Chapter Text
The things Kiyotaka Ishimaru did because his best friend said they “would be fun” seemingly knew no bounds. That wasn't exactly a surprise. His “studies” of leisure activities were lacking compared to his peers, so he often felt the need to compensate by accepting almost any invitation for recreation offered to him by a classmate. That was how he somehow got roped into watching the Princess Piggles movie with Hifumi and listening to Yasuhiro's bizarre alien conspiracies. But Mondo Owada in particular had a knack for pushing him to the limits— it was how their friendship formed in the first place, after all. And tonight, he had truly outdone himself.
Never in Taka's short adolescent life had he ever pictured himself walking down a midway— at least, not one that wasn't part of a school festival. Yet here he was, amongst the chaos of games of chance, food stalls, sideshows, and other frivolous peculiarities all vying for his attention with flashing signs and blaring music. It was obnoxious enough to make him ill, frankly. Just like he assumed the funnel cake he was holding onto for Mondo would if through some unusual circ*mstance he were forced to eat it.
Mondo seemed to be enjoying himself, at least. He was just finishing up collecting his prize for ringing the bell on a “Test Your Strength” machine: a jumbo-sized stuffed elephant toy. He rushed over to Taka, cradling the plush in his arms. “Y'wanna switch, bro?”
“That's not for me, is it?” Kiyotaka asked, unable to hold back a grimace.
“Of course it is! Why else do you think I won it?”
“I thought that you won it for yourself,” Taka admitted. “You like cute things, after all.”
“Ah, w-well…” Mondo said, blushing a bit behind the elephant's ear. “...a motorcycle gang member can't have a stuffed animal! It's bad for my image! You know that, don't ya?”
“Yes, yes I do.”
“So that means I won it for you, dumbass.” Despite the snarky bite of that comment, his voice quickly softened with sincerity. “It's a gift. Take it.”
“Well… I can't refuse a gift.” Through some ungraceful maneuvering, the pair exchanged items. “But it's much too childish a possession for people our age, gang affiliated or not…”
“C'mon bro, can't you lighten up a little bit? It's a circus! The Ultimate Circus!”
That was the name printed on a poster that intrigued Mondo enough to drive them all the way out here in the first place. It intrigued Kiyotaka too, if only because he saw no indication that this operation was affiliated with Hope's Peak Academy in any other way. Yet another example of the so-called talented taking the easy way to succeed instead of letting their hard work speak for itself…
“I still wonder how they're getting away with that, legally…” Kiyotaka thought aloud, resting his chin on the elephant's head.
Mondo popped a piece of funnel cake into his mouth. “I guess it's, like, some kinda legal gray area. Y'can't exactly trademark an adjective.”
“Still, how underhanded…” Despite his pride in not indulging in immature things, that sentence was half muffled by the stuffed elephant, which he nuzzled the lower half of his face into. It provided a nice buffer to all the craziness surrounding him. Mondo thought it was absolutely adorable. At least some part of their shared evening was turning out as sweet as he had envisioned on the ride out here… aside from the funnel cake, of course.
See, the true reason why Mondo brought Kiyotaka here (apart from the general desire to goof off) was in a convoluted attempt at flirtation. Pop culture told him fairgrounds, carnivals, and circuses were prime courtship locales, teeming with all sorts of romantic possibilities. There were a plethora of attractions where two people could end up close— Ferris wheels, haunted houses, and, of course, the famous Tunnel of Love to name a few. A competitive pair (and boy, were Mondo and Taka competitive) could play games side by side, daring to beat each other's scores and playfully talking trash. Even a palmistry tent could do the trick, its quackery inevitably invoking the subject of one of their future love lives that would get the duo exchanging flushed glances.
Yes, it was the perfect setup… except for the hurdle of his bro's chronic stick-in-the-mud-ness. Mondo wasn't shocked by it, he knew it would be a process to break Taka out of his academic shell, but he couldn't help his disappointment. He just wanted to have fun together. Was that really so wrong?
Mondo had one last thing to try, the only thing that might break down Kiyotaka's unimpressed facade.
“You wanna go see the main event, bro? Y'know, the show under the big top?”
“Hm...” He lowered the plush so he could answer him clearly. “Well, my legs could certainly use a break from all this walking and standing around, but… I don't want us to get trapped, you know?”
“Yeah, I hear ya. I get antsy if I have to sit still for, like, anything over three hours, no matter what the f*ck it is.” He licked some powdered sugar off of his fingers as he mused on that point. “Hey, I'm pretty sure there's showtimes posted in front of the ticket stand. Why don't we go check?”
Kiyotaka cautiously agreed. Thus, the pair made their way to the giant striped tent at the center of the fairgrounds. It truly was a marvelous centerpiece, the platonic ideal for what a circus tent should be: red and white and emitting a warm, inviting glow from the stage lighting within that only seemed more tempting the darker the sky became.
Once they reached the ticket booth, they found a sandwich board in front that listed showtimes.
“Oh, hey, it's only two hours,” Mondo pointed out. “That should give us just enough time to get back to school before curfew.” He strolled up to the booth. “Miss, could I get two tickets to the next show for me and my friend here?”
“Certainly!” said the ticket seller, “That'll be ¥8,018.”
