Even Angels have Scars -- Complete

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Amanda

Post by Saint Kurt »

"You know what this is? It’s a perfect moment."

The tents had been cleared hours ago, all the lights extinguished, and except for two people, everyone was asleep.

Kurt and Amanda lay on their backs atop the roof of their van facing opposite directions so they could lay their heads on each other’s shoulders. It was just something they did sometimes; so they could look at the sky as they talked. When you were on display in some way or another most of the day, moments of private reflection were even more important.

"There’s another one." Amanda pointed towards a streak of light. Then there were two more in quick succession in another part of the sky.

"We’re really lucky." Kurt said. "It’s such a clear night."

"Mmmmm."

They lay in silence, watching the streaks of light peppering the sky.

"You know what this is?" Amanda said after nearly ten minutes.

"What?"

"It’s a perfect moment."

Kurt didn’t say anything. It was perfect. The air was the temperature of his skin and there was hardly even a breeze. He could smell the clean scent of Amanda’s hair and feel the shift of her body with each breath. With all the shooting stars in the sky that night, if he could have combined all his wishes in to one, he would have wished that the night would never end; and that he and Amanda could stay like this forever.
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Sigils

Post by Saint Kurt »

I told you that it was short... Heres another one.

"Father Dietrich always tells me that God made me like this as a message. Sometimes I get tired of being the messenger."


Margali ripped the paper off the door and crumpled it in her hands. "Not another one." She said.

"What are they?" Kurt asked, gently taking the paper from her and unfolding it. There was a picture on it, just a simple line drawing, like a scribble but more orderly.

"Theyre just pictures Kurt." Margali said. "Throw it away."

But Kurt didnt throw it away. When Margali wasnt looking he smoothed the paper out and put it under his pillow with the rest of the drawings they had found tacked to their door since Margalis relatives arrived. He still didnt know what they were and they seemed to make Margali angry, but he thought they were beautiful. He climbed into his bed and, laying on his stomach with his tail curled above him like a giant question mark, pulled a few of the others out and looked at them in the dim light. Margali turned around and he quickly shoved them back under his pillow.

"How long are your sister and her family staying?" Kurt asked.

"Not for very much longer I hope." Margali said, glaring at them through the front windshield.

Kurt said nothing since it didnt seem polite to tell her that he didnt like her relatives either. Martuska Szardos and her family were true gypsies, traveling around Europe, settling in one place for as little as a week or as long as a year. Martuska had married a Spaniard, another Rom named Franco. They had several children and with the addition of Franco’s two brothers, their wives, and children, they were nearly a traveling village.

When they had first arrived Kurt had been excited. He’d never met any of Margali’s family before. Unfortunately, whereas Margali had found her mother’s expulsion from the tribe liberating, her sister did not. She clearly was bitter over her mother’s transgression and appeared to blame Margali as well. Kurt, it seemed was the last straw. Neither Martuska, nor her family would look at him; instead they called him "beng", hissed at him, and made shooing motions with their hands whenever he walked past.

"Theyre the ones putting the pictures on the door." Kurt said.

Margali sighed and leaned against the bed, her chin on folded arms. Then she slid one hand under the pillow and pulled out the slightly crumpled papers.

"I like them." Kurt said sheepishly and was surprised when Margali started laughing.

"Oh, the irony." Margali said in response to his questioning look. "Theyre sigils, Kurt. Magical symbols that are supposed to call down angels from heaven."

Kurt took one of the pages out of her hand and stared at it. "Do they really work?" he asked.

Margali shrugged. Her magic didnt involve angels or rituals. She glanced at the crucifix hung above Kurt’s bed. His did though.

"Why are they on our door then?" he asked.

"Because of you." Margali said after a long pause.

"Theyre afraid of me." Kurt said quietly.

Margali opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. There was so much she could have said, but even she couldnt untangle the thoughts in her head. It galled her that members of her family, who had been persecuted for generations, could be so closed minded, so superstitious. She had managed to keep Kurt within the protective circle of the circus and a few trusted friends for 13 years. Hed hardly known prejudice; the other performers treated him as an equal and every night he performed in front of hundreds of people. His uniqueness had been celebrated instead of scorned. But she couldnt protect him forever.

Margali reached out and smoothed his hair. "I think they’re afraid of both of us. The sigils on the door are supposed to scare you away and stop me from conjuring any more demons."

Kurt took the rest of papers back. "But you didn’t conjure me."

Margali laughed. "It has to do with the magic of my mother that she passed down to me. My sister has come to believe it is demon magic destined to cover the lands in evil." She rolled her eyes. "Apparently she found Christianity and so now anybody who believes anything else is evil. Stupid." Margali practically spit the last word out.

Kurt frowned and moved away from her. Margali looked stricken. "Kurt, I’m sorry. That was unkind of me." She said.

"Do you think I believe that?" He asked.

"Of course not. You wouldn’t want to stay here if you did. If my sister believed in your God, I don’t think she’d be so eager to drive you away."

"Maybe if you told her about my…" Kurt began.

"I tried," Margali said with a deep sigh, "She’s just an angry woman. She can’t see past your appearance because she doesn’t want to. One of the unfortunate side effects of being different is that some people will refuse to understand." She looked at her son, sitting on a blanket that was almost as brightly colored as he was. His clothes, most of which were made for him by the Lysette, who had since retired as a performer and now made all of their costumes, were cut from the leftover fabric. Even in the dimness of his bunk, it was hard to imagine anyone so colorful appearing the least bit threatening.

"I wish I could show people." Kurt said.

Margali smiled. "You do. Every night."

"That’s true." Kurt said, turning over onto his back. He played Nightcrawler as a sort of naughty, but ultimately harmless demon imp. Audiences had never been anything but appreciative, particularly when he did something to try to trip up the other performers. Then again when the show was over it was as though their appreciation faded. It was not unusual for folks to hang around after the show to chat with the performers. Kurt always enjoyed it, but he couldn’t help noticing that they always seemed a little shyer around him than anyone else. It made him wish that just once he could spend an hour looking like everyone else to see how they would really react to him.

Kurt stretched, putting his hands over his head and lengthening his spine to the tip of his tail. "Father Dietrich always tells me that God made me like this as a message." He said. Finishing his stretch he sat up and dangled his legs off the edge of the bed. "Sometimes I get tired of being the messenger."

Margali took another glance out the window at the tiny enclave of cars and tents that defined her sister’s area of the camp. "I know you are Kurt." She said. But it’s only going to get worse, she added silently.
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Even Angels have Scars -- Complete

Post by Lauren »

awwww *huggles little Kurt tightly so he's not ad anymore* this was a good chapter too!
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Even Angels have Scars -- Complete

Post by SheCat »

Another two wonderful installments! I love this past you're recreating for him. It's detailed, memorable, sweet, and makes a whole heckuva lot more sense than Azazel does.
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Even Angels have Scars -- Complete

Post by CurlyyHairGirl »

I think his Baptism was done fine. I, personnaly was baptised as a baby, I am 15 1/2 now and I still haven't been confirmed:oops, my church requires at least 2 years of Catacism(sp?) But oh well.

I love the last 2 instalments. I assume the symbols that call the angels are the same ones that later become scars?
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Post by Saint Kurt »

makes a whole heckuva lot more sense than Azazel does.
It does? Ummm...

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Traumatic Incident No. 2

Post by Saint Kurt »

"Demons and angels are one in the same. They just have different agendas if you get my meaning."

