletcher." Lyric said flatly. “Calm the hell down. You're jumpier'n spit on a hot skeleton."

     “Sorry." He said, stopping dead in place and putting his paws together.

     “Why don't you sit down across from me here." Lyric gestured, and Fletcher forced himself to sit, pulling his tail into his lap. “I suppose it's time we talk, you an' I. Bout this… thing that's between us, huh?"

     Fletcher swallowed, his mouth dry. “I guess." He muttered. “So you… feel something too? For me?" He looked up, hopeful. Lyric sighed, scratching at his muzzle, before lighting a cigarette. Fletcher felt his stomach double on itself.

            “I ain't gonna deny it to ya. Like I said, let's talk."