Gleeson

The organ’s metal voice reached your ears, it was the delightful announcement of a circus, you’ve been to many, but still, excitement filled your chest. Like a rapid stream, the intoxicating bliss rushed through your veins. You stepped into the first tent you see, the smell of a circus, confetti, firecrackers, and paint. Flicking candles and bonfires warmly lit your path.

The banner wrote: Gleeson’s Glam, you saw a barely grown imperial dragon in the center of a thin crowd. He was a bit of nervous, but you kept watching, always nice to see young talents, you think. The young dragon is wearing some face paint, he seemed as glad as his audience, if not more. You gave him some applause, he deserves some encouragement. He took a deep breath, as you can see his chest moving violently. A bottle danced into the air, very much like an elegant ballerina, then a second, a third, a fourth! The crowd burst into cheers, the young imperial focused his eyes on the four bottles, you noticed the bottles were filled with glimmering water. Slowly, the crowd grew thicker, you felt difficulty breathing as the audience push and shovel, trying to get a better look at the performance.

A frightened inhale, he nearly missed a bottle! Yet, you saw through the trick, as the young performer fret not a single sweat. The bottles formed a beautiful circle, danced to the orange and heartwarming fire. With three crisp and crystal clicking sounds, the bottles land in his claws, but what about the fourth one?

You nervously tip-toed, trying to get a better look at the young dragon over the chattering crowd. Everyone was searching for the fourth bottle until the imperial turned around, and you saw, it was perfectly balanced on his tail. A wave of excited scream throw off the roof, Gleeson bowed, and you knew, it was just the beginning of a night you will never forget.

-1-
Late-afternoon sunlight warmed his skin. Grass stroked the aching soles of his feet. Bags weighed down on his arms, straps digging into his paws. They swung with each step in an attempt to take his mind off tonight. Sometimes, they caught the mask dangling at his side from a thin rope. He rarely took it off, even after a performance. He only had it off now so he could feel the breeze caress his cheeks and drag its sly digits through his curling mane.
Hugo the Guardian strolled to his left, molten gold eyes piercing through the grey of his Birdskull mask. He kept his top-hat on despite the sun—no, because of the sun. He had his bags swaying in his grasp. Exhaustion from earlier performances weighed down on his shoulders, energy wearing thin after using his enchantments once again to protect the lair.
“How did you find the performances today?” Hugo asked like he always did. For once, however, his voice was croaky.
“They were fun,” he said like he always did. He meant it, too.
“I’m beginning to think you say that just because you feel like you owe me.”
Gleeson smiled at his ringleader. “I promise, sir. They’re so much fun. Sure, I never saw myself as a clown, but I can tell you with full confidence that I’d never want to leave.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” Hugo cleared his throat, his white-gloved paw stroking his throat in an attempt to ease the strain. “How’s Vice finding things?”
His cheeks flushed, eyes downcast, finding the field they trod through very interesting indeed. “She’s enjoying it, I think.”
“You think?”
“Well...” He sighed, tail kicking up dirt as it swished. “She says she’s happy, but I know her like the back of my paw. She says it, but doesn’t look it.”
“Did she not enjoy your little date to the cliff’s edge?” Hugo teased.
Gleeson’s flush deepened and, before he could stop himself, he muttered, “It wasn’t a date.”
Hugo chuckled. “Are you sure?”
“Yes!”
“The Lord doth protest too much, methinks,” he said, a sly glint in those golden eyes.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He couldn’t stop the heat from spreading to his neck, warming his face.
“It means I doubt the sincerity of your comment.”
He growled and pouted but kept quiet. Hugo could no doubt hear the thumping of his heart against his ribcage, the rushing of blood through his veins and the pounding in his ears. There was no point in trying to defend yourself against a vampire’s hearing. It was almost like they could hear your emotion.
“Did she enjoy it?” he repeated. “Your date, I mean.”
“It wasn’t a date,” Gleeson reiterated with a sigh, “and besides, she didn’t.”
“How come?”
“I don’t know, Hugo. She just... didn’t.”
Hugo peered at him. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
In an attempt to keep from seeming exasperated, he murmured, “I don’t know what to tell you, Hugo. Vice hasn’t seemed like herself for a while, you know that.”
