Rainfall

There was rain today.

I saw it on the way in to the tents as I was ushered in, with people trying to hold umbrellas over my head to keep the moisture out; it wouldn’t do much good. The entire world seemed muggy and hazy this afternoon. Was would not be the correct word, though, because it is still raining, even now. I cannot see it falling, from my position in the backstage area, but I can hear it, and I can still smell it. The smell of sweets and spices from the surrounding marketplaces have been drowned out by that of warm, wet earth and fresh water as it falls from the sky. I can still hear people’s reaction to it as well. Workers are running in and out of the area outside of my door, yelling directions and orders at one another. Grab the line, don’t let the costumes get wet. Move this over a few feet, what in the Goddess’ name are you doing? On and on bark the calls, echoing down the halls to where I am now. Cast and crew alike are left wondering when the rain will let up.

Wondering if the rain will ever let up.

There is supposed to be a show today, but I’m not entirely certain that people will come now that the weather has gotten bad. No one is.

For my part, I am safe, dry, and secure in the backstage area. I sit at my vanity, staring into the mirror at the face before me. My usually bronze-colored skin is pale today, so pale that it is almost whiter than the sheets on my bed. Underneath my eyes are dark, heavy circles, black with purplish highlights underneath. That same darkness is found in my cheekbones, making my face appear thin and gaunt. The spot where my nose used to be is now just an empty, hollowed hole.

It’s not my face that I’m staring at in that mirror. It’s that of a spirit of death.

And I smile back into the mirror, proud of my handiwork.

There is a gentle knock on my door, and then a creaking sound as it is opened to just the barest sliver. I stare over my shoulder, through the mirror, at the crack that has appeared, waiting for the door to open the rest of the way. It doesn’t.

“Yes?” I call over my shoulder.

“Can I come in?” The voice is very small and timid. A smile cracks its way through the mask of my makeup, as I recognize the person who that voice belongs to. I swivel my chair toward the door.

May I come in?”

May I come in?”

“You,” I begin, “are always welcome in my dressing room, Rhea Christine.” The door immediately flies open the rest of the way, and Rhea rushes in, beaming an exuberant smile my way. Her skin is the bronze color that mine should be, and wavy dark brown hair bounces around her face. The lights in the room catch the maroon colored highlights that naturally run through the locks. She is always excited to see me before my performances, mostly because she loves makeup and the way it transforms me into someone else. It takes a moment for her to actually “see” me though, and the moment she does, she gasps. She stops just short of me. Her dark orange eyes grow wide with terror, the traces of recognition shattered inside them as she stares at the me that sits before her. Her orange, gold, and red wings fly open in shock, lifting her up and drawing her a few paces back when she lands.

“Tabithe…?”

She is still thinking, wondering if this could really be me sitting in her sister’s chair. It seems as if saying much else is beyond her in this moment. I chuckle.

“Yes?” She hears my voice, and though she calms down a little, she still maintains her distance.

“You look so scary.” A chill passes down through Rhea’s little body, flickering its way through her wings. I smile at her, though that’s even more likely to put her on edge. For my performance, my teeth have been blackened out. Nothing shows to her except an empty, hallowed space; this makes her squirm a bit more, and she takes another step back.

Oh, what the hey, I figure. I’ll have some fun with her. Just as quickly as I’d smiled at her, and I tip my face downward, baring the empty space of my teeth with a silent snarl. I watch her through narrowed eyes, watching her tense up again. She moves as if to take another step back, but she seems to think better of it and just… stops, completely. She is looking over my face, trying to find any of the telltale marks that would let her know whether or not I am her sister or a monster. The air is still, and I see confusion mixed with apprehensive curiousity pass through her eyes.

A few more tense moments pass with us just staring like this, her searching, me watching. It only takes another minute until she finally finds the courage to look me straight in the eyes. I had yet to put my contact lenses in. I am the only person that she knows with yellow-orange eyes, and when she sees them, she starts to relax. As she does, I let loose a threatening snarl. In response, Rhea shrieks and scampers back, her wings fluttering loudly; pin feathers pop loose and fall to the floor around her. Again though, she looks at my eyes, and soon she begins to giggle.

