FicWad

I sat in my large tent, the gold and red swirls seemed to attracting my attention more than my friend Mr. Sandman, who was begging me to come with him to town on a stupid agreement we made several years ago.
“Please Brendon.” he whined in a high voice and perching himself on my desk. “We had an agreement! Please come to town, I’m sure we could find a scrawny boy who’d be good for becoming your assistant.”
“And by assistant you mean traveling fuck, right?” I noted.
“Come on Brendon, please? I want a new one, a girl this time, with blonde hair and … glasses!”
“Fine” I sighed; irritated by his ass of an idea. My god; make one stupid agreement with this guy, when you’re drunk and you pay for it the rest of your life. “We’ll go to a bar or, maybe in your case, a library,”
Believe it or not, finding a new fuck buddy for Mr. Sandman wasn’t a challenging job at all. Despite his detailed and specific list of qualities he wanted, there was a wide range of girls he could pick from. He said he felt like a kid in a candy store, which I thought was a little perverted.
A poor girl, by name of Katherine, was the lucky son of a gun that Mr. Sandman chose.
“She seems… smart.” He justified and I hummed sarcastically; caring so little that I couldn’t even fake it. “Right, your turn.” He beamed.
Once again, a frustrated sigh fell from my lips and I allowed my eyes to trail to a small corner of the bar; spotting a young man, in dark jeans and a vibrant shirt, standing awkwardly behind the glasses and taps. He’d occasionally fix the hair that fell over his eyes, to a place behind his ear- or try to. It was a rich caramel color; almost good enough to eat. I decided almost instantly that this thin, discomfited figure was the perfect fit for the job. Mr. Sandman could see my staring at the bartender and took it upon himself to waltz over to him, introducing himself with a brisk hand shake and leaving me with his new assistant.
I watched Mr. Sandman as he coaxed the frail bartender into conversation; soothingly proposing a job. I was always jealous of his charm, secretly. He returned moments later, shaking his head and on the cusp of laughter.
“No-go man.” He told me simply, but my eyes had wandered back to the, now frustrated, man behind the bar; wiping the inside of a glass clean with a grubby cloth. Suddenly, a man called out.
“Oi faggot!” Cried the arrogant, and not to mention wasted, man seated in a booth not too far from the bar, chucking an empty pint glass. It flew towards the barman’s head, but, luckily, he ducked just in time for it to skim his head and smash against a wall. There was a chorus of laugher, as he stretched his neck up and peaked over the bar; making sure that there were no more glasses being sent his way. Anger bubbled in me for a moment; I hated this town and frankly, I couldn’t wait to leave with that gorgeous bartender.
Because I would.
I walked down the streets; mesmerized by the snow that falling softly and crunching lightly, under my feet. It was, truly, a blissful time. Then I heard it; the unmistakable rustling of the trash bags, filled with beer bottles, being dumped into a metal can behind the building. The sound of the beautifully awkward bartender returning to his job and closing the fire exit behind him, should have followed, but instead, to my surprise it didn’t. Instead, the sound of company followed after him.
I’d swiveled round on the spot, just in time to see the first hit being landed; right in the bartender’s tender stomach and knocking the wind out of him. He keels over and staggers back a few paces; shock and surprise taking over him. A second person delivered a blow to his, now venerable, jaw, which knocks his balance completely and he tumbles to the ground.
And this is where I stepped in.
“Gentlemen,” I began, as I walked out of the shadows. They stared in wonderment at my outfit; the red/black checkered top hat, red jacket and glinting brass buttons. All five began to sneer and seeing I was carrying a black, what seemed to be, perfectly normal ballpoint cane, spurred them on. Not for long of course. My temper has always been subtle; I’ve always had a talent for hiding just how bubbling my blood is when I’m angry. With the handle of the cane in one hand, and the arm in the other, I began to pull the thing apart, revealing the sharp and beautifully crafted, two foot long blade attached to the ballpoint. I shifted my weight onto it; allowing the tip to sink into the snow a little and leant forward. One arm balanced across the ball, the other balancing on me, vertically, to hold my head as I smiled menacingly. The bartender could do nothing but watch, in fear and amazement, as the moonlight shimmered and bounced off the sword; my beauty.
“Now,” I began, in my introductory voice. “For my first trick, I shall kill all of you in one movement.”
I waited. I didn’t need to wait long; the men were skipping down the street, practically in tears within seconds.
I removed my hands from the sword and watched it remain stationary; balancing in the thick snow for a moment, before swaying a little. With one small tap, it tipped over, falling towards the bartender. In his nervous, sweating hands, he caught the well-crafted wooden, painted handle. He looked at me and let out a shaky breath.
“Are you going to kill me?” He asked, looking up at me with big, puppy-dog eyes.
“No, I want to offer you a job.” I tell him, plainly. “I want you as my assistant, at my circus.”
“You were- with the man from the bar, earlier?”
“Yes, what do you think of my proposal?”
The bartender glanced back at the black gravel, the footprints of the five men had been standing, had made.
“Okay.” He accepted, still staring at the spaces in the ground. I twist a hand out to catch his.
“My name is Brendon, and you?”
“Ryan.” He told me, taking my hand and allowing me to guide him to his feet.
“Well then, Ryan, you’ll come away with me tonight, we have a lot of rules to establish.”