Until Death Do Us Part -- sequel to Even Angels Have Scars

[Saint Kurt]

"I wasn't bothering anyone. Why can't you just leave me alone?"


Kurt slid a clean black t-shirt over his head and left the backstage tent. He had lingered longer than usual and was alone on the path that lead towards the performers' living quarters, now a bright circle of trailers and tents. He could already hear the music and pitched chatter of voices telling him that the Les Chansons wrap party was already underway. It had been the last time Les Chansons de la Forêt would ever be performed and it seemed to Kurt that the whole circus regarded the event with a mixture of emotions that was part relief and part regret.

The show had been wildly successful, beyond even Wolfgang's imaginings. They played to a "straw house", circus parlance for a sold out performance, nearly every night and often afterwards members of the audience stayed behind to compliment their performances. It was a wonderful feeling, but they were exhausted. Unlike previous years they had not packed up and headed for winter quarters when it grew to cold too play in the tent, but booked themselves into indoor performance spaces, adapting the show to play in amphitheaters and concert halls. With Kurt's brief convalescence as the sole exception, they had toured for over a year, playing 8 shows a week, without a break. It was time for the merry-go-round to stop. Fall had at last come to the perpetual summer that was the mythical forest in which the story took place. Given the length of the tour, Kurt suspected this party would go on well into the night.

He could already picture it in his head. James, despite Brin's pleadings with him to come dance and despite having just finished directing a two hour show, would be at his keyboards or perhaps strumming a guitar with a huge grin on his face, surrounded by the Circus Gehlhaar band. Their audience would be Kurt's fellow performers who would no doubt find something as mundane as dancing an unacceptable way to celebrate. Fully warmed up from the evening's performance, they would be performing stunts that far exceeded what the paying customers had seen less than an hour before in an effort both to entertain and outdo each other. Whatever worries they might have had about the future would be put aside for an evening at least while they celebrated their accomplishments.

And they had a lot to celebrate. For Lars, Petra, Gretchen, and to a much lesser degree for him, it was their first time having such important roles within the show; it marked the transition from "circus brat" to "star attraction". Kurt had been playing these kinds of roles since he was very young, but he'd always known that the reason for this was his appearance. This time he wasn't a younger performer presented as a novelty. On stage with his peers as his equals at last, he had finally come into his own and could at last stop feeling like the circus mascot. Like Papa or Sven, it was now his skills that made him special and no longer his appearance. He could see himself with three of them, smiling and relaxed, so different than they had felt earlier that evening before the show.

While Kurt had waited at the curtain flap to make his solitary entrance he had been surprised by the unfamiliar tickle of butterflies in his stomach. Looking around the small backstage tent he had realized that he wasn't the only one stricken with an unexpected case of the jitters, nearly everyone else wore the same sullen expression that he did, as though they were about to go on trial rather than on stage. It was not the show they were worried about he knew, but what came after. When they left here, they would need to write and rehearse a new show, a prospect that was far more frightening than going on stage.

Could they do it again? Would the next show be as good or, as every artist hopes, be an improvement. Maybe what was so vexing was that sometimes it didn't feel so much like that they had created the show as it had happened to them. Would lightening strike twice or would Europe be left wondering what happened to that little circus who had seemed so promising and was never seen again? For one night at least, none of that mattered. And for many of Circus Gehlhaar's members, they had more to celebrate than just the close of a successful show.

For James and Brin, this night marked the completion of their first circus show as composer and choreographer and moreover showed that a "sheltered city kid from Manhattan" and his girlfriend could indeed survive on the road with a European traveling circus. Wolfgang had, of course, at last fulfilled his dream of creating something huge and "putting Circus Gehlhaar on the map". And given the positive reviews that continued to pour in via the news clipping service he had subscribed to, it wasn't just the audience who loved the show; the critics adored it as well. There were equal chances that he would be at the party, his arm draped casually over Maria's shoulder, or in his office already planning Circus Gehlhaar's next artistic tour de force. Kurt hoped it would be the former. He missed the days of driving with Wolfgang in the lorry making up silly nursery rhymes and sitting under the trees in the afternoon talking about music and books and movies.

Kurt shut his eyes and could see Christian dancing right up in front, his lanky build and goofy dancing style making it unimaginable that he could perform his bicycle tricks with such grace and athleticism. He lingered on his mind's image of Amanda, dancing with Christian no doubt, celebrating her first time performing with the circus she'd traveled with for her entire life. And standing a little bit back, surveying the scene in silence would be Margali, ever wise and watchful, a mother to them all.

In sudden flash of inspiration, Kurt pictured himself cutting in on Christian and asking her to dance. The idea made him smile and at the same time he felt his ears and cheeks grow hot. Did he dare?

There were no lights along the path, but that never mattered to him. It seemed that his eyes could pick out detail in darkness that no one else's could. That was why he didn't expect to be taken by surprise by a group of strangers on the path. They were just strolling through the darkness as though they did it all the time. He had barely a moment to leap into the trees above them.

"Wait, stop. What was that?"

Kurt watched in dismay as their footfalls came to a pause directly below him. There were three of them, and he was surprised to hear them speaking in English. They wore the same kind of baggy pants and shaggy haircuts that Christian favored. He had been thinking about the party, seeing his friends and family in his mind's eye and listening to the music playing in his head rather than the sounds in the world around him. Kurt shut his eyes and cursed his carelessness.

"Dude, I didn't hear anything. Let's go find him," another voice said.

Kurt's brow creased as he wondered who they were looking for.

"No, wait you guys, I swear something's up there." There was a long pause and Kurt could imagine the speaker's friends trying to figure out if he friend was serious or not. Kurt held his breath and released it with a sigh of relief a moment later when the three of them cracked up.

It was a familiar pattern. Whoever they were, they sounded like Christian too; not just like Americans, but the slow lazy English peppered with made up sounding words and cadences that constantly teetered on the edge of both humor and seriousness. It was this idiosyncrasy that gave Kurt the most trouble, so that even after knowing him for years, Christian was the only one who could still play practical jokes on Kurt just so long as they were delivered in his native California dialect.

After a minute or two of laughter and exchanging teasing remarks, they started walking again. Kurt, who had been holding his breath exhaled gratefully. He hadn't forgotten the episode in the trees in France four years earlier. The circumstances here were completely different, but still it wasn't something he wanted to repeat in any form. Kurt craned his neck to watch their progress; glad they were leaving though curious as to whom they were looking for.

There was something frightening about them though Kurt couldn't place it. Something about seeing three people together wearing baggy clothes bothered him as though within their slow drawling voices was a hidden menace that only he knew was there. Kurt leaned out a little further to make sure they were really gone. He put his hand out to grab a branch and it snapped off, falling to the ground with a rustle of leaves. Gritting his teeth, Kurt regained his balance and slid back to a more stable spot. Why did he have to pick that moment, out of his entire life, to be clumsy?

"There is something up there," one of them said. They dashed back to stand in the spot below Kurt and peered into the trees, straining to see into the darkness. So slowly that he hardly appeared to be moving at all, Kurt inched his way closer to the tree's thick trunk where he could blend in better.

"Why do these things always have to happen to me," he wondered miserably. It was hard to imagine that just a few minutes before he had been daydreaming about being at a party. The image of Amanda dancing faded from his mind as warmth turned to chill. His head filled instead with images of himself being pulled from the tree by rough hands, forced to the ground, and kicked. He found his rosary in his pocket and clenched it in his hands, willing them to stop shaking, and for his heart to stop hammering so loud it seemed to be drowning out the music from the party. Kurt shut his eyes, leaning against the cool bark of the tree. "You're safe here in the dark," he kept telling himself over and over, "they won't see you in the dark."

"Dude, got a flashlight?"

Kurt's breath caught in his throat at the words and he swallowed hard, trying to will his lungs to start working again. He shook his head. "Please say no. Please say no. No no no," he changed his mantra. Chanting it inaudibly, his lips moving, but without any sound coming out.

There was an exasperated sigh. "That would be negatory," said one of them in the familiar clipped voice Christian always used when he was losing his patience. Kurt drew in a relieved breath and exhaled. They would go away. They were going to leave him alone.

"Well, let me get mine. I want to see what's up there."

Kurt watched hopelessly as one of the silhouettes struggled for a moment to pull his arms out of the straps of his backpack and let it drop to the ground. He knew they couldn't see him in the trees, but if they shined a flashlight at him, they would. He wondered if he should just teleport. They would hear it, but they wouldn't be able to follow. He knew how it worked, how afterwards they would talk about the "creepy thing that happened to them in the woods", the rustling in the trees, the weird voices (which he was about to provide if only he could breathe normally), and finally the odd banging sound that seemed to signal the end of their troubles. Kurt opened his mouth to speak but his throat was so dry that nothing came out.

"Found it!" The figure below held up his hand in triumph. Kurt cringed, reflexively holding his hands, still clutching his rosary defensively up in front of his face. A moment later a white light shining up into his eyes blinded him.