I growl at her again. “Oh. Am I funny to you, little firebirdy?” I ask her. I keep my voice low, gravelly… I try my best to exude threat. Rhea’s eyes go wide, and she shakes her head back and forth profusely, but the minute I make to stand from my chair, she bolts off toward the costume racks at the back of the room. I chase after her, sniffing at the racks, then parting the clothes as I “look” for her, snorting. Obviously, I know where she is. She’s hidden herself behind the rack at the back of the room, but as an actress, I’m good at improvising and building up suspense. And little Rhea is my favorite audience. I can pretend for a little while longer.

At each rack, I stop, sniff, and snort.  I part another set of clothes, and I hear Rhea gasp from her hiding spot. Apparently she’s decided that I’ve come too close, and she moves to hide behind another rack of clothing. “Where are you, little firebirdy?” I call out in a singsong. I deliberately turn from where she’s hidden. “I haven’t eaten dinner yet, and I’m soooooo hoping for a tiny, sweet-and-spicy snack.” More giggling. I watch from the corner of my eye as she dashes to hide in a cabinet at the very back of the room. I cross to that side, stopping at the rack beside it. “Are you…” I trail off, grabbing the clothes on the rack. I yank them apart, causing glitter to fly everywhere and a few articles to fall to the ground. “Here?!” Of course, there is nothing, but I can hear Rhea’s breaths get heavier, even as she tries to stifle them.

“Hm… no one… Then…” I lurch my way over to the cabinet, seeing that it is opened just a crack. I can just barely see her, staring out and watching me. “Are you…” Abruptly, I shove my nose at the cabinet. Whuffle, whuffle, snort… I take in a deep breath. Rhea shrinks as far as she can into the back of the cabinet. Abruptly, I throw open the cabinet doors, and I find Rhea inside. She squeals loudly, trying to get away from me. Of course, she is cornered, and it is futile. I growl at my triumph, then reach in to grab the little girl and draw her to me, snarling in her face.

She is screaming and laughing, protesting and wiggling. “No, Tabithe-monster! Don’t eat me!”

“Oh, but I must!” I make chomping sounds, burying my face into the side of her neck. “OM nom nom nom nom.”

“Nooo!” she squeals. I tickle her, and she starts to kick and scream more. Soon the monster persona melts away, and I am laughing myself. I put her down, then I kneel down to her level. I wipe little tears of laughter from the corner of her eyes as she tries to catch her breath.

“Tabithe,” says she.

“Rhea,” I reply. She shakes her head quickly back and forth, causing her wavy hair to bounce back and forth around her face.

“…You look so scary!” She giggles again, as she finally realizes that the monster is just me. I nod my head. Even though she’s more at ease, she doesn’t seem to be entirely convinced. Gingerly she reaches out to touch the “hallowed” spot of my cheek, and finding that there is not a hole, but flesh, she gives a sigh of relief.

I smile at her. “That’s the point, Rhea. This is something you’ll learn to do someday, too.” She nods excitedly.

“Will you teach me how?” she asks. I nod, then stand.

“Of course I will.” I glance past her, and then I click my tongue at her. “Though…” I point over her shoulder. “It seems I’ll have to teach you some manners first. We do not leave doors open, Rhea.” She turns around to see what I’m talking about, and she finds that she left the door to the dressing room wide open. “We might belong to a cirque, but we do not behave as if we live in a barn.” She turns back to me with a little frown of disappointment. She is looking down at my bare feet.

“Sorry…” I know her reasoning for leaving the door open – the shock from my makeup – but I still have to be strict with her discipline. I’m her older sister, after all. The only sibling she has at that. Mom and dad are usually busy with affairs of the cirque and management; it’s been up to me and the rest of the troop to look after her, as it is with every child in our group. The older children and performers looked after me.

“Please close it,” I say to her. Obediently she walks over to the door. I stand up and go back over to my vanity, checking my makeup in the mirror. The damage isn’t that horrendous. Other than a few smudges, there’s not much that has gotten messed up. I start to fill in the laugh line creases that had been left in my disguise. Behind me, I can hear the door closing, and I hear Rhea’s feet pattering over the floor as she walks to the cabinet, closing those doors, too. Her tasks done, I hear her footfalls pick up pace as she returns excitedly to my side.

She is quiet as I apply the makeup to repair my “face”, watching for some time in the mirror from her much lower vantage point. Soon, though, she becomes too quiet and too still, and I peek at her through her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes have wandered, and they have landed and zoned in on the powders and creams on my dressing table. Carefully, she ponders the whites and purples and blues of them, looking across them, my face, and her face. Rhea places her hands on the table, lifting herself up the tiniest bit so that she can inspect each of them, one by one. Her curiosity soon gets the best of her, though. I watch her inch her right hand toward a brush loaded with white powder as I set it down. I click my tongue at her again, loud, and brief enough that she stops. She meets eyes with me in the mirror.

