Fic: Blue Bottles
Title: Blue Bottles
Author: alex_caligari
Beta: jellybean728
Characters/Pairings: Rose/Nine
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Puppets firmly attached to strings of BBC.
Summary: When a person can always change their face, how well can you ever know them?
Author's Notes: AU inspired by the photos below. Heavy fluff.
He wandered into the tent, intrigued and slightly bemused at the people that swirled around him. He was only passing through and already bored with watching the walls of his room, and decided to investigate the source of all the noise and light on the edge of town. It was a circus, or what passed for a circus. Posters that proclaimed such wonders as The World’s Largest Contortionist and The Three-Handed Pianist were pinned up, and barkers stood outside trying to draw in new customers. Some attractions were the typical grotesque, freak show fare, but one had caught his eye.
The poster was covered in faces; young, old, light skin, dark skin, blonde, brunette, but all female. In the centre was a young woman with one brown eye and one blue. Her gaze was intense and inviting, and he found himself studying it closely. She was billed simply as Mirage. He had walked into the tent in the hopes of seeing what her act would be.
So here he was, packed in with the crowd, surrounded by the smells of food and beings, and waiting in a darkened tent for a cheap performance. The ringleader stepped out into the arena, and the crowd fell silent.
“Ladies, gentlemen, and other seekers of quality entertainment, you have all seen examples of what the twisted nature of the universe can produce. But now, for your pleasure, we would like to offer you someone whom the universe has decided to bless. One who has travelled far and wide, always wandering and never leaving a trace behind her. The woman with a thousand faces, and behind every face a broken heart. Please welcome Mirage, The Mistress of Disguise!”
The crowd burst into applause, cheers, and catcalls as the lights dimmed and music streamed from the band. The woman from the poster emerged from behind a curtain, wearing something black and glitzy, and began to dance. It matched the sensuality of the music, but this was clearly more than a striptease. She had several masks with her, and on every spin would put a new one on. She was quick and lithe, and completely bewitching.
Slowly he realized that she had done away with the masks altogether, and that it was her face that was changing. She was a shape shifter, and a very good one at that. Every transition was fluid and graceful; as the music sped up, she became bolder. Her hair, short and light at first, now fell in thick black tresses. He was close enough to see her eyes shift from bright green to deep purple. The band became bawdier, and there was no subtly left in her movements. She started approaching the crowd, teasing them with different body types and shapes. When she finally drew close to him, she had blue skin and hair the colour of a storm-tossed ocean. She stared at him with ice blue eyes to match his own.
“You, sir, are new here,” she said.
Shifting a little under the sudden gaze of the crowd, he answered, “A bit, yeah.”
“And what brings you, a stranger, to the circus?” She raised her voice to carry over the music. She turned and smirked at him, daring him to come up with a clever answer.
He smiled in return, happy to oblige. “Why, all the beautiful people, of course.”
“And have you found what you were looking for?” she asked, still speaking to the crowd.
“I’ve found them all in one person, right here.”
She leaned closer, dropping her voice, and finally spoke directly to him. “I don’t think you are who you say you are.”
He leaned forward as well, challenging her in return to be the first to pull away. “You would know all about that, wouldn’t you?”
She blinked, smiled, and leaned in suddenly to kiss him on the cheek. The crowd whooped and hollered. Before he could react she had whirled away to taunt the other spectators. Her show ended soon after, and she disappeared behind the curtain.
He wanted to see her again.
It wasn’t hard, really. He waited outside the tent as the crowd dispersed, and a quick lie was all that was needed to find the performer’s personal tents around the back. Hers was tucked under the shadow of the woods. Yellow light shone from under the canvas flap, and he hesitated outside, unsure how to announce his presence. It turned out to be a moot point as she called out softly, “I know you’re out there. You might as well come inside.”
He pushed aside the flap and stopped at the sight that greeted him. Dozens, maybe hundreds of glass bottles decorated her tent, all filled with liquid and reflecting the light from the lanterns she had lit. It took a moment for him to spot her, sitting in front of a mirror half-hidden by a trunk.
“When you walked in this tent, what did you expect?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “What did you expect when you invited me in?”
She looked at him, eyes still the same blue as before, but hair and skin a more average colour. “I don’t know,” she said. “You don’t look like the usual kind of sleaze to wander in here.”
He felt a strange pity at the expectation in her voice. “What’s your real name?” he asked.
She paused, considering whether or not to tell him. “Lily,” she said finally. “Who are you?”