He placed the funnel cake down on the booth counter to sift through his pockets, fishing for his wallet. Both the price point and the sight of Mondo searching made Taka's heart sink. His bro had already been fleeced out of quite a bit of cash trying to win something for him at some of the less scrupulous games here, he really didn't want any more money to be wasted for his sake…
“It's okay bro, I don't want you spending so much,” he said, taking hold of his friend's scouring arm. “Let's head back to Hope's Peak, hm?”
“Hope's Peak?” The woman in the booth echoed. “Are you boys enrolled in Hope's Peak Academy?”
“Yup!” Mondo confirmed.
“Well then, you're in luck! We waive the fee for the main event for Ultimate students and alumni. All I need is to see your student IDs to prove you're the real deal.”
Mondo shot a worried glance to his principled pal, and said to the ticket seller, “No, no, that ain't necessary—”
“Mondo, it's alright. Go ahead and show her.” Kiyotaka himself was pulling his own ID card from his pocket. His mouth was drawn into a serious little frown.
Mondo was puzzled by the shift, but he followed his lead. They handed the lady their student IDs and she filled out a bit of unseen paperwork on her end, then gave them back the cards along with two tickets.
“By the way, hon, they're probably not gonna let you in with the elephant. It'll spoil other folks’ view of the show. We can arrange to have it delivered to your vehicle if you tell us where you parked.”
Mondo was still so flustered by Kiyotaka's out-of-character action that he didn't even consider how sensitive the information she just asked for was, and gave it away readily. With that, they left the plushie at the counter and walked off.
As they waited around the big top for the next show to start, Mondo finally asked, “Okay, what the f*ck was that about? You're the last person I expected to take advantage of a Hope's Peak student discount!”
“I already told you, I didn't want you going in the red for something so ludicrous. Do you realize how long you were going at that baseball-throwing game earlier? Or the ring toss? Or the fishing game? Or how much you had to pay off the worker at the fishing game for snapping the pole in frustration?”
“Hehe, good times…” Mondo disrupted him, distracted by the simple joy of breaking stuff that annoyed him.
“My point is, I know what you're doing— what you've been doing all evening. You're trying to cheer me up, trying to get me to let loose. You've been putting your all into it while I haven't even made the slightest effort to meet you in the middle! So consider my actions before… me, reaching out to you… and an apology.”
“Aw, bro…”
“I swear to you, by this show's end, I'll be the happiest teen on Earth! I'll make sure of it!” He boldly declared. “Then it will have been a show worth seeing!”
Mondo raised a brow, but his expression soon broke into a snicker. “Y'seem a bit confused about the cause and effect there, bro, but you've got the spirit.”
It wasn't long before seating for the next show opened up, and the two of them claimed their spots. The ticket seller had been quite kind to them, giving them ones with perfect Goldilocks placement— not nosebleeds, but not so close one needed to crane their neck back to get a picture of the whole ring. The anticipation that grew in the air as the stands filled up was palpable. Kiyotaka found it was also rather contagious, despite his reservations. Though he still thought the whole business was superfluous, he hoped to be proven wrong.
The lights switched on, and there in the center of the ring stood the ringmaster. He wore the standard attire one associated with the profession: a red velvet suit jacket with long coattails, a shimmering gold vest with a white dress shirt beneath, black slacks and shoes, a bow tie, and a big black top hat. Poking out from under the hat were wiry strands of ginger hair, which matched the thin curly mustache adorning his upper lip. His gloved hands rested upon the handle of a mostly black cane, with the tip on the ground colored white like a magician's wand, and the handle itself a sphere of glinting gold. His most striking feature, however, was his eyes, which were bright yellow and easy to spot even in the shade of his hat's brim. Kiyotaka thought that they had a strange, cat-like quality in their shimmer.
“Good evening, folks!” His voice boomed throughout the tent, which was a surprise coming out of such a slight figure. “Welcome one, welcome all, to The Ultimate Circus!” He spread his arms out wide to emphasize the grandeur of the event. An unseen band struck up a fanfare and everyone clapped, the boys included.
“We have quite a show lined up for you tonight, and I'll be the one to guide you through it.” He placed a hand to his heart. “You can think of me as the Ultimate Ringmaster! Everything within this tent is under my deft, expert control.” With the next line, his voice took on a bizarrely darker tone. “This circus is my kingdom and I am its lord. Anything that goes against my will is heresy. And unlike a mythical man upstairs, I'm much more hands-on with sorting things out…”
Well, that soured Kiyotaka's opinion of this man instantly. The sort of people with the arrogance to literally compare themselves to a god just because of their abilities were the enemy of his philosophy. Who was this guy to talk like that, anyway? Was he a Hope's Peak Academy alumni, as his title claimed? That certainly lined up with Kiyotaka's perception of his alma mater's output, and with their free admission, yet… something smelled fishy. If an alumni was holding a show within driving distance of the school, surely there would have been promotion for it at Hope's Peak itself. Mondo had only encountered the poster for the event on one of his Crazy Diamond rides on the other side of the city, like it was trying to hide. The evidence was pointing to his early hypothesis, that it was just a marketing ploy for the circus, indeed being correct. That made the free tickets for HPA associates practically a bribe, which painted the whole operation as even more deplorable than he originally thought…
Thankfully, Kiyotaka wasn't the only one off-put by the “Ultimate Ringmaster's” aside. Mondo commented under his breath, “Damn, what a weirdo…” No one else reacted, however. It was as if it didn't even register to the rest of the crowd as an odd thing to say at all.
