Ringmaster. By Archangel Vulpine. For Cyrus Zakarian.
My first successful raffle and I'm so glad I did it: happy experience from start to finish. Ran a raffle on BlueSky to celebrate hitting 100 Followers. The winner was Cyrus Zakarian and they gave me free rein to write whatever I wanted with their awesome character. I was completely taken by the style and party trick, so made a character focused piece. Cyrus had only kind things to say when I sent the finished piece, so I hope you enjoy it too!
Ringmaster
By Archangel Vulpine
Written for Cyrus Zakarian
The dressing room was equipped with a wide wardrobe, a table with half a dozen draws, a hat and shoe rack, everything one would expect, except a mirror. Cyrus loathed the things. Instead, to survey itself before departing, Cyrus raised a paw to the underside of its muzzle, cupped a thumb and forefinger at its cheeks, and pulled. The face came away as easily as if Cyrus were removing a mask. Behind it was nothing. The hole left in Cyrus’ head was empty and bottomless, like an unlit cave stretching into complete darkness. Holding its own face in one paw, it scrutinised itself.
The suit fit better than its own fur. A red waistcoat with thin black pinstripes hugged its chest and abdomen. The suit jacket was jet black, complete with a long collar reaching down to its waist, patterned with red marking in a twisting, tribal style. The sleeves had been torn off to reveal a pair of toned arms. Its trousers were a lighter grey and a pair of laced boots matched the dark jacket. The ensemble was complete when Cyrus lowered a top hat onto its head: black with a red ring around the base. Cyrus had the appearance of a bear, except its tail was long and thin. The majority of its fur was dark coal, except for a patch on its front which was a light fog. A pair of gold ring piercings complimented each of its round ears. Its eyes were the colour of a dark cloud on a moonlit night.
Satisfied, it flicked its wrist and the face came rolling down its arm, landing back where it belonged on Cyrus’s head. The only thing left was to take up its staff: a long black rod decorated with thin red lightning bolts across its entire body. The tip featured a carved ram’s skull wearing its own top hat between its curled horns. Leaving its dressing room, Cyrus strode towards the big top. The sounds of a hundred conversions escaped the tent’s thick fabric. Cyrus grinned to itself, knowing soon every one of those conversations would cease. Hundreds of eyes would watch as it took to the stage and commanded their attention. It was time to put on a show.