“Have you tried talking to her about it?”
“Of course I have. She doesn’t want to talk about it.”
His ringleader, for someone full of inquiries about everything, fell silent at last, sadness hardening his eyes. He loved him, perhaps felt he owed him an explanation for all he has done for himself and Vice, but Gleeson also felt his ringleader was too curious about his daily life. I suppose it’s better than ignorance.
“I’m sorry,” Hugo said after a while. “I’m sorry she didn’t enjoy it.”
“It's fine,” Gleeson told him. “It’s not like I expected her to. I just thought it might take her mind off things.” He shrugged, the bags tugging towards the ground, his wings fluttering. “It’s scaring me how quiet she’s been recently.”
“I can second that.” Hugo hummed, stopping abruptly. Gleeson stopped as soon as he noticed. “Do you think there’s anything we can do to cheer her up?”
Gleeson sighed, ears flattening against his tangled mane. “I don’t know.”
“Shall we buy her some chocolate from a nearby vendor?”
“Do you think that’ll work?”
Hugo shrugged. “It might cheer her up a little bit. Or, perhaps, you could buy her a teddy bear and confess your undying love for her.”
At his frown, he laughed, walking once more. “I’m only joking, of course. You waste all of your Treasure on lollipops and cross your digits for courage.”
“I have courage.”
“Do you, now?”
He swung his bags at the back of Hugo’s legs, hoping to tip his balance at the least. Much to his despair, he dodged it with ease. “Never underestimate a vampire,” he drawled, wagging his digit like a grandmother would.
Gleeson huffed. “Please stop teasing me, Hugo.”
“I will do once you finally ask her out for dinner. I’m getting bored watching the tension.”
“I was going to, anyway.”
Hugo gaped at him. His beard—dotted with tiny red beads—swayed with the breeze. “You were?”
“Yeah.”
He elbowed him in the side, snorting. “Look at you, I’m so proud!”
“Really?”
“Of course, I am!” He snickered, the sound rumbling deep in his throat. “It takes a lot of bravery to ask one out for dinner.”
“Well,” Gleeson began, “I haven’t exactly… asked yet. I just want to.”
“And I wish you all the best when you do, though I will admit, in all my years of life, I have never been so distraught over one’s lack of action.”
He raised an eyebrow at Hugo, who merely gazed at him with pride sheening his eyes. “How old even are you?”
“Over three-hundred.”
“Deities be damned.” The shock winded him, leaving his slightly breathless. “Seriously?”
“Yes. I’m about—” Hugo did some math on his digits, muttering to himself, before looking satisfied. “—three-hundred and twenty-six, if I remember correctly.”
“You don’t look like it.”
He winked at him. Gleeson could almost see the sly, twisted grin that crept across the Guardian’s face beneath his mask. “You’ve never seen underneath though, have you?”
“I guess not, sir.”
Sighing, he stared through the trees towering over him towards the sky. He could make out the faint silver outlines of tiny pink clouds, the orange washing through the sky with the sunset, the tiny black specks of dragons flying thousands of miles away, no doubt heading home.
“How far away are we from the circus?” he asked, losing himself in the sky.
“Not far,” Hugo said. “We’re about two minutes away.”
“Okay.”
“Why do you ask?”
Gleeson frowned, offering Hugo a level gaze. “You know how I said I was going to ask Vice out for dinner?”
“Yeah?”
“I was planning on doing it today.”
For once, Hugo had no retort. Or, at least, he didn’t voice it if one swam around in his brain. Instead, he offered him a reassuring nod. “I do wish you luck, Gleeson. I’m sure it’ll work out.”
He smiled a smile that reached from one ear to the other, ears perked and tail swishing with delight. “Thank you, sir.”
“Why don’t you fly on ahead, on that note? I need to go see someone and sort myself out.” Hugo chuckled, placing his bags down on the ground. “We can’t have me burning up in the sunlight, can we?”
“No, that’s true.” Just as he splayed his wings, rolled his shoulders, he frowned down at his ringleader. “Are you going to be okay?”
“I’ll be fine, Gleeson. I’m just going to get some food.”