Kurt was beginning to see why they called lust one of the seven deadly sins. If it hadn’t been for lust, his lust unfortunately, he wouldn’t be in this situation. He climbed a few branches higher and looked down. Surely they couldn’t see him up here. A moment later he heard voices and the barking of a large dog, which stopped under his tree. Kurt held his breath but the dog looked up and started barking anyway.

"Shhh." He put his finger to his lips, but the dog kept up its baying. Kurt shut his eyes, leaning against the tree trunk, trying to blend in as much as possible.

The girl’s name had been Lola, at least that’s what she said her name was. Now that Kurt thought about it, he couldn’t imagine anyone really being named Lola, especially not in rural France. She was about 15 with auburn hair that fell around her shoulders in soft ringlets. She had come to see the circus; he’d spotted her in the audience the first night. She was dressed provocatively, not to the point where she looked sleazy, but in a way that gave Kurt ideas.

He couldn’t help but notice her again in the audience the night after that. On the third night she stayed after the performance was over and gave him a rose. At the time he’d been both surprised and pleased, but Lars had teased him about it so mercilessly that he pretended he didn’t care. He’d left the dressing area, still carrying the rose when Lola stepped out of the shadows.

"Don’t you ever take your costume off?" She’d asked.

For the first time in his life Kurt was speechless. "Um. Yeah. Most of it." He’d managed after a moment of stammering.

Lola gave a coy smile, showing straight white teeth offset by pink lipstick. "That’s okay. I like that."

It hadn’t taken very long for her to convince Kurt that they should find a private spot where he could take the rest of his costume off. Thinking back on it, he supposed that something about her made him ignore the part of his brain that was telling him he couldn’t take the rest of his costume off no matter who was asking.

They’d kissed under a large poplar tree and it had been wonderful. Unfortunately it was interrupted by the discovery that his ears didn’t come off. This was immediately followed by the realization that his tail was permanently attached. It wasn’t long before Kurt was sitting alone under the tree wondering how he would ever get a girlfriend even if it was for only one evening. He certainly hadn’t expected her father to show up the next day.

He hadn’t shown up alone either; he had friends with him and a large dog straining against its leash. The three men, each with a shotgun under their arm had marched into their camp. It was one of the rare moments when nobody was there but Kurt. It was threatening rain so everyone was sitting under the tent. Kurt was only there because he’d wanted to grab something to eat from their van.

Kurt had been chased before. He sometimes even made a game of it though if Margali had caught him she would have skinned him. Usually people who caught a glimpse of him simply wanted to chase him away, not catch him. And on the occasion that someone did get it into their head to capture him, he kept the game up until he was tired of it and then hid in the shadows until his pursuers got bored and went away. No one had ever chased him with a gun.

"We’ve got him. He’s up there."

Kurt looked down in dismay. The three men milled around beneath the tree. The dog was still barking but they couldn’t see him. Lola’s father brought the shotgun to his shoulder and aimed up into the branches.

"This will show the little creep was happens to freaks who take advantage of my daughter." He fired the gun into the tree, much too close for Kurt’s comfort. He shielded his face against a shower of shattered branches. This was getting to be too much. He inched out on to the branch as far as he could and leapt into the closest tree.

He caught the tip of a branch, which bent crazily for a moment until he scrambled up to where it was thick enough to support his weight. He crossed around the tree trunk and ran out onto another branch until he was close enough to leap to the next tree. The noise alerted the dog and the three men followed, firing their shotguns up into the trees as he went. None of their shots came close; Kurt realized they could hear him, but they couldn’t see him. They continued this way until Kurt ran out of trees.

"I didn’t mean to scare her." Kurt called down in French. The result was a spray of twigs and needles as a shotgun blast was fired in his direction. He climbed a little higher. "Please, I’ll come down and we can talk about it. I’m sorry. Just stop shooting at me."

"No point Demon boy, I don’t forgive rapists." This pronouncement was followed by several more blasts from various shotguns. The tree was getting awfully thin. Kurt was shocked. Rape? He’d kissed her and then she’d tried to rip his ears off. How was that rape? Maybe he’d heard him wrong.

"I don’t understand. My French isn’t that great. Do you know German or…" But his attempt at diplomacy was interrupted when he had to duck another spray of foliage. A large portion of the trunk uncomfortably close to his head had been blown out.

"I said you were a rapist. Die Vergewaltigung," was the reply. Kurt’s heart sank: he’d heard the man right the first time. But he hadn’t forced her to do anything. It had been her idea.

"No. That’s not true. I would never do such a thing." Kurt called down as he climbed a bit higher. He was running out of tree.

"Are you calling my daughter a liar?"

Kurt swallowed. "No, I just…Whoa!" The branch under him cracked and gave way. He tried to leap back to the trunk, but there wasn’t enough leverage. He fell, branches holding him for a moment and then snapping under his weight as he dropped. Kurt shut his eyes. "Please God, please let me be anywhere but here," he prayed silently. There was a deafening crack, followed by a sensation that wasn’t quite pain and for a moment Kurt wondered if he’d been shot. He hit the ground so hard it knocked the wind out of him and the world went black.

It was the feeling of being cold that made Kurt open his eyes. He’d never suffered from vertigo before and for the first time he realized how terrible it was as the world spun and tilted around him. The strange thing was that he was staring at the grey sky. The tree was gone, and he was alone. He sat up, trying to clear his head, and realized with a start that he was naked. With a cry of surprise Kurt staggered to his feet. Had those men done something to him? Had they taken his clothes? But when he looked down he was fine, just naked. Where had his clothes gone?

Kurt looked around. He was standing near a clump of bushes about twenty feet from their main tent. How had he gotten here, he wondered. He’d run away from the camp away from the tents, not toward them. Had God heard his prayer and somehow moved him? Put him here to keep him safe? Kurt was contemplating this when there was a flash of light accompanied by a loud "bamf" sound. There was a man standing there with his hands clasped behind his back. He was very well dressed in a fine suit and tie. Kurt dove into the bushes.

"Modest are we?" The man said. He was German or at least he was speaking German.

Kurt peeked out from behind the branches. "Hello?" He said tentatively.

The man smiled. "Ah. There you are. Well, come out. Let me see you."

Kurt blanched. "Who are you?" He asked, shifting to hide himself better.

"You don’t know?" The stranger scratched his chin. "That is interesting. I’m surprised you’re alive actually. Until just a few hours ago, I’d completely lost track of you."

"You know me?"

"Of course I know you. You were born just outside of Oberammergau, in some godforsaken little Barvarian village without a name. A well meaning priest set fire to the house where you and your apparently dead mother lay, but an even more well meaning gypsy woman ran in and saved you. She named you Kurt, after the circus strong man. You started putting yourself on display for the entertainment of others when you were six. Have I left anything out?"

"A priest?" Kurt said in surprise. Margali never told him that part of the story. "What kind of priest?"

"I don’t know." The man said, irritation apparent in his voice. "The kind with crosses and those little white collar things. Now are you going to come out or not?"

Kurt shook his head.

The man sighed. "Fine." He pulled one hand from behind his back to reveal Kurt’s clothes, neatly folded. He tossed them over the bush. Not bothering to wonder why this man had his clothes, Kurt dressed hurriedly and started searching his pockets.

"Looking for this?"

Kurt looked up and saw that the man had taken the other hand from behind his back to reveal Kurt’s rosary dangling casually from an outstretched finger. Kurt stepped forward out of the bushes.

"Yes." He said firmly. "Give it to me."