Kurt held his hands up to his eyes and squinted. There was a long moment where nobody did or said anything. Kurt tried to shift and see beyond the glare, but his night vision was ruined rendering him as good as blind. Momentarily disorientated, he couldn't teleport either. He was trapped. There was nothing he could do but wait and be ready to defend himself if necessary.

But to his surprise the beam of light moved away from him as it's owner trained it on various tree branches.

"See anything?" One of them asked.

"No, it was a bird or something. Probably flew away." The flashlight holder said with a shrug. He shined the light around some more, passing over Kurt two or three more times without stopping. Kurt was so relieved he almost started laughing. They couldn't see him. He was safe. It was going to be all right.

"This is dumb Drew, let's go. We've got to find our boy and I want to talk to my hottie red head."

At the mention his "red head" Kurt felt his insides freeze. There was only one red head in the circus.

Amanda. They were talking about Amanda. Fear momentarily forgotten, Kurt moved forward. What did they want with Amanda? He inched back out on to the branch again, leaving the safety of the trunk behind he watched as "Drew" bent down and pulled his arms back through the straps of his pack. Kurt wasn't going to let them hurt her. As soon as they were out sight, he was going to teleport to where Amanda was and protect her from these people. His jaw was set in grim determination as he watched the Americans made their way towards the camp again, laughing amongst each other and chiding Drew over the flashlight.

"Thank you," Kurt whispered with a glance at the sky as he quickly made the sign of the cross over his chest. Almost as though in answer the branch below him broke.

The three Americans stopped and turned around.

Kurt tried to grab for another branch as he fell, but it broke too and he hit the ground with a thump as branches and leaves scattered around him. He was on his feet in an instant, shaking twigs from his hair as he faced his attackers. Drew, who evidently hadn't put the flashlight away, switched it on, shining the light into Kurt's face.

"Whoa. There was something up there," he said.

He had a split second to make a decision, but in that split second he remembered the humiliation of being tied up by Franco followed by Martuska's subsequent admonishment. This was peppered with the fractured half memories that were everything that happened on the Brighton Pier, he could recall being pinned to the floor by Stephani, leaping through tree branches on the run from men with guns and their dogs. He thought of Amanda, dancing with Christian when she could have been dancing with him, oblivious to the fact that these three strangers had come here looking for her. In that split second was condensed every moment he had ever spent running, hiding, or submitting. They were the only memories he had because it was all he had ever done.

They'd been trying to find him in that tree. They wanted to pull him down, to hurt him. He was sure of it. And if that weren't bad enough, they were talking about Amanda too. He wasn't going to let them hurt her, he wouldn't let them even touch her. For a moment no one moved as they regarded each other. Kurt realized he wasn't sure if he could move; it felt as though his feet had become rooted to the spot.

"Uh, Dude, what are… Are you okay… Um…" one of them stammered.

Kurt was moving before he even realized what he was doing. It was with a feeling of dreamlike unreality that Kurt closed the distance between them and snarling, threw himself at the flashlight holder hard enough to knock him to the ground. The source of the bright white light turned out to be a tiny keychain that Kurt extinguished as he ripped it from its owner's hand.

"Help! Get it off me!" he shouted. Kurt jumped back and stood over him with his tail twitching from side to side.

"Why are you looking for me? What do you want with Amanda?" Kurt demanded without realizing he'd spoken to him in German.

"What? I… I… don't speak…" The one on the ground started to say.

"Tell me! Tell why!" Still shouting in German, Kurt leaned in closer, trying to look as menacing as possible while years of playing an endless variety of demons and devils for the circus told him he didn't have to try very hard.

"What the hell? It was just a flashlight, what's your problem…" A voice from behind him said and Kurt felt a hand close around his arm.

Kurt didn't let him finish. He whirled around, balling one of his sturdy hands into a fist and swinging as hard as he could.

"I wasn't bothering anyone," Kurt shouted. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

He felt hands grabbing at him and he teleported away only to return, leaping at his assailants from a new direction in an attempt to surprise them. They couldn't touch him; he wouldn't let them hurt him this time. This time he would hurt them and he would not stop until they understood that he was not a freak, that he was just trying to live his life, like they were, just like everybody else. He ignored the fact that it felt wrong, because wrong or not, it needed to be done. He needed to do it.

"Kurt? Holy shit Kurt, what are you doing?"

It was someone shouting in German that snapped him back to reality. He froze in place staring at his hand, which was slick with blood. He wasn't sure how it had gotten there. Had he really hit someone hard enough to make them bleed? His face was wet and when Kurt put a hand to his cheek, he realized he was crying.

Wolfgang and Lars were jogging down the hill towards him. It had been Wolfgang who had yelled.

"We heard shouting," Wolfgang said breathlessly. "What happened?"

"I… I was attacked… in the dark. They, they came after me," Kurt said trying to catch his breath, the strange suffocating feeling he'd felt in the tree was returning only this time it was for a different reason. He dropped to his knees with the sudden desire to curl up on the ground and never get up again.

"Are you okay?" Lars asked.

Kurt looked up, staring at Lars. "I'm…" But he couldn't answer. The way Lars was looking at him bothered him. He'd never seen that expression on Lars' face before. It was… Pity.

Lars switched on the large flashlight the Olson's kept in their trailer and trained it on the ground, picking up the silhouettes of his attackers, but Wolfgang kept staring at Kurt and Kurt realized that along with his shouting, they must have heard him teleporting, doing it over and over again.

"Why did you keep coming back?" Wolfgang asked him. Kurt could feel his gaze locked on him and he couldn't look away. He wasn't sure what to say other than what he had already said. Looking around him, the idea that these three scruffy Americans, now groaning and getting to their feet, represented a threat to anyone in the circus, particularly him, suddenly seemed ridiculous.

"I…" Kurt froze, his mouth open, unsure of what to say next. What was he doing? Alone, he had been sure he was in danger, but now, with Wolfgang and Lars here it all seemed so foolish.

"Here," Lars said tapping Kurt on the shoulder with a closed fist. Kurt turned and saw that Lars had his rosary, which must have fallen on the ground. He took it silently, running the beads over his hand and realizing they matched up with the drying blood. Kurt shut his eyes. It was like some kind of nightmare. He could see now that he had completely misjudged the situation, but moments ago he had been sure, so sure that his actions were right. But alone in the dark like that how could he have known?

It was one of the Americans, his voice thick and nasal sounding, that made Kurt realize exactly how wrong he'd been.

"Does anyone speak English?" he said, "We're here looking for a friend of ours. Christian Alexander. He's the guy who rides the bikes. Can anyone understand what I'm saying?"

[idsunki]

Much, much better, in all the ways you were hoping to fix. I particularly liked Kurt's mental image of the party. It shows just how well he's gotten to know everyone involved in the circus.

I'm really looking forward to more of this. Thanks!

-idsunki, now 37% more free!

[Saint Kurt]

This is now officially the beginning of the sequel of Even Angels have Scars. I realized that the other thread was kind of a messy beginning and since I have über powers now, I could split the thread onto the bottom of this thread. So that thread is named ZamWeasel's Experiments now. I will continue posting experiments in there from time to time.

So, I hope you like this new set of stories about Kurt's past and as always please review because as you know from my experiments, I can write some pretty strange things.

Note: If you had been watching this forum at about 11:30pm on Sunday night you might have seen some pretty strange things as I discovered that this board lets you do lots of cool things, but it does NOT let you merge topics onto the bottom of a thread and so this thread is slightly out of order. Only slightly.

Anyway, I should post something new.

-e

[Saint Kurt]

"They'll find you and they'll take you away. They'll lock you up and they'll experiment on you and it won't matter why you did what you did, just that you did it."



"I can't believe you guys made it." Christian said. Thankfully he had the trailer to himself because even though theirs was the largest, four adults in its main seating compartment was really all that was comfortable. He smiled sheepishly as he handed over a few clean towels. When Drew had contacted Christian a month ago telling him they would be in Europe this wasn't quite the reunion he had expected.

Drew accepted a towel and held it to his nose. Christian checked the faucet. No water as usual so he grabbed another towel and soaked it with water from their gallon jug. Amanda, who took care of most of the laundry, was going to be pissed.

Drew exchanged towels with a nod while Christian saw to Brett and Kyle. The four of them had all competed on the BMX circuit together when Christian was still living in the U.S. The only difference had been that they were winning competitions and Christian wasn't. So while the three of them had stayed, Christian had left to see if he could fare better in the as yet unsaturated extreme sports world of Europe. Unfortunately for him, or fortunately as it turned out for Circus Gehlhaar, Europe did not yet have enough interest in bicycle tricks or skateboarding to support a real competition circuit.

"I'm sorry about Kurt. He got jumped a couple of months ago so now he's kind of…" Christian let his voice trail off and filled the silence by passing out the rest of their clean towels.

He was still trying to make sense of the last few minutes. The idea of Kurt beating up on his friends was nearly impossible to imagine and he still wasn't exactly sure what had happened. He couldn't imagine Kurt doing such a thing without provocation but at the same time he couldn't see Drew, Kyle, or Brett, the three mellowest guys in the world, provoking him.