“Do you want me to—?”
“The last time you offered to help me when it came to feeding,” he pointed out, amusement in his eyes, “you almost threw up. I’d much rather do it alone.”
Still, he didn’t leave, eyeing both Hugo and his bags with uncertainty. Sure, he couldn’t help him with his vampire needs, but perhaps he could help him in other ways. He hated thinking—much less watching—others struggle and no one offers them their paw. “Do you want me to take your bags back for you?”
Hugo chuckled and shook his head. “Go on, Gleeson, before I change my mind.”
Without wanting to take him up on that, he shot through the canopy of swaying trees and stared around him, scanning for the circus. During the day, you could see it from miles around, with flashing lights to attract attention and a Big Top of unusual colours to pique curiosity. He found it within seconds, purple and black stripes stark against the orange-blue sky surrounding it.
He kept a tight grip on his bags and flew towards it. The wind nipped his cheeks, flattened his feathers, and untangled his mane. It took a mere twenty seconds to get there, another few to land on the outskirts. Dust and dirt kicked up into his face. He had to force his coughs down his throat to keep from alerting Vice.
Gleeson trailed towards Hugo’s caravan and dumped the bags beside his door. Only a few others stood with it. One was his own; a bright green and red one, painted in his spare time when he and Vice first arrived here. Vice’s, on the other hand, was the colour of spark-riddled smoke from a campfire, a tiny Plague symbol in one corner.
His heartbeat spiked and breathing hitched. What if she says no?
He growled and smothered his anxiety before making his way towards Vice’s door. Soft music played inside. It was Vice’s favourite singer, her melodic voice echoing through the space inside, travelling through the wood to his ears. Her pitch rose and fell like the waves on a shoreline.
Gleeson knocked three times. “Hey, Vicie, it’s me,” he called softly through the door. “Can I come in?”
Nothing answered him except for the vinyl, the singer’s voice beginning to drone on.
“Vicie? Are you there?”
Gleeson pushed on the door when she still didn’t answer. It swung open beneath his touch. Not a single creak came from the hinges, nor floorboard groaned beneath his feet. Vice’s bed, left a mess from earlier that morning, lay in one corner, a desk and sofa in the other. Her notepad was nowhere to be seen.
His anxiety shot up from his stomach, clenching a fist around his heart. A cry rose in his throat.
“Oka,” he said to himself, his breathing quickening. “Okay, maybe she just... um... forgot to lock it.” Gleeson nodded to himself and rushed out of the caravan. “Yeah, that’s it.”
He could feel his mind roll around in his skull at such a useless suggestion.
Before he could stop himself, he slammed the door shut and stormed into his caravan, praying to the Deities that Vice was inside.
She wasn’t.
Her notebook, on the other hand, was. Brown in colour and stiff in texture, it sat on his desk, open on a page littered with scrawled writing and crossed-out words. A seemingly-infinite dread weighed down on his stomach as he neared. When he stood close, picked it up and weighed it, tears sprang to his eyes.
It read: I’ve gone to the train station. I can’t handle it here anymore. I’m sorry.
Gleeson slammed the notebook shut. A small, almost unnoticeable flare of hope warmed him. She’s gone to the station. That’s where I’m going.
He raced out of his caravan and launched himself up into the darkening sky. Soaring amongst the stars under the prying eye of the moon, his hope began to dim. He didn’t stop until he spotted the train station. Lights flared against a veil of darkness from surrounding woodland. A train sat, dormant, waiting.
He tucked his wings in and dived.
Dust surrounded him when he landed, like a cloud plucked from the heavens. He coughed and wheezed, but continued to run. The train whistled once. Each step he took thundered around him, the empty station a blessing when he tripped up the steps, grazing his leg. He didn’t care. He had a friend to bring back.
The train whistled another time, snagging his attention. The wheels began to churn. Panic seized him, numbing the pain in his leg, and he ran. He searched the windows and spotted Vice’s brick-red hair, her gnarled antlers and speckled fur.
Gleeson screamed her name. She didn’t turn around.
The train left the platform, and he flew once more. He kept up with the train for as long as he could, twisting and turning and flying as low to the tracks as he could. As soon as the train entered a thick forest, he flew over. His eyes burned. He couldn’t tell whether it was the wind or tears.