The stranger laughed. "Suit yourself." He said and tossed it over. Kurt quickly looped it around one of the belt loops of his pants so he didn’t lose it again. The man was now circling around him as though looking for flaws in a piece of sculpture.

"You know you have your mother’s eyes, but the rest of you is the spitting image of me." He said.

"I’ve got what? Who are you?" Kurt said in disbelief. Other than the dark curls, the man looked nothing like him. He was …normal.

"Ah. Does this help." The change was so gradual that Kurt didn’t notice it was happening first, but a transformation was taking place, the man’s skin reddening and his posture shifting until Kurt could see that the man had been right. Other than the color of his skin, Kurt looked just like him. He swallowed hard.

"Would I be repeating myself if I asked you who you were?" Kurt said in a small voice.

The man smiled. "Yes, but I’ll answer it anyway. I’m your father."

Kurt didn’t quite know how to take this news. It was hard to believe that a few minutes ago a man accusing him of being a rapist was chasing him. Now, in a totally different place another man, with a tail, was telling him that he was his son. Kurt narrowed his eyes, "How can you be my father? My father died."

"You did see my little trick a moment ago didn’t you?"

"Yes."

"So, I can appear as whomever I like. A talent you apparently don’t have."

Kurt looked down at his hands. "Apparently not." He said. "But Margali never mentioned you. How did you get out of the house?"

To Kurt’s surprise the man burst into hysterical laughter. "Not too bright are you?" He said, "I’d say you yourself discovered the answer to that question a little while ago."

"I did?"

The man gestured around them. "How do you think you got here?" He pointed off into the distance. "You were over there before."

Kurt scratched his head. "Yeah, I was."

"Well then, how do you think you ended up here?" He gave Kurt an indulgent smile, like he was humoring a little child.

Kurt said the only possible explanation he could think of. "God?"

The man widened his eyes in disbelief and his fit of laughter lasted for several minutes. He wiped the tears from his eyes. "God? Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll give you another guess."

"You?"

"Closer. Three guesses then."

Kurt shrugged. "That leaves me. Or something I don’t know about."

"Let’s go with you for now." The man said.

"Okay. But how? How can a person go from one place to another in the blink of an eye?" Kurt asked. He didn’t like this man claiming to be his father, but his curiosity was certainly piqued. There had to be some explanation to how he’d ended up here.

The man looked at his watch. "I can see this is going to take a while. Too long, actually. I’ll let you figure that one out for yourself. Goodbye then."

"Wait!" Kurt shouted before the man could disappear.

"Yes?"

"Who was my mother?"

The man smiled. "Your mother was…complicated. Another conversation perhaps."

"Another question then." Kurt said. It was odd that even though this man had appeared before him in the strangest of ways, Kurt believed him. "What is your name?"

"Ah. I believe your foster mother has some very informative books on that subject. I can’t give anything away at once can I?" The man bent down and with his finger drew a series of marks in the dirt. They glowed from behind as though lit by fire. "Do you recognize this?" He asked.

Kurt bent down and examined the shapes. He let out a gasp. "I do." He said. They were the markings that Margali’s sister had put on their door to scare him away when she had visited last year. He had transferred them neatly onto a smaller piece of paper that was now folded and tucked into the pages of his bible. He looked up. "But this is angel writing. You don’t look like an angel." Kurt paused. "Neither do I."

The indulgent smile that Kurt was already learning to hate was back. At least the man wasn’t laughing this time. "You know," he said, "You might not be as stupid as I first thought but you are definitely somewhat…quaint." Kurt glowered at him.

"Demons and angels are one in the same. They just have different agendas if you get my meaning." He clapped Kurt on the back. "You’ll get it all figured out one day I’m sure." He pointed at the mark, which was fading into the dirt. "Draw it in the ground." He said. "Add a drop of your blood. I’ll know it’s you and I’ll come."

"Now," he said, standing up. "Though you did travel here in the blink of an eye as you said, you might be interested to know that youve been lying in this field unconscious for hours not minutes. I believe it’s almost time to put yourself on display again."

"But I…" Kurt’s response was cut short by a burst of dark smoke as the man left in the same manner in which he had arrived. Kurt looked around feeling vaguely disoriented. He still wasn’t sure what had happened to him. Even leaving out the man who had just appeared and disappeared in front of his eyes, exactly what had he done to get himself out of that tree and into this field? And how had he gotten out of his clothes? He scratched his head, wondering if perhaps he had dreamed the whole thing.

A break in the clouds showed him that it was indeed getting to be towards evening. Everyone was probably already getting ready and wondering where he was. Kurt started to jog back towards their camp when an idea occurred to him. Could he really just zap himself from one place to another? It would certainly be quicker than running. Kurt shut his eyes and asked God to take him to his trailer. He opened them. He was still standing in the field behind the tent. Feeling a little silly he started to jog towards the camp. It was definitely the strangest day he’d ever had.


Author’s note:
I originally was going to leave Nightcrawler’s canon parents out of the story. Mystique has way too many offspring and the whole thing with Azazel was just too odd. While I was looking for a good image of the enochian symbols on Nightcrawler’s face I ran across this page and changed my mind.

http://www.elijahwood-thereandbackagain.com/angels.htm

The whole thing is interesting, but here is the key paragraph:

"Enoch is the fabled author of a number of mystical and magical texts that deal largely with the fallen angels of God, known collectively as the Watchers, whose task it was to watch over humanity from the four Watchtowers at the corners of creation. These Watchers observed that human women were beautiful and lusted after them. A group of Watchers, led by an angel known by a variety of names, among them Azazel, descended to the earth and adopted material forms so that they could dwell with mortal women. Their consorts bore them sons and daughters who were half-human and half-angelic."

(As you may notice, the page is on Elijah Wood’s site. I surfed around for a few minutes and have since decided that Elijah Wood is completely insane. Check out his site and you’ll see what I mean. It’s scary. And he’s so earnest about it that it’s even scarier. My only hope is that this is some kind of hoax.)
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Even Angels have Scars -- Complete

Post by RavEnigma »

:eek Wow. That's all I can say.....wow. That Enochian thing is weird, reminds me of the "angelic alphabets" alchemists used. Love the portrayal of Azzy, though. (If I ever get a male rabbit, that's what I'm naming him, Azzy, NDAI) Please write more soon, this absolutely rules!
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Even Angels have Scars -- Complete

Post by Saint Kurt »

Thanks. It was a really bad day for technology at my place today. My desktop computer went completely kablooey - so much so that I actually thought I had lost everything on my harddrive. I managed to salvage this story among other things and quickly put it all on my laptop before anything else happened. Krikey!

Then I was sewing and my serger suddenly threw its belt. Now it doesn't sew and makes a noise that sounds like something you would hear in a body shop.

Lucky for me, both are still under warranty. :)

So, I thought maybe I should post another story.

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Even Angels have Scars -- Complete

Post by CurlyyHairGirl »

Wow...E. Wood is disturbing alright.:smirk

I love the way this story is going, although I must admit, it was somewhat odd to read about Azzy in it, but it's fine. I enjoy reading your work.
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Wolfgang

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"I spent four years living in New York City. I’ve seen folks a whole lot scarier than you."