“Anywho!” The ringmaster switched back to his cheery demeanor. “With stuffy introductions out of the way, let's get on with the show!”
Right, right. The show, that's what this is all about, Taka thought. I'm trying to give it a chance. I need to keep that in mind…
The first act was a troupe of equestrians. It was a nice palette cleanser after the ringmaster's speech, with horses trotting about the track surrounding the ring and their riders performing tricks on their backs. They would stand on them in arabesque, do a split between a pair, even flip off one horse and land perfectly on the saddle of another. Now this was something the two could enjoy! Kiyotaka understood that this skill took years of practice to cultivate, especially with the inconsistent factor of animal temperament, and he could respect that. Mondo loved it full stop; it reminded him of the dangerous motorcycle stunts the gang would dare each other to perform when territory patrols were uneventful. When they formed a big human pyramid spread over three horses he couldn't help but holler like a banshee. Maybe if the ringmaster just stuck to the script, they would have fun after all.
After this was the strongman. This act was met far less warmly by the boys, with Kiyotaka grumbling at the display of a natural-born talent and Mondo insistent that those were trick weights. Still, the heckling amongst themselves was their own means of finding entertainment in the routine, which meant that it only heightened their moods.
When the knife-thrower and his lovely assistant came out, Mondo was quick to brag about his own knife prowess. “They oughta put me in that ring! I'd make that guy look like an amateur!”
Taka puffed in amusem*nt and shook his head. The whimsy of it all was slowly seeping in. Though really, that was only partly the circus's doing; most of the joy building up inside him was brought by his company. It seemed to be Mondo's natural effect on his soul, sanding away his harsher edges like a river smoothing the stones of its bed. And… he liked it. It was nice. It was… fun! He was truly having some fun here now! If they kept up this trajectory, maybe he would actually fulfill his promise after all!
“Now, for our next act…” the ringmaster began, before one of the cirkies rushed into the ring and stage-whispered into his ear. He looked at the crowd with faux sheepishness. “Oh, my! It seems the star of our next act is hiding out there, with all of you, in the audience! And while I can appreciate a trick well-played, that simply won't do. I'm going to have to suss him out with my… Ultimate Ringmaster abilities...”
The lights of the tent dimmed, with the exclusion of one spotlight upon the ringmaster. With a furrowed brow and two fingers against his temple, he pointed his cane toward the crowd and swung it gently back and forth, like a divining rod skirting desert ground. A second spotlight switched on and lilted across the audience in tandem with the swoops of the cane, a drum rolling in accompaniment.
Mondo watched the performance with amused intrigue, meanwhile the ballyhoo set Kiyotaka back on edge. At least earlier, the theatrics were contained to the ring. He could appreciate them at a distance, in the abstract, through his friend's enjoyment in their own obscure little corner. Now, it felt as if this dumb circus was trying to grab him by the throat and force him to enjoy it.
He had no idea how right he truly was until that burning white light landed squarely on him. He winced in its brightness, shading his eyes as best as he could with his hand.
After a short trumpet fanfare, the ringmaster proclaimed, “A-ha! There he is! And would you look at that, folks, he's giving us all a nice wave! What a good sport.”
Kiyotaka, mortified yet thinking some compliance would make them leave him alone, waved robotically with a fearful, toothy smile at the hundreds of unwanted eyes. His pinprick pupils darted to Mondo. “You didn't say anything about audience participation!” He griped through gritted teeth.
“How the hell was I supposed to know about that? They don't write that sh*t on a poster!” He whispered back.
“Step right up, step right up, son!” The ringmaster beckoned.
Kiyotaka cringed. In the pit of his stomach, he knew he should refuse, stick his ground, and keep his rump firmly planted on this bench. In any other scenario, he would have readily listened to those instincts. But here and now, in the circus, with all its dazzling lights and colors and bombastic music and hundreds of expecting stares, he was much too overwhelmed to turn inward. Against his better judgment, Kiyotaka stood up and cautiously stepped down from the benches.
“That's it, there y'go,” the ringmaster murmured encouragingly as Taka took his place beside him. He slung his arm around Taka's shoulders. “Folks, let's give him a big hand!”
The crowd erupted in applause. As they did so, Kiyotaka realized how strangely inorganic their reactions felt. Vacant smiles and hollow claps— it was like they were just as directed as the performers. The exception was, of course, Mondo, who was whooping and hollering for his friend with his own particular gusto. That made Kiyotaka feel a little more at ease, at least.
“I must say, you almost got away with it.”
“Huh?”
“In that get-up, I almost didn't recognize you. Where did you find rags like that, anyway?”
Kiyotaka had no idea why this man was talking as if they had met before, but he was so offended by his condescending tone that he didn't comment on it. “Excuse me? Sir, this is my uniform!”
The ringmaster chuckled at the assertion, then turned to the crowd. “Y'hear that, folks! That's how you know he's a keeper! He's always able to get a laugh!”
