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07: Taking Losses

The studious fox that acted as the Midnight Meridian's doctor tsked as he examined Fletcher's paw, turning it gently in place and keenly watching the coyote's face for signs of pain. When he seemed satisfied he understood the damage he released it, turning around and rummaging through his medical kit.

"Well, it is not going to fall off any time soon." Aloysius said, readjusting his glasses and coming back with a short roll of gauze. "But I want to strap it anyway, if anything to keep you aware of it. Why didn't you bring this to me sooner, you silly boy?" He shook his head, taking Fletcher's paw again and beginning to wind the bandage tightly around his wrist. It had been two days since he tripped over a guy line during the circus gunfight, and the stinging in his wrist still hadn't gone away.

"It was just...everything with Thume and..." He trailed off, the guilt over Thume's gutshot encroaching on his mind. "It just didn't seem like that big of a deal is all. I already put you all through so much." He mumbled the last bit, and Aloysius sighed in exasperation.

"Look it has been a while since anything this dramatic happened, but none of us here are strangers to conflict. You know we were once run out of Callisto by an angry mob? The Macedon Province has a charming man for a Baron, and he positively despises us now...we had to leave so fast we left a whole wagon filled with costumes and supplies behind. Brandon even got stabbed!" Fletcher frowned deeply.

"What happened?"

"What usually happens, Lyric." Aloysius said tiredly. "People kept disappearing, and - I don't pretend to know how - Mister Tellurian found the gentleman responsible. Killed him in the process, but as it were the young fellow turned out to be in fact the Baron's nephew. Now the bodies and torture dungeon beneath his house meant that Baron Macedon couldn't see Lyric hang for it, but some of his more feral family members rounded up into a big posse and ran us outta town, ostensibly for the embarrassment. Made it very clear we were not welcome back."

"Oh. That's...that's wild." Fletcher said, almost not believing.

"Indeed." Aloysius said, raising his eyebrows. "This was some two years back mind you, Lyric was a younger dog, still had a lot of anger bottled away. I was actually one of the first he warmed to come to think of it, though by no intention on either side. You see he kept getting into bar fights back then, and losing."

"He did?" The coyote asked. Aloysius nodded, securing the gauze on Fletcher's wrist with a tiny metal clip and leaning back. "Why? He doesn't seem like someone who drinks much." Fletcher couldn't wrap his head around the idea. Lyric seemed totally in control in fact, like someone who never did anything without considering the consequences.

"Well, drinking is another story, but no he's not usually. As I mentioned though he was an angry young man, and he had to get that hatred out of himself before it poisoned him, and so he'd wander into towns and just loiter around sleazy bars. He'd see some brute harassing a young lady, or really anyone who didn't need the hassle, and he'd try to beat the heck out of the fella simple as that. He wasn't as capable as he is now - he and I spent a lot of time relocating bones, mending bruises, etcetera. Eventually we were forced to make small talk."

"Oh." Fletcher said. "Well. I didn't know that. I still didn't mean to bring any trouble along with me, even if everyone is okay with it. Miss Meridian did me such a favour, agreeing to take me along with you all, and now this happened. Thume got shot, Lyric had to do all that stuff, and the whole show had to be delayed!" The more he considered it, the more Fletcher realised that the very fact the performers didn't seem angry at him was only exacerbating his guilt. Maybe he'd feel better if somebody yelled at him.

"Mm, I know you didn't son. We all do and nobody blames you. If you accept someone into your family, you accept their baggage also, no matter how badly it may have festered." Aloysius said, lighting a cigarette and taking a short puff. "But I digress - your paw. You must take of yourself. You are supposed to be a marksman, no? Well, understand that there is art in performance. Your rifle, your paws, these are tools you need to complete your act, and you must take care of the tools. If you don't do it for yourself, then do it for Meridian. She deserves that much, surely?" The fox tsked at him, flicking ash onto the ground. The coyote bit his lip, blushing.

"You're right I guess." Fletcher admitted, hating that it was true. "It just didn't seem that big of an issue." He looked at his bandaged paw, flexing his fingers.

"Don't be foolish now. Understood?"

"I'll try." The coyote replied bashfully. Aloysius was softer than the others, gentle in an older kind of way. He was only thirty, yet he gave off the air of an experienced academic or scholar; Fletcher found it incredibly difficult to imagine him up on stage twirling swords about.

Before either could go on, a husky voice cried out in the next room, shouting wordlessly. Fletcher stood quickly, stepping into the adjoining tent and kneeling next to Thume's writhing form, his brow furrowing. The goat's lips moved as if he were trying to speak, his eyelids fluttering manically.