Kurt was fourteen years old when Wolfgang Wagner was hired for the winter to repaint all of Circus Gehlhaar’s props and lorries. Kurt was already a veteran performer and one of the star attractions of the circus. He never tired of learning new things and over the years had branched out from trapeze work with Lycka På Himmelen. His tight wire work had improved since his clumsy first attempt and he was now skilled in several forms of acrobatics and balancing. Along with Sven, Svens brother Nils, and Lars he was exploring a new type of act called the Russian Bar where a single acrobat performed on a springy 10 foot bar held by porters at either end. Kurt could already jump nearly three feet above his own height and when his leap was timed with Sven and Nils using the leverage of the bar to toss him, he could nearly touch the tents roof. The only difficulty was landing back on the bar.

Despite his age, he didnt seem to suffer from the usual adolescent awkwardness. Margali couldnt help but notice though, that as he got older the features that had made him so endearing as a child, were no longer as cute. At the same time Margali could tell that Kurt yearned to see the world up close, not looking down at it from 20 feet above. It was as though his appearance was constantly at odds with his desires. He remained as fascinated by Christianity as ever and Margali had gotten used to it. Even so, she had to admit that the sight of her demon son kneeling on the floor each night to say his prayers was one of the most amusing and ironic things she had ever seen.

Wolfgang Wagner was from Salzburg, the son of a wealthy Austrian businessman whose family holdings extended all over Europe. He was 22 years old and had gone to school in America to study art. He was fluent in six languages and was as eloquent in any of them as he was in his native German. When he spoke English it was with an American accent. He was a brilliant, charismatic, and possibly the most handsome man Margali had ever seen. Given the number and variety of women he entertained in his tent, Margali was sure that she wasnt the only one who found him attractive. He was Amandas first crush and was everything that Kurt wasnt and yet longed to be.

Margali had been suspicious of him at first on general principal. She didnt like rich kids who thought it would be fun to run away with the circus for a few months before they went out and got real jobs. But after he had been there several weeks even she wasnt immune to his charm. While Wolfgangs parents may have thought he was running away for the winter, Wolfgang himself did not. Instead of a spoiled brat, she was surprised to find that in addition to all his other qualities he was a sensitive artist who wanted nothing to do with his familys money or business.

Kurt carefully avoided him. Past experience had made him wary of strangers, particularly any new person who came to work for Circus Gehlhaar. He didnt want to frighten them and so he didnt force his presence on anyone until they made the first move. It made him appear to be much shier than he was. This put him at odds with Amanda though. He was closest to his sister and after Wolfgang arrived she seemed determined to be where ever he was.

They were spending the winter near Barcelona. After two winters in Albania it made a nice change. The circus made an extended stop for several months each winter in order to refresh their tents and equipment as well as work on new acts for the coming year. They had rented a large plot of land a few miles outside of the seaside town of Canet de Mar where they could pitch their tents and enjoy a bit of nature as well. Winter meant work as well as play. Even so, they usually played a few small engagements around the area to try out their new routines on an audience.

There was a large carnival being held in Barcelona and so they packed up their half painted props and tents for a two day journey to play there. They planned on staying a week before returning to Canet de Mar.

Wolfgang, who had never seen the circus perform outside of their practice sessions tagged a long. Free from the job of painting sets and equipment he had stretched a few canvases and brought his oil paints. Wolfgang was hoping to put together a series of paintings chronicling the activities of the circus in addition to his obligation to Circus Gehlhaar. He was sitting "backstage" at an angle where he could see the crowd starting to fill the stands.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to go for realism or a more impressionistic approach. He loved the shapes and lean definition of the performers, but there was a certain beauty to their performances caught as streaks of movement against the multicolored blur of the audience. He wasn’t actually painting, just thinking. Last night had been the opening of the carnival and so Wolfgang had sat in the stands like a tourist. Tonight he wanted a look from the performer’s view. Paintings of circus performers from an audience eye view were certainly interesting, but he thought paintings from the vantage points of the artists would be even more so.

Across from him two of the members of the trapeze troupe ran up and poked their heads around the tent flaps, looking at the audience. Wolfgang could never seem to pronounce the name of the troupe properly. No matter how many times Sven pronounced for him, the acrobat always shook his head sadly when Wolfgang repeated it back. At least they had German and Russian in common. He recognized them as the two teenage members of the troupe, Kurt and Lars.

He’d been told about Kurt when he accepted the job. Apparently their had been some problems in the past with him and the staff. Wolfgang had only met one other mutant, a girl at NYU. She could push things. She didn’t touch them, just gestured at them, pantomiming the action and they jumped forward. They lived in the same dormitory and Nina would entertain her fellow dorm-mates by occasionally pushing books and pencils around. It made for an amusing study break. He had no idea how powerful she was until once a few of them went out to a scrap yard and she showed them how she could move trucks and buses around with the same ease that she sent pens and pencils skittering across the desks.

Nina had looked like everyone else; Kurt didn’t. What was really amazing to Wolfgang though was that Kurt didn’t seem to notice or care. Around the other performers he was completely at ease and they were with him. Unfortunately despite several attempts, Wolfgang had never been able to introduce himself. It seemed that he was the only member of the circus Kurt wasn’t comfortable with.

They hadn’t noticed him, which was fine with Wolfgang. He ducked away out of sight so Kurt wouldn’t suddenly find a need to vacate the premises. It would have made a great painting actually. The two of them were halfway in costume, the top halves of their leotards tied around their waists so they could wear t-shirts. Kurt was pointing into the stands, but Wolfgang couldn’t make out the conversation since it was entirely in Swedish. It didn’t matter though; it was just a wonderful simple image of two performers having a friendly moment before they stepped into the light. He opened his sketchbook, throwing down as many quick posture sketches as he could before Kurt popped around the other side of the curtain and dashed out of sight.

At first Wolfgang thought he’d been spotted, but Lars was still looking out into the stands. Wolfgang folded up his sketchpad and walked over to see what it was that was so interesting.

"Hello." Lars addressed him in German. Wolfgang smiled and returned the greeting. He was about to ask when Lars started laughing. He responded to Wolfgang’s look of confusion by pointing into the stands again. "He’s so insane." Lars said.

Wolfgang looked out across the ring and saw the Kurt had climbed up the back of the bleachers to the highest row and was now strolling down the aisle as though looking for a seat. "What’s he doing?" Wolfgang asked.

"He just loves messing with everybody. His mom gets so pissed." Lars said.

Kurt was pretty funny actually. He walked down to where a family was sitting and pointed at an empty spot five people in. After a moment of conversation with the man on the end, Kurt leapt over their heads and nimbly landed in the empty spot. The site of nearly everyone around him jumping in surprise started both Wolfgang and Lars laughing.

"He tells them he’s tired of performing and just wants to watch the show." Lars told him. "Then after a little while, I go fetch him. It’s pretty funny what people do. A couple times they’ve argued with me to let him stay. I have no idea why."

Wolfgang was about to ask for an explanation but he could see for himself. Kurt appeared to be pretending that his tail, to them a piece of his costume, had a piece of wire in it so that he could bend it into a shape and it would stay that way. He was a pretty convincing mime except he always bent it into positions where it was sticking in front of his neighbor’s face or poking the people behind him. The whole time he looked terribly apologetic about it.

"I see what you mean." Wolfgang said. "No one figures it out?"

"Nope. But Margali’s always afraid someone will. Once she went and got him instead of me. It was hysterical." Lars said. He did an exaggerated, but very convincing impression of Kurt leaping in surprise and then dropping down into his characteristic crouch with his hands over his head as though to ward off a blow. Wolfgang laughed as Lars stood up.

Wolfgang was still trying to keep all the relationships straight. "Margali, the fortune teller? She’s his mother?" He asked. Lars nodded.

"So Amanda is his sister."