“It’s complicated,” he responded.
“Sum up.”
“I’m a traveller,” he said, shrugging.
“Then you’re homeless.”
“I’m a writer.”
“Then you’re lonely.”
“I’m a teacher.”
“Then you’re seeking something.”
“And who are you, who knows me so well?” he asked, smiling.
She tossed her hair, more to emphasize her point than to brush it out of her face. “I’m a performer.”
“Then you see the truth,” he said.
“I guess I do.” She rose and stood before him, challenging him as she did before. “And what do you want to see?”
He smiled at the game they were playing. “What do you want to show me?”
She smiled back, knowing and coy. “The truth.” Her eyes darkened to a rich brown that glittered in the lamplight. Her skin became pinker and her hair lost its inky tone to become a light yellow. Subtle changes in her body made her shorter, rounder, softer. She looked familiar yet alien.
“Is this my truth, or yours?” he asked. He enjoyed the game and wanted to keep it up.
“Do you drink, traveller?” she asked suddenly.
It caught him off guard. “I guess so.”
She walked over to a shelf full of bottles. “You seem very unsure of yourself. I thought I was the one who was supposed to have an identity crisis.”
“You don’t?”
“Just because I change the outside doesn’t mean the inside changes as well.”
He laughed as she handed him a blue bottle. “I suppose not.” He sniffed at the liquid. “What’s this?”
“Voodoo juice,” she answered, eyes wide with mischief. He looked at her sceptically, but she didn’t say anything more. He slowly raised the bottle to his lips. She watched the movement closely.
The liquid tasted spicy as it ran down his throat, but didn’t burn as he expected. “Am I going to get kidnapped by the circus now?”
“Can you do any tricks?” she asked, taking the bottle and drinking.
“I could juggle. Maybe. I could learn. Or I could just clean up after the elephants. Every circus needs an elephant man.”
“We don’t have any elephants.” She took his hand and led him to the back of the tent. A few armchairs and a divan were there, and they sat down together.
“Then you should get some. Every elephant man needs an elephant.” He glanced around at the chairs. “Are you expecting company?”
“No, but I like to entertain guests sometimes.”
“Oh.”
She looked sharply at him. “I am a woman who can change her face, nothing more. Don’t be making assumptions about me.”
“I wouldn’t have to if you would tell me about yourself.” He could feel the liquid taking effect, making his vision blur. It must have been stronger than he thought, because the face in front of him was not the one he had been looking at. Her eyes had changed again, to a strange golden yellow.
She must have noticed him staring, as she leaned in and asked, “What do you see?”
“Your eyes are beautiful,” he said. “And terrifying. What am I supposed to see?”
“It allows you to see the whole of a person, not only one side. At least that’s what it was advertised as.”
She gazed at the bottles surrounding them. “I’ve always been disappointed.”
He studied his hands. The blood in his veins was hot and glowing. “You’ve drugged me.”
“It’s nothing dangerous,” she said as she lifted the bottle to her lips again.
He watched her, feeling relaxed and lazy, yet excited. He sensed that this was not the usual routine. “What do you want to see?” he asked.
“An escape.”
“Why?”
She leaned towards him, close enough that he could smell the spice on her breath. “Did you ever want something else? No matter where you were, you would look up at the stars and realize that there’s always another place to go. You always want to run there.”
“You want to run away from the circus,” he said flatly.
She stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. The sound was delightful and infectious, and soon they were both clutching themselves and gasping.
“I never thought of it like that,” she said as she wiped her eyes.
“You could always make yourself ugly,” he offered.
She rolled her eyes, still burning gold. “That’s like faking a limp to get out of a race. Everyone knows it’s a ruse.”
“So what keeps you tied here?” The bottle was half empty now; he wondered if he should be concerned about that. But then she spoke and it didn’t seem to matter that much.
“What keeps anyone anywhere? You get used to it, bogged down with bottles and shows and pay. And you don’t realize it until it’s too late.”
“How many bottles have you gone through?”
She looked at him, and even through the brightness of her eyes he could see her confusion.
“I’m not naive,” he said. “You’ve wanted to escape for a long time, and you want someone to escape with, or to, or from. You ask people here and give them this ‘voodoo juice’ and see if they’ll be what you need. Why don’t you just leave?”
Her eyes flared brighter and she straightened. “It’s so easy for some people,” she said. “You called yourself a traveller; you can just wander off whenever you feel like it.”