"We're roommates," Christian said, suddenly filled with the need to defend Kurt's actions. "Kurt's a good guy, really. You'd like him if you'd met him in different…" But at a look from Drew, Christian let his voice trail off again.

He sat down with his eyes closed. "Dude, I'm really sorry about what happened. Like I said, some people beat him up pretty bad and then," Christian paused wondering how to explain everything else that happened to Kurt that summer, having to leave the circus, disappearing and then reappearing before anyone actually knew he was missing, those scars that everyone refused to talk about. How could he explain what he couldn't even understand? "I just think he's kind of nervous now, about people, because he looks different, you know?" Christian finished at last. But it sounded inadequate even to him.

"Hey, it's cool dude," Drew said rubbing his nose. "He scared me more than anything. He's a pretty crappy fighter. Still, I nearly pissed myself. I thought that was a costume."

Christian managed a strained laugh.

"So you caught the show at least?" Christian asked, desperate to change the subject to anything but Kurt.

"The show rocked," Kyle said, "I can't believe that was the last one."

"I can," Christian said, he listened to the party still going on outside the trailer, oblivious to what had happened, proof that he wasn't the only one glad the tour was over. "Dude, we played that show so many times I used to dream about it."

"Like dream about it in a good way, or dream about screwing it up?" Drew asked.

"Just that I was doing it. I'd hit the pillow and I'd be on stage again like, 'dude! I already did this twice today! I need a break.'" Christian laughed and was relieved when his friends laughed too. "So what are you guys up to?"

"We're taking a break from the Transworld Europe Extreme tour," Brett said with a flourish. He shrugged. "It's been pretty good. We're not competing, it's more like a goodwill thing between American and European companies."

Christian nodded. "When I came out here a couple years ago I was trying to get in on the ground floor with that but there weren't enough riders."

"There are now," Drew said, "you should come back."

"Can't," Christian said, "I wasn't winning remember. All my sponsors dropped me."

"That was then," Drew said, "I bet it would be different now."

"What do you mean?" Christian asked.

"He means you're pulling some sick tricks," Kyle said. "Dude, I'm afraid to even try half the things you did out there tonight."

Christian smiled in spite of himself. "Really?"

"Yeah," Drew said, "throwing yourself over the handlebars and flipping the bike over so you land back on the seat? How do you do that?"

Christian's smile widened. "I worked really hard on that," he said.

"It was cool."

"So, you think I'd start winning contests if I came back to the states?" Christian asked, scratching his chin thoughtfully. He looked around the trailer. It was finally feeling like home to him. Then again, he'd always hated the way he'd run away from the BMX competition circuit with his tail between his legs. What if he could go back and be triumphant? Would it be worth leaving this place?

"You totally would," Drew said. Kyle and Brett nodded in agreement.

"Check it out, I've got a clothing sponsorship from a German company that's interested in getting into the American market. You could come with us and meet the rep. You speak German. They'd love you," Kyle said.

"Oh," Christian was suddenly flustered, "I've got to think about it. I've got a pretty good gig here."

"Well, you should at least come with us for a little while," Drew said. "I mean, you said you're done with the show right?"

Christian scratched his head. It would be cool to have the four of them together again even if for just a little while. And the image of himself on the winners platform was almost intoxicating, a dream come true. "Well," he said, "we do have to be in Hamburg in Germany in about a week, but yeah, I'll think about that." But even as he said it, he was nodding his head yes.





Kurt sat in Wolfgang and Maria's trailer squeezing his eyes shut and wishing that it were possible for a person to, by sheer force of will, to melt or shatter into a million pieces. He wanted to simply hide in his bunk in the dark forever, but since Christian shared his trailer and he was there with his friends who he'd attacked a few minutes ago, that wasn't possible. So he just sat there, his winding and unwinding his tail around one of legs of the chair he was sitting in and waited.

"What were you thinking?" Wolfgang asked.

Kurt opened his eyes and looked from where Wolfgang was pacing across to where Maria stood with her arms fold across her chest. She looked stern, but also concerned. Wolfgang looked livid, almost hysterical. Kurt shrank back. He wanted to say he wasn't thinking, that he had made a mistake, but that wasn't really true. He had made a mistake yes, but he had been thinking, he'd just been thinking the wrong things. "I don't know," he said.

"You can't beat up members of the audience." Wolfgang said.

"I know," Kurt said.

"Then why were you doing it?"

Kurt shook his head again and rubbed the palm of his hand where the beads of his rosary had cut into it and made him bleed. "I don't know," he said at last.

Wolfgang whirled away from him, running his hands through his hair. "You can't do things like that Kurt. You can't draw attention to yourself that way."

"But… But what if I thought they might hurt me?" Kurt asked.

"But they weren't going to hurt you. They were looking for Christian." Wolfgang said.

Without thinking, Kurt pulled his feet in beneath him so he was perched in the chair instead of sitting in it. "But I didn't know that," Kurt tried to explain. "I thought they were saying something different. I thought they…"

Wolfgang spun back around. "Don't you understand that that doesn't matter?" He asked Kurt, leaning in so close that Kurt felt pinned to the chair, feeling nearly as threatened as he had just a few minutes before in the tree. "They'll find you and they'll take you away Kurt. They'll lock you up and they'll experiment on you and it won't matter why you did what you did, just that you did it."

"Wolfgang…" Maria tried to interrupt.

Kurt was speechless. He had no idea what Wolfgang was talking about. He didn't know what to think about what had happened on the path and he certainly couldn't even begin to figure it out here, with Wolfgang screaming things that made even less sense at him. "I …" he began but there wasn't anything he could think of to say. He just wanted to get out of there.

"No listen Kurt, you've got to promise me you'll be more careful," Wolfgang said.

"But I…"

"Promise!" Wolfgang shouted shoving Kurt's chair back against the wall.

Kurt shook his head in surprise, too shocked by Wolfgang's behavior to say anything.

"Wolfgang stop it!" Maria yelled. She grabbed him by the arm, pulling him away. They struggled a moment and the motion caused the chair Kurt had been perched in to topple to the ground. He landed lightly on his feet, not sure what was even happening anymore, but ready to defend Maria if necessarily since it appeared that Wolfgang had apparently gone mad.

"Enough!" Maria shouted at her fiancé. "Enough of this."

Wolfgang seemed to deflate where he was standing, his and Maria's arms still locked together. "I know what I'm talking about," he said in a low voice, "I know what I'm talking about because I've seen it happen."

Maria shook her head. "You think you saw it happen," she said. Kurt watched her brush a tear from Wolfgang's cheek.

Kurt took a few steps towards the door. He didn't understand what was happening but it didn't seem like he was needed any longer, the conversation had turned inward and didn't include him.

"Kurt, I know what I'm talking about," Wolfgang said suddenly. Kurt stopped with his hand on the doorknob of their trailer, feeling caught. "They'll come for you if you're not careful. They'll come and they'll take you away."

Closing his hand tighter around the knob Kurt asked, "who?"

"Nobody," Maria said. "Nobody's coming for anyone. Stop it Wolfgang. Enough."

Kurt looked from Maria to Wolfgang and back again. What were they talking about? "Who's going to come for me?" Kurt asked again.

Wolfgang looked like he wanted to speak but was oddly silent. Maria gave him a long look, mouthed the word "no" and turned away, walking back into the depths of the trailer where their sleeping area was. Wolfgang shook his head.

"Nobody," he said. "It's just crazy stories, urban legends. Go back to your trailer Kurt. If you see Christian, tell him I want to talk to him." Wolfgang turned away.

"Wolfgang?" Kurt asked.

"Forget it," Wolfgang said without turning back, "you can go. Just be more careful okay?"

Kurt nodded. He released the catch to the door and flung it open. Once outside he took great gulps of air as though he'd been suffocating inside of Wolfgang's trailer. He leaned against it with his eyes closed and let himself slide down the cool metal into a sitting position on the ground next to it. Without thinking his hand strayed to his pocket and he withdrew his rosary, wrapping the beads comfortingly around his hand as he tried not to think about how the world seemed to have gone mad and thanked God that the argument raging inside the trailer was in a language he didn't speak.

[buri103]

...Wow...:o

More!:love

[Rowena]

!!! This was a really huge improvement! The tie-in references to the previous story were skillfully done. The fight scene made much more sense and the flow and the suspenceful feel you achieved in you other story is back. I'm eagerly looking forward to finding out what happens next!!!!!!! Awesome!

[CurlyyHairGirl]

Ditto to everything Rowena said!:LOL
I'm sorry I haven't posted earlier, but just like Even Angels Have Scars I am absolutely enjoying this one and love it already.:love:LOL

MOREMOREMOREMORE!!!

Rowena: If I have time, I'll try to leave a review for Belasco's Beatrice. i'm so glad you updated it!!!


I lurves you alls!!!

[idsunki]

Very cool and an interesting contrast. The guys who got beat up are pretty laid back about it, concentrating on things other than the strange looking blue guy that beat them up. On the other hand, you've got Kurt and Wolfgang and Maria all obsessing over it. Good writing on top of all that. Well done!