On cue, they all laughed. Except for Mondo, obviously, who was just as befuddled as his friend.
“What's so funny about that?” Kiyotaka asked once the noise died down, miffed.
“Son, if that's a uniform for the likes of you, then I'm the queen of Novoselic.”
“The likes of… what are you talking about?!”
“Oh, you play serious so well,” the ringmaster teased. “But it's time to call it quits, I'm afraid, and be what you truly are…”
He was idly swirling the cane in his hand as he spoke, its golden handle glimmering in the spotlight. Kiyotaka couldn't help but stare at it.
“What I truly… wh… what do you mean?”
“You—” He twirled the cane in his hand until abruptly stopping it a hair away from Kiyotaka's nose, flashing the boy's entire view with gold. “—are a clown.”
Taka blinked a few times and shook his head, disoriented by both the glare and the unprecedented response. “I'm sorry, what did you just call me?!”
“A silly—” The ringmaster poked the golden ball into his chest. “—little—” He shifted the handle down to his solar plexus. “—clown.” And stopped right at the navel.
He stumbled back. “Sir! I did not come all the way out here to be insulted!” He gestured to himself, standing on display for both the ringmaster and the crowd, eyes shut in his pride. “Look at me, I'm the farthest thing from a clown!”
The audience (sans Mondo) burst out in hysterics. Confused, Kiyotaka opened his eyes and looked down. To his horror, the five golden buttons lining the front of his uniform had disappeared. In their place was a row of three large, mustard yellow pompoms. Not only were they ridiculous, but they weren't even functional anymore, for there was no overlap of fabrics to suggest he was wearing a jacket at all. When he pulled at his front to confirm that, he found that not only had his upper garments melded into one, but so did his pants. Not even the fabric itself was unaltered, now much thinner and with a silky sheen to give it visual interest under the stage lighting. No ounce of the professionalism of his old outfit remained, just a baggy white jumpsuit with purely decorative, fluffy buttons.
“WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY UNIFORM?!” Kiyotaka cried, much to the audience's delight. The sob spurned Mondo from his shocked stupor and he practically flung himself into the ring.
“Oh, just a few fitting alterations. Now, it suits you much better.” Without even looking, he smacked the encroaching Mondo directly in the face with his cane, who fell to the ground in a heap. “Hm, slapstick comedy!” He commented cheerily to the crowd. “Now this gag has everything!”
“MONDO!”
“Relax, son, it's just a part of the show,” said the ringmaster, stepping between the pair. “You silly little clown, how could you forget that?”
Taka was red in the face. “I told you, I'm not a clown, no matter how you dress me! I worked my way into one of the top schools in the country! I have a medal to prove it!”
“Ah, I see.” The ringmaster stroked his chin, then suddenly lunged forward and snatched the medal right off his breast.
“Hey!” He tried to retrieve it, but the man kept the distance between them with his cane.
The ringmaster admired the shining adornment in the blazing show lights. “My, what a pretty little bauble…”
Kiyotaka, tears in his eyes, pleaded, “Please, don't ruin it! You don't understand, it took so much work and dedication to earn that! Day in and day out, I sat at my desk, I solved math problems and practiced language drills and wrote essays and… and…”
He trailed off at the sight of what the ringmaster was doing. The medallion pinched in his fingers, he twirled the hanging ribbon in quick circles, the motion blur creating a conical shape. The bottom of that shape began to sink and widen, as if the ribbon was growing longer. Then, once stretched to a certain point, the blur of color solidified. What had once been a medal of the highest academic valor was now a red conical hat, the top bar and brooch now a yellow yarn trim and the medallion transformed into yet another poofy yellow pompom. The crowd oohed and aahed.
The ringmaster held it out for Kiyotaka. He stared at it for a moment, face blank, before snapping out of his trance and grabbing it. He placed the hat on his head.
“As I was saying,” he continued, “this is an honor bestowed by a clown school of high regard for only its top performers! Day in and day out, I took pratfalls, I threw custard pies, I even juggled live animals! That—” He punctuated his very serious rant with a cross of his arms. “—is not the work ethic of a fool!”
“Oh, surely not…” said the ringmaster, giving the audience a knowing smirk.
Yet again, the people whooped and howled. Kiyotaka was starting to grow sick of it. Despite the clouding of his later studies, his memories of being ostracized in his youth were clear as crystal. These jeers were just the same as those of his schoolyard bullies. That feeling was only further confirmed when Mondo stirred from the floor, trying to get up, only for the ringmaster to strike him hard in the stomach, which the spectators matched in ferocity with their cruel laughter.
Taka couldn't take it anymore.
“WOULD YOU PEOPLE SHUT UP?!” He screamed. “This… show! It goes against all human decency! Publicly harassing someone and beating a man for entertainment, it's sick! As a champion of public morals, I can't let this stand!” His fixation on rules and maintaining order, to make up for his grandfather who so vilely disregarded them, stood firm against the circus's barrage on his sanity. At least, for the moment it did…
As Kiyotaka went on his tirade, the ringmaster's tricky fingers unfastened the safety pin holding his armband in place. He slipped the article off of the teen's arm unnoticed, looking at the spectators with a finger playfully pressed against his lips. He folded the band over itself until it could fit in his palm, and once it did, he crushed it in his fist. When his fingers unfurled, he revealed that the red fabric had been pressed into a perfectly round, red rubber clown nose.
