s i n f u l c a r n i v a l. [open]

It seemed to be more of a Freak Show, if nothing else.

Children did not run about, for there was not a single person under the age of eighteen who attended this drunken party of misfits and freaks. Alcohol, drugs, and the like were all passed about from person to person. Women dressed in feathers and lingerie danced upon the rooftop of the single building with smiles, make-up almost dark and gothic, blowing those drunken fools below a kiss. Men and women gathered about in dancing, singing, and winning themselves prizes.

It was all sin and nothing else.

Britain could never be happier.

And with a plastic cup of beer in hand, he began his stroll though this abnormal Carnival. He had decided not to make a grand entrance. No, not today. Instead, he enjoyed the lovely scenery of flashing lights and people who had nothing better to do then drink away their sorrows. Watching the people was what he loved to do. He sauntered down the pathway towards the rather fast music that bellowed from the sound system of the grounds that hung upon the rooftops of the single massive building. His usual smirk lay plastered upon his pale face as he began to near the surrounding area. The smirk only grew as he was soon found in the middle of a dance, rather impressed by the ladies and the men and their uncaring attitudes.

It was a strange mix, however.

He would never assume to see just how odd even the Normies were. There were many twisted people and twisted game prizes. It was like being in the dream of an insane clown. There were several young adults scattered about, with the rebellious and edgy teenagers tossed in. He almost looked out of place – with everyone wearing almost flashing attire, he certainly was different. However, his usual ensemble of hoodies and jeans prevented him from looking completely different as there were few people who looked to be “normal.” He could see familiar faces of thieves and robbers flashing past in the dancing, hypnotic crowd, yet nobody stopped them. There was not a single policeman or woman around.

After the small dance was a few of the drunken women, he began his descent towards the building. Inside, he knew, would be things to make his day. Twisted things only those with a twisted mind would enjoy. Medieval creations, daggers, and the like. He didn’t come for the free beer and food, the ladies or the game. No, he came for a much different reason. He had heard of a man called Gibbs, known for his trickery and perfect fortune telling. Perhaps, he, too, was a Super like Britain? Although doubt seemed to cloud his already milky, bloodshot eyes, he stepped inside and towards that area of candles, veils, and pillows.

It was a bad idea, that she knew.

What did she care? After her little fit with her brother earlier, she wanted to stay away for a bit. She knew it was foolish. She knew it was childish. It wasn't like that was going to stop her. Heavens, no! She had slipped inside just long enough to change her clothing and then had slipped out the door, amazingly coordinated on those silly crutches she was using. They were useless, really, she decided, but it would have been ridiculous to run around on one foot without them. She had a phone, of course, and she could always call Spencer if she ran into any trouble. Not that she planned on calling him if she did, but it was there just in case.

She wasn't there to dance. She wasn't there to drink. She wasn't there to gamble away her life with some dark-clothed menage. She had caught two pickpockets in the act already.

So what was she there for?

She frowned slightly, completely unsure. This should have been her element. She should have been able to dance and prance her way around. It was the silly cast upon her leg that prevented that. And the fact that standing on both feet shot a strand of fierce pain through her leg. She had found somewhere rather stationary, yet still dimly lit enough for her not to stand out entirely. She needed a rest. Her legs often had abuse, but her arms burned. The man in charge of the station had shrugged, and stated that if anybody came to her after a session with him, it "was her problem, and he wouldn't call the police for her."

Her crutches were cast off to one side, tucked behind some sort of decorative sash. The entire room was some sort of commercialized gypsy-like thing, she reckoned. The man named Gibbs didn't seem like the type to cart around this shiny, luxurious crap, but if it drew in people, than it made it seem more logical. She was placed upon a cushion, somewhere near the door, but still not quite far enough to overhear the man's conversations with his clients. She didn't want to hear them. The man had been more than willing to predict her future, but she had simply stated she had her share of fortunes, and she would make her own.

However, this didn't seem like something she would have wanted in the cards.

The dress was probably lower than needed to be. It was a sort of off-white in color, a light tan. It looked almost old-fashioned, and when sitting, it had just enough volume to the skirt to cover part of her leg. The rest was hidden beneath a velvety cushion. She waved her finger over a lit candle, frowning slightly, before glancing up as more chilly air found its way inside.

People.

She scowled.

The cup was crushed, tossed carelessly behind him. He was so close to the man named Gibbs, he could almost touch him. Yet, no, he remained stationed upon the groups of pillows before realizing there was another person around. His eyes were glazed over in a drunken matter, his face was twisted, yet he didn’t seem to notice. He was smiling, nevertheless, through it all before his gaze fell onto someone familiar. The girl from the meeting? Maybe. He didn’t make a move to speak, and instead, only nodded her way and rubbed his head in his hands. He was late to this tarot card reading. He was hoping his reading wouldn’t be too... Bleak or deadly in the future. Tarot cards were known for being better psychics then those who owned them.