“It’s never easy to leave; some times are harder than others.” She stared him down and for the first time he looked away. “You don’t need to be a victim, Lily,” he murmured.
They sat in silence, the easy companionship of earlier dissipating in the warm air of her tent. He wanted to say something to her, to make her see that walking away was both the easiest and hardest thing she would ever do in her life. In the distance a pipe played a lively tune. It made the silence between them even more grating.
“Bloody Geoff,” she muttered.
“Listen,” he began, “I didn’t mean to sound callous before. About leaving, like it’s nothing...”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not, I just want to-“
“It’s fine, I said.”
The bottle was now empty and he held it up to the light. The blue glass swirled in his palm and hummed against his skin.
“Three.”
He turned back to her. “What?”
“That’s how many bottles I’ve gone through. Three. The first was on a young man who thought he knew how the whole world worked. The second said he was blind to my face and any changes it made. The third brought me here and promised me fame. They were all wrong.”
“So what does that make me?”
She smiled wanly. “The man who tricks girls into talking too much and chases the stars.”
He smiled back. “Stars are boring. Chasing them is what makes it fun,” he said, and reached out slowly towards her. She made no move to stop him, and he gently cupped her cheek. “And what’s the point of chasing them with no one to share it with?”
Her eyes sparkled at the continuation of their game and suddenly she was in his arms, pressed tightly against him. He held on to her just as strongly, and her lips met his. He tasted spice and skin and fiery gold and salty ocean, and was amazed that he wasn’t burned from the heat of her. They held the kiss for a long moment, neither quite knowing how it happened but not wanting to disrupt it. Finally she breathed deeply and pulled away.
“What truth do you see?” she asked.
“That you’re beautiful,” he said, “and terrifying.”
She grinned at him. “You, traveller, writer, teacher, tricker of girls and lover of stars, do you want to run away from the circus?”
“You don’t even know my name.”
“A name means nothing to a girl who can change her face.”
He opened his mouth to speak, and instead found himself kissing her again. It was slow and cautious, still unsure of its limits but knowing unquestioningly that it belonged. When he could speak again, he said, “Did I mention I pack light?”
In the morning, a dingy apartment in town was left empty with no one to pay the rent. The circus was in a panic because of a missing performer, and in the confusion no one noticed an empty blue bottle at the edge of the field.
Author: alex_caligari
Beta: jellybean728
Characters/Pairings: Rose/Nine
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Puppets firmly attached to strings of BBC.
Summary: When a person can always change their face, how well can you ever know them?
Author's Notes: AU inspired by the photos below. Heavy fluff.
He wandered into the tent, intrigued and slightly bemused at the people that swirled around him. He was only passing through and already bored with watching the walls of his room, and decided to investigate the source of all the noise and light on the edge of town. It was a circus, or what passed for a circus. Posters that proclaimed such wonders as The World’s Largest Contortionist and The Three-Handed Pianist were pinned up, and barkers stood outside trying to draw in new customers. Some attractions were the typical grotesque, freak show fare, but one had caught his eye.
The poster was covered in faces; young, old, light skin, dark skin, blonde, brunette, but all female. In the centre was a young woman with one brown eye and one blue. Her gaze was intense and inviting, and he found himself studying it closely. She was billed simply as Mirage. He had walked into the tent in the hopes of seeing what her act would be.
So here he was, packed in with the crowd, surrounded by the smells of food and beings, and waiting in a darkened tent for a cheap performance. The ringleader stepped out into the arena, and the crowd fell silent.
“Ladies, gentlemen, and other seekers of quality entertainment, you have all seen examples of what the twisted nature of the universe can produce. But now, for your pleasure, we would like to offer you someone whom the universe has decided to bless. One who has travelled far and wide, always wandering and never leaving a trace behind her. The woman with a thousand faces, and behind every face a broken heart. Please welcome Mirage, The Mistress of Disguise!”
The crowd burst into applause, cheers, and catcalls as the lights dimmed and music streamed from the band. The woman from the poster emerged from behind a curtain, wearing something black and glitzy, and began to dance. It matched the sensuality of the music, but this was clearly more than a striptease. She had several masks with her, and on every spin would put a new one on. She was quick and lithe, and completely bewitching.
Slowly he realized that she had done away with the masks altogether, and that it was her face that was changing. She was a shape shifter, and a very good one at that. Every transition was fluid and graceful; as the music sped up, she became bolder. Her hair, short and light at first, now fell in thick black tresses. He was close enough to see her eyes shift from bright green to deep purple. The band became bawdier, and there was no subtly left in her movements. She started approaching the crowd, teasing them with different body types and shapes. When she finally drew close to him, she had blue skin and hair the colour of a storm-tossed ocean. She stared at him with ice blue eyes to match his own.