"Yeah. And his older brother is away at school. Kurt’s the youngest." Lars watched for another minute of so and then said, "I better go get him."

Wolfgang was suddenly struck with an idea. "Let me go." He said. "Pretend that Margali sent me."

Lars grinned. "That’s so mean. But, pretty funny. Yeah, go, but I get to watch." He said.

Wolfgang jogged around the edge of the ring and climbed the steps to where Kurt was sitting. He’d apparently gotten his tail problems sorted out and was being offered popcorn by a little girl in the row in front of him. Her father must have asked him a question about the trapeze, because at the same time he was explaining the basics of catching and flying in careful but broken Spanish.

Wolfgang hated to break it up actually. Everyone had been nothing short of alarmed when Kurt had first jumped into their midst, but it had melted into a friendly exchange. At first it seemed odd to Wolfgang that Kurt would so willingly expose himself to so many strangers when he was so obviously shy around him. Then he realized that the only difference between him and these people was that he knew Kurt’s costume didn’t come off when the show was over. Kurt used his own appearance as camouflage and as long as he had an audience who believed he was Nightcrawler, he was safe. He couldn’t hide from Wolfgang.

But now it was his turn to act. "Hey Kurt." He stage whispered. Nothing. "Nightcrawler." Kurt didn’t notice at first until someone tapped him on the shoulder and pointed in Wolfgang’s direction.

Kurt was obviously surprised to see him since he was expecting Lars. "Vas?"

"Margali heard you were up here. She sent me to look," Wolfgang told him in German.

Kurt jumped up and looked around. "She did? Where is she?" He was starting to look a little panicked.

"Hurry, she’s coming." Wolfgang said. Kurt glanced hopelessly across the tent at Lars, who, in a brilliant display of improvisation, pointed urgently toward one of the tent’s many entrances.

Kurt looked sheepishly at his new companions. "Sorry," he said, switching back to Spanish, "I guess I’ll go on tonight after all." He smiled, patted the little girl on the head, and leapt back into the aisle. He looked around again, scanning the crowd.

"This way. Quick." Wolfgang said. He had suddenly realized that his prank was really an opportunity in disguise. He led Kurt down the steps and they ducked under the stands.

"It has to look like I was backstage the whole time." Kurt said as they jogged towards where Lars was waiting. "You’ll tell her you didn’t see me, right?"

Wolfgang slowed down. "I don’t have to." He said.

Kurt stopped. "Why not?" He asked.

Wolfgang shrugged. "She didn’t really send me."

"She didn’t? Who did?" Kurt asked looking puzzled.

"No one. It was my idea. You don’t have to keep running away from me. I’m not going to hurt you or anything." Wolfgang said. He had never stood this close to Kurt and now he found it difficult to keep from staring. Kurt’s deep blue skin didn’t seem to reflect light at all and close up he saw it had a texture like velvet. He should have been monstrous, but he wasn’t. Perhaps it was that there was a gentleness and intelligence in his eyes didn’t match his pointed teeth and spaded tail, or maybe it was that he stood with the natural poise and grace of a star performer, but Wolfgang had never seen someone so inhuman look so… human.

"What are you talking about?" Kurt asked.

"Every time you see me, you run the other way. I just didn’t want you to spend your entire winter off worrying about me." Wolfgang explained.

"You nearly gave me a heart attack to tell me that? Couldn’t you have sent a letter or something?" Kurt said in disbelief.

Wolfgang shrugged. "And Lars thought it would be funny."

Kurt sighed. "I’m not afraid of you." He said.

"But why do you…"

"I’m sorry. I was afraid I would scare you." Kurt said. "I scare people, even when I don’t mean to. So I leave them alone."

Wolfgang started laughing. "I spent four years living in New York City," he said, "I’ve seen folks a whole lot scarier than you. As long as you’re not trying to steal my wallet at gun point, you’re harmless in my book.

"No matter what you look like." Wolfgang added.

Kurt shrugged and smiled. "I forgot my gun today," He said. "Perhaps another time."

They chatted as they walked back to where Lars was waiting for them. As he had been with his tiny audience, Kurt was quite charming and always quick to make jokes. By the time they reached the tent flaps, they had discovered that they had three languages in common and liked some of the same books.

"Very funny Lars." Said Kurt when they reached him. Lars grinned.

"I was just getting you back for yesterday." He said.

Kurt folded his arms across his chest for a moment, staring at Lars. "Fine," he said. "Then if you don’t mind. I’m going to go get ready." He turned sharply on one heel, whacking Lars in the back of the head with his tail as he did so, and stalked off in the other direction.

"Ow!" Lars rubbed the back of his head.

"I think he did that on purpose." Said Wolfgang.

"I know he did." Lars was still rubbing the back of his head. He turned to follow Kurt so he could finish changing as well. "You’d better watch out," he said, "when Kurt retaliates you’re not going to know what hit you. His pranks are murder."

Wolfgang laughed and waved as Lars walked off. He turned back toward the audience and smiled realizing he wasn’t so much worried about what Kurt was going to do, but looking forward to it.
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Even Angels have Scars -- Complete

Post by SheCat »

Oh, you brought in a good Azzy! Thank you! I'm loving him! He seems fatherly, yet holier-that-thou at the same time, which makes for a better conversation than "where "the hell" are you? and adequate question..."

Thank you!
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Post by theindigojester »

I have really enjoyed the last two installments. Kurt's dad seems to be one of those suave, cunningly evil types. Those are fun characters because they always seem to have something up their sleeve. Even though I have not read any of the comics featuring him, I think you played him well.

I am also enjoying reading about this new characer you brought in. Is there any particular artist you had in mind when you were describing the kind of painting Wolfgang wanted to do? I like they way you explained how he wanted to capture the movement.

So you design costumes and such? That's sounds like a nifty job. Do you have any pictures you could show us? :smirk Especially ones of that Nightcrawler costume you were talking about? It is always neat to see how people bring the character to life.

Thanks again for so many great updates! :)
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Post by CurlyyHairGirl »

Hey! Well put together! I like this last one alot, but I have to sort my feelings out about Wolfgang, he confuses me *then again, everything in life does.*

Please tell me his last name isn't Puck? J/K:D
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Post by Saint Kurt »

Wolfgang Puck. Hee.

No. Wolfgang's last name is Wagner. It's in the first paragraph. And in the Prelude, Kurt wrote a letter to someone named Wolfgang.

To be honest, I love writing dialog between Kurt and Azazel. They're both so *snotty* with each other. It's hilarious.

Here's pointer to my site with some Nightcrawler pictures on it. It's a little further along than this now, but it's what I have. This weekend I'll be doing a makeup test most likely and I'll get some pictures of the hand controllers then too.

http://homepage.mac.com/bohemian_junkie ... rawler.htm

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Post by CurlyyHairGirl »

Darn! I tried to see the pics but they came uyp on my PC as boxes w/red x's.

I loved the *snotty* talk:evilIt is sooo...whwt is the word....SNOTTY:LOL.:)
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Post by Saint Kurt »

I should have realized that when I posted that link people would surf around. And since I never bothered to put all the links in place, my site had very little to see.

I fixed that, now you can see all the costumes I've made and sold over the years.

http://homepage.mac.com/Bohemian_junkie/

Oh, and I'm testing out my signature since I finally got around to making one. I've been using the Midnight Circus' practice space on Tuesday nights as a place to do fire stuff, but they said I could try other things if I wanted. Who wouldn't? Yesterday the trapeze coach guy said the funniest thing to me...

