Author: Mirrordance

E-mail: [email protected]

Title: "Carnival"

Type: one-shot

Warnings: language, angst

Spoilers: with references to entire series

Teaser: Crawford gets a gypsy's job at the carnival.  Ken goes to have his fortune told… 

Keywords: Brad, Ken, angst

"Carnival"

A WKff by Mirrordance

don't own anybody…

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"The answers we find

are never what we had in mind

so we make it up as we go along

you won't talk of dreams

and I won't mention tomorrow

and we won't make those promises we can't keep…"

- from "I Am"

by Nine Days

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Crawford's P.O.V. …

      The first thing that I noticed was the sounds. 

      Throngs of people laughing and talking, some isolated shouts here and there, sometimes a chorus.  The chugging of an old engine, struggling to pull up an old roller coaster car to the top of a parabolic ride.  The cheap monster sound effects from the horror train.  The sharp, eerie music emanating from the carousel. 

      I made my way toward the carnival.  Closer and closer.

      Things always happened in a blur here.  Everything moved and everything shone in assaulting neon under the pitch-black night.

      I could smell sweat and oil and popcorn and greasy burgers and hotdogs and cotton candy.

      I remembered older days.  You'd know from miles away if the carnival or the circus was in town.  There was something that cackled in the air.

      The child in myself that I barely remembered was starting to make my heart beat just a little bit faster, my eyes just open a little bit wider, my walk go just a little bit slower.  Everything just called for my attention in this cheap, crowded place.

      I stopped walking at the entrance to Madam Oliva's Spiritual Room. 

      It was nothing more but an old tent, really.  A dark green tent, weathered by rain and sun and years.  The entrance was a parted opening, and the small area within could be sighted through layers of beaded, translucent lace.

      It looked just as how I thought it would.  My dreams led me to where I now stood.  Visions of this place plagued me in sleep, and haunted me when I was awake.

      Something in this place would complete me-- or, at least, calm me for awhile.  It called, I responded.

      "So you have come to seek the Mystifier," a voice called.  Her English was fairly good.

      I turned to the old, scratchy voice.  Madame Oliva sounded familiar, and looked familiar too.  I've been with her in my visions.

      Madame Oliva is actually an old Japanese woman who pretends to be a gypsy for a living.  A sagging face that could have once belonged to a beautiful woman was covered in thick make-up.  She was short and a little stout, especially in the bulky layers of her multi-colored costume.

      Her bangles jingled with every little movement.  From the hoops in her ears, her wrists, even her bare feet.              

      We measured each other in silence.

      She moved forward, placed a hand to my chest, over my heart, as her eyes peered into mine.

      "You have great weight in your heart," she said in that homely, wobbly voice of hers.

      "All people do," I tell her, "Is that all you could say, 'Gypsy?'"
      She smiled, her crooked teeth showing.  "For the rest, you have to pay"

      "I wouldn't pay a fake," I retort.

      Her face screwed to a disapproving frown, "Why you American come only to antagonize me?"
      I crossed my arms over my chest, thinking.  She was right; my visions brought me to this place, a little town in Japan where a carnival was visiting.  I had no idea why, and for some reason the answers eluded me.

      "Are you for real?" I ask her.

      She gestured for me to come inside the tent, and I followed her in.  The place smelled of burning incense.  There were pillows strewn all over the floor, and a crystal ball sitting atop a crate hidden under more layers of colorful cloth.

      "I am Madame Oliva," she says, "Mystifier.  Bridge to now and the future, now and the past.  Connection of the living and the dead, holder of the magical eye, traveler of the transcended road--"

      "Prove it," I say.

      "I have nothing to prove to you," she says, "Pay me, and you will believe"

      "Make me believe and I'll pay," I told her.

      "Double or nothing," she said, chin up.

      "Fine," I agree, setting myself comfortably into the seats.  "What does my future hold?"

      "I need time to summon the spirits…"

      I watched her hummm-hummm-hummm her way to a 'trance,' then her eyes to snap open and tell me suddenly, that I will soon face a GREAT CHALLENGE.

      "Oh please," I rolled back my eyes, "That is totally general.  You probably say that to everyone and they all probably believe you because it is most likely true for everyone in the world--"

      The old coot actually grinned at me.  "But it is true, right? I tell the correct future.  My money.  NOW"

      I stared at her, dumbfounded for a few moments.  I could break her frail body in half with my bare hands.  Instead I handed her ten dollars.

      She smirked and pocketed it, then looked at me with those probing old eyes.  "You do believe.  Otherwise you wouldn't have been here at all"

      I met her gaze evenly.  "I want you to give me a job"

      "You'll drive my too-few customers away!" she retorted (rightfully enough), "And you do not look as if you need one!"

      "Give me a job," I said, not bothering to give her reasons I myself didn't have, "And I'll give you the winning numbers to the coming lotto.  That's quite a lot of yen, 'Madame.'  You wouldn't have to do this ever again for the rest of your life"

      She stared at me.  She had this disturbing habit, this crazy old woman.