“You, sir, are new here,” she said.
Shifting a little under the sudden gaze of the crowd, he answered, “A bit, yeah.”
“And what brings you, a stranger, to the circus?” She raised her voice to carry over the music. She turned and smirked at him, daring him to come up with a clever answer.
He smiled in return, happy to oblige. “Why, all the beautiful people, of course.”
“And have you found what you were looking for?” she asked, still speaking to the crowd.
“I’ve found them all in one person, right here.”
She leaned closer, dropping her voice, and finally spoke directly to him. “I don’t think you are who you say you are.”
He leaned forward as well, challenging her in return to be the first to pull away. “You would know all about that, wouldn’t you?”
She blinked, smiled, and leaned in suddenly to kiss him on the cheek. The crowd whooped and hollered. Before he could react she had whirled away to taunt the other spectators. Her show ended soon after, and she disappeared behind the curtain.
He wanted to see her again.
It wasn’t hard, really. He waited outside the tent as the crowd dispersed, and a quick lie was all that was needed to find the performer’s personal tents around the back. Hers was tucked under the shadow of the woods. Yellow light shone from under the canvas flap, and he hesitated outside, unsure how to announce his presence. It turned out to be a moot point as she called out softly, “I know you’re out there. You might as well come inside.”
He pushed aside the flap and stopped at the sight that greeted him. Dozens, maybe hundreds of glass bottles decorated her tent, all filled with liquid and reflecting the light from the lanterns she had lit. It took a moment for him to spot her, sitting in front of a mirror half-hidden by a trunk.
“When you walked in this tent, what did you expect?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “What did you expect when you invited me in?”
She looked at him, eyes still the same blue as before, but hair and skin a more average colour. “I don’t know,” she said. “You don’t look like the usual kind of sleaze to wander in here.”
He felt a strange pity at the expectation in her voice. “What’s your real name?” he asked.
She paused, considering whether or not to tell him. “Lily,” she said finally. “Who are you?”
“It’s complicated,” he responded.
“Sum up.”
“I’m a traveller,” he said, shrugging.
“Then you’re homeless.”
“I’m a writer.”
“Then you’re lonely.”
“I’m a teacher.”
“Then you’re seeking something.”
“And who are you, who knows me so well?” he asked, smiling.
She tossed her hair, more to emphasize her point than to brush it out of her face. “I’m a performer.”
“Then you see the truth,” he said.
“I guess I do.” She rose and stood before him, challenging him as she did before. “And what do you want to see?”
He smiled at the game they were playing. “What do you want to show me?”
She smiled back, knowing and coy. “The truth.” Her eyes darkened to a rich brown that glittered in the lamplight. Her skin became pinker and her hair lost its inky tone to become a light yellow. Subtle changes in her body made her shorter, rounder, softer. She looked familiar yet alien.
“Is this my truth, or yours?” he asked. He enjoyed the game and wanted to keep it up.
“Do you drink, traveller?” she asked suddenly.
It caught him off guard. “I guess so.”
She walked over to a shelf full of bottles. “You seem very unsure of yourself. I thought I was the one who was supposed to have an identity crisis.”
“You don’t?”
“Just because I change the outside doesn’t mean the inside changes as well.”
He laughed as she handed him a blue bottle. “I suppose not.” He sniffed at the liquid. “What’s this?”
“Voodoo juice,” she answered, eyes wide with mischief. He looked at her sceptically, but she didn’t say anything more. He slowly raised the bottle to his lips. She watched the movement closely.
The liquid tasted spicy as it ran down his throat, but didn’t burn as he expected. “Am I going to get kidnapped by the circus now?”
“Can you do any tricks?” she asked, taking the bottle and drinking.
“I could juggle. Maybe. I could learn. Or I could just clean up after the elephants. Every circus needs an elephant man.”
“We don’t have any elephants.” She took his hand and led him to the back of the tent. A few armchairs and a divan were there, and they sat down together.
“Then you should get some. Every elephant man needs an elephant.” He glanced around at the chairs. “Are you expecting company?”
“No, but I like to entertain guests sometimes.”
“Oh.”
She looked sharply at him. “I am a woman who can change her face, nothing more. Don’t be making assumptions about me.”