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Post by Maelstrom »

Zam, you must be one of the luckiest people I know. :nodyes Professional costuming is an art, and to be paid to do what you love means you never have to "work" a day in your live. And the work is incredible! How long have you been doing this?? You must have a background not just in fabric, but in the workings of latex and armatures! I knew it was always possible to have a moving tail with controls hidden under long sleeves and gloves, but damned if I'd know how to do it! :D
Eagles may soar, but weasels never get sucked into the intake of a jet engine..... :evil
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Post by Saint Kurt »

I'm completely self taught. Around five years ago I was in a snowboarding accident and broke my back. I've always been an athlete and performer so I was going nuts while I healed. To kill the boredom, I learned to sew.

The costume thing started by accident. I made a halloween costume that everyone was really impressed with and someone asked me if I could make one for them. From there I discovered that there was a whole market of people who buy and wear costumes at science fiction conventions all year round.

Things changed around 2 years ago when I noticed that replicas of movie costumes never quite sat on the wearer the same way as they did on the actor. Around the same time I ripped open the lining of a men's suit coat and had an epiphany about fitting. That's when I started learning tailoring and pattern drafting. Since then I've made a niche for myself putting together very high end costumes for people willing to pay for the kind of detail I put in. They go for $200-400 a piece. Sometimes more depending on materials.

A lot of times I make a costume, wear it once so people see it, and then sell it immediately. Sometimes I'll get a commission and work that way. And every year I make myself a very elaborate one so people can see what I can do. They get more and more elaborate every year. :)

I learned all the fx stuff out of necessity. No one in my area did make up or prostetics or anything. I knew how to use an airbrush and I'd been building puppets for years so I was like, how different can it be? Not much it turns out.

As much as I would like it to be, costume design is not my career. It's a convenient way to put myself through school while I study to become a veterinarian. I can make my own hours and pick and choose jobs based on my work load. I'll probably always sew on the side. I love the work and I get such a kick out of seeing people on the stuff I made for them.

I suppose my life motto is "never turn down the opportunity to learn something new". It's always served me well.

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Kurt Wagner

Post by Saint Kurt »

Sheesh. Isnt this supposed to be my Nightcrawler story? Enough about me. Lets get on with it.



"It was just a question of making some phone calls, talking to the right people, and having a wealthy family with connections in various branches of the government."

Wolfgang did not part ways with Circus Gehlhaar when it packed up its newly refurbished tents and props to begin its summer tour of Europe. He liked it too much to leave. Instead he made himself useful in a dozen ways from driving one of the lorries to making meals, and serving as a sort of "tour manager", taking care of the day to day business of the traveling circus.

He had moved into the van that served as their "office", with a makeshift desk separated by a brightly patterned curtain from the living and sleeping area. Margali was sure it was many steps below the kind of luxury Wolfgang was used to, but he never complained. In fact, he seemed to thrive on it. Even though his quarters were stacked nearly wall to ceiling with his collection of movies, music, books, and drawing supplies, she had never seen anyone so happy about living in such a tiny space.

What was more interesting to Margali however was that Kurt and Wolfgang had become the best of friends. It was the most unlikely pairing she had ever seen, but it seemed that Wolfgang had finally found someone to talk to who not only liked the crazy ideas he came up with, but improved upon them. He introduced Kurt to classic films and American rock music. Whenever they traveled, he took Kurt as his driving partner and the two of them spent the time thinking of pranks to play on everybody else.

They had already spent several weeks playing in France and Germany when they stopped outside of Berlin. Wolfgang had heard that East Germany was getting more relaxed about its borders and since Circus Gehlhaar had never played there, it seemed like an amazing opportunity. When he had first set about preparing the necessary paperwork, it had seemed fairly straightforward but after three days parked uselessly outside Berlin, it was starting to look like a stupid idea.

He was stuffing yet another set of forms into an envelope when Kurt opened the door and peeked his head in.

"Are you still doing that East Germany thing?" he asked.

Wolfgang looked up from his desk. "Yes," he said through gritted teeth and returned to his work. Kurt shut the door behind him and watched for a moment.

"Maybe it’s not worth it." He said.

Wolfgang pounded the envelope closed and looked up. "Not worth it? Have you ever been there?"

"No."

"Neither have I. Neither have any of us. It’s an adventure. I’m determined." Wolfgang stood up. "I’m going into Berlin, need anything?"

Kurt held out two letters. "Can you mail these? They’re for Stephani and Father Dietrich."

Wolfgang looked at the addresses. Father Dietrich was of course legendary. Kurt rarely talked about Stephani. "Your brother is in Paris?" Wolfgang asked.

"He just started at the Sorbonne. He’s studying history." Kurt said. "He’s the only one of us who went to school."

"Well, I’ll be back in hour." Wolfgang said pocketing the envelopes. As he opened the door, they heard the wheels of a car crunching on the gravel. "Oh shit, hide." Wolfgang said and quickly shut the door.

"What is it?" Kurt tried to peek out the window but Wolfgang pulled him back.

"I said ‘hide’, not ‘look out the window’. It’s the Commandant from Immigration who’s been giving me all this grief the whole time. Quick, hide." Wolfgang said. There was a knock on the door and Kurt dove behind the curtain.

Wolfgang opened the door. "I was just about to bring you these forms." He said apologetically.

"But these are still incomplete." A man’s voice said.

Kurt peeked through the side of the partition and he could see a man in a stiff military uniform. He was holding a pile of papers out to Wolfgang who had sat down at the desk.

"All the names are here except one." The man continued. He put the papers down and pointed. "All this says is ‘Nightcrawler’. We need a real name and identification papers."

Kurt felt his heart sink and he backed away from the curtain. He had no form of identification. He had been born in Germany, but there was no proof of his citizenship, no record he even existed. He could hear Wolfgang stammering an excuse. Any other time it would have been funny to hear Wolfgang who was normally so collected go to pieces in the presence of a uniform.

"Oh, yeah. I think his papers are around here. Somewhere." There was the sound of Wolfgang opening drawers and shuffling papers around. "Um. What kind of identification do you need?"

"Papers. A Passport or another form of official documentation of his country of origin."

"Oh, he’s German. How about a birth certificate?"

"That would be acceptable."

There was a long silence and Kurt returned to spying through the curtain. "I’ll have to ask him." Wolfgang said brushing his hair out of his eyes. "In the meantime, is there anything else you need?"

"How about just a name."

"A name?"

The man pointed back to the paper. "Yes. Nightcrawler is not his real name is it?’

"Oh!" Wolfgang laughed. "Heh. No, his name is Kurt."

The man took out a pen and crossed out something on the paper and started writing. "Kurt what?"

"Kurt…uh…Kurt…" Wolfgang looked at a complete loss for a moment. The uniformed man eyed him suspiciously.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Kurt Wagner!" Wolfgang blurted out at last. There was a crash behind him and Kurt cringed, realizing he’d knocked over a stack of tapes with his tail. Kurt Wagner? What was Wolfgang thinking?

The man finished writing and stood up, taking a long look at the curtain. Kurt backed away from it slowly, holding his tail in his hand so it didn’t knock over anything else. "Get me Kurt Wagner’s identification papers. Then your circus can come in." The man said. He turned sharply on his heel and slammed the door shut behind him.

Kurt threw open the curtain. "Kurt Wagner?!" He shouted. "Who is that?"

Wolfgang looked sheepish. "You, I guess. I’m sorry; I’ve just never heard anyone use your last name. My mind went blank."