The only thing I really have an issue with is this:

since it appeared that Wolfgang had apparently gone mad.

(emphasis mine)

I think that sounds a little redundant. Other than that, Spitze!

-idsunki, immer müde.

[Saint Kurt]

Thanks everyone. Now that summer is here I've gotten into a better writing groove and I've found that really helps with keeping the flow of the story going. I've actually been so busy writing that I forgot to post. Doh!

As for the strange disjointed attitudes, perhaps it's because this story is a little different. I wasn't sure whether to tell this one (if you remember last winter) because it seemed to be less about Kurt and more about the other characters, however I've since realized that in the end what happens to the people in Kurt's life affects what happens to him. Sometimes it's really hard to write and post these in serial format so you guys can't just read ahead and see why I'm doing something. (For instance, the set ups for the end of Even Angels have Scars where happening around chapter 10 but then I sat on them until chapter 50 or so...)

On another note I was having a little Wes Anderson film (Rushmore, the Royal Tenebaums, The Life Aquatic...) festival the other day and I realized that I write a little like he makes films. He totally controls every aspect of the world the characters are in and he doesn't move it predictably. You have to trust him because a lot of the times it doesn't make sense until way later. I think that's why my stories are so long because I can't summarize my made up world - I have to show everything.

That's my theory at least.

And yeah - I edited the title again. For the last time. I had this realization while I was writing that "Until Death Do Us Part" was the real title of this story for so many reasons that I can't list them. You'll just have to read it.

-e

[Saint Kurt]

"…"



Kurt cracked the door of their trailer and peeked in. It was empty. Without bothering to open the door the rest of the way, he teleported to the bunks he and Christian shared and pulled his battered rucksack out from under it along with his shoes. He made a face staring at them. He hated shoes more than anything. He left the lights off as he packed, hastily pulling his clothes from their drawers and stuffing them into his pack. He put the shoes on top; he didn't need them yet, and then put on his hooded coat.

There was a moment of strangeness when Kurt looked around the darkened trailer and realized that Christian's things seemed to be missing as well. He shook his head. He couldn't think about that right now.

When he was packed, Kurt peeked around the door again, but no one was in sight. Amazingly, it seemed that barely anyone was aware of the little drama that had played out on the path between the tents and their living quarters and the music thumped undisturbed the whole time. Kurt thought of James and Brin and all the others he would have liked to see and spend time with, and for a moment he reconsidered. Then he thought of Wolfgang's voice "they'll find you and they'll lock you up…"

Who? Who would find him? He thought about the way he'd felt hiding up in the tree. He didn't feel safe anymore, but he didn't know whom he was supposed to be afraid of. Azazel? Those three friends of Christians? Or some nameless "they" that Wolfgang seemed so upset about? There was nobody here who could help him anymore. It seemed that he had only just returned and now he was leaving again. But he needed answers.

Kurt had intended to teleport into the bushes to avoid being seen, but instead he slowly stepped from the trailer as though giving the circus one last chance to stop him. He stood a moment, feeling oddly out of breath even though he hadn't been running. Nobody came; he was alone. And so, with a sad last glance at his surroundings, Kurt teleported into the depths of the trees to start a new journey.





It didn't take him long to find the train station. He found the tracks quickly and then teleported along them until he could see lights of the city and the station in the distance. After that he walked. It was a clear fall night, the kind of night that he and Amanda used to climb up onto the top of their old van to look at the stars and the moon. He'd always loved those times together, life had seemed so simple, so…normal. Now nothing seemed simple or normal anymore. Kurt pushed his hood back so he could see the stars and kept walking trying to enjoy the strange freedom of being outside and alone.

Kurt stopped following the tracks as they neared the switchyard and climbed up an embankment to where the station sat. He sat down for a moment and prepared, pulling his shoes from his pack and making sure his hood was well over his face and ears. Taking a deep breath Kurt teleported the rest of the way to a spot just out of sight of the station's entrance and then stepped around the corner. He immediately stepped back. There were a lot of people in the station. More than he expected for what had looked like a fairly small town. He didn't like to be alone in large crowds.

Kurt frowned. If he couldn't go in the station, he couldn't get to where he needed to go and if he couldn't get to where he needed to go, there would be no one to answer his questions. He would have to go back to the circus to spend his life frightened and wondering and that wasn't an option. Kurt took a deep breath, rounded the corner, and plunged into the crowd without looking up. He let their feet guide him into the heart of the train station where the ticket counters sat.

Pulling his hood further around his face Kurt risked a glance around the station. Above the ticket counter was lighted sign with destinations and times on it. Off to the side was a large map with colored lines on it. From his spot in the shadows he watched a man and a woman step up to the counter and saw them exchange money for tickets with the clerk on the other side of the window. It looked simple enough except for the exchange. Kurt pulled one hand out of his pocket and stared at it. They would see him. Even if he turned his face away, they would still see his hands. It was too close, too well lit.

He glanced up at the lighted signboard again and realized it only had information for local trains on it. Feeling more and more overwhelmed Kurt took a second look back at the map. He would need to connect trains, perhaps more than once. He'd done this before as well, but once again he was hardly aware of it. His hood had been covering his face as he was guided, nearly blind through the station, and on to the next train.

Kurt put his hands back in his pockets and realized that there was an obstacle much greater than his appearance, and one that couldn't so easily be overcome. He didn't have any money. Even if he could go to the ticket booth and even if he could figure out all the connections, none of it mattered because he didn't have any money to buy a ticket. It hadn't even occurred to him. Though he was sure his act with Circus Gehlhaar brought in plenty of money, he'd never actually been paid. He'd never been in a situation where he needed his own money until now.

He didn't know what to do or where to go. He was as good as trapped wherever the circus was. Kurt sighed and, feeling extra clumsy because of his shoes, clomped past the ticket counter and onto the platform. The train was waiting, its doors open as the occasional passenger hopped aboard. Nobody seemed to be checking tickets. He wondered what would happen if he just got on. Kurt shut his eyes and tried to remember. He shook his head, they checked the tickets on the train, if he got on without one it would only make things worse.

He wondered if he could perhaps hold on to the outside of the train somehow. He was so dark and it was nighttime, perhaps no one would notice him if he crouched between the cars. He walked along the cars thinking about this plan. It certainly didn't sound very comfortable. He looked up at the gantry arm connecting the train to its power supply. Perhaps if this was one of the old diesel trains he'd ridden as a child that plan might have worked. But this was one of the sleek new high-speed electric trains like the one he'd ridden with Father Dietrich last summer. Kurt remembered watching the blur of the European landscape through the window, like a speeded up film; he couldn't imagine he'd be able to hold on for very long.

The sound of men shouting grabbed Kurt's attention and he craned his neck to look between train cars and across several sets of tracks to where he could see two men throwing parcels into a windowless gray train car with large heavy doors. He scratched his chin wondering how he could find out where that train was going. His thoughts were interrupted by a terse announcement, a buzzer, and the closing of the passenger train's doors; a moment later the train shot out of the station with such speed that Kurt was glad he hadn't tried to hang on.

Kurt checked to see that that station was empty and when he was sure no one was watching, teleported to the other set of tracks. It was a mail train that the men were loading and even with the additional boxes they were tossing through the door, there would be plenty of room inside. Kurt crouched down behind a cart, keeping his eyes on the inside of the car. He watched as the last item was thrown and the men put their shoulders against the door and pushed. As the door closed he tried to paint a picture of the inside of the car into his memory. It was a strange jumble of boxes and parcels in there and he didn't want to get it wrong. As the door slammed shut Kurt teleported, his shod feet setting down neatly on top of a wooden crate. He smiled. He wouldn't need a ticket after all.

With the door closed there was hardly any light in the mail car, but it was enough. It wasn't very comfortable, but he would be safe there. Though, as Kurt listened to the sound of the train's idling engine slide into gear and felt the familiar rocking motion of the car, he couldn't help but regret his separation from the passengers. Trains were the only opportunity he ever had to spend time with people outside the circus, and now once again he was separated from them. He only hoped the train was going in the right direction.




Kurt checked his destinations by listening to the porters. It was strange how suddenly a lifetime of European travel had given him a skill he never knew he had. Whenever the door to the car opened he listened not only to the language they spoke, but how they spoke it, fitting their speech patterns into the local dialects he'd been hearing all his life.

They never knew he was there of course. Had any of them looked directly above the inside of the doorway, they might have gotten quite a shock to see what was staring down at them, but none did. And as Kurt watched the various porters, who seemed to be ubiquitously coarse and sweaty no matter where in Europe one went, he wondered why the same term was given to acrobats like Sven and Nils, as though he, as a flyer were nothing more than a very entertaining piece of luggage to be thrown around on stage. What did they call them in America? "Catchers", Kurt remembered, but it seemed an even stranger term, as though he spent all his time falling.

He had stowed away on the train outside of Dresden and had been lucky enough that it was traveling east. Unfortunately Kurt quickly realized that the train's destination was to the south and the longer he stayed on it, the more off course he strayed. He was going to have to switch trains if he was going to reach his destination rather than end up in Munich, which he understood to be this train's final stop.