The train rushed off ahead of him.
“No,” Gleeson whispered, desperately flying after it, dipping below the canopy of trees. He clipped his wing and tumbled through the air, landing on the cold iron of the train tracks. As much as he tried to fly, pain split through his wing. It kept him grounded.
He sprinted after the train until his wing knocked him to the earth below. A throat-cutting growl echoed into the night at his weakness. He perked his ears, listening for the chug of a train.
There was none.
Hopeful that the train stopped somewhere, he looked up. His heart sank. The train, with its shining beacon lighting the darkness, chugged off into the distance, disappearing from view. The image of Vice, with her cloak blanketing her, her mane obscuring her face, burnt itself into his mind.
Desperation took over him. “Vice!”
No one called back.
Gleeson sat on the ground for what felt like hours, numb. Rage fixed that. He screamed into the night. Sobs followed close behind. Everything shook. Self-hatred boiled his blood. He cursed himself out, did all he could to make himself feel worse. He was certain that he would walk back to the circus; his wings could no longer carry him. Even if they could, however, he would force himself to.
It’s all my fault.
He stayed in the forest, sobbing his best friend’s name into the soil he knelt on, wondering what on Sornieth he did to cause her to leave him behind. 
-2-
The lollipops he used to chew on had long since turned into cigarettes, slowly rising in their daily numbers. He began almost eleven months ago with one a week, the smoke choking him off. Now, he has at least three per day. The smoke that once threatened to kill him became the only thing able to calm his nerves after a long day.
Days he, surprisingly, still enjoyed... sort of.
The day Vice went away, never to be seen again, happened a week before he began smoking. He should know; he counted every hour they were apart. Ten months, seventeen days, three hours. It became a habit. One that would destroy him in the end, but at least it kept him somewhat sane for now.
Gleeson sighed, smoke tumbling from his open mouth. It mixed with the snow falling around him, ash from his cigarette landing on the mask sat beside him. “I miss you,” he muttered to no one in particular, his voice croaky. “I miss you so much.”
As much as he tried to brave it, he longed for his best friend; longed for her jokes, no matter how terrible; yearned for the soft, ragged fur and unruly antlers. Vice had been the light of his life. A light now snuffed by something he did.
Her caravan still sat behind Cirque de Distraction’s main tent, almost everything as she left it that day. The only thing Gleeson changed was her messy bed. He made it, changed the covers, and forced himself not to sob. He daren’t look anywhere else in her home.
You should clear it, Hugo suggested every month.
She might still come back, he argued every time.
That same argument grew weaker every time he uttered it.
Snow crunched behind him. “Gleeson?”
“Hey, Hugo.”
“What are you doing out here, in the cold no less?” Hugo inquired.
“I don’t know.” He chuckled breathlessly. “I didn’t even realise it was cold.”
Hugo sighed. “Come into the Big Top, I’ll get you something warm.”
Gleeson merely watched the snow falling around him. It, thankfully, made him feel number. “I don’t want to. Thank you for the offer, though. I appreciate it.”
“I’m not about to let you die of hypothermia, Gleeson. You’re coming inside.”
“Can I finish my cigarette first?”
“No.”
He frowned at his ringleader. He had his coat buttoned up; the collar flicked up to cover his neck and gloved paws deep in his pockets. In winter, Hugo had to take extra precautions against sunlight. “Please?”
“No, Gleeson. Come inside.”
Biting his tongue to keep from arguing, he snuffed out his cigarette on the dirt, stuffed the butt into his pocket, slipped on his mask and followed Hugo into the Big Top. Snow continued to fall around him. Specks nestled onto his thin green coat and landed on every inch of exposed skin. At this point, he could barely feel it.
The Big Top lay empty after their most recent performance just an hour ago. No lights flared, no runes flickered. Just quiet suffocated him when he walked in. On the centre stage sat a table and chairs with two steaming mugs on top.
“Come,” Hugo said, gesturing towards a chair. “Sit down.”