      "All right," she said, "I'll give you a job.  But those numbers better win, you idiot boy"

      She just looked at me and believed. It's funny how this tricky fraud, this wily businesswoman could believe me, a stranger, so easily.

      This must be one hell of a profession.  Why I was suddenly so possessed into entering it, though, I do not know.

      The carnival would only be in this town for a little over a week, before moving on to other places.

      I was three days into my new job when a familiar face peered into my tent with a tentative smile on his young face.  I felt myself stiffen.

      Weiß.

      The sight of him brought back memories that I've been trying to forget for the past few years of my life.

      We met at a tumultuous time.  I was working for a corrupt politician, and a manic secret organization that was set on world domination.  I, and three allies, turned coat on them all, and decided that this world was ours instead.

      Weiß Kreuz also worked for a secret organization, one that was bent on stopping us; I could hardly blame them, of course.  What I couldn't forgive was that these people had ruined our plans.  Mere people.  Powerless people.

      How could the weak defeat the strong? They went against nature itself.  They reversed the very way by which I had long lived my life-- secure power, and all will be yours.

      It hadn't been true.  None that I've ever believed had been true.  And that was something that I couldn't forgive them for.  They made me doubt myself.

      Schwarz had broken apart after our defeat, each of the four of us returning to our own countries.  Not that anyone or anything awaited our return, just that there seemed no other reason to stay together and stay where we were.

      I've been in America, living rather well.  Things just started to fall into routine back at home, bordering on normal.  Maybe I was resigning myself to living the rest of my life in that manner.  That was until the visions came to me, of this place in the gypsy's tent. 

      I could see certain aspects of the future at will, but there are other kinds of visions that haunted me whether I called for them or not.  This sort of powerful feeling was what made me return to Japan, and this forsaken little place.

      I've wondered why.

      But now, seeing the face of my enemy peering into my room, I knew.

      This was my turn.  This was my chance to succeed at where I had failed before.  Ultimately, no matter how long it took, my destiny had been to defeat them.

      The brunette looked at me a little skeptically, a joke winking past his eyes.  "You're Madame Oliva?"
      "No," I tell him in what I would proudly refer to as rather perfect Japanese, "I'm her apprentice, Ranco"

      He seemed to be mulling it over.  This one, this Ken Hidaka, he had an expressive face.  It was strange, meeting like this.  He couldn't recognize me at all, and I couldn't blame him.  Madame Oliva had insisted on a disguise; she gave me a goddamn pirate eye patch, among other things.  And god help me, I indulged the crazy old woman.

      Of course, I couldn't hide myself completely.  If Hidaka had as much assassin in him as I think, he would detect a pointed resemblance between Ranco and Brad Crawford.  But his more sensible side would tell him we couldn't possibly be one and the same person.  I couldn't blame him; even with my suspicious nature, I wouldn't think I would end up in this screwed-up place either.

      He exhaled a deep breath as he grinned at me, figuring that there probably wasn't really much of a difference between one fraud fortune-teller to her apprentice.

      He sat down across from me and my goddamn useless crystal ball, laughing a little at himself.  "I've never done this before"

      Let the fucking spirits guide you, I wanted to say, but decided to bite my tongue instead. 

      "I will be your guide," I tell him, trying to adopt Madame's overacting tone, but finding myself even more half-hearted than usual, "Just believe"

      He was blushing a little, chuckling again.  At himself, at me.  Well, if he knew the whole story, I think maybe he'd laugh a whole lot more and die from it.

      "I'm sorry," he apologized, "it's just that you remind me of someone and this is more than a little unlikely--"

      "Shhh," I quiet him down, "I need silence to summon the visions"

      He bit his lip, though his shoulders still shook with repressed laughter.  God help him, he surely tried.

      The sights came at me from all angles, pulling me into a separate, future reality.

      A mission, which hadn't been surprising because that was what Weiß did for a living, after all.

      But tonight, it would be especially hard.  There would be more enemies than they had originally estimated.  They would get caught.  They would get hurt.

      Seeing these visions made me all tingly with excitement.  Weiß.  Defeated at last.  Maybe not directly by Schwarz, but I would think that I had some hand in it, if I deliberately misled him.

      "Tonight," I tell him, "a mission tonight"

      He suddenly stiffened, his smile falling from his lips.  "What?"
      I was used to the reaction-- until now, I've been rather honest with those who searched for a hint of their future.  They were usually surprised that I knew that much about them.  I thought it was ridiculous-- people seeking fake fortunes for fun, then realizing they were faced with the real deal.

      "Easy," I continue, "You need not take the proper precautions.  You will do extremely well"

      "Wait, wait, wait--"
      "Trance is over," I tell him, "pay now and leave"

      "But I have--"
      "Questions?" I grated at him, "The spirits have spoken, please leave"

      He stared at me, eyes aflame.  I stood unflinching under the wounded gaze.  He lost the game, handing me my money before he left the room.