Kurt spent several uncomfortable hours creeping around a switchyard in southeastern Germany before he found a train that was suitable and it was with some relief that Kurt finally heard the porters (or "throwers" as he decided to call them) speaking in French. When their French got better and more refined, or at least they sounded like they thought they were more refined, he knew he was near his destination at last. Paris, France.

The last stop was the most difficult. The changing landscape of boxes and crates had made it easy for Kurt to hide his own bag as well as his shoes, but he knew that when the train reached it's final destination the compartment would be emptied. He waited in his usual spot above the door, his rucksack on his shoulders and his shoes tied to the back. He'd already tried to see if he could hold on to the door's hardware while wearing them and while it might have made a good comedy routine, it wasn't going to make for a quick get away.

Kurt had never been to Paris. He'd never been in any of the large cities Circus Gehlhaar might have passed through, at least not in any meaningful way. He'd seen Barcelona, Spain a few times through the windows of the van, and had traveled to Hamburg in Germany many times. But he had always been quickly loaded into a car or trailer and taken somewhere else. He'd never walked on a city street before, and definitely not a city as grand as Paris.

Outside the train yard however, was hardly a city at all. The buildings looked old and abandoned. Kurt looked around him and couldn't see any signs of life at all. Off in the distance though, he spotted the Eiffel Tower. It seemed like a good enough landmark and so leaving on his accursed shoes just in case he ran into anyone, Kurt started walking, always making sure to keep the Eiffel Tower in his sight.




Author's note: Imagine my surprise when I discovered for the first time that I had written a story that was all narrative without a single piece of dialog...

[Rowena]

Hey yeah, there isn't any dialogue in there! But then, it was just Kurt traveling alone and by himself so it works just fine without it. It struck me as a bit odd, and a bit endearing that Kurt would have run away without thinking to take any money with him, but the stow-away scene was cool, and it saved him from any of the potential entanglements I was imagining at first such as curious kids and talkative fellow passangers and so on. You've got me curious and confused now, so I'll take your advice and just trust you as you set everything up. So Kurt's in Paris now...can't wait to see what you've got in store!


I don't mean to sound critical, but there were a couple of spots in this chapter that seemed a bit awkward to me:

Kurt thought of James and Brin and all the others he would have liked to see and spend time with for a moment reconsidered.

I think you're missing a word in there somewhere.

And as Kurt watched the various porters, who seemed to be ubiquitously course and sweaty no matter where in Europe you where, he wondered why the same term was given to acrobats like Sven and Nils, as though he, as a flyer, was nothing more than a very entertaining piece of luggage to be thrown around on stage.

This is just my opinion, but it might be better if you didn't use "you" here. The less personal/direct "one" might work better. "No matter where in Europe one went..." or something to that nature. Just a thought.


P.S. I like your new title, and your signature message.

Encourage each other daily while it is still today.

Excellent sentiment, especially when it comes to fanfiction. To paraphrase another of your sentiments, it's good to know that people are reading the stories you work so hard to put together, and what they think. Without encouragement, enthusiasm can easily turn to discouragement and doubt. Especially when you've spent a really long time plotting and planning and working to get things right. I know I've never felt comfortable writing Belasco. All the angst and emotion makes me nervous that I can't pull it off and when no one responds, that nervousness turns into a bad case of writers block that can last for weeks. That's why I always try to leave some kind of comment whenever I read someone else's work.

I look forward to your next installment!

[John Doe]

Originally posted by Rowena

Kurt thought of James and Brin and all the others he would have liked to see and spend time with for a moment reconsidered.

I think you're missing a word in there somewhere.

I don't think she is, actually. Maybe a comma, though- it's a pretty snake-like thought.

And as Kurt watched the various porters, who seemed to be ubiquitously course and sweaty no matter where in Europe you where, he wondered why the same term was given to acrobats like Sven and Nils, as though he, as a flyer, was nothing more than a very entertaining piece of luggage to be thrown around on stage.

This is just my opinion, but it might be better if you didn't use "you" here. The less personal/direct "one" might work better. "No matter where in Europe one went..." or something to that nature. Just a thought.

Agreement. Also, I think you mean "coarse" instead of "course" and "were" instead of "where". Of course, this latter matters not if "you" becomes "one". I like the sentence a lot, though.

I haven't even finished EAHS yet (I've been gone so long and was so insignificant when I was here that I doubt anyone even remembers me) so once I finish I'll start this. Just dropped in to make a few grammatical notes.

--John.

[Saint Kurt]

Thanks for the feedback. Yikes, so many grammar mistakes...

The awkward sentence:

Kurt thought of James and Brin and all the others he would have liked to see and spend time with for a moment reconsidered.

Was supposed to read:

Kurt thought of James and Brin and all the others he would have liked to see and spend time with, and for a moment he reconsidered.

So you were both right, I was missing a comma and an "and". Oops. And of course I meant "coarse". Thanks again.

I remember you John. Do you plan to finish your story you were posting? Bloodmetal something... I couldn't remember the rest of the title. I'm glad you're enjoying Even Angels Have Scars. Please leave feedback in the thread if you have any. I know for a fact that there's a ton of grammatical mistakes. (I've found a bunch of them and fixed them in the word document on my harddrive, but I'm sure there are more.)

As for my new .sig line, I struggled for a long time with whether or not I wanted to use it because it's a bible quote and that can make people uncomfortable. Finally I decided that not using it because it's a bible quote is just as bad as being all preachy and annoying. Plus, it's my idea of what Christianity is really about - not a word about God or Jesus or heaven or hell, just a simple message about being a good person.

More specifically, that is a line of text from the Invitatory of Laudes - The Morning prayer of the Liturgy of the Hours or "Office". The Office is prayed daily by Catholic priests and lay people all over the world. It's a complicated prayer, but the line in my .sig is one of the first lines of the first the first part of liturgy and is said everyday. I think that's kind of cool.

-e

[John Doe]

I remember you John. Do you plan to finish your story you were posting? Bloodmetal something... I couldn't remember the rest of the title. I'm glad you're enjoying Even Angels Have Scars. Please leave feedback in the thread if you have any. I know for a fact that there's a ton of grammatical mistakes. (I've found a bunch of them and fixed them in the word document on my harddrive, but I'm sure there are more.)

Bloodmetal Candidate. I'm ashamed of that story compared to what I write now (albeit non-fic). So no, I won't be continuing that... but yes, I'll be feeding back. Once my school year ends on the 22nd, you'll hear from me more regularly. I'll look out for mistakes on EAHS.

Now, in hopes of avoiding a thread derailment, I will silence meinself.

--John.

[Saint Kurt]

So - last night I was thinking, always dangerous I know, but I was doing it anyway, and what I decided was that I would have a little contest in my thread. I know it doesn't help the fan fiction forum as a whole, but it makes sense on a certain level, at least it did last night. And this is my thread.

If you consider feedback a form of currency that buys more feedback, then by posting feedback in other author's and artist's threads, I'm buying myself some potential feedback in my thread. Like, Rowena just posted in all your threads so a lot of you are owing her feedback now. However, with my new duties as Nightscrawlers admin I don't have time to do the kind of feedback that I used to. So what to do? How do I earn some feedback in here?

(Now one might argue that the mere fact that Nightscrawlers is running should buy me some feedback points, but I will consider that a technicality. )

So, in the spirit of the "do unto others" philosophy that my feedback points theory espouses, I will do unto those that post in this thread in a different way. Like all good politicians, I will buy their love.

I thought it would be cool to have a small contest for the most regular poster to the thread. The rules are simple: If you post feedback to the thread you get a "point". Whoever has the most points at the end of the story wins.

The rules for what constitutes feedback are simple too. "I like it." or "It sucks." are not feedback. Like it or not, you must say why. Conversing back and forth with the author (me) or other posters to discuss an aspect of the story counts as multiple points (one per post) since that is most definitely feedback.

The prize will be decided upon by the winner because I'm not sure what people like. I was thinking it would be a $25 gift certificate to Amazon (where you can buy anything now) or for itunes (my favorite thing ever) or for something more Nightcrawler related, one of my handmade rosaries - a copy of the one he wore in the film. Something like that...

Since this is totally an experiment I have the right to call it off if it gets out of hand, but only you have control over that. This is, of course, retroactive to those who have already participated, but I won't post any totals until other's have had a chance as well. I hope this is a good idea...

Let the experiment begin!

And in the meantime, here's something to talk about...
-e

[Saint Kurt]

"Mesdames et messieurs! Directement d'Allemagne! Ici à Paris pour un jour, et un jour seulement! Please welcome the Incredible Nightcrawler!"



Kurt stared at his own reflection in the murky water as he waited for the sun to come up. He was starving, sore from having slept on crates and boxes, and now everything was slightly damp from the morning dew that had settled over it. He was almost as uncomfortable as he'd been while living in the woods outside of Martuska's camp. He couldn't help but think longingly of his warm bunk with the circus. It was hard to believe how easily he'd left it behind to go off on this wild goose chase.