"Is he awake?" Aloysius asked conversationally, stepping in behind Fletcher and rounding the cot. Thume had been unconscious since getting shot, and while the medic claimed he would be fine, Fletcher had heard him admit to Miss Meridian that two days of sleep was abnormally long.

"No I don't think so." The coyote replied, eyeing the old goat. "Thume, can you hear me?" Thume convulsed minutely, making a weird kind of barking noise from behind clenched teeth. He laid shirtless, Aloysius's bandaging wrapped expertly around his midsection. Fletcher had been surprised at just how many old scars and tears there were on the goat's chest, and had made a mental note to bring them up some time. "Does he do this a lot?"

"Sort of, I'll admit this is the most animated I've seen him." Aloysius said, scribbling notes in a tiny journal. "But the nonsense mumbling isn't new."

"Maybe he's in pain." Fletcher said, staring at the bandage as if he could perceive the damage that laid beneath. Before either he or Aloysius could do anything further though, Thume's eyes shot open.

A hand snapped up and yanked on Fletcher's collar, pulling it tight. "Bring them back." Thume hissed.

"What?" Fletcher exclaimed, his heartbeat racing.

"Whoa, whoa..." Aloysius said, shoving his journal aside and rushing to Fletcher's side. "Thume, hey Thume can you hear me?" He snapped his fingers before the goat's eyes, which although open seemed focused on nothing.

"Back I say!" Thume continued. "I'm not forgiving you, and I won't lock your fucking door, just get out! Fuck your rules, I'm trapped, and I'm alone...I don't care! Bring them back!" He bared his teeth, releasing Fletcher and falling limp onto the cot, limbs moving sporadically, his head drifting listlessly from side to side.

"Are you alright?" Aloysius asked Fletcher, who nodded. "What is that about? Does it mean anything to you?"

"I have no idea." He answered.

"Has he lost anyone? Does he have family members he may be thinking of?" Aloysius asked impatiently, trying to lay his fingers on Thume's neck.

"No, no family."

"Circulation." Thume gasped. "The way I see myself, so simple, so small. Please. I've finally locked the doors, the prying hands claw, I'm not a memory, they're not a memory...You're not my memory." The goat's body curled up into the foetal position, shivering.

"Damnation, he's going to tear those stitches! Fletcher please step back." Aloysius ordered, retrieving a syringe and filling it with a yellowy liquid.

"Rebirth. Resuscitate." Thume murmured, eyes squeezed tightly shut. "Send me back, bring them back. Liquid horizon, bleeding gospel shimmering. I'm not guilty - please, it's not my fault. What did you do?!" His hands clenched tightly into fists as he growled the final words, jerking harshly.

"Thume, you must try and relax! You're safe, this is a safe place." Aloysius said firmly, using his free paw to take hold of the goat's horns and hold his head still, slipping the needle into a throbbing vein on his neck and swiftly injecting. "Be still for me!"

Thume's voice dropped an octave as he read off random-sounding words, as if by rote. "Articulation. Speculation. Anatomy. Asymptotical regulation, incrassate velvet, chromatic aberration plummeting. Memory reflection Grade-S; bring them back. Bring...them...back." His words trailed off into blank sounds, head swaying from side to side as his eyes drifted shut and he went still.

Fletcher stood with his mouth open, panting. He knew Thume could say weird stuff sometimes, but that was a totally different level. He'd never seen anything like it.

"What in all of this poisoned earth was that?" Aloysius asked, wiping at his brow for effect.

"I wish I could tell you." He replied. "Is he okay?"

"Oh he'll be fine. I've seen these kind of fits before, normally though they tend to call out the names of loved ones, or ask questions they had years ago, talk to their mothers. That was...odd. I don't know what half those words even mean."

"Me neither." Fletcher said.

"Well." The fox exclaimed. "Your paw is wrapped, he's asleep and will be for a while, maybe you should go find something to eat. I'll keep an eye on this one for the moment, you go and relax son." Fletcher nodded, exhaling.

"You'll come get me if anything happens?"

"I will. But rest assured he'll be just fine." Aloysius replied gracefully. Thume had been lucky, the bullet that hit him had not only missed any vital organs in his stomach, it had also punched straight through him. He'd lost a lot of blood and that caused him to go into shock and pass out, but once two hours of frantic surgery had passed he'd been in the clear.

So why won't he wake up? Old gods damn it. Fletcher thought, shaking his head and leaving the tent. It was about two hours past noon, and by the time he made his way to the stew pot in the centre of the crew designated camping area, most of the food was gone. Still, there was just enough left for a bowl or two, so Fletcher scooped himself a modest helping and retrieved a piece of bread, taking a seat on a log nearby.