I shake my head. “Not today,” I say.

She pouts up at my reflection in the mirror, looking absolutely pitiful and slighted. Her little eyebrows have drawn together, and she pokes her lower lip out. She is clearly disappointed. “It’s always not today,” she whines. I pick up the powder brush, and with a quick sideways flick of my wrist, I tap it against her nose.

“No ugly faces.” She starts to giggle, mixed with sputters as she tries to blow the makeup cloud away. I open my arms wide, and I scoop her up into my lap. She scrambles hurriedly up, then curls against me, just under my chin. I reach around her and place the brush back on the vanity. There is no sound now. Not in the room, at least. There is just the sound of rain hitting the tops of the tents, and people still trying to get everything together for the show tonight. I begin to preen her, listening to her little sighs as I clean the bits of dust and fur and other random things out of her plumage.

The brief moment of bonding is broken when there is another knocking on my door. Rhea stirs, but I shush her, petting her head. “Yes?” I call. I really don’t want to have to get up if I don’t have to; I feel like we don’t spend enough time together anymore as it is… Something bothers me about other people raising my sister, even though it’s no different from how I grew up. The door opens a crack, and I can see the slim physique of another dancer through the crack. Mentally, I groan. It is Raechel, one of the more minor dancers who doubles as my messenger. She just joined a few weeks ago. She has on her own death spirit makeup, though like her costume, it is much, much less ornate than mine.

“I hate to interrupt, Tabithe,” she says. She glances to Rhea, who has curled up by now.

“These things happen. What did you come to tell me?” I already know what she’s going to say, but it’s almost an automatic response for me to ask.

“Your patrons are here.” And I sigh; most definitely, quality time is over now. At least if it was a performance run, I could have taken Rhea to the stage with me and she could watch while I ran through the routines. But when my patrons arrived, it meant that I couldn’t take her with me. I would need to visit with them before the show. They were the ones that kept us running, and for them to think that they’d fallen out of my favor might mean broken hearts, which would lead to empty wallets and broken budgets.

There was also one in particular that I was looking for to show up tonight.

“I’ll be out in a moment,” I tell her. Raechel nods, then goes to stand outside of the door to wait for me. I pick Rhea up with me as I stand, and I walk over to the door, grabbing my cape off the hook next to it. Rhea unfurls, and I place her on her feet. Her hair has gotten a little disheveled, and I lean down to I run my fingers through the dark maroon strands of it. “Firebirdy, I have to go see some people before the show today.” She fidgets, then makes a face at me.

“Boys have germs, Tabi,” she says. Her nose wrinkles up, and she shakes her head. “Don’t get sick!” I chuckle.

“Boys also have money, little one,” I tell her. I make a cross over my heart. I lift my golden cape and drape it around my shoulders, tying it at the front. Unlike her, I don’t have wings to worry about accommodating. I glance back at my reflection in the mirror, checking to see if my seal is visible; it isn’t. Satisfied, I kneel down next to Rhea, puckering up my lips.

“Kisses please!” Rhea plants a brief kiss to my lips, and I reach out and tickle her again for its brevity. She squeals, and I kiss her forehead before opening the door to my room. “Alright, then; out you go.”

She scampers out of my dressing room. I follow her out, then turn to shut the door. When I turn around, I find that she’s found another one of our troop mate’s children: another little girl, though a bit younger than her. She, too, has her wings. The two of them rush off excitedly down the hall, out through the front of the tent. Their laughter fills the air, almost drowning out the hurried fray of sound from people checking lights and speakers and tightropes last minute. Then they spread their brightly feathered wings wide, and with a leap, they take off into the rainy sky. I’d talk to her later about playing around in the rain. For now, I’ll let her have her day and worry about her eventual case of the sniffles after my performace.

I turn to see Raechel still patiently waiting for me in the hall. The receiving area is in the opposite direction that Rhea and her friend had gone to. I take in a deep breath, and as I release it, I clear my mind of the previous events. Mentally, it is time for me to switch out characters. In negotiations with the patrons, there was no space for Tabithe, guardian and sister. Instead I needed to be Tabithe Christine Annuelas, the leading lady and leader of the best Cirque in all of Samothrace, Triage.

This was just the beginning of the show.