“I'm sorry for ‘ruining your fun,’ but as soon as I set foot outside this tent, I'm filing a police report. My values would allow for nothing less! Because unlike you lot, I—” The ringmaster casually passed him the nose, which he took without even thinking. “—thank you— I follow my… my…”
His gaze was caught in the little red ball. His face drooped, expressionless. As with his hat before, Kiyotaka subconsciously recognized the object for what it once was— a symbol of his guiding principles, in this case— but the form it took was completely incongruous to the specific principles he championed up until this point. So, to correct the paradox, those principles were overwritten. Instead of defying his place as a subject of mockery by his peers and gaining the power to deliver justice, he had embraced that mockery and made it his own. Now, restoring his family reputation was not a matter of proving his moral superiority to his grandfather, but of replacing the scorn he inspired in others with joy and laughter.
As his memories were revised to fit his new reality, he slowly pulled the nose closer and closer to his face. It was an entirely unconscious action, as if the little red ball had a powerful magnetic field that was impossible to resist. There was only a brief stutter to his movement, when Mondo called out his name in desperation to stop the madness, but it was fleeting. His destiny could not be denied.
With the clown nose upon his face, he gave it an experimental squeeze.
HONK!
Oh, what a funny sound! Kiyotaka couldn't help but grin at it, especially with the crowd laughing along. Immediately, he squeezed it again.
HONK!
Satisfaction rolled over him like a wave and he let out a little chuckle. It was such a good noise, from such a good nose.
HONK…! HONK…!
Kiyotaka's ramrod straight posture and constantly furrowed brow were a distant memory. Now, he swayed as he stood with a face devoid of tension, drunk off the delight his nose gave him.
“Ahoohoo… Ahoohoohoo…!”
Those cartoonish giggles sounded so similar to Kiyotaka's sobs that it made Mondo's heart pang. Once again, he attempted to stand, striving to save his friend. The ringmaster didn't stop him.
HONK-HONK-HONK!
“Ahoohoohoohoo!” Kiyotaka clapped in glee. Oh, how he loved honking his nose! It reminded him of his mission in life, to spread happiness by being a goofy, ditzy, silly little clown…
With each honk, Kiyotaka's costume changed even more. A ruffled tulle collar sprouted around his neck, tinted yellow to reflect the collar pins and epaulets it replaced. More pale yellow tulle sprang from the cuffs of his jumpsuit, blinking the buttons on his sleeves out of existence. A set of black spandex gloves covered up his hands. The most significant of these changes, however, was the makeup that appeared piece by piece on his face. First was the pure white foundation, a blank canvas. Then, black outlined his large eyes and painted his lips. Finally, on his left cheek (the audience's right) appeared a red teardrop, followed by a yellow star on the opposite cheek. By the time Mondo had reached him his face was nearly unrecognizable, save for his wild red eyes.
“Bro…” He searched those eyes for any spark of recollection, then shook him by the shoulders when none could be found. “Bro, it's me! Mondo! I'm gonna get you outta here, I promise!”
“But why would I wanna leave?” Taka asked, tilting his head. “A circus is a clown's natural habitat!” He declared, breaking away with a twirl and throwing out his arms to bask in the glory of the big top.
Mondo felt like his insides were boiling. Even Kiyotaka's voice was perpetually goofy. “Y-you're not a clown!” He yelped, trying to convince himself it was true just as much as his altered friend before him.
“Oh, but I am! From the top of my hat to the tips of my toes, not to mention the tip of my nose!” As he spoke in sing-song, he pointed to the pompom crowning his cap, then to the toes of his boots, before finishing with a poke to his nose, producing a loud HONK!
“Tips of your…” The little routine made Mondo realize something, which made his face brighten. He pointed at him. “HA! NO YOU AIN'T! Look down again, bro!”
Kiyotaka did so, his shiny black boots greeting him a second time.
“See? Those are the boots you wear everyday! Tall, black, carefully polished, military-style boots, with rows an’ rows of laces you sit and tie every single morning. What kinda clown wears those?”
He gasped melodramatically, glancing back up and slapping both sides of his face. “Goodness, you're right! They're much too serious shoes for a fool to wear. Hmm…” He cradled his chin, his brows pinched together in their familiar way, deep in thought.
Mondo smirked proudly. Any second now, Taka's brain was sure to rewire back to the humorless, no-nonsense guy he was when he walked into this tent. All due to his own quick thinking! Once they got out of here, he was gonna hold this over Taka's head and tease him about it forever. Lovingly, of course.
As Mondo assumed his victory, Kiyotaka's bout of pondering abruptly ended. He held up a finger and exclaimed, “Ah, that's it! Pardon me a moment, would you?”
After another silly, hooting laugh, he stuck out his foot and bent over. As if he were removing a stocking instead of a stiff knee-high leather boot, he pulled at it by the toe and it slipped down his leg easily (though not without some unpleasant rubber stretching sounds). Once the collar of the boot reached only a hair above the ankle, he let it go, and it instantly warped into a new shape. The boot's height was transferred to its length, creating the biggest clown shoe Mondo had ever seen. Taka made even quicker work of the other boot, and there he stood at last, the vestiges of his old self gone for good.
