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In all Chaos, there is Calculation.


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Whitley Wyatt

Isle of Rum; a very long time ago.

The Inner Hebrides were as unforgiving as the desert of her homeland; perhaps even more so, but a little danger never would stop her from traipsing into the unknown. Not when it promised so much more in the long run; not when the potential for this little island would bring her so much joy.

Until the day she ran out of things to promise and steal away; or the pitiful happiness she gifted when the moon was high, turned to ash by the light of day.

Now she had a problem.

She was bored.

When you carried the soul of someone something as old as time, boredom was not an unusual aspect of everyday; most days the petite woman could find something that would vanquish the humdrum moments, but lately it had become few and far between. To be fair, when she decided on this remote isle in Scotland, the woman thought that with so few people that the chaos she could bring would quench the thirst for chaos and blood…

Oh, how she had been so very wrong.

This poor village of crofters and fisherman; they lived happily, simply. Off their land and catch; they didn’t want or need for much. Not until she showed up.

It was different then.

With a beast among them.

Though, there were times that this cursed land was a blessing; no one thought twice now that the days of witch hunting were over, at seeing the raven-haired woman walking alone at night, muttering to herself. No one thought it odd to see someone out in the moors underneath the moonlit sky, speaking to someone that clearly wasn’t there. For all the eccentricities in the small town, this was nothing; however, because of these small oddities that a number of the original inhabitants and those that had traveled to the island possessed; it definitely made it difficult to always stir up trouble.

At first; it was a smile, a whimsical glance, a giggle.
Or just a simple chat, a warm drink.
Fun turned to uncertainty.
Laughter turned to screams.

Confusion and chaos; death, death, and more death.

Now it was terribly lackluster life; everyone that was someone was tainted by her touch.

Or in the cold, unforgiving ground.

And now she craved more. Needed more.

So, what could a creature person do that lived for the moments that derailed lives?

No one could ever accuse her of half-assed shenanigans.

It was a great time for travel.

Possibly somewhere warmer.

Perhaps… home.

With some stories to tell along the way.
February 10, 2021 05:56 pm

Whitley Wyatt

London, December 1920s; Bertram Mills Circus

Still not home, but travel south, she did.

Madame Zyanya. She was not the usual attraction for the circus and while it was true that she did dabble with the dance in flight; the aerobatics were not her forte. No, that was wrong, she was spectacular, but flying above the crowds, basting in their adoration didn’t get the Nagual what she craved.

The lovely fortune teller that had joined the Bertram Mills Circus just before they travelled back to London for their annual Christmas event; now, she had the wily ways that could create chaos through that trickery that was part of her now.

Now, Naguals were neither good nor evil; but could choose to use their abilities for either one; and for this one, after so many decades on this earth, good had become something of a tribulation for her.

And evil seemed like too much of a commitment.

Chaos. Now, with it there could be good, evil, and neutral; she enjoyed the disarray, the pandamonium. Pushing pawns one way or another, just to see their reactions, to see the turmoil or joy(it was rare, but she wasn’t always a monster) brought to lives otherwise teeming with boredom.

Or it was she that was bored.

One could never tell when surrounded by such acts as the Fakir or Human Cannonball or the skads of wild animal acts that the circus was brimming with; she was fascinated by them, by what the common man would never associate with but to view these freaks as some kind of entertainment, was perfectly fine. Though, this was a different time, even Lords were becoming associated with this circus, so it certainly made it okay to travel with one now; it was just tragic that these people had no idea what was in store for them when they stepped into the darkness of a tented area outside the purview of the main stage.

Tucked inside of her special little area filled with curiosities that neither held magic or could, as far as she was concerned, predict the future; the little fortune teller could weave her stories, push unsuspecting clients into things that they’d never dream about. It was barely a nudge, really.

Anyone that ventured beneath the burgundy velvet, well, they were here for one reason or another; they wanted their futures told. They wanted to know if they were making right choices.
Or if they truly had the heart of their beau.
Those were the best ones.

The hesitant women that were lurking at the entrance, they wouldn’t be any different than the ones who had trod many nights in the very same spot they stood; it wouldn’t be until her voice, high and clear with hints of an exotic land faraway, rang out, bidding them closer.

Welcoming them into the lion’s den; Owl, same difference.

It’s not like she picked her spirit animal; everyone else were jaguars.

She was just a smart bird.

Tricky, tricky bird.

“Come, sit. What can Zyanya tell you, toot wakax?” She might have sounded lovely, even the language of her people calm and sweetly stated; despite the fact that she had just called someone a fat cow, that doesn’t matter. What really mattered was making anyone that walked through her shrouded doorway, curtainway, feel just as comfortable as she did. Granted… it wasn’t like she had anything to worry about within her space.

The story would be one the petite woman had heard before; besotted and unsure. Does he love me? Will it last? Should I have to worry at all hours of the night over where he is and who he is with?

Love was for the birds.
Not this bird. Other birds.

It was the perfect setup; one that the Mayan was beginning to find repetitive, at best.

A clucking of her tongue, a bit mother hen-ish and the mutterings of grim tidings would whisper between the two; it was too easy.

“Oh dear. Oh my. I do not wish to upset you.” Trite, emotionless words. “You should go, you should find him. Question him. It is quite...terrible.”

In the confusion, the frenzy of trying to get out of the makeshift room; no one would have ever noticed the slip of a woman taking an unseen back exit to take flight in the starless sky. This was something she could not miss, it would be pointless to push the maelstrom of turmoil and not be witness to it.

It wasn’t like anyone would ever notice a mottled owl, out of place, in a country it didn’t belong.

It was simple to follow the distressed woman; knocking into other circus goers, being called out for pushing, rushing, clearly in an upheaval from the tragic news she received from the great Madame Zyanya. Of course, being in flight, the owl would never notice the haunted look in the madwoman’s eyes; something she probably could have picked up on if she had actually been a fortune teller.

She was not very good at that job.

It wasn’t until low hum of arguing turned into volatile spurts of angst-laden shouts that the owl would find her perch and with those wide eyes turned to a small loft with a singular miniscule window that no one, even a tricky little shapeshifter, could see into. But hear; oh yes, she could still hear every accusation, every insane word and the longer the commotion went on, the happier the little bird was.

Until there were two very loud bangs, bright lights and then the appearance of those that dealt in law and order; well, this would be a very big ‘oh shit’ moment.

When the woman was carted out of the tiny flat screaming that the fortune teller told her to do it; well, this would be the last time Madame Zyanya would set foot in London.

The entire United Kingdom, for that matter.

She would take her chances a little closer to home.

A place that big, well, it would be far easier to disappear; and disappear is exactly what she did.

For a time...
February 22, 2021 02:01 pm
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