The circus show had been delayed by three days due to the gunfight, but it was mostly for emotional recovery. Excluding the holes left in the tents by stray bullets, the rest of the clean-up had been rather quick. Lyric had disposed of the bodies somewhere, and washed away the blood with buckets of water and a few barrows of fresh soil.

He seemed so accomplished and capable, the opposite to Fletcher. For the coyote's entire life, he'd felt like a passenger, resigned to watching things happen to him like some prop.

But if he was a passive being, then Lyric was the reverse. The tailless jackal gave the impression he only did something if he wanted, and that nobody could really stop him. He probably allowed Meridian to order him around, because who was gonna get in his way if he decided otherwise? Fletcher hated violence, and the idea of someone dying by his paw made him feel sick, and yet...where had the law been when his father had beaten him? Or made him stand naked outside as an eleven-year-old, because he'd knocked over some old statue? That can't have been right, it certainly wasn't just. Everyone knew Baron Ablish beat his wife, just like everyone knew Baron Fulbright whipped his help, but nobody did anything about it, despite knowing it was wrong. Lyric did things. Someone had been kidnapping and killing people in Callisto in what Fletcher imagined the most awful ways, but instead of trying to ignore it like every other person...he went and fixed it.

It was a challenging admiration, because it conflicted with Fletcher's values. He knew intellectually vigilantism was wrong, but at the same time it felt right. And when he'd been petitioning Miss Meridian, Lyric had jumped in right after he said he liked boys...was he one of the few people that had a soft spot for his kind?

Maybe he was even that way himself?

Fletcher wondered what Lyric would have done in his place. Or what he would do if he knew about the things Baron Fulbright had done. He smiled sadly at the idea of introducing them, of telling his father everything he thought of him, and having Lyric--

"Er, 'scuse me?" The voice was gentle and almost feminine, yet it still made Fletcher jump, dropping his Lyric-daydream and bringing his eyes around to rest on Narem's narrow face, a look of concern in the leopard's eyes.

"Oh, hey." Fletcher said vacantly. "Sorry, I was somewhere else."

"I can see that." The leopard said. "You mind if I sit down then? Or...I should leave you to your fantasy?" Fletcher laughed.

"No it's fine." He said, shuffling over so there was room. He glanced around as the cat took a seat. "Where's Nobu?"

"Pfft." Narem scoffed. "We do not always travel together. Besides, perhaps I am Nobu, and you should be asking where is the other Raiji boy?" Fletcher rolled his eyes.

"I can tell from your voice." He said, looking to the black button up shirt on Narem, noting the rolled sleeves. "And you wear black."

"So some do notice. I worry occasionally the others see us as interchangeable." Narem said with a slight smile, glancing around. "How are you doing Fletcher? I heard Thume was screaming before? Is he still alright?" Fletcher sighed. It was true what they'd said in Rusten, the Midnight Meridian troupe was like a family, and they gossiped like one too.

"Yeah, he was still dreaming I think. I don't know. Aloysius said he'll be okay."

"Ah. He is a good medic."

"I haven't seen you in a while though, where have you been?" Fletcher asked, cocking his head. Narem sighed guiltily.

"Not that I always do, but I have been mostly accompanying my brother. He seems to very much like this new wedge-head girl. Been trying to seduce her I think."

"Did it work?"

"Well he's not here now is he?" Fletcher went red, gritting his teeth as Narem giggled. "I think they are just having a picnic perhaps. He told me not to come, so I'm here bothering people instead. First it was Brandon, then I tried to get Dope to do my future, but he sprayed water on me." Narem explained, gesturing with his paws. Brandon was a quiet Rottweiler, he had some kind of fire-related act in the auxiliary show, and was good friends with Lazarus - the bear who'd been yelled at by the bounty hunters. Dopesmoker was some kind of shaggy dog like creature, Fletcher wasn't certain exactly what. He wore a respirator permanently on his face, with tubes running down his front and sides to meet with a ventilation machine that was secured to the rear of his waist. Nobody knew his real name, and he told fortunes apparently. Fletcher had only seen him at night, shuffling about, his ventilator bubbling as it boiled something within; _probably_dope.

"That's very rude." Fletcher agreed.

"Thank you my friend, you are kind." Narem said, exhaling theatrically. "But I did want to ask if you are doing okay? I know it has been a stressful few days, and without Thume to lend your ear too..." He shrugged, and Fletcher scoffed.

"I'm alright." He replied sombrely.

