“Mwa-ha-ha! An impromptu performance! An impromptush performass! Get it? Or should I make that pun again?”
Slapitty slapittyy slap slap slap! (He was drumming on his own buttocks.)
“A streakeeeeeeer!”
✦ ✦ ✦
Yes, the source of the sound came from the owner of the world’s most charming hamstrings, Tiger Nexamic! He was slapping his own behind, wearing nothing up top, and sporting short tights with a hell of a wedgie. His butt was a bit sweaty—no wonder it sounded wet.
“What in the—”
The rhythm didn’t even match the melody. It even got to the host, Eve.
“What is he doing? Disgracing the domain again?”
“Put your pants on, Tiger!”
Anzu and Renge spoke at the same time, sounding disgusted. Yet the man paid that no attention and kept pounding his posterior to the sounds of the piano. His voice soared above it like a poem read mid-concert, which was extra galling.
“Mwaha! Listen, friends. For some time, I’ve been part of this circus. At first, they turned up their noses and tushes at me, but I melted their hearts a little at a time!”
“You just kept sticking your butt in, then?” Anzu scoffed.
The pianist looked ready to cry, refusing to turn her eyes his way. It was very professional of her to keep playing despite the intrusion of a peculiar posterior percussionist.
But her sheer skill meant you could read every emotion she felt in the performance—sad, shattered, longing for help. No wonder the performance had shaken them. She was extremely shaken herself!
Her quiet entrance had stemmed from a deep desire to not get involved.
As everyone came to terms with that—the second assassin entered.
Rat-tat-tat-tat……
A callous snare drum riff, heedless of the scene. Nexamic kept his butt-banging going while calling out like he was introducing his band.
“Mwa! Ha! It’s time for a charming show from the members of our circus crew! Please enjoy!”
As he slapped his ass invitingly, a clown-like man came out, riding on a ball while juggling. The red and white pins danced deftly.
Why clown-like? Allow me to explain.
This man was wearing clown makeup…but otherwise, only a loincloth. If we were to claim that this was a clown, the rest of the world’s clowns would take issue with us. Those poor souls must keep smiling no matter what happens, so out of respect, we’ve changed our terms.
Anyway, the loincloth clown was—you guessed it, Merthophan.
“Presenting! Traditional! Clown! Style!”
For the record, no such tradition exists.
Looking closely, those pins were actually carrots and daikon. There was still dirt on them, so they were likely just harvested.
“Each is a different size and shape, yet he’s juggling them anyway… Subtle technique at work!” Lloyd gasped, always one for details. Merthophan’s juggling was just that good.
A third person entered, aimlessly tapping on a snare drum, her eyes beyond dead.
“Colonel Choline… I didn’t see her around, but I guess this explains why,” Riho said.
Selen and Phyllo reached the same conclusion.
“The Azami army’s infiltrated the circus, slipping more aid our way.”
“……Likely the plan, but is that the proper word for it?”
This was less infiltration and more usurpation.
“If it was just Merthophan and Nexamic, I could see them getting caught up in the heat of the moment and joining a circus, but if Colonel Choline’s here, odds are much higher Rinko or Chief Alka asked them to help.”
“……Yes, if it was just those two, anything’s possible.”
In a sense, the girls had faith in the loincloth man and bodybuilder’s natures.
But everyone here knew they were extra muscle in case anything went wrong in Profen.
Meanwhile, Anzu and Renge were giving Choline and her dead-eyed snare-drumming looks of pity.
“She was likely told she’d get to work with Merthophan and looked forward to it.”
“But then discovered she’d be following muscles and a loincloth clown around. She’s more a clown than he is, poor thing.”
As they talked, the show continued. They were followed by a beast tamer—more conventionally dressed in a silk hat and tuxedo, and holding a whip.
He had dignity, girth, and a beautifully curled goatee. He was likely the actual circus ringmaster.
But his expression was less animal wrangler than soldier bound for the front lines. He was sweating profusely, and everyone could tell he believed his very life was on the line.
✦ ✦ ✦
✦ ✦ ✦
All gulped, wondering just what fearsome creatures might enter.
“Hi, I’m a wild thing.”
“Wuzzup! Beast mode!”
Instead, it was Satan and Surtr. Satan was in his second form, a blue lion. Arguably that did count as a fearsome creature, but lions didn’t have those pitch-black wings or speak human languages, so it was impossible to see him as anything but a demon lord.
And no matter how famous the circus, no matter how many trials he’d faced—that would unnerve the hell out of any ringmaster. He clearly wanted to run for the hills, but sheer professionalism kept him here.
“If I flee now, I can never make it up to the beasts I’ve tamed…”
Mindful of the man’s nerves, Satan tried to be nice.
“Uh, Ringmaster, no need to sweat this. We’ll follow your instructions.”
“Eep! Sorry!”
The last shred of dignity vanished.
Figuring he was too far gone, Merthophan took over.
“Time for the ring of fire! Surtr!”
“On it!”
Surtr opened his mouth and blew out a stream of flame, which formed a ring in the air. As the demon lord of that particular element, he could do that as easily as veteran smokers could blow smoke rings.
“Gonna jump through that, Ringmaster.”
“Oh. Please!”
“Hup!”
“Lovely! Nice jump!”
He sounded like someone out golfing with his boss. The ringmaster might be dressed like a beast tamer, but he was clearly feeling more like a new hire being dragged around the course far too early in the morning.
As this routine played out, Eve clapped her costume hands a bit harder than before, failing to conceal her irritation.
The butler rushed over, and Eve hissed, “Explain!” That one word contained volumes.
He seemed rather perplexed himself, but he did his best.
“I asked about the discrepancies, and they said they were trying new things.”
“New as in the emperor’s new clothes? This is practically a striptease!”
✦ ✦ ✦
“Mwa-ha-ha! Wedgie whammy!”
“Farmer’s juggling is the best in the world!”
✦ ✦ ✦
“I take it back,” Eve said, a stickler for precision. “A striptease would be far more dignified.”
“I feel sorry for the ringmaster,” the butler said, mopping his brow. “The regular circus staff led the way, Lady Eve. Your orders were to let them right in, so we did.”
“Hngg.”
Eve had forgotten that standing order, and she became silent.
“B-but…they’ve got a muscle guy and loincloth freak and a talking lion! Even with that order in effect, did nothing strike you as weird?”
“If they’re not part of a circus…what are they?”
“Point taken.”
There was no arguing with that, and Eve was forced to concede.
Eve’s plan to put Lloyd in his place with a banquet was entirely upended by the muscle-loincloth circus troupe, and ended in failure.
And the buttocks cadence left everyone present—not just Eve—with psychological damage and turned the delicious meal to sand in their mouths.