Kurt realized that was because no one ever did. But still, Wagner? "Why didn’t you use Margali’s name? Szardos?" Kurt asked.

Wolfgang threw up his hands. "I don’t know. I panicked. But I didn’t want to look like I didn’t know your name, so I used the first one that came to mind."

"Yours?"

"Well, yeah. I said I was sorry."

"I could get in trouble," Kurt said. "They’re very strict in East Germany."

Wolfgang shook his head. "Look it’s not like it’s going to be any easier to find papers for Kurt Szardos than Kurt Wagner. And if anyone’s going to get in trouble it will be me."

Kurt sighed. "What if you just take me off the list? Then everyone can go in and I can stay here."

"No. Look, just give me an hour or two. My mother knows people in the government, I’m sure she knows some official or another in the ministry. I’ll straighten this whole thing out."

Wolfgang started bustling around the desk, gathering papers into a battered briefcase. He pulled on his jacket and opened the door. He turned back to look at Kurt who was still staring at him like he was insane. "Don’t worry." Wolfgang said, "I’ll work it out. You’ll see."

Kurt shrugged and followed Wolfgang out.

***

Within a few hours, Kurt had completely forgotten about the incident in Wolfgang’s trailer. There wasn’t the room or time to set up the tent or rig up any of the larger equipment, but no one wanted to just sit around doing nothing. Sven and Nils had pulled out the springy Russian bar and Kurt and Lars were taking turns bouncing on it. Landing was still a problem; more often than not, the second their feet touched the bar, they were thrown back off of it. Kurt had had a lot of fun getting launched 20 feet in the air when they had first started, but unless he could land, it wasn’t going to be much use in a show.

Kurt sat under a tree, watching Lars jump. Every so often, Lars would land gracefully, particularly if he didn’t jump very high, but any time he leapt more than about 5 feet, he was flung off in a different direction.

"Want to try it again?" Lars asked when he was tired of hitting the ground. Kurt nodded and switched places with his friend, standing on the springy bar with his arms out.

Kurt was starting to get the hang of it and after watching Lars, he was pretty sure he understood what was going wrong and how to fix it. First, the acrobat on the bar had to signal he was ready then, all in unison and with increasing pressure, the acrobat and the porters would start the bar bouncing. Around the third bounce there was enough momentum built up in the bar that the acrobat’s weight leaving it wouldn’t change its trajectory, which was when Kurt could begin to prepare to jump. The jump had to be timed with the bouncing of the bar so that Kurt’s knees were bent when the bar was at its lowest point and he was leaving the bar when it was at its apex. The height of the jump was based on the speed of the bar’s bounce because in order to land with out being flung off, he needed to return to the bar when it was once again at its apex. This was so he could in a sense, "fall with the bar" and not actually put any real weight on it until it was coming back up. At the same time the porters bent their knees in time with Kurt’s landing so that they rose when he did. Then it was just a question of absorbing the remaining energy in the bar with his knees. It was a lot to keep track of, but he knew that in time, it would become natural.

Within an hour or two both he and Lars could turn backward saltos and still land smoothly on the bar. Doing a forward flip was too dangerous as there was no way for the acrobat to spot their landing. Kurt tried to be clever and do two jumps in a row, but they weren’t quite ready for that and his second landing nearly pitched him into a tree. He was watching Lars again when Wolfgang walked up to him, beaming. He handed Kurt a large manila envelope with a "Ta Da!" and a flourish.

"What is this?" Kurt asked. "Have you been in Berlin this whole time?"

"Congratulations. You are official." Wolfgang said.

"You got me into East Germany?"

Incredibly, Wolfgang’s grin widened. "Better." He said, "open it."

Kurt slid one of his nails under the fold and pulled it open. Inside was an official German birth certificate. On the top line, in ink that was crisp and fresh as though it had just been printed was the name "Kurt Wagner".

"It’s real." Wolfgang said.

Kurt furrowed his brow as he read it over. "What do you mean it’s real?"

"It’s a real birth certificate. You can get a passport, travel the world, open a bank account, go to East Germany. Whatever you want." Said Wolfgang.

Lars, Sven, and Nils walked over, curious as to what they were looking at. Lars looked over Kurt’s shoulder.

"I didn’t know your last name was Wagner too." Lars said.

"It’s not. Or it wasn’t until now. How did you do this Wolfgang?" Kurt asked.

"It was just a question of making some phone calls, talking to the right people, and having a wealthy family with connections in various branches of the government. I told them your records were destroyed in a fire so you needed a new copy. Papers do get lost that way sometimes. So they had to type up a new one with the information I provided." Wolfgang explained. "I had to go to the department of records to pick it up."

Lars had taken it and was reading the form. He started laughing. "It says Wolfgang is your father." He said.

Kurt turned around and snatched the paper from Lars’ hand. He stared at it wide eyed. "It does? Who’s my mother then? Margali?"

"I couldn’t do that." Wolfgang said.

"Why not? I mean if you can just make a person up…"

Wolfgang sighed. "Margali is a registered Romani national. She doesn’t have a country of origin and therefore her records were inaccessible. To put her as your mother would have taken weeks. And since we don’t have weeks, I left that field blank."

Kurt slid the paper back in the envelope. He wasn’t sure what to say. He’d lived his whole life without a birth certificate or even a last name and now he had both, but neither was really his. He didn’t know whether to thank Wolfgang or be angry with him. He felt Wolfgang take him by the shoulder and he allowed himself to be guided away from where Lars and Sven were standing.

"Look, if you don’t like it, we’ll use it to get into East Germany and then you can throw it out and forget about it." Wolfgang said.

"I guess." Said Kurt.

"Then again, is it so bad? You’re part of my family."

Kurt slid the paper back out of the envelope and looked at it again. "I hadn’t thought of that." He said. "But why did you make yourself my father? That’s kind of strange."

Wolfgang shrugged. "It was easiest. And it made sense. If I made you a cousin or something, eventually some relative would find out they had a son named Kurt they didn’t know about."

Kurt laughed. "Yeah, that would come as a bit of a shock."

"It’s just a formality anyways. It doesn’t change your relationship to Margali or me or anyone else. I was trying to do you a favor." Wolfgang said.

Kurt looked up at Wolfgang and smiled. "I guess I could get used to being Kurt Wagner." He said. "Will you write me into your will?"

Wolfgang started laughing. "Nah, you’d give it all to some church."

"Is that so bad?"

Wolfgang shrugged. "I guess not. Hey look, Lars has got you beat."

Kurt looked over at Lars and his cousins playing around on the bar again. Lars was expertly performing backward saltos with a lateral twist, landing on the bar nearly every time. "For now." Kurt said, starting back toward where they were practicing.

Wolfgang found a tree to lean against and watched Kurt, who was now Kurt Wagner take his turn on the bar. He wondered what the rest of his family would think of their new addition and cringed inwardly. Most of his family thought his fascination with the circus to be a phase at worst, so he could only imagine what they would think of his unexpected "adoption" of a circus acrobat. But he didn’t care, he’d found more of a family in Circus Gehlhaar in the last year than he had in a lifetime with his own.
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Even Angels have Scars -- Complete

Post by SheCat »

Oh, great job on that. I'm loving Wolfgang. He's just being so sweet. And once again, this history you're writing for Kurt is just amazing.
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Even Angels have Scars -- Complete

Post by CurlyyHairGirl »

Once again you have done a fabulous job on this fic, AND if I ever have enough money, I will know where to turn for a fantastico costume:D:kiss
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Post by Saint Kurt »

Thanks for all the kind words about my sewing. It really means a lot to me.