He'd arrived in Paris in the middle of the night and after walking through the outskirts had finally found himself in the city proper a few hours before dawn. He taken advantage of the darkness and found a comfortable spot beneath on of the many bridges spanning the River Seine. Now he sat, troll like beneath it, staring at the water and wondering what to do next. The idea that had seemed so urgent the night before had lost none of its immediacy, but Kurt was realizing he could have planned things better.

He had never been in a major city before and so he hadn't known what to expect. In many ways he still wasn't sure to expect. In the early morning light he was still very much alone and so he sat on the river bank watching the first rays of the sun passing over buildings that all seemed to have been built of stone from the same quarry. A few ducks passed by, oblivious that Kurt was any different from any other person who might spend time by the river. They cut a beeline for him to see if he had any bread to throw them. It made Kurt realize that traveling with no money and very little food had not been the smartest thing. He'd eaten the two sandwiches he'd brought with him on the train, carefully rationing them as he traveled. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he'd eaten.

Kurt turned his pocket inside out so any remaining crumbs fell into the water.

He watched the ducks scrambling for bits of his sandwiches and thought about what he was going to do for his own breakfast. He had no idea how he was going to get anything to eat, not to mention the fact that he had no idea how to get to his destination.

"Comment est-ce que je trouve 22 Rue le Verrier, Monsieur Duck?"* Kurt asked. The duck's response was a continued search for crumbs. Kurt shrugged.

The clanging of a church bell made him jump. He twisted around to try and see where it was coming from, but the bridge was blocking his view. He gathered up his things, bid farewell to his ducks and climbed the embankment back to the street. The church bell was still clanging and when he looked up, he gasped. He must have been very tired indeed not to have noticed the Notre-Dame Cathedral when he'd arrived the night before.

Kurt stood on the bridge and stared at it for a long time. He'd been to churches all over Europe, explored both their insides and outsides by night. He knew all of the architectural styles from the old Georgian and Romanesque Churches of the early Christians to the more modern styles, always favoring the old Gothic churches with their ornate windows and steep roofs. He visited hundreds in his travels, but he'd never seen anything like this. Father Dietrich's church, St. Stephan's had the same type of gothic architecture, but it was a fraction of the size. It looked like the entire church would fit inside the entranceway with room to spare. Kurt crossed the bridge for a closer look.

It was wonderful. No, more than that, Kurt thought, it was… awesome. He couldn't even imagine how such a grand thing had been built. The front façade was impressive, but as he wandered around the grounds he could see that the buttresses jutting off the sides of the nave and the many other entrances were no less impressive. After circling slowly around the outside, Kurt stood on the front steps. He wondered if he would be allowed in. It was a church after all; then again he had never visited a church other than Father Dietrich's in daylight and it was midmorning now. Kurt paused at the entrance. He stood off to the side, but there was a steady trickle of people going in so finally, checking to see that his hood was still in place, Kurt stepped through the cathedral's giant doorway.

The inside was more spectacular than the outside. The morning sun lit up stained glass windows as light streamed through them. The interior space was huge and Kurt spent an hour exploring the walkway surrounding the nave looking at the statues and the windows. It was amazing how he always felt better inside a church. Ever since leaving the circus he'd been on edge, worried about being found out, trying to make sense of Wolfgang's mad outburst, mentally chastising himself over and over for his behavior on the pathway the night before he left. But standing in the cool dark interior of the Notre-Dame Cathedral Kurt felt all those worries slide off him as easily as he might have taken off his coat.

He slid into one of the pews and dug in his pocket for his rosary. The cathedral wasn't crowded but it certainly wasn't empty. There were a variety of visitors in the giant space. Kurt watched many of them pass before the tabernacle and the altar without genuflecting and realized that the majority of them were tourists, visiting the church for it's historical and artistic significance. He could also see that a select few were there to worship as well and in the milling throng he didn't look out of place even with his backpack and coat. He gratefully slid his arms out of his pack and folded down the kneeler on the pew in front of him.

Kurt spent a few minutes with his head down. He never liked to ask God for things specifically for himself, but in this case he was in a bit of a bind so he hoped God would understand. When he finished his intercessions, he started the rosary, but about halfway through it was interrupted by announcement that mass would be starting in ten minutes. Kurt looked around in surprise. It did make sense that they would perform mass inside of a church, but the idea of staying for it was still somewhat shocking to him. All around him however, people were taking their seats in the pews as if it was perfectly normal.

He'd never been to mass at a church besides Father Dietrich's and there, he'd always sat above in the choir loft just out of site from everyone. If he'd sat in the nave even with his hood up he would have been very conspicuous, but here in this giant dimly lit space, he was hardly noticeable. Kurt didn't move, instead he remained where he was, still kneeling, his place still marked on his rosary. When everyone was seated and it was clear that mass was going to start without anyone pointing at him and going into hysterics, Kurt had decided that he really liked Paris.






After the conclusion of the mass Kurt stepped back out into the bright sunlight and squinted. He wished it had been Sunday, but even daily mass in such a huge cathedral was impressive. He wondered how long he would be in Paris. Maybe he could come back on Sunday. Holding his hood up with one hand, he took a last look at the twin spires of the cathedral's giant façade. He didn't really want to leave.

A sound from his stomach made Kurt realize that while spending an hour wandering around the cathedral and getting to go to mass had been a nice diversion, he still hadn't eaten. Kurt looked around and saw that across the river the city was waking up. There was a crisp fall breeze but the sun was warm and he watched the outdoor cafés setting out tables and umbrellas. As he crossed the bridge he could actually smell the espresso.

Careful to keep his hood up Kurt walked past, wondering if there was a way he could get something to eat without paying for it. Patrons sitting at the tables eating buns and drinking coffee lazily tossed crumbs to crowds of pigeons on the sidewalk. Kurt wondered if it wouldn't be too obvious if he joined the birds clamoring for bits of brioche. Knowing that it would, he sighed and spotting a sign directing him to the "Jardin du Luxembourg" his hopes soared. It was hard to imagine in this big city of concrete and stone, but if it really was a garden, maybe he could at least take a few vegetables without anyone noticing.

At the entrance to the Jardin du Luxembourg Kurt realized he'd been mistaken. It was a beautiful expanse of green yes, but it was hardly a vegetable garden. He stood in the entrance with his shoulders slumped, the "garden" was not a garden at all, but a meticulously maintained park. This was getting ridiculous. He'd run away from the circus, on purpose this time, and now he was stuck. He had no food, no money, and no idea how to get to 22 Rue Le Verrier. Kurt had always felt very self sufficient in the circus but now he realized that out in the world alone, he was helpless.

"Excusez-moi."

Kurt felt himself shoved rudely aside from the back as a man suddenly pushed past him. He caught his balance and looked up. The man was on a unicycle, pedaling expertly down the path. He had a bag slung over his shoulder with a set of juggling clubs and other props sticking out. And his face was painted white. Kurt opened his eyes wide. Was there a circus in the park? He thought about the relationships between himself and the other performers when they had been at Brighton. Nobody had seemed to care about his appearance there. Perhaps he could exchange a day of work for some food.

"Wait! Wait!" Kurt called after the unicyclist. He took a few clumsy steps, trying to run after him but tripped over his shoes. He slowed down and watched as the unicyclist disappeared around a bend. It wasn't hopeless though, certainly if there was a circus in the park, he'd find it eventually.

Ten minutes later Kurt found the unicyclist again in a clearing. He wasn't alone, but there certainly wasn't a circus either. Kurt could remember Christian telling him stories about performing on his bike in Berlin, not as part of a circus, but by himself on the street for money. Like Christian, the unicyclist was a street performer. Kurt watched him as he circled a small area on his unicycle and juggled. Around him were assorted other performers, a few other jugglers, and a mime. Kurt perched himself on a low stone wall and watched as people strolled along becoming temporary audiences for each performer and as they left, dutifully dropped coins into various hats and tins. Kurt felt the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile. He wasn't going to be hungry for much longer. His prayers had been answered after all.

Kurt hopped off the wall and set his rucksack down. Then he threw off his coat, which was way too warm for the day. The best part was finally getting to kick off his horrible shoes, which he did with a flourish, catching one in each hand. Kurt looked around. He didn't have a hat or tin to put out. He glanced at the shoes in his hands and shrugged. He tossed one on top of his coat and put the other down in front of him. He was still feeling stiff and sore from sleeping on the train and under the bridge so he stretched expansively, realizing how glorious it was to uncurl his tail at last.

The unicyclist was staring at him now, his feet alternating back and forth on the pedals to keep balanced. He looked unimpressed with Kurt and his rumpled clothes that besides being a bit frayed and patched he was sure looked slept-in and dirty from traveling as well. He didn't really feel like performing. He was tired and still hungry, but that didn't matter. As Kurt ran his hands through his hair in an attempt to straighten it, he thought of Wolfgang's admonishment not to draw attention to himself. This certainly qualified. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. It didn't matter anymore.

"Mesdames et messieurs!" he shouted and bowed low, sweeping his hand dramatically from his head to the pavement as though tipping an imaginary hat.