“Ahoohoohoo! That's much better!” He exclaimed, tapping his foot and relishing how the absurdly long sole slapped the ground. “Thanks for pointing that out, bro, I feel much less stifled now!”
“sh*t…” He hadn't considered that Taka might be too far gone for logic to work on him anymore, and now that was certainly the case.
The ringmaster stalked up behind him. “My, my. Out of allies, aren't we, Mr. Ultimate Biker Gang Leader?”
Mondo whipped around. “ You! You motherf*cker! Turn him back now!”
“I'm afraid I'll be doing no such thing. The circus, my good boy, runs on talent. And an Ultimate Circus needs Ultimate Talent…”
“Wh… what? What the f*ck are you talking about?!”
“Look at him.” He pointed back to Kiyotaka, who had somehow in the few seconds Mondo had his eyes off of him produced several bowling pins and started juggling them. “All of his passion for that old talent of his, all of his drive, redirected to showmanship. Someone who lives to perform, but is helpless without someone to set the stage for them. That's the type of person a ringmaster dreams about.” His eyes gleamed with something primal as they bore into Mondo. “And I'm going to fill this tent with them, one precocious brat at a time…”
He backed away, sweating. “You're goddamn crazy, man…”
“Maybe I am, or maybe I'm just a savvy business owner.”
Mondo spotted Taka directly behind him, and made one last bold rescue attempt. He linked their elbows (much to Taka's dismay, as it forced him to drop his pins) and made a mad dash towards the exit. However, he didn't make it far before getting tripped by the ringmaster's cane. Mondo flopped on his face rather unceremoniously, while Taka pinwheeled head over foot several times before landing in a sitting position, head wobbling as cartoon stars, planets, and spirals spun around it.
The ringmaster leaned down to Mondo and said, “You know, I was planning on letting you keep some semblance of your old talent when I ‘hired’ you. I thought you could make a good stunt driver, circling a Cage of Death on a motorcycle. But since you've been so insistent on joining your friend's act all evening, I might as well indulge you…” He whistled in Kiyotaka's direction.
The screwball shook away the orbitals surrounding his dome then stood up and spun around, chest puffed and saluting in a parody of his old self. “Boots the Clown, at your service, sir!” The forever flippant fool he now was, he left his tongue sticking out of his mouth after he shut it.
The ringmaster gave him one word as direction: “Chase.”
Boots needed no further prompting. He stomped briskly towards his target with his arms reaching out ahead, grabbing at the air, hooting eagerly all the while. Mondo, terrified, scurried to his feet and ran into the track. He tried to find the exit that was just open a few minutes ago, but all he could see was white and red tent fabric. He circled the entire ring, trying to find another open flap, but to no avail. He kept going, kept looping over himself, as his former friend pursued him.
“And here we have our Boots with his partner in crime,” said the ringmaster to the crowd as the pair hurried about the track, “his companion in clownery. He's essential to this performance, the glue that holds the double act together. After all, what good is a trickster without the fool who falls for those tricks?”
Mondo hoped that maybe the exit would somehow magically reappear during one of his many runarounds, but all he saw were the stands, the ringmaster, and the featureless section of the inner tent. Stands, ringmaster, inner tent. Stands, ringmaster, inner tent. Stands, ringmaster, clown, inner tent. Stands, ringmaster, clown…
Wait.
Mondo screeched to a halt, kicking up sawdust. Boots (who Mondo still thought of as simply Kiyotaka) was suddenly standing at the edge of the ring with a wide grin, enjoying the spectacle of Mondo chasing his own coattails. The audience was as well, judging by all the laughter at his expense.
“Huh?” He glanced behind him, then back to his friend, then back and forth again. “What the f*ck? When did you…?”
Suddenly, Boots launched towards him with a manic giggle. Mondo only had a second to brace himself for impact, and what little anticipation he could muster was no defense for what the clown would do to him.
Boots… kissed him. Boots kissed him square on the lips, exuberantly, with a long, drawn-out smooching sound. Once Mondo realized what was happening, he simply… melted into it. He had wanted something like this from Kiyotaka for so long that the bizarre circ*mstances didn't matter. He didn't care about the cheers and whoops and wolf whistling from the crowd, all that counted was the two of them. And despite Boots being so different from Kiyotaka, despite the fact that he knew this was partly a gag ending to the chase, Mondo could tell that there was a real sincerity behind it, too. Boots was being genuinely, brazenly affectionate towards him. As twisted as it became, Kiyotaka's love for him was still buried beneath it all. And that made him… happy…
Boots peeled himself off his partner's face with a loud POP! Mondo staggered a bit from the knockback, but his expression conveyed nothing but pure lovestruck bliss. A black lipstick stain was stamped upon his mouth, but it shifted in hue as the stain spread across his face.