Or at least I will be when he wakes up. He thought, regretting how he'd been neglecting the goat.

"You though, when those guys came in...weren't you scared?" Fletcher asked, cocking his head. "They all had guns, pretty nasty pack of mutts. Why did you come up to me if you knew I was the one they were after?" It was Narem's turn to blush now, glancing away.

"I am not much of a fighter, but I wanted you to be safe. Miss Meridian, she would have my ears if I abandoned one of our own. It was the least I could do." His face flushed deeper then, and he pulled his tail into his lap, fidgeting with it. "Also...maybe we owed you for getting you in trouble with Lyric."

"Ah, there it is." Fletcher said, grinning. "That reminds me, he still has my rifle, I need to go and get it back."

"Do you feel guilty those men died?" Narem asked suddenly, leaning closer. Fletcher paused, torn between two trains of thought.

He...didn't know if he did. He hadn't been thinking about it really, just ignoring the fact. Patrick and his gang weren't fully realised as people per se in his head. They were just a vague concept, their deaths a thing that had happened.

But they were people, people Lyric killed.

"They almost killed me. I surprised one of them and...if Lyric hadn't grabbed me, well I woulda been cut in half." He shivered, mind flitting back momentarily to the moment, Lyric pinning him down, so close to him that Fletcher could smell nothing but dirt and the jackal's weird musty smell. It was kind of salty, like rust or a coin, but also...rich? He didn't know. It was like sweat, but good.

Good? He blanched internally. What is wrong with you?

"Lyric is good." Narem nodded. "We all have stories about him, ha." He laughed, face going distant.

"And what's yours?"

"Oh it is not so exciting." Narem exclaimed, waving a paw. "I...I hope you will not judge me too harshly Fletcher, but I," He paused, looking away. "I have bad habits."

"Like what?" The leopard glanced down at his tail, wringing it tightly in his paws.

"I like to drink, and sometimes do other things." He shrugged. "Nobu does not approve. But when I get out of myself, I make little mistakes. We were in a small town once - called Famine, in the Ailen Province, and just passing through like we did Rusten. Famine is a town of old thinking people, and I forgot to watch myself; I ended up going to bed with the wrong person that night. I woke with him to six angry horses trying to kick down my door and string me up by my spots." He laughed nervously. "I was lucky that Lyric had been sent into town for me, Nobu told him I had made a fool of myself. I was being dragged out of the hotel, my bed mate nowhere to be found. I thought...they were going to kill me." He stopped, staring at the ground.

"And...did Lyric...kill them?" Fletcher asked hesitantly. Narem looked up sharply at that, eyes wide.

"Oh my, no-no. No guns were used thankfully. He didn't say anything at all, that was perhaps the strangest part. The six horses - all related I think, maybe - they kept jeering. The fight began when our jester walked right up to them and punched one in the throat. Then he fought the other five, I had never seen something like it."

"This...this can't be true." Fletcher said, meaning to think it but instead saying it aloud. Aloysius wasn't joking when he said everyone had a story about Lyric. "You can't fight five people at once, no matter who you are."

"They were very stupid Fletcher. Kept going after him one at a time, and most were fat or old or both, took a breeze to knock them down really." Narem stopped, whistling. "Lyric does not like me very much I think, but I do respect him, even if he has less charisma than a wet blanket. Everyone here thought we would be together, but that is just a pipe dream I think." Fletcher blinked, somewhat reeling from the bombardment of revelations.

"First Aloysius and now you." He murmured. "Does he do anything besides fight people?"

"Sometimes he juggles." Narem said, grinning. Fletcher laughed at that, standing with his now-empty bowl in paw.

"I should go talk to him I suppose." Fletcher said.

"Yes, that is probably wise." Narem replied, standing and offering a paw. "I can take that if you are going."

"Cheers." Fletcher said, handing the bowl over. "Thanks. It was...nice to chat actually."

"You too Fletcher. We are friends for a reason." Narem said, turning on his heel and walking away.

Swallowing his nerves, Fletcher delved back into the twisting labyrinth that was the camp. Lyric's tent was tucked away in the back near the supply wagons, tactfully out of sight of everyone else. As he passed by Brandon, Lazarus, Clementine, and Jenny he gave them each a nervous wave. The gestures were all returned, but he couldn't shake the feeling of shame, both at putting them in danger and - more ridiculously - the idea of skulking back to Lyric to beg for his rifle.

Drinking with it had been astoundingly stupid, and he had promised himself he'd never do it again. Even though it was likely the other crew members had no idea what exactly he was doing, he still felt the embarrassment clawing at him.