Kurt stole a glance at the unicycling juggler who was now looking at him like he was insane. And Kurt had to admit he felt a little insane, but the juggler wasn't the one only looking in his direction. It was too late to stop now.

Drawing himself up to his full height, he took another deep breath and shouted, "Directement d'Allemagne! Ici à Paris pour un jour, et un jour seulement!** Please welcome the Incredible Nightcrawler!"

It was like a spell being cast. With those words any thought of being tired or hungry or worried disappeared. It was show time. Kurt sprang, cat like, into a series of backward handsprings the last of which landed him in the lowest branches of a large tree. He had people's attention now and as he swung down they were starting to wander in his direction. He landed lightly on the paved walkway and gave the juggler a wink as he beckoned the small crowd that was forming in front of him to come closer.

Kurt thought about mass at Notre-Dame Cathedral that morning as he looked at the people who were now watching him with interest, waiting to see what he was going to do next. He couldn't help but smile. He really did like Paris.



* Where can I find 22 Le Verrier Road, Mr. Duck.
** Ladies and Gentlemen! Direct from Germany. Here in Paris for one day, and one day only!

[buri103]

So awesome.

You know those French, they love everybody...except Muslims. And thier burkas. :o

*Smacks hand* Bad, Bad Charmie!

Anyway, I love how Kurt was able...to find a place he can be..free-er, I guess, I always felt during Even Angels Have Scars(glorious story), he was forced to grow into the fear his family had for him and his discovery by the outside world.

I also like him seperate from the circus...and not getting scarred up this time.

Go Kurt! This feels more like the Kurt from the comics. You are quite fabulous.

Go you!

You really captured the essence of Paris for me. I loved the discriptions of the bistros in early morning light. Grand.
:D:D

[Rowena]

The Incredible Nightcrawler--out in public and doing what he does best, earning the appreciation of the crowd. Excellent! I just hope this promising situation doesn't turn on him... At least he's managed to find a way to make some money, and have some fun in the process! This unicycle guy has got me curious. I can't help wondering if we'll be seeing more of him? But I'd better not speculate. I'll just wait patiently to find out what happens next!

[Saint Kurt]

Thanks you guys!

Check this out. Funniest typo ever!

Careful to keep his hood up Kurt walked past, wondering if there was a way he could get something to eat without praying for it.

LOL! It was supposed to be "paying for it", but in the context of the story it actually kind of worked. No wonder I didn't see it before.

I always felt during Even Angels Have Scars(glorious story), he was forced to grow into the fear his family had for him and his discovery by the outside world.

And

The Incredible Nightcrawler--out in public and doing what he does best,

You will find that as this story goes on that it is very much about the conflict between Kurt's perception of the outside world and the outside world's perception of Kurt and how things are not always what they seem to be.

But I'm surprised - Is no one even the slight bit curious as to why Kurt is in Paris or what is at 22 Rue le Verrier? I'm trying to create a bit of mystery here.

thanks again!
-e

[CurlyyHairGirl]

I AM!!!

I was happy that I didn't need to read the foot notes to know what he was saying!!:D

I really loved this chapter, probably the most out of all the others.
I got the feeling from it that Kurt was taking a major step in life towards maturity and so forth, puting himself out in the world to acheive his needs. I thought the best part was when he was in the Notre-Dame Cathedral and despite the large amount of people there, didn't chicken out and decide to leave.

I'm sorry for such a small post, but my sister just graduated from HS (you would think it would be boreing, but then the 3 streakers ran across the football feild) and we have a luncheon to get to at 1:30 in Paso Robles, so I gotta go.

Can't wait for the next chapter:love

EMO

[idsunki]

Incredibly small nit to pick, but:

"He wasn't alone, but their certainly wasn't a circus either."

Probably 'there'? I know spellcheck wouldn't catch that one, but I am no ordinary spellchecker!

-idsunki, up way too late.

[Saint Kurt]

Thanks for the feedback you guys. I'm still trying to figure out if my idea for the game was a good idea or not... Part me likes it because it's a way of saying thank you, but I was hoping more people would get that and want to play because competition can be fun too.

Anyway, the next chapter is called "Divided Loyalties" but I realized it's more like "divided story" because everyone is all over Europe now!

CHG - your sister's graduation sounds fun. We didn't have any streakers at my HS graduation. Or college. Or grad school. Or second college. Or... Oh wait, I should stop, my higher education career is starting to sound like a hobbit's daily meal schedule. Maybe we'll have streakers at my vet school graduation.

At the risk of derailing my own thread I will tell you my ridiculous streaking story:

When I was working at Microsoft we worked very hard and thus whenever we went on vacation, we played very hard. I was a member of the Microsoft Skiing and Snowboarding club and we planned a trip to Apex, a ski area in Penticton BC, Canada. Apex has a bar at its peak that does not close when the ski area does. This means that you get all kinds of drunk skiers coming down the mountain in the dark. The bar looks out onto the slope and has a big picture window.

Now that the stage is set you can probably imagine that while in this bar after dark, drunk, it occurred to my friends to put on an elaborate display of streaking. They wanted to strip down to nothing but boots, get on their snowboards, and ride naked in a big group past the picture window. I was stone cold sober and one of only 2 women, but we figured equal representation of the sexes was needed. We wanted some speed so we weren't naked in front of the window too long so we climbed way way up. Then we took off everything but our boots, strapped onto our boards, and streaked by the picture window. It was pretty sucessful as far as streaking goes I suppose and there is something sort of beautiful about a bunch of naked people snowboarding in the moonlight.

There was one problem. Now we were well below the bar, naked, with nothing but boots and wet snowboards and all of our clothes were well above the bar. It was a long slow naked climb past that picture window.

I was 23. I have yet to change my ways.

There. Their. They're. I hate them all.
Idsunki, thank you for being an extra-ordinary spell checker.

Thanks
-e

[Saint Kurt]

"There's only one place where Kurt would go, and that's where we're going, so I'm not worried."



Laughing, Christian chased his friends through the crowded train station. He hardly noticed his backpack and had no problem steering his favorite bike along with him. He rested his hand casually on the seat as he ran, easily maneuvering it ahead him.

"Wait up you dorks!" he called out as he surged forward and accidentally jostled his backpack into a large mustached man wearing a suit and tie. The man threw him a very dirty look and made a few pointed comments in German about too many American tourists to his companion, loud enough for Christian to hear. Christian felt his cheeks grow hot. It was weird to be speaking so much English again, especially when it wasn't going to be translated. The man didn't realize that Christian could understand him, that he had been living in his country, been part of his culture for years. He slowed his pace, suddenly unsure of what he was doing.

"Chris!"

Christian turned. It was Drew.

"We don't want to be late," Drew said, waving to him and still pushing through the crowd. Christian nodded and weaved through the last few people separating them to join his friends.

"Together again Chris, this is so totally going to rock!" Kyle said emphatically as they boarded the train and stowed their backpacks in the compartment above.

Brett tapped Christian on the shoulder and pointed. "Bikes go up in front," he said. "We've been going everywhere on these trains. They totally kick ass. They have everything."

With his hand still on the seat, Christian pushed his bike up to the racks and locked it down. Brett was right, American trains didn't have anything like this. It was amazing that he'd been living in Europe this long and had no idea. He wondered what else he was missing by traveling with a circus? When he returned back to his friends they had already made themselves at home in two pairs of facing seats.

"So what's with you and the 'wolfman'?" Drew asked when Christian got back and flopped into the empty seat.

"Wolfgang? What do you mean me and Wolfgang?" He asked, bristling at the question.

Drew gave a snort of laughter. "You actually know someone named Wolfgang?" He said, "I meant the blue guy. You know…" Drew bared his teeth and made his hands like claws as he pantomimed leaping out of the dark.

Christian relaxed. "Oh." He laughed. "You mean Kurt. I just live in his family's trailer. They had a spare bunk and I'm kind of a stray. Most of the performers are big families." He stared out the window and watched the station pull away from them.

"You live with a mutant?" Kyle asked. "What's that like?"

Christian knitted his brow. "What do you mean what's it like? It's like living with anybody," he said. He frowned. That wasn't true. Living with Kurt and his family was hardly average and Kurt was far from "anybody", but the point was that if someone would have asked him to describe what living with Kurt was like, the first things to come to mind would not have been his appearance or even his unusual abilities.

He would have told them how deeply religious Kurt was and that as weird as it was, he'd gotten used to the fact that Kurt knelt next to his bunk at night to say his prayers and had even come to expect it so that if it didn't happen, he couldn’t fall asleep. He would have also told them that the battered prayer book with the colored ribbons sticking out of it that Kurt read from was more of a curiosity to Christian than the hands that held it. He would have explained that in the morning Kurt set out all the breakfast things because even though he was the last to go to bed at night, he was also the first to rise and moved about the crowded trailer in the morning's dim light like it was no big deal. Then he would have finished by saying that as odd as the Szardos family may have seemed to outsiders, they spent more time reading, talking, and doing family things together than any family Christian had ever seen and that he was forever grateful for the fact that he was always included in these activities as if he were one of them. The fact that Kurt turned the pages of his books with his tail so he could lay on his stomach and keep his chin propped in both his hands while he was reading or that he could dance with his mother and his sister at the same time were certainly novel, but seemed wholly irrelevant when looking at him as a person.