The clown makeup he ended up with was different from Kiyotaka's. It didn't cover his entire face, just around the eyes, nose, and mouth— taking after the auguste style rather than whiteface. His lips were painted in a thick ring of bright purple, and he sported two purple diamonds on his cheeks. Any part of his muzzle in between these points was made white, with its shape giving the illusion of a perpetual beam from a distance. The tip of Mondo's nose, too, was purple and took after a diamond, though this one was based on the side view of a brilliant cut gemstone rather than the simple rhombuses that adorned his cheeks. Lastly, white ringed his still darkly lined eyes, which had a black vertical line running down the center of each, and fake black-lined eyebrows arched high above his completely hidden real ones.
The makeup, with its facsimiles of raised brows and a grinning mouth, gave the impression of endless mirth, no matter what the actual facial features caked beneath them conveyed. And just as the expression was forced upon his face, the feeling it represented bubbled up inside him. His tummy filled with butterflies and he let out a hardy laugh, hugging himself as he still processed the smooch he was given.
Well, his body tried to laugh, at least. He mimed the movement— the stretching of the corners of his mouth, the screwing up of his eyes, and the spasms of the lungs— but no sound came out of him. This was a concerning enough development that Mondo snapped out of his smitten haze and recalled the danger he was truly in.
“Ahoohoohoohoo! I guess I left you speechless, huh? How cute!” Boots responded with glee. HONK-HONK!
Mondo ignored him, knowing that he was still so endeared to the charming little clown that he might lose himself for good if he engaged with him again. Instead, he turned back to the ringmaster. Were he the man he was only a minute ago, Mondo knew he would be screaming at him. But not only had he lost his voice, but his rage as well. It was strange. He just… didn't feel angry about the situation anymore. Yet, he still felt an urge to escape, to break free of the cage that was being erected around him. Perhaps it was his rebellious soul, or his pride as a gang leader, or even just his biker wanderlust that forced him back into the fray. Either way, he wasn't out for the count just yet.
Beside the ringmaster was an oddly shaped object that was a little under 4 feet tall and covered in a tarp. Mondo wondered how the hell he missed it getting dragged into here, since he'd been moving around the ring's perimeter up until only a minute ago…
The man in red continued his spiel to the spectators from before. “But, ladies and gentlemen, this fool is not only a fool. He has depth! Expertise! And I think it would be a pity to not let him show it off…”
He removed the tarp, and there stood… Mondo's own, heavily modified Kawasaki Z400, with its white body panels and candy apple red flame decals that looked so pretty under the stage lighting… that was supposed to be out in the parking lot right now. Now he was really wondering how the hell it got in here, with protective instincts underscoring that curiosity. That hog was his pride and joy, after all, his means of fleeing from the mundane world that stifled him. The implication that someone laid a finger on her without his permission…
Well, whatever little latent anger it stirred within him paled in comparison to the relief this opportunity presented. Regardless of the vehicle's journey up until that point, these creeps had practically gift-wrapped his escape. He was downright thrilled by this turn of events and burning with a truly delinquent determination to blow this joint. Thus, Mondo sprinted towards the motorcycle and vaulted into the seat, exactly as his captor wanted.
“Behold! Pure bike-riding talent!”
Mondo revved the engine, savoring how she purred, before surging forward and launching out of the ring. He took a steep, sliding turn to not smash directly into the audience, great clouds of sawdust billowing from his ride's wheels. He zoomed along the track as he had on foot before, but this time with foresight. The plan was to build up momentum in the circle and then, when the time was right, drive straight into the empty section of the inner tent, ripping a hole for himself in the fabric and speeding off into the night. As much as he wanted to spring Boots— No, Kiyotaka, damn it, his name is Kiyotaka, stop forgetting! — it would have to wait until he got someone on the outside to crack down on this place.
Of course, Mondo would never get the chance to do so, because this was a trap. On one of his rounds, a pair of ramps had abruptly appeared on the track before him. Boots skipped into the space in between the ramps and produced a large hoop, which he held up high. Then, the hoop burst into peachy pink flames.
It was too late for Mondo to swerve. He had to make the jump. There was no other way but the big top's.
As Mondo flew through the hoop in midair, the flames puffed and he heard a terrible metallic crunch from below that was almost loud enough to drown out the cheers and applause. He had no time to wonder what might have happened before he was back on the ground, the speed he was already going forcing him to work what were now pedals rather than footpegs into overdrive so he wouldn't wipe out. Two things he did take note of, aside from the need to pedal, was that he was much closer to the ground than before and his body was much more scrunched up trying to sit on this new vehicle. Once he readjusted from the stunt, he slowed to a stop to dismount and assess the damage.
His bike… was a bike. A shockingly tiny bike, its handlebars only reaching a little over a foot off the ground, with a white frame painted with candy cane stripes. It wasn't anything close to a normal bicycle, let alone a motorcycle. It would never be a viable mode of transport— it existed purely for the entertainment of those who saw him ride it. The contrast of such a hulking young man whirling around on such an itty-bitty bicycle was innately funny, after all.
Hehe, funny…
Mondo remembered the love he had for riding his bike, how he adored the opportunities it granted him. That… had to mean he loved performing, that he adored the opportunity to get a reaction from the crowd! After all, what else could it mean, given how the silly prop bike that stood before him would only get any use under the big top?