He paused at the corner that led to Lyric's secluded tent, inhaling deeply and trying to swallow his pride, imagining what he'd say. 'Sorry for nearly killing someone'. Or maybe 'Promise not to shoot things when drunk again'. Either way he was probably going to get chewed out again. As he turned the corner however he discovered it was all moot, since Lyric wasn't currently in his tent.

Where the hell is he? Fletcher wondered. The damn jackal spent almost all day either reading or working out. The chances of him not being there seemed so slim! Just let me apologise and grovel, you bastard.

"Hello?" He called gently, hoping maybe he was hiding or something. When there was no response, the coyote stuffed his paws into his pockets and approached the open front. It was weird looking at Lyric's stuff with no one about, felt almost like a violation - but it was right there, couldn't be anything too private, surely. Biting his bottom lip, Fletcher stepped inside. His rifle was resting at the back of the tent, but the idea taking it felt...wrong. Besides, who knew what Lyric would do when he discovered he'd squirmed out of his apology? He looked around the modest space, taking it in. It was neat-ish, a small cot with a sleeping bag, a tiny desk with a pile of worn books and a chair, a small stack of hats and gloves and scarf-like fabrics.

It took him a minute of nosing to realise that the weird scent in the air was the same one he'd inhaled when Lyric pinned him down. It was tangy and a little stale, but it was definitely Lyric's smell. A quick examination informed Fletcher that it was coming from the small pile of used laundry at the end of the cot; just a few clothes that had been discarded at the end of a day.

He felt a...weird stirring then. It began in his stomach, but tingled up through his chest and through his arms, his limbs trembling ever so slightly. Inside his jeans he felt his sheath stir, groin muscles tightening in place as he felt a slight rush of arousal.

It was a feeling he sort of recognised, from those days he'd caught guys changing as a teenager, the kind of twitching in himself that made him initially realise he in fact did not like girls. Glancing around hesitantly, Fletcher went to one knee and put his paws on the laundry, feeling a heady rush as his did so. It felt so forbidden, and it would be a lie to say that thought didn't excite him even more. Shaking, Fletcher picked up a shirt and held it to his face, inhaling deeply as he buried his nose under the sleeve.

Inside his jeans, his dick went from interested to hard. He let out a sigh, shuddering just a little as he inhaled the sweat stained underarms again. There were distant feelings of disgust, but they were easily drowned out by the sheer taboo nature of it all. He imagined Lyric's broad chest sweating in this, pinning him down, the scent overpowering. He let out his breath, head swimming.

Ah. He thought, staring at the laundry. Beneath the sweaty shirt he was holding in his paws, a pair of black briefs had revealed themselves. Fletcher had never done anything so brazen, and he wished he could stop his paws from trembling so much.

Tentatively, he reached down to the underwear and picked it up, feeling the fabric in his fingers. He imagined Lyric slipping these one, them supporting his sheath and...

Fletcher pushed the underwear to his nose, inhaling again. This smell was a lot like the one before, except saltier and far more potent. He could feel himself leaking precum in his jeans, and was suddenly painfully aware of the fact he hadn't 'relieved himself' in almost a week. With the underwear pressed into his face, Fletcher slipped a paw behind his waistband, squeezing the tip of his dick, the precum making his underwear damp and slick. Groaning softly, he stroked himself slowly, breathing in the smell again. He imagined Lyric, sans pants, rubbing his crotch into Fletcher's face, a paw on the back of his head shoving him deeper into that heady scent.

He began to pick up speed when a voice sounded from somewhere behind him.

"Lyric?!" Fletcher froze suddenly. He looked behind him and couldn't see anyone, his heart pounding. Quickly readjusting his cock, he stood, shoving the stolen shirt and underwear beneath his flannel shirt and stepping out. He found Lazarus standing there, a confused look on his face.

"You're not Lyric." The bear said stupidly. Fletcher blushed deeply, feeling as if Laz could surely tell what was going on.

"Er, no." He said. "I was just...just um, just looking for him s'all. He's not here though."

"Oh. Right." Lazarus said, nodding. "You know where he is? Or when he'll be back?"

"Nope. Sorry." Fletcher squeaked, his whole face burning.

"Damn it. Nobody's seen him since yesterday, where the hell'd he get off to?" Fletcher shrugged, his erection twitching.

"I don't know, but I gotta get back y'know." He smiled awkwardly, shuffling uncomfortably past the bear, his stomach in a knot. As soon as he was past he turned away and walked away as fast as he could, making it back to his own tent out of breath, and stashing the stolen clothes beneath his own cot.