Chapter 3
“Duchess, please,” Chicot pleaded. She’d had just enough alcohol after a long day in tight-ass spandex, baking in the sun, to feel like she’d run a marathon.
Playtime usually resulted in Chicot running up and down the length of their small camper a few times.
That was not going to happen now. She’d slammed into the bathroom door as Elijah emerged from the shower just a few nights ago.
Chicot would like to avoid repeating that if she could.
With only a week until opening day, she didn’t want to risk hurting herself or her partner.
Chicot set a foot on Elijah’s bed to get to her hammock hanging above, and Duchess immediately lunged for it, trying to grab her calf and pull it in for a bite to the shin.
Chicot pulled her leg away before Dutchess could sink her claws into it, but Chicot knew she would just do it again. “Okay, okay.”
She reached slowly for the small shelf above their sink and grabbed a ribbon toy, waving it.
Duchess’s eyes turned black, her pupils fully dilating as her head moved from side to side, following the end of it.
Chicot grinned, wiggling the ribbon, and waited for Duchess to pounce.
This was a song and dance they did often, and unfortunately it largely happened when Chicot wanted to go to bed.
Not that she really minded; it was horribly cute every time.
When Duchess finally grabbed it, chomping down hard and gnashing her teeth as she tried to get it off her tongue, Chicot pulled a treat from the jar.
She tossed it onto the floor, causing Duchess to chase it and run onto Elijah’s bed.
Duchess realized her mistake as Chicot clambered her way into her hammock.
“Haha, I win!” Chicot pointed down at the small cat. Loud, annoyed meows came from Dutchess as she decided whether to jump into the hammock with Chicot.
“You are speaking to a cat.” Elijah was pulling a shower cap off his head, standing next to their tiny bathroom in his pajamas, which were a compromise after Chicot had seen his junk one too many times after his boxers had moved in his sleep.
Now he was required to wear pajama shorts, and Chicot had to wear a T-shirt because he didn’t want to keep seeing her boobs after she fell out of the hammock in a tank top.
They were still working on living together full-time.
“She started it!” Chicot raised her hand, shaking her fist at Duchess in mock contempt. Duchess voiced her complaints to Elijah instead, running up to him and screaming like a toddler who’d had a toy taken from her.
“She’s just a baby!” Elijah laughed as he stepped around Duchess, her fur moving in beautiful waves like the dress of a rococo aristocrat. She was Chicot’s royal lady, who she’d refused to part with even when she’d left her parents’ home.
“She is nine years old! And she tried to bite me,” Chicot chided.
Elijah didn’t pursue the argument further.
He stretched out on the bed, which was too small for him, and the mattress gave a soft thud.
He angled his body to fit, his feet safely on the mattress, as Duchess gracefully jumped up, heading to the corner, a safe distance from Chicot’s swaying hammock.
It had fallen in the middle of the night once and, thankfully, had not hurt Duchess, but it had scared her off sleeping under it for the rest of her life.
“What do you want tonight?” Elijah asked. Chicot peeked over the edge of the hammock, looking down at him. He had his phone in his hand, the screen adding a strange blue color to his shiny skin. His cheeks glowed like polished mirrors from a sleep mask of some kind he had put on.
“Can you play the Sherlock Holmes book?” Chicot asked. “But a couple chapters back, I fell asleep.”
Elijah just grunted a confirmation. Their little family had fallen into this routine since Chicot had dropped her phone and shattered it on the pavement of the last campground they’d stayed at.
They’d only been there because Elijah had found them some work at a circus-themed birthday party for a five-year-old.
Said five-year-old had been a know-it-all and had called out that Chicot was not a circus clown, but in fact a court jester.
It had been embarrassing to have their whole gag given away by a child, but then to also break her phone that same day?
Cursed. Chicot made Elijah play audiobooks from his phone for her now—explaining it had been his fault—until she got a new one.
Elijah didn’t seem to mind, even if it meant he couldn’t watch YouTube videos at night.
“We need to see if we can finally scrape together enough to get you a new phone,” Elijah said. Chicot sighed, gently pulling the edge of her hammock around her face, feeling the vinyl rub her cheeks.
“Yeah, I know.” They had used Chicot’s phone fund twice in the last month, clearing it out entirely. There’d only been fifty dollars in it the second time they dipped into it. She sighed, leaning back into her hammock and looking at the ceiling.
“Not ‘cause this bothers me.” Elijah’s voice was calm. “But because you should be able to talk to people again and get their numbers. I mean, seems like Monty might want it.”
“You mean Lyza?” Chicot asked. He was right, it would be good for her to make some friends, but what had really hurt about finally putting her old phone out of its misery had been that she couldn’t talk to her siblings. They’d saved the SIM card though, so there was still hope.
“Well, Lyza too.” Elijah shifted. Chicot could hear him move, and in the quiet of the camper, Duchess purred. He must have been petting her.
“Wait, what gave you the impression Monty would want my number?” Chicot poked her entire head over the side of the hammock to make sure Elijah could see her frown.
“I don’t know. You two are like, the same age and both seem a little …” He quirked his lips at Chicot. “Fruity.”
“Says the biggest fruit to come off the tree.” Chicot rolled her eyes and fell back into her hammock.
She had hoped that he would tell her she’d been misinterpreting the looks that Monty had been giving Chicot all night, but that was obviously too much to expect.
Monty seemed cool, and Chicot wanted to know that Monty maybe didn’t hate her for being some kind of invisible rival to Brewhilda.
Some performers had acted strangely toward them after the announcement of stage assignments.
Only Brewhilda had been openly hostile, but Chicot couldn’t tell if simple awkwardness had caused the strained atmosphere with some folks or if anger fueled it.