Mondo couldn't dream of any alternative, because his head was rather fuzzy now. Metaphorically, yes, but also literally as well. The flaming hoop hadn't just transformed his motorcycle when he went through it, but his pompadour as well. Its dye job had changed from a grounded caramel color to a bright, otherworldly salmon, and it was no longer tightly tamed by hairspray into one solid, threatening point. While it was still just as large, the pompadour had a much poofier, softer appearance, almost looking like a giant swirl of candy floss atop his head. Idly, Mondo rocked on his heels, gazing at the pinkish puff protruding above his brow, only able to grasp how pretty it was…
Now, Mondo had never been a smart young man, but he was streetwise and held a healthy skepticism towards authority. His old hairdo was a reflection of that, a carefully maintained statement that the only person who dictated anything about his life was Mondo himself. But this cotton candy coiffure? It reflected that his thoughts and principles were now as ill-defined as its own outline. It was much easier for his cloud-covered mind to just accept the supposed truths around him rather than try to defy them. And everything the eye could see pointed to the conclusion that he was another silly, happy clown like Boots, albeit one far less clever than him…
But… wait… there's something else, isn't there? Something that shows I belong somewhere else?
Mondo blinked and glanced down at his outfit, still unchanged. He stared at his tokkō-f*cku, embroidered with golden thread and symbols of strength…
sh*t, that's right! I'm Mondo Owada, and I lead a gang! I can't stay here, The Crazy Diamonds need me!
He could recall his obligations towards the gang, despite everything. It was the gang he and his brother built together, the gang his brother died for, the one he had vowed to maintain at all costs. Yet…
Mondo couldn't move. He couldn't think up some grand improvised escape plan anymore, much less act upon it. And… and… all these nice people in the stands, they paid top dollar to see him and Boots perform together! And he had been doing such a good job of it up until this biker gang bugbear bit him! Now, the tent was dead quiet, the hundreds of glassy eyes in the shadows glossing over. He couldn't stand the thought of boring people, yet, a piece of him told him he was actually a delinquent who wasn't supposed to give a sh*t what the general public thought of him!
Poor Mondo was so confused. His circus peanut brain could not handle all the contradictions of his identity. He wished somebody would just march up and tell him the right answer! Then he wouldn't be so upset trying to figure it out by himself!
“Oh no!” Boots broke the silence, waddling towards him with concern. “You got soot from that fire stunt all over your clothes!”
Did he…? Well, it was a pretty dangerous stunt, some singeing was to be expected. He could hardly tell, though, since they were already black…
“Need help to wash it off?” He offered. He made eye contact with the audience and waggled his massive eyebrows.
Mondo nodded. Boots was so helpful!
“Coming right up! Ahoohoohoo!” Boots pulled a comically oversized seltzer bottle from behind his back and opened fire. Mondo was blasted with a tidal wave's worth of fizz, knocking him off of his feet. It spurned an equally huge surge of audience laughter, like a dam bursting over an arid desert.
Once the bottle ran dry, its victim laid flat on the ground, soaking in the crowd's adoration as well as the puddle. Oh, it was music to his ears, a crowd so merry that not a soul could restrain themselves. And the person that created all that happiness? It was… him…
Whoever… he… was…
He sat up. Looking at himself, he could see the black and gold dissolving from his garments, dripping to the ground below. The costume that was showing up from beneath the drab gunk was far more colorful, and far more suited for a big buffoon.
He hopped to his feet to get a full picture of his outfit. His long coat was now a rich purple and pale pink plaid. Instead of a stiff high collar, it had large triangular lapels colored yellow, orange, and the same salmon as his hair in a concentric manner. His baggy pants were now bright yellow and sported an orange spoked wheel pattern. In place of a belt with a fierce lion-dog head buckle, he held up those pants with a pair of purple suspenders. However, they were worn backwards, with the Y-shaped back strap running down the center of his torso, as an indication of his lacking intellect.
It took a second for the gears in his head to turn, but once they did, he made an exaggerated “O” shape with his mouth.
Oooh, I get it! He thought. I got so dirty I forgot I was wearing my goofy clown clothes, so I forgot I was one and made up a whole other life!
It made so much sense! He wasn't very a sharp clown, and tended to just go along with whatever was happening around him, so of course he duped himself into some ridiculous persona through something as simple as a wardrobe malfunction.
He mimed a ditzy chuckle. Boots was sooooo smart to get that icky black stuff off me! I'm so lucky he's my partner…
His heart fluttered at the word. Partner. Yes, he was referring to a comedic partner, but there was an undeniable romantic overtone to their relationship. He had forgotten many things over the course of this evening, even his own name, but he certainly remembered that kiss.
Boots saw how pleased he was with his final look and lot in life and said, “All better now, Wheelie?”
Wheelie responded by pressing his stomach and spouting a little stream of seltzer water from his mouth, then giving his partner a dopey beam.
He put his hands on his hips in an exaggerated scolding manner. “I said better , not wetter!”
With that modest little punchline, their act came to a close. The duo took bows as the audience clapped. Then, once the lights over them dimmed, they flounced under cover of darkness to the exit, which had reappeared exactly where it was before. The clowns chuckled amongst themselves, congratulating each other on yet another stellar performance. They couldn't wait for tomorrow night, when they could do it all over again, and the night after that, and the night after that, and every night of the rest of their lives…
Truly, they were the happiest teens on Earth.