He was intrigued by the way Gibbs handled the other people. A couple, Britain assumed, who sat on the multi-colored, brightfully happy pillows. Tassels of gold lined the rims of the cushion, soft and smooth as silk. He hadn’t taken notice that his hand had been stroking those tassels, his chin in his palm, and his elbow upon his knee. The woman looked rather peeved, while the man looked rather saddened. Were they here looking to see how their future looked together? Britain thought to himself those possibilities until they had gotten to their feet.

She was pregnant.

His head rose like a puzzled puppy-dog, watching them leave. The woman was crying. Gibbs must’ve read a bad future in his cards. He was nervous now. He placed a bent finger in his mouth, biting down on the joint as he tapped his foot soundlessly upon the pillow. His old shoes were ripped, and he needed new ones. Though, he decided it was best to think of something else. It was no time to dwell on his shoes, but on his future.

Yet, he was scared to know what those cards read.

She returned the nod. Who was he? She was positive she had seen him before, but she couldn't quite place her finger on what. Perhaps she had been with Spencer. She scowled faintly as she realized that having him there to remind her would have required being near him. After their angry yelling fit, she was certain she didn't want to spend all of her evening trapped with him in this ridiculous carnival. She would merely have to continue to try and think about it, and perhaps it would come to her.

The pair who had gotten a reading slowly left, and she felt a twinge of pity for them. She had never met them, but they were obviously upset. Liam shifted her weight and crossed her ankles beside the cushion as she watched them walk out the door. She was positive she would never see them again, and was half tempted to ask what the reading had said. Judging from their looks, she decided it was a bad idea, and remained skeptic of the man who sat with the cards.

Only fools believed in destiny.

She believed anybody could make their own fate.

Liam scowled slightly once again as she glanced around. She had noticed that one or two people would wander in and have their cards read. As soon as they were one, there would be another person or two who was ready for their own. Were that many people believers in this sort of thing? The future was always changing, what good did it do? Sure, Serenity could see the future, but things were not the same. Her and her brother had left the Roundhouse that night and never encountered Cyborg. They had never gotten shot, and Liam's previous injury had been her own fault. Every decision one person made affected their entire future and the future of those around them. Was it possible to even predict what the outcome would be?

She sighed slightly as she scanned about once more. With her own rather narrow-minded skepticism of the tarot card reader, she assumed the young man had a different perspective. After all, what would the purpose of spending his money be if the cards didn't even act as a placebo for his potential future?

ooc;; Why yes. I did go from one post with cast to the next without. I do not care. X3

Britain had kept himself from crawling across the blonde's lap and into the pillows before Gibbs. He had to wait his turn, as she had sat down before him. He was impatient, though only slightly at this moment, and kept himself seated on the violet and red pillows that he gripped tightly. Oh, how fun the tassels were! So silky and golden, so soft to the touch. He was happy just sitting here at the moment. Now, he knew for a fact he was somewhat drunk; he wouldn't exactly admit it. He soon had his hands folded in his lap, his head hung slightly as he blinked a few times and yawned.

It was cold and quite honestly boring.

He soon ran a hand through his messy black mop before glancing up at the spreading curtains. A woman, almost gypsy-like, waved in the next person in the little tent-like area. He looked at the blonde girl next to him, pursing his lips and pointing towards the open curtain. "It's your turn, girlie." he was smiling faintly.

Britain had lost his usual flirt after the pregnant woman and her husband had left. He wasn't in the mood for his flirtatiousness, and he assumed her to be the same. She looked as if she could easily punch him in his nose, which he wouldn't much like. He folded his hands once again in his lap and sighed.

A smirk slid onto her face. "I'm not here to have my fortune told by some gypsy throw-back." She rolled her eyes, ignoring how rude her words could have been considered for anybody in the area. Liam shifted to attempt and stand, but a spring of pain shot through her leg. Despite the fact that it had been cured by some mysterious figure, it still didn't seem to be completely fine. However, she preferred to think that maybe it was a bit weak and more tender than the last time she had walked quite a distance, and that resting for small periods of time would help.

"I'm not one to waste my money on silly games." She paused, smiling coldly. "What you do with your own money is up to you, sir." Liam forced herself to apply pressure to her foot and pull herself off the ground. She had taken one step when her need for balance forced too much sudden adjustment, and she forced her knees to buckle down onto a different pillow. The smile had vanished and was replaced with a scowl. She crossed her arms, almost like a child throwing a temper tantrum. Her eyes burned holes in the ground before her.

After a moment, she cast a look at Britain. "I'm getting over an injury, don't laugh or anything." She had attempted to sound matter-of-fact and blunt about it, but her tone gave it away. That had hurt and she felt weak. For a moment, she sounded and looked almost frail as her arms fell to her side and she paused. Her voice lowered, probably to a point where one could barely hear it. "It isn't going as well as I had hoped."

She jerked a thumb in the direction of the man called Gibbs, trying to deter attention away from herself.

"I'm sure you can go now. He seems like he's waiting for you."