She struggled to read subtle social cues, which made every interaction so much more challenging.
Elijah’s laughter caught up with Chicot, shaking her mood. She felt Elijah reach up with one long leg, nudging her and gently rocking her side to side.
“You’re right.” Elijah’s voice bounced in the same way it did when he was on stage, as if he were ready to sing at any moment. “But she is your type?”
“Just like the guy at the bangers stall is yours?” Chicot asked. She had noticed that Elijah, who typically did not like bratwurst, had suddenly been frequenting the stall for lunch. Elijah choked, his foot stopping her hammock.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Aw, come on.” Chicot rolled onto her back. “It’d be good for you to have a little fling. Don’t worry, the choking guy bailing on you after you saved him was a fluke.”
“God.” Elijah groaned. “Don’t bring up Allan. Please and thank you.”
“All right. Turn on the book though. We have to be up early for safety training.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Elijah rolled, the sound of the bed creaking under him louder than the slight squeak of Chicot’s rocking hammock.
The soothing voice of the narrator began. The Hound of the Baskervilles was taking them the longest to get through. Because they both adored it, they kept going back to listen to the parts they’d missed while dozing off, rather than imagining them.
They quickly put on practice clothes when they woke, but the morning was for a long meeting about signals that performers and stall workers could use to ask for help.
Chicot sat on a hard wooden bench, trying to memorize signs for “get me away from this person” and “I need a medic” while Elijah took notes on his phone.
It didn’t take long for her mind to wander.
With so many people sitting at the Castlerock Stage, it was easier to see why someone would be mad they’d been bumped from this spot.
The seating easily fit more than a hundred people, which meant Castlerock was the biggest stage at the faire.
The days went on like that. Important meetings in the morning, then lunch, then time to practice on stage.
This meant Elijah and Chicot got to watch the pirates several times before opening weekend, which was good because Chicot had been far too nervous to pay attention during the showcase.
The Pirates Three: Big, Middle, and Wee act was simple, and even though Chicot had to watch it over and over, it made her laugh almost every time.
“God, they’re good.” Elijah adjusted his shoulder strap, his lute in his lap as they sat waiting for their turn.
“I know. I wish we didn’t have to follow them all the time,” Chicot said. Elijah hummed softly, tapping on the body of his lute, and looked at Chicot, his eyes intense.
“I’m kind of glad we do.” Elijah looked toward the stage again, his fingers still tapping rapidly as he bobbed his leg. “It’ll push us to do better. Maybe enough to get into more than one faire next year.”
Chicot was glad Elijah was already looking ahead. While her focus was on Albion right now, they were trying to start a career doing this. Which meant more faires were in their future.
“Good point.” Chicot nodded. “But focus on opening weekend for now.”
“I know, don’t worry.” He flashed a sharp-toothed smile at her, nudging her with his shoulder. “We’re going to do great here.”
“We are. We’re professionals, after all.” Chicot straightened her back, puffing out her chest as Elijah snorted, poking her ribs, so she deflated with a laugh. Chicot looked back at the stage, losing herself in the show again.
The pirates were doing their second to last lift, where they weren’t tall enough to grab the flag from where it was hanging.
Elvis was lying on his back on a wooden box, legs straight in the air as he set his hands on Monty’s shoulders while she positioned herself.
She settled her hip creases on Elvis’s feet, her head between his legs as she spread her legs in a “V” shape.
Once in place, Lyza stood on top of Monty’s thighs, reaching for the flag, still unable to grab it due to her height.
“We’re not tall enough!” Lyza made sure her voice was clear for everyone to hear, including Chicot and Elijah in the back.
“I told you I should be on top!” Elvis dropped his hands from where he was holding Monty, making it clear she didn’t actually need his support. He flailed his arms dramatically, but his balanced and controlled movements didn’t knock the three of them over.
“Use your sword! Use all three if you have to, you goose,” Monty said.
“Oh, right!” Lyza pulled a short juggling blade from her belt, using it to reach for the flag. When she still couldn’t touch it, she gasped. “Wait, let me try one more thing!”
She pulled the other two blades from her belt and juggled them, trying to knock her prize off the rope that way.
One blade always barely grazed the material, but it was never enough to knock it down.
Lyza finished by stepping off Monty’s thighs.
To the untrained eye, it looked like she fell, but in reality, she was in control the whole time, her foot landing right next to Elvis’s head.
“Oh, good heavens!” Elvis shrieked in a posh British accent. She lost her ability to keep a straight face every time he did this. Elijah tuned his lute as he listened to the performance they’d now heard in full twice before.
As The Pirates Three started their next acrobatic attempt to retrieve the flag, Chicot looked up at the trees, listening to their fake bickering and Elijah strumming quietly.
White, fluffy clouds drifted above the trees as Chicot took in the canopy, the rustle of leaves barely audible over the performance.
Her hair fluttered in the cool breeze, making the heat infinitely more bearable as the sun rose high above their heads, and the whole faire started to smell like warm wood.
When Lyza finally succeeded, Chicot and Elijah both clapped. Even though this was just practice, and the pirates usually left before Chicot and Elijah began, it felt wrong not to.
Unlike the previous days, when Chicot applauded, Monty’s eyes caught hers. Chicot couldn’t really make out her facial expression, so she just offered her a small smile. Monty promptly looked away when Chicot did this, turning to help Elvis remove the crate from the stage.
“Oooo.” Elijah pitched up his voice. “She’s looking at you.”
“Fuck off.” Chicot gently nudged him with her elbow as she stood, brushing off the back of her leggings.
“Come on, we have practice.” She promptly walked away from Elijah, toward the back of the stage so they could get their props.
He followed close at her heels, still snickering and playing a wedding march on his lute, to Chicot’s horror.