“I wouldn’t have to if you would tell me about yourself.” He could feel the liquid taking effect, making his vision blur. It must have been stronger than he thought, because the face in front of him was not the one he had been looking at. Her eyes had changed again, to a strange golden yellow.
She must have noticed him staring, as she leaned in and asked, “What do you see?”
“Your eyes are beautiful,” he said. “And terrifying. What am I supposed to see?”
“It allows you to see the whole of a person, not only one side. At least that’s what it was advertised as.”
She gazed at the bottles surrounding them. “I’ve always been disappointed.”
He studied his hands. The blood in his veins was hot and glowing. “You’ve drugged me.”
“It’s nothing dangerous,” she said as she lifted the bottle to her lips again.
He watched her, feeling relaxed and lazy, yet excited. He sensed that this was not the usual routine. “What do you want to see?” he asked.
“An escape.”
“Why?”
She leaned towards him, close enough that he could smell the spice on her breath. “Did you ever want something else? No matter where you were, you would look up at the stars and realize that there’s always another place to go. You always want to run there.”
“You want to run away from the circus,” he said flatly.
She stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. The sound was delightful and infectious, and soon they were both clutching themselves and gasping.
“I never thought of it like that,” she said as she wiped her eyes.
“You could always make yourself ugly,” he offered.
She rolled her eyes, still burning gold. “That’s like faking a limp to get out of a race. Everyone knows it’s a ruse.”
“So what keeps you tied here?” The bottle was half empty now; he wondered if he should be concerned about that. But then she spoke and it didn’t seem to matter that much.
“What keeps anyone anywhere? You get used to it, bogged down with bottles and shows and pay. And you don’t realize it until it’s too late.”
“How many bottles have you gone through?”
She looked at him, and even through the brightness of her eyes he could see her confusion.
“I’m not naive,” he said. “You’ve wanted to escape for a long time, and you want someone to escape with, or to, or from. You ask people here and give them this ‘voodoo juice’ and see if they’ll be what you need. Why don’t you just leave?”
Her eyes flared brighter and she straightened. “It’s so easy for some people,” she said. “You called yourself a traveller; you can just wander off whenever you feel like it.”
“It’s never easy to leave; some times are harder than others.” She stared him down and for the first time he looked away. “You don’t need to be a victim, Lily,” he murmured.
They sat in silence, the easy companionship of earlier dissipating in the warm air of her tent. He wanted to say something to her, to make her see that walking away was both the easiest and hardest thing she would ever do in her life. In the distance a pipe played a lively tune. It made the silence between them even more grating.
“Bloody Geoff,” she muttered.
“Listen,” he began, “I didn’t mean to sound callous before. About leaving, like it’s nothing...”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not, I just want to-“
“It’s fine, I said.”
The bottle was now empty and he held it up to the light. The blue glass swirled in his palm and hummed against his skin.
“Three.”
He turned back to her. “What?”
“That’s how many bottles I’ve gone through. Three. The first was on a young man who thought he knew how the whole world worked. The second said he was blind to my face and any changes it made. The third brought me here and promised me fame. They were all wrong.”
“So what does that make me?”
She smiled wanly. “The man who tricks girls into talking too much and chases the stars.”
He smiled back. “Stars are boring. Chasing them is what makes it fun,” he said, and reached out slowly towards her. She made no move to stop him, and he gently cupped her cheek. “And what’s the point of chasing them with no one to share it with?”
Her eyes sparkled at the continuation of their game and suddenly she was in his arms, pressed tightly against him. He held on to her just as strongly, and her lips met his. He tasted spice and skin and fiery gold and salty ocean, and was amazed that he wasn’t burned from the heat of her. They held the kiss for a long moment, neither quite knowing how it happened but not wanting to disrupt it. Finally she breathed deeply and pulled away.
“What truth do you see?” she asked.
“That you’re beautiful,” he said, “and terrifying.”
She grinned at him. “You, traveller, writer, teacher, tricker of girls and lover of stars, do you want to run away from the circus?”
“You don’t even know my name.”
“A name means nothing to a girl who can change her face.”
He opened his mouth to speak, and instead found himself kissing her again. It was slow and cautious, still unsure of its limits but knowing unquestioningly that it belonged. When he could speak again, he said, “Did I mention I pack light?”
In the morning, a dingy apartment in town was left empty with no one to pay the rent. The circus was in a panic because of a missing performer, and in the confusion no one noticed an empty blue bottle at the edge of the field.