More fun and games with Wolfgang...



“Okay, as we pass them, steer the truck with your tail.”


“You want to drive like it’s the autobahn, fine, let’s go!”

Kurt cringed in his seat as Wolfgang crunched into the next gear and the truck sped up. “Wolfgang, it’s a lorry not a sports car!" He shouted. On an open road it was one thing, but they were on a mountain pass.

Wolfgang gestured out the window. “Everybody’s passing us like we’re standing still. And there’s this idiot behind me who keeps flashing his brights.”

“It’s not worth dying over is it?” Kurt swore he could feel the back of the truck swaying, ready to fishtail around and tumble them over the side.

Wolfgang eased off the accelerator. “I guess. Plus we’re way ahead of everyone. We’d get to Munich and have nothing to do for a day and a half at the rate they’re going.”

“Well, Margali’s van is kind of old.” Kurt said. He’d been living in it his whole life and he had no idea how long Margali had had it before him.

“Yeah, but it’s the coolest one, especially with my new paint job.” Wolfgang said. Kurt had to admit he was right, Wolfgang had redone the exterior of their home in beautiful bright colors. On one side was an advertisement for their fortune telling, with portraits of both Margali and Amanda now that she was starting to share in those duties. The other side had a painting of Kurt as Nightcrawler scowling down from a platform like a church gargoyle. The coolest part was that Wolfgang had filled in his eyes entirely in glowing yellow; Kurt thought it was a nice touch.

Wolfgang dug through his tapes and popped one into the cassette deck. He turned up the volume so that AC/DC’s Back in Black made the speakers distort with every beat. After a moment he turned it down so it was listenable. “It’s old, but it’s good.” He said.

Kurt liked it too. He liked most of the American music Wolfgang had played for him. It sometimes seemed to him that Wolfgang had gone to America not so much to study art, but collect its pop culture and bring it back to Europe with him. Kurt stuck his feet on the dashboard and listened to Wolfgang growl along to the lyrics for a while. When the title song came on, they both sang along to the chorus. Wolfgang suddenly lowered the volume.

“You should use this song in the show.” He said in the fevered way Kurt was accustomed to hearing whenever Wolfgang had a creative epiphany. About half the time it was a good thing, the other half Wolfgang’s ideas were so nutty that even Kurt couldn’t imagine going along with them.

“You mean for the trapeze act?” Kurt asked. He couldn’t really picture it. For as long as he could remember, a small gypsy orchestra, one of the few remaining in Europe, had provided the music.

“Well, I just meant for Nightcrawler in general.” Wolfgang said. It had been confusing at first, but he had finally gotten used to the way Kurt seemed to refer to the character he played in public as a different person and had started to do it as well. And after watching Kurt perform for nearly a season, he realized that they sort of were two different people. Most of the time Kurt was studious and hard working with the kind of sweet, shy demeanor that girls loved. Wolfgang was sure that if it hadn’t been for Kurt’s appearance, he would have had a dozen girlfriends by now.

Nightcrawler on the other hand was mischievous and unpredictable and sometimes it seemed that he operated beyond Kurt’s control. More than once Wolfgang had witnessed either Papa or Sven scolding him for messing with the cues or suddenly pulling stunts that weren’t written into the show. It rarely resulted in anything more than a moment of confusion for the other performers and the audience inevitably loved it. It was the impish playful streak Wolfgang had seen that winter in Barcelona when Kurt had jumped into the stands, only made larger by the fact that he had the whole audience to play with rather than just a few people.

Wolfgang thought image of Kurt running around with Back in Black playing in the background was perfect. It totally turned the idea of the traditional circus on its ear. Europe wouldn’t know what hit them. He pulled the truck off the road.

“What are you doing?” Kurt asked.

Wolfgang shut the engine off and leaned casually against the door. “Waiting for everyone to catch up.” He said.

They spent half an hour entertaining themselves with one of Wolfgang’s favorite pastimes, writing odd little rhymes and turning them into songs that were two parts Mother Goose and one part Lewis Carroll. Wolfgang came up with one about having five fingers on your hand so Kurt retaliated by coming up with a song about things you could do with your tail. They were having so much fun that neither of them noticed everybody else drive by.

A few minutes later, their 2-way radio crackled to life. “Hey Wolfgang, was that you parked off to the side there?”

Wolfgang and Kurt stopped taunting each other with their rhymes and stared at it. “Oops” Wolfgang mouthed. He picked up the radio and pressed the talk button. “Yeah, we had some problems with the brakes.” He said and put his finger to his mouth so Kurt wouldn’t say anything.

“What’s wrong with the brakes?” It was Margali’s voice this time.

“They felt a little squishy. I think they’re okay though.” Wolfgang said. “We’ll catch up.”

“Be careful. It gets really steep up ahead.”

“Okay.” Wolfgang said. He started the truck and they pulled back on the road.

“What are you talking about?” Kurt said, “There’s nothing wrong with the brakes.”

Wolfgang gave him a sly grin, “You’ll see.” He said.

When Wolfgang could see the lights of Margali’s van off in the distance he picked up the radio. “Hey, we’re going to pull over again. The brakes are acting up. Hey, they’re not working at all now. And the steering’s stuck too. Oh No! Look out!” Wolfgang clicked off the talk button and put the radio down. He sped up as various voices on the radio shouted about their truck as it came barreling up behind them, apparently unstoppable and unsteerable.

Kurt slapped his palm to his forehead. “You’re insane.”

“Okay, as we pass them, steer the truck with your tail.” Wolfgang said. They had started down the steepest grade yet. It was perfect.

Kurt started laughing because he knew exactly what it was that Wolfgang wanted to do. The trucks were all in a row to the right now, and as they passed on the left, Kurt and Wolfgang waved their hands frantically and pretended to be terrified. They kept it up until the truck rounded a corner and went out of sight. The whole time the radio was buzzing with voices.

Wolfgang put his hands back on the wheel, slowed down and came to a stop on a wide spot where the road evened out. The two of them collapsed into hysterical laughter, now listening to the speculations of what had become of them.

“Margali’s going to kill me.” Kurt said.

“It was worth it though. Did you see their faces when we passed?” Wolfgang asked, wiping tears from his eyes.

“I was trying to drive.” Kurt said with a strong emphasis on the last word.

“True.” Said Wolfgang.

The two of them were leaning casually against the side of the truck when everybody else caught up. It was immediately obvious that there was nothing wrong with the steering or the brakes. Everybody who had stopped and gotten out returned to their vehicles grumbling and shaking their heads except for Margali. She walked up to Kurt, glared at him for a long moment and then slapped him hard on the cheek. She turned around without a word and walked back to her van were Amanda was waiting, her hand over her mouth to hide her laughter.

“Ow.” Kurt rubbed the side of his face and glanced at Wolfgang who was looking away and trying to keep a straight face. He couldn’t and burst out laughing anew. Kurt elbowed him in the ribs hard enough to make him double over and walked back to their truck muttering, “steer with your tail.” Still laughing, Wolfgang followed him. He honestly couldn’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t want to run away with the circus.
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Even Angels have Scars -- Complete

Post by RavEnigma »

:LOL That was so funny! I can't believe it! ^_^ My sister's giving me weird looks because I'm laughing so hard. More, please!
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Even Angels have Scars -- Complete

Post by CurlyyHairGirl »

BAHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!:*D My GOD that was soooo funny, poor Kurti, gettin' slapped. That just brightened my day 10 fold.
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