Chapter Text
1648 - Imprisoned
Time had never had much meaning to monsters. Years turned to decades, and still they hardly aged. Seasons all looked the same, back in the rainforest. Night and day were the only events of concern. Here, that one tell was gone. The darkness was endless, the monsters abandoned by even the moon and stars. The ringmaster only brought them out at night, and somehow, it was always cloudy. Any hint of the moon was obscured, barely enough light to illuminate the glint of their eyes. “Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, a fallen angel!” Harlequin snapped his head upwards at the announcement from the stage above, hearing a whip crack. Up above, Columbina cried out, Pierrot snarling from his cage. The ringmaster walked directly above Harlequin’s head, motes of dust drifting down from the wooden stage that served as the roof to their prison. The serpent sneezed, earning a growl from Jester, in the cage beside him. Oh, how Harlequin hated him. They had been close, once, but it hardly mattered, now.
This was his fault. This was all his fault. He was the reason they were all trapped here.
The cries of the jungle surrounded them, masking any sounds made by their movement. [Jester] motioned for them all to stop, [Harlequin] following his gaze. A tall man (well, tall for a human) stepped out of the caravan that had been parked there for the last week, adjusting one of the wheels. [Pierrot] moved to pounce, but [Jester] once again stopped him. “Not this one. He is different.” [Doctor] cocked his head, damaged beak clicking in contemplation. “What makes this one special? His skin is lighter in color, closer to ours, but he smells the same as the others.”
By now, the man had gone back inside the caravan, and [Jester] stepped a little bit closer to the clearing. “He is not from here. His men are spoiled, fed and content every night. I have been watching him. He is fascinated by oddity.” He didn’t need to say it, the message was loud and clear. “[Jester], we have managed on our own for many years. Humans provide food, and they provide danger. Nothing more.” Ever the voice of reason, Bil’s voice was carefully neutral. Desperate times did call for desperate measures, but surely [Jester] knew better than to trust the word of man.
Apparently both Harlequin and Bilhetiero were wrong, on that front.
That was the other thing. They all had names in their native tongue, before all this. Harlequin knew they did. Knew he himself did. But the names were lost on him now, recalling only what the ringmaster called them. Columbina and Bil were the exceptions. The ringmaster called Bil the ‘Ticket Taker’, which, ironically, was very close to what his actual name meant. Harlequin was never sure why he had that name to begin with, but he had also never cared to ask. Columbina.. You could never forget. She was ‘The Angel’, but that role wasn’t new either. So sweet, so fragile. Smaller than the rest of them, shying away from violence. In a way, she condemned herself. Monsters could only eat human flesh, and that of their own. Pierrot had found her long before either of them joined the ̶f̶a̶m̶i̶l̶y̶ group.
He guided her, protected her, loved her. Harlequin never had a chance. Even if the dragon hadn’t chased him off any time the serpent drew too close, Columbina herself pulled away. She was never cruel to him, it was not in her nature, but she could not love him either. Harlequin resented it, but also wouldn’t want it a different way. The only way that she would ever love him was if Pierrot didn’t exist, and even if they had their differences, of which there were many, Harlequin still enjoyed his company. Pierrot, however, would always prefer not just his mate, but the others in the group. It stung in a different way than Columbina’s rejection. She had already claimed her mate, despite his best efforts. But Pierrot himself.. He had shown that he was clearly capable of caring about the others beyond just Columbina. Except Harlequin. So fine, he could live with that. Not that it really mattered anymore, anyway.
When another few days had passed without finding any other isolated humans, the others started to come around to [Jester]’s idea. They were all starving, having found nothing in weeks. Columbina was used to win over the man. Even with her claws and sharp teeth, she was beautiful. At her will, feathered wings sprouted from her back, shining in the glow of the moon. The man promised that if they came with him to his home, they would never have to worry about being hungry again. All they had to do was work for him, and remain silent. Where he was from, no one would speak their tongue. It would be simpler to be quiet. [Jester] accepted the deal, but none of them really understood what was coming next.
Harlequin had hated the smells of the jungle, once. So much at once, all equally strong. Now, all that existed was the smell of blood, and rot. White skin, once as smooth as porcelain, now marred with scars of every kind. Pierrot looked the worst, facial markings near unrecognisable. Most of his wounds came from protecting Columbina, taking the brunt of the damage. Jester was next, the six horns that adorned his head now reduced to four, the largest ones broken off at the base. For as often as the Ringmaster called them all hideous, he had no issue hanging the horns on his wall. Bilheteiro was the least wounded. His shapeshifting protected him, the master relying on his face still being able to become somewhat human. He was the only one whose outfit wasn’t stained crimson with old blood. Doctor had been deemed the ugliest of them all, his extensive scars, mostly self inflicted over the years in acts of morbid curiosity, marring most of his body, but particularly his face. A mask had been fitted for him, stitched to his face. On the rare occasion that the group was fed, it was ripped off, blood, skin, and feathers falling to the ground. Some of the others made sure not to eat any of the rended flesh, but Harlequin never cared. He had eaten his own kind before, he would do it again.
In fact, it gave him an idea. On stage, Columbina collapsed, bloody feathers sticking through the floorboards. Her breathing was faint, and Harlequin could hear the beating of her heart. Her blood smelled delicious. Guilt crept up his spine at the mere thought of harming a being he still loved, but the hunger contended with the doubt. Monsters killing humans wasn’t evil. It was just the order of things. But a monster killing a member of their own pack.. That would be. He wasn’t sure he really cared. Ethics had no place in a world like this, blackened by the sins of humanity. Columbina was an angel. A miracle. She would be their miracle. Their sacrifice.