Gleeson did as he was told. Once sat down, the cushion a much better seat than frozen dirt, he waited for a scolding, a lecture, even a disappointed shake of the head. Hugo didn’t do that. Instead, he picked up one of the mugs and handed it to him. “It’s hot chocolate,” he informed him, his molten gold eyes tired and hard. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, sir,” Gleeson reassured. He took the drink and inhaled the sweet scent curling before him. “Thank you for the drink.”
Hugo sat down opposite him, a second mug before him. He tapped his gloved digits on the table. “What’s been upsetting you recently?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re not as enthusiastic anymore.” His sigh was drawn out and weighty, riddled with exasperation. “I want to know what’s going on.”
“It’s nothing, Hugo, honestly.”
“There must be something, Gleeson.”
Gleeson shrugged. “Not that I’m aware of.”
Liar.
Hugo’s eyes softened, searching his face for any clue of his lies and asking, in a gentle voice, “Is it to do with Vice?”
He tensed. His ringleader didn’t miss it. “Do you want me to keep looking for her?”
“No, it’s okay.” He sniffed, forcing himself to feel nothing. “I just miss her. I just—” A sudden strangled sound tore through his throat, cutting off his sentence. He didn’t want to continue. Not if it was going to cause more tears to spill.
“Gleeson,” Hugo sighed. He took a quick sip of his hot chocolate before patting his arm. “I know you miss her, I do. I can’t imagine how much pain you’re in. However, it’s been almost a year, and...”
“She might come back.”
Hugo shook his head. “I don’t think so, Gleeson. I know it’s hard, but I think it’s about time you moved on.”
Another sob escaped his lips, his desperate attempt to stop it tearing his lip. He wanted answers. He wanted his best friend back, and yet his boss—the one friend he had left—had long since moved on. It hurt him.
“Come now, Gleeson,” he murmured, patting his arm as he cried. “I want her to come back too, but I’m beginning to think it’s unlikely.”
He didn’t know how to answer. Tears plopped into his drink, his breathing became ragged with stifled sobs. Eventually, he choked out, “I just want her back.”
“I know.”
Hugo sat with him until his tears dried, patting his arm and smothering him with crusty old jokes from when he was a hatchling. It worked in the end. By the time he’d calmed, Vice left ten months, seventeen days and four hours ago. The pain almost renewed his tears.
“Why don’t you take a few days off?” Hugo suggested. His kindness was a complete contrast to his dark appearance. “You never took any time to mourn when she first left.”
“I can’t do that.” Gleeson sniffled and wiped his eyes. His mask, proving an obstacle, glared at him from the table. “I love performing. Besides, I’ll just overthink.”
“Gleeson, it’s not healthy to push yourself like this.”
He chuckled darkly. “I know.”
With a hum, his eyes shining with guilt, he stood up and came over to him. “Would you like a hug?”
Gleeson shook his head, offering him a small smile. “I appreciate it, but no thanks.”
“Then would you like to go back to your caravan for a while?”
He shrugged. Going back to his caravan meant sleep and an opportunity to forget what just transpired through books or music, and yet he knew the temptation to enter Vice’s caravan would snag at his core like it always did when he went home. It was the same thought, over and over. Has she come back yet? I should go check.
“Go back and rest for a whole,” Hugo said, patting his shoulder. “Catch up on some sleep, get warm. And leave the cigs with me.”
“Hugo—”
“Leave them with me, Gleeson. The last thing we need is a cigarette setting the caravans on fire.”
With a sigh, he admitted defeat. “Fair point.”
Gleeson tugged the packet of cigarettes from his pocket, leaving them on the table, and wandered back to his caravan, his mug of hot chocolate in one paw and mask in the other. He’d often leave it in the Big Top for his next performance, but he wanted it with him now.
He tried to ignore Vice’s caravan, but the peeling smoke-coloured paint and lanterns long since devoid of light snagged his attention. He grimaced and gripped the biting cold brass handle to his caravan. An onslaught of memories washed over him, waves of hope slaughtered in one day pummelling down on his mind.
Cursing, he made his way into his home. Surfaces shone in the sunlight, books organised in alphabetical order on shelves and food tucked away in corners. Vice’s Deities-damned notebook he’d kept on his desk. It served as a reminder of what he lost and what he did.