Christian stared out the window; only half listening to his friends' speculations about what living with Kurt must have been like, paying just enough attention to know that they had it wrong. "Mutant." "Nigger." "Fag." So many labels and they were always negative. He didn't think he'd ever understand why people, even good people sometimes, felt so compelled to label everybody who was different from them and why they always got it so wrong every single time.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Wolfgang watched the roustabouts releasing the canvas of their main tent from the two king poles in the center and frowned as it dropped to the ground, the sides fluttering as the air was released from underneath. The circus was packing up for the long haul this time. They weren't just stuffing props into the trucks in order to make a run to the next stop on the tour, this time they were packing things right, getting ready for the long ride to their winter quarters in southern Spain. But first there would be a well earned break for all of them. They had put their lives on hold long enough. There were things that needed taking care of, personal obligations that could no longer wait. After taking a last survey of the organized chaos, Wolfgang turned away and walked back towards the cluster of trailer and caravans.

The living quarters were alive with activity as well as each family prepared their home for travel. It made him feel strangely empty as he watched it, as though he had built an empire and was now watching it crumble. He knew it wasn't true, that he would see everyone again in a few weeks, but he couldn't shake the feeling anyway.

Wolfgang stopped at the Szardos trailer and leaned into the open door. Amanda was on her knees packing clothes into on of the trailer's many storage compartments. She had her hair pulled back in a scarf and looked tired. She smiled when she saw him.

"Hey," she said, giving the pile of clothes a last shove and latching the door before they could fall out again.

"Hey," Wolfgang said, "Have you seen Kurt? I haven't seen him since the other night."

Amanda shook her head. "Christian's gone too," she said.

"Christian?" Wolfgang said, surprised. "Where did Christian go?"

"He left an note. He wanted to spend some time with his friends. He took a bunch of his stuff with him," Amanda said.

"Is he coming back?" Wolfgang asked.

"The note didn't say. Maybe he's going to meet us?" Amanda said. She turned her attention from the clothes to the many latches that kept the trailer's cabinets and drawers shut while it was in motion.

"Do you think Kurt went with him?"

"He might have, but I don't think so," Amanda said, "I think Christian would have said something."

Wolfgang came in and sat down on the trailer's folding couch. It seemed like a lifetime ago he and Amanda had driven along with Kurt, Maria, James, and Brin in this van up to Hamburg for Christmas. How different everything had been then.

"I got kind of … angry at Kurt the other night," he admitted. "I think I might have been a little too harsh with him. Do you think he might have run away because of me?"

Amanda pursed her lips as she thought. "I don't know," she said.

"Aren't you and Margali worried?" he asked.

Amanda shook her head. "No."

Wolfgang was surprised. He'd been wandering around all day trying to convince himself that Kurt was somewhere on the grounds, that Kurt was just avoiding him and that was why he hadn't seen him. But the idea of Kurt out in the world, somewhere, by himself only made the strange gnawing empty feeling in his stomach worse. "You aren't worried at all?" he asked again.

"Not really," Amanda said, her voice casual as though she were discussing the weather or the latest gossip rather than her brother's disappearance.

"Why not?"

"Because, there's only one place where Kurt would go," she said.

For a moment Wolfgang didn't know what Amanda meant. Where would Kurt go? He couldn't imagine Kurt going anywhere without the circus, but then it dawned on him, there was one place in Europe that Kurt traveled to. "Father Dietrich's," he said.

Amanda nodded. "And that's where we're going, so I'm not worried."

Wolfgang stood up, feeling a little bit lighter. "I'll call the Father, tell him to expect Kurt a little early. Thanks Amanda."

She shrugged. "It's no big deal. Kurt's pretty predictable that way and besides, I know he wouldn't want to miss the wedding."

"Yeah, true," mumbled Wolfgang as he backed out the door. "Good thinking. Thanks." He turned away quickly. Why hadn't he thought of that, he wondered. Wasn't he Kurt's friend too? And yet he seemed like they hardly knew each other anymore. How long had it been since they had driven together in the truck or fenced or even just sat under the trees and talked? How long had it been that he'd done anything more than manage the circus' business?

What had happened to him that he had become just like his father?



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


"I love Paris in the springtime.
I love Paris in the fall.
I love Paris in the winter when it drizzles,
I love Paris in the summer when it sizzles.

I love Paris every moment,
every moment of the year.
I love Paris, why, oh why do I love Paris?
Because my love is near."


Kurt finished the song with his arms outstretched and his head tipped back to the sky. He supposed that James was right when he said that he didn't have much of a singing voice except that it was such a nice day and since no one was going to hear him up here anyway, he figured it didn't matter. In fact it was so nice to be out in the sun surrounded by such a grand city that it was hard to remember the rather dire errand that had brought him here. But as enjoyable as it was to stand up here and sing cabaret songs, Kurt figured he might as well get down to business. He sat back down, unfolded the tourist map he'd purchased at a shop along the boulevard, unwrapped his second sandwich and began to eat while he searched for Rue le Verrier.

He had only intended to perform for as long as it would take to make enough money to feed himself, but he had been having so much fun that three hours had gone by before it occurred to him to stop and see how much he had made. He'd made more than enough it turned out and so he'd bid farewell to his audience, gathered up his things, and sought out lunch at last.

He hadn't needed to hide under his hooded coat in the Jardin du Luxembourg, even when he was no longer in front of an audience. To the few people who gave him curious glances he had simply said, "I'm performing" and they seemed to understand right away. It was the first time he'd walked around in the open since Brighton and while he'd felt very vulnerable and exposed at first, by the time he found a vendor selling sandwiches from a cart, he hardly noticed it.

He'd reluctantly donned his coat again to return to Notre-Dame Cathedral. He could have eaten in the park, but he wanted to put some of his excess Francs in the collection box and he needed to buy a map. Now Kurt sat with his map on the Cathedral's roof, at home among its many carved stone gargoyles as he ate. Wiping the crumbs off his hands, he crouched beside one of the gargoyles over looking the city and tilted the map so that it matched the layout of the streets below. It wouldn't be hard to find his way to 22 Rue le Verrier now.

Something caught Kurt's eye and he craned his neck and finally crossed over to the other side of the gabled roof to get a better look at it. It was a gigantic glass pyramid that appeared to be sunken into a large stone plaza with the late afternoon sun glinting off of it. The Louvre, Paris' famous art museum, and it was right there in front of him.

Kurt consulted his map for a moment and thought. He'd never been in an art museum. He thought of the pang of jealousy he'd felt when Lars told him that Wolfgang had taken them to the Tate Gallery in London. How he would have loved to have been there with everyone. The only paintings he'd ever seen aside from Wolfgang's were in books. Maybe this was his chance. It didn't look far to walk and he certainly had enough money. But there would be people there. And it wouldn't be dark and quiet like the church. An art gallery, Kurt was sure, would be brightly lit and open, it would be impossible for him to hide in the shadows. Then again people would be looking at the art on the walls not at him.

He looked down at his map, spotting Rue le Verrier at last and then returned his gaze to gleaming glass pyramid that seemed to beckon him even as he told himself he shouldn't. Did he dare?


Note: Lyrics to "I Love Paris" by Nat King Cole

[buri103]

*Whispers Naughtily*

Do it Kurt, do iiitt...

[idsunki]

Even split up in Europe, the story still had enough cohesion to follow. The narratives all share the similar themes of travel and separation, thus (almost ironically) tying them together.

Christian's part was fine, I especially liked his little monologue on labels. I don't understand why he doesn't bother to correct his friends, though. Well, maybe I do. He could be tired or not want to get into an argument with friends he hasn't seen in a long time.

Most of the circus part was alright, too. The ending of it with Wolfgang, however, felt a little awkward.

Originally posted by zamweasel
"Yeah, true," mumbled Wolfgang as he backed out the door. "Good thinking. Thanks." He turned away quickly. Why hadn't he thought of that, he wondered. Wasn't he Kurt's friend too? And yet he seemed like they hardly knew each other anymore. How long had it been since they had driven together in the truck or fenced or even just sat under the trees and talked? How long had it been that he'd done anything more than manage the circus' business?

What had happened to him that he had become just like his father?

I'm not quite sure what it is, but the two parts that just don't seem to fit are "And yet he seemed like they hardly knew each other anymore" and "What had happened to him that he had become just like his father?"

For the first, changing the 'he' to 'it' would help, but it still seems a little off. For the second, maybe shortening it a little, like "When had he become just like his father?" I know why you put the father bit in there, and it fits. Well, I'm sure either you or someone else can come up with a good little replacement bit, unless no one else sees those two sentences as awkward. It could just be me.

The part with Kurt was fun. It seems like he is in more danger of being alienated by his German accent than his blue skin. Well, most people seem to think it's painted on or something, but still.

-idsunki, extra-ordinary spellchecker!