      For some reason, I felt as if I had lost too.  The picture of his stooped back retreating stayed with me.

      "You did something"

      I stiffened again at the sound of that scratchy voice.  Madame Oliva stepped forward from the shadows of the small room; I never even noticed she was there, and that was a very bad thing.  I've let Weiß get to me again, let my mixed feelings for them consume me into distraction.

      I didn't let on much that I was surprised by her presence.

      "I told his fortune," I said coolly, turning to her.

      "No," she said, "You may have just changed it"

      "I did no such thing," I told her, not liking the tone of this conversation very much.

      "I see it in you," she said, "regret buried under layer upon layer of hatred.  In your eyes--"

      "I'm not taking this from you," I cut her off, "You don't know anything.  You're a goddamn fraud"
      "I'm not fraud enough to NOT know the difference between right and wrong," she retorted, "I know now how real you are.   I've seen you work.  You've got a gift I can only dream of possessing.  You don't know how to use it.  I don't think you ever have.  You came in here looking for something.  Or responding to something that was looking for you.  I hope you find it.  I hope you get your head on straight"

      We stood silent for awhile, the two of us just getting at each other.  She broke our trance, immersed in our own stubborn views, by turning her back on me and walking away, her bangles jingling, the sound melding into the mix of sensations that was the music of the Carnival.

      I didn't think it would take a scratchy old con-woman to finally change the way I perceived the universe.

      Suddenly I found myself in that old compound across town, where Weiß would attempt to make their kill, trying to convince myself that I would be here only to watch them fall, knowing all the while that I wasn't.

      Upon reflection, I doubt that they would take the advice of some small-town gypsy boy from a carnival.  But I had said it in deception, and that was the wrong part.  There are so many things we can do to alter the future, and that was probably always the great conflict of a precognizant; if we remained as witnesses and kept our hands off, or did anything to change it.

      This time around, I decided I would delve right in and correct the deception that I had tried to commit.

      I put the ski mask over my face.  Completely engulfed in black now, I was part of the night.  The stark white suit I once used to wear was kept.  I no longer wanted to daunt anyone with a feigned nonchalance.  I wanted to be unseen; both by the men I would hurt and the men I would save.

      I soared into the thick of things.

      Weiß would have very little excuse not to succeed in this one.

      Mirror-maze.

      I stood in front of several visions of myself, wondering where the right path would be for me to get out of this place.

      I touched the glass directly in front of me.  The multiple images did the same thing.

      I walked around, not really strategizing, but casing a bit, just letting my feet move and wondering where they would take me.  Everything here always seemed brand new.  I could get lost here for hours and hours.

      "I don't understand you"

      I turned around to see the owner of the familiar voice.  Hidaka.  Of course I didn't find him exactly, just multiple reflections of him.

      "What do you mean?" I asked him, walking around again.  I could see reflections of him and me and him and me and him and me everywhere, side by side, even though the real ones weren't together at all.

      "It didn't take me long to puzzle everything together.  But I want to know: where have you been?" he asked me, "What were you thinking? WHY?"
      I stopped walking, and looked at one of his reflections right in the eye.  "I'm not sure"

      He seemed to accept my answer, just nodded in understanding.

      "That makes sense"

      "Hm?" I asked.

      "Things not making sense," he said, "makes sense"

      I frowned at him.  "Is that your philosophy in life?"
      "For now," he replied with a chuckle. 

      We moved around the maze in silence for awhile.

      "I found the exit," he said, sounding a little surprised, "just stumbled into it, actually"

      "Good for you," I tell him flatly.

      "I…" his eyes met mine again, "Thank you.  Brad Crawford of Schwarz.  I'll never understand why, but thank you"

      --

      I watched as his arm reached forward, thinking that perhaps he was aiming for my shoulder.  I never felt his touch, as his hand most likely came into contact with a mirror with my image on it.

      "Hmph," he smirked, "things are never what they seem like"

      Then he just vanished, leaving me with myself.

      I didn't mind.

      Today, I quit my job.

      Besides, Madame and the carnival would be leaving town soon, and I didn't exactly need it anymore.

      There was a smile in her aged eyes, as if knowing that I was already somehow complete.

      "Here," I said, handing her the winning lotto numbers, "As promised"
      She looked at the numbers, then up at me as she tore the paper to shreds, "Call me a fool"

      I chuckled, "No.  I'll call you theatrical"
      "Hm?"
      "You looked at them already," I laughed, "and no doubt have the numbers imprinted on your wily mind"

      "You needn't be so crude about it"

      We left like that.  The old woman had grown on me, with that slick, crooked grin with the crooked teeth and the sharp eyes.

      I walked away from the tent, which she had resumed control over.  As I moved away, I could hear her cooing for people passing by to come into her realm, and find the answers that they were looking for.

THE END

June 3, 2001