Exhaustion quickly came over him. He yearned to wrap himself up in his blanket, sit at his desk, and nap, so that’s exactly what he did. Or he would have done if a knocking didn’t sound at his door.
“Excuse me?” someone—a young female, he presumed—called through the door. “Gleeson?”
Gleeson huffed. He made his way towards the door, dragged a blanket from his bed to wrap around him, and said, “How may I help you?”
She snorted. “Can you open the door? I want to see you.”
His brow furrowed, but he couldn’t deny her request, even if he felt like curling up on the floor and sleeping. Taking a quick sip of his hot chocolate, he put on his mask and opened the door. He almost spat all over her.
Shrouded in a thin cloak to fend off snowflakes, her Plague eyes standing out against the shaggy, snowflake-riddled fur that kept her warm and her mane dotted with tiny plaits, stood Vice.
Words melted on his tongue. Either that or it was the hot chocolate he forgot to swallow.
“What?” Vice giggled, brushing her mane from her face. “Are you not happy to see me?”
He sat his drink down and tackled her with a hug before she could say another word, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. His tongue felt fat and flabby, almost paralyzed. Sorniethan became a foreign language. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, hearing, even feeling. Her silken fur and wide red eyes felt surreal.
His lip trembled. My best friend’s back.
“Gleeson?” Vice sounded worried, returning his hug. “Are you okay?”
“Am I okay?” he choked out, holding her at arm’s length. “You’re asking me if I’m okay.”
“Gleeson—”
Tears broke free, and he brought her in for another hug, burying his face into her fur. Vice, though hesitant, returned it. She dragged her digits through his mane as he sobbed. He didn’t know why, exactly, he was so upset. It could be anger, relief, or even loss.
“Pinch me.”
“Huh?”
Sniffing, he croaked, “Pinch me. I’m afraid this is a dream.”
She did as he asked, the jab of pain on his arm making him jump.
He didn’t wake up.
Vice ruffled his mane. She spoke softly. “Feel any better?”
“Yeah,” he said. Shock stilled his tears before he stood upright, wiping his eyes. “Sorry.”
“Did I cause that much pain?” she mumbled, her eyes downcast.
“Why did you leave, Vice?”
She still didn’t look up at him when he asked for her reason, her paws clasped before her. Her silence was deafening.
“Was it my fault?” he continued, fear gripping him. “Did I do something—?”
“No,” Vice asserted. Her gaze locked onto his with a sternness he’d missed for almost a year. “It was something else. I don’t want to worry you about it.”
“Vice, it made you leave. I—” Gleeson rubbed his eyes with the heels of his paws, battling his exhaustion. “I’d like to know.”
It took her a while to say something—anything—regarding his request. For a few seconds, he thought she wouldn’t say anything at all. Then, she spoke quietly. “You know how I was always embarrassed about my appearance?”
“Yes.”
“After a show, someone came to me and harassed me over how I looked.” She shrugged, almost like the reason wasn’t painful. Her eyes betrayed her. “I didn’t tell you because it’d ruin your time here.”
“Vice—”
“You loved it here, Gleeson. I hope I didn’t ruin that.”
“Hey.” He raked a paw over her mane, its softness a pleasant surprise. “Living here without you was what ruined my time here. I spent months trying to figure out where you went.” Letting his paw fall, he grabbed her paw and felt the fresh calluses she'd earned over the last eleven months. “If you would’ve told me, I could have done something.”
“There was nothing you could do,” Vice sighed as she offered him a warm smile that made his fear fade away. “Hugo couldn’t do anything either. Both of you were busy and exhausted, and I didn’t want to bother you.”
“I’d rather I be bothered,” Gleeson began, “than have my best friend suffer alone.”
For some time, she was silent, chewing on her lip. She began to giggle after a while and threw her arms around him, planting a sloppy, wet kiss on his cheek that sent his flame for her roaring. It was a wonder it hadn’t gone out. “I missed you.”
Gleeson returned it, grinning from ear to ear. He hoisted her up into the air and spun her around, revelling in her shrieks of surprise. Hugo would no doubt want to see her, but for now, it was just them. He wanted to make the most of it.