“First of all, I need a drink,” Donny said with a chuckle. “Alcohol or otherwise, doesn’t matter to me.”
He walked along, a slight skip in his step. He seemed to still have energy, surprisingly.
“Second of all,” Don began, turning around and walking backward so he could face Oleg. “Second of all, I need to see if we can rent out a grand hall for the night— possibly perform in a building. Heaven knows we need it. We could get out of this rain— get a grant from the bank and rent out a real place to take our acts, yeh? It will do nicely.”
"Alcohol sounds good to me." He chuckled, wringing the excess water out of the shirt, which was still miraculously on his shoulder. Oleg frowned. "Donny, the big top works for our purposes. A hall or a theater does not work. We need that money for food and lodging in San Francisco, remember?"
Don muttered to himself. “Alright, alright.”
He continued walking, feeling the rain softly hit his skin. “You owe me a drink, though. You beat me, so, what'd’ya say? Winner buys loser a drink?”
"That sounds fair." He paused for a bit, trying to remember the words. "No drinks higher than $1, okay? Otherwise I'll have no blood left." He meant to say that it would "bleed him dry", but.. oh well. "The rain feels nice. It's not warm. Warm rain.. feels awful."
“Right there with ya, chap,” he replied, shivering slightly. “If only it would let up a little.”
Don’s soaked shirt wrapped tightly around his chest, showing little to no muscle definition. Shortage of food had resulted in his ribs showing more prominently, pulling his skin tight.
He turned back around, eyes resting on the horizon. “Looks close enough, eh? Skyline in sight at least.”
The buildings of the city resided not too far off. The faint sound of their footsteps and the quiet rain flooded his ears, bringing a sense of peace. He began to whistle a tune, the sharp melodic sound radiating in the air.
"What do you hum?" Oleg listened intently to the tune. "It's nice." Oleg was also incredibly thin, although the red meat he ate for his act definitely let him with a little more meat on his bones than Donny. "I don't know how to feel about the people in this town. They bitch and moan if you don't follow the instructions they like to yell. Would you believe I have had two rich bastards come up and ask me if they can buy our "freak show"?" He spat the last words out like poison in his mouth, grumbling. "We're humans too, if they look past the tails and horns and fire they can see that."
“Unfortunately, Ollie, they do not have the ability to look past,” Donny said, breaking his whistle. “It takes one freak to know another. That is why our troupe is family, yeh? We are one. Find comfort in the others.”
Don gestured down to the man’s tail. “Speaking of which, you may want to hide that. And… maybe not smile.”
The boy started to whistle again. “As for this tune, I make it up as I go. Like many things I do.”
“Smart man!” He clapped a hand on Donny’s shoulder. “You. You are my brother.” Oleg adjusted his tail to where it was tucked into a pants leg, nodding. “If they’re scared of my teeth. I don’t bite.” He paused, listening to Donny talk. “You’re good at making up songs, then.”
“Why, thank you,” Don replied, resorting back to whistling as the two walked on. It wasn’t long before the sound of rain on the path turned to rain on rooftops. Don walked throughout the city, keeping an eye out for any pubs or bars. His eyes lit up as he spotted one, leading Oleg to the front steps. He swiftly opened the door, continuing his motion and sliding into the middle of the bar.
It was decently empty at this time of day, only a man at the piano and one behind the bar. As Oleg and Don walked in, the bartender smiled.
Don took a seat at one of the barstools. “‘Ello, sir,” he greeted.
The bartender nodded in reply. “Evening. Anything I can get you two?”
“G’evening. Vodka, thanks.” He had half a mind to stop trying to hide his accent and lay it on thick, just to see what would happen.
“Your cheapest but finest,” Don said, smiling up at the man.
The bartender nodded to the both of them, spinning around and beginning to grab bottles, taking polished glasses and setting them face-down on the table. As he poured a clear liquid into one, he began to speak.
“What brings you young ones around here?”
Don raised an eyebrow, sharing a glance with Oleg.
“Just passing,” Donny lied. “Figured we’d stop for a drink.”
The man twirled the bottle, setting it back down. He picked up another, pouring a deep golden liquid into the next cup. He slid the glasses over to their corresponding person.
“Well, I hope you enjoy it here for the time being,” he said. Don nodded to him in thanks as the man walked away, beginning to sort out additional glasses.
Donny picked up his glass, holding it higher, offering to cheers with Oleg.
“To freaks,” he said rather carelessly.
“To freaks.” His voice was harsh- he had dropped the fake “American” accent he had on- too tiring. He clinked his glass with Donny’s, draining a good quarter of it. “Freaks… such a bad word. I have never liked it. You?”
“I personally don’t get too worked up by titles,” Don mumbled, wincing as the liquor flowed down his throat. “Whew, that’s strong.”
He eyed his glass, eyes wide. His gaze shifted up to Oleg. “Titles are just words, eh? Would make no difference if I called one a Spoon rather than a Human. Just words, you see.”
He smirked, his eyes glancing back down to the bar counter. He began tapping his fingers, whistling along to the quiet piano.
“I understand. I don’t like them, but.. I understand you. Me? I’m proud of my real titles. The Russian Werewolf, the Beast from the East.. cool, no? Freak is not a title of mine, it’s an insult. I’ll bite the head off of the next guy to call me that… except for others, of course.” He took another swig, chuckling. “I’d jump off stage to tear the audience a new one if they started throwing “freak” around.”
Don sipped at his drink, his mind seeming elsewhere. “Your names are pretty cool, I’ll give you that. However, if a dragon and werewolf were to fight, who do you think would win?”
He shot Oleg a taunting smile. “My money’s on the dragon.”
“We’ll see, eh? First show in the new city, that’s our dual act. Bring in lots of attention.” He bared his teeth jokingly. “Werewolf has fighting chance. That reminds me- they- the ringleader and others- were talking to me about doing an act with wolves one night. I said maybe. Too feral. Attention grabber, but they might get angry.” Oleg shrugged, looking at Donny. “Advice?”
“Depends,” Don mumbled. “Can you speak to them? Maybe tell them you mean no harm. But, speaking of harm, when did you hear about this duel act? No clear offense to myself, but I’d most likely die up against you. You know I’m all talk.”
Donny glanced at the height difference between the two and noted the man’s sharp teeth. “You are highly dangerous, no? Being a wolf-man and all.”
His voice grew low with the last part, talking loud enough so just Oleg could hear, leaving the bartender out of their conversation. “I am just a man who happens to have a relationship with fire.”
He matched Donny's volume. "No, I can't talk to the wolves, if that's what you asking. But it's just an idea to pitch, the other act. Play it down for the audience, no harm. I like to think that I'm a dangerous one, but who knows. All bark and no bite." He nodded. "Even still, the dragon is dangerous when you live in the village. The audience thinks you are a real fire breather. More than just a friendship with fire, no?" He laughed to himself, swirling what was left in his glass. "Who knows?"
Donovan smaked his empty glass face-down on the table, pursing his lips. “I suppose. Guess I have to see myself through their eyes, yeh?”
He swiveled on his stool, resting the backs of his elbows on the bar and leaning his weight backward. “You think we can fool ‘em? I guess that’s the whole point.”
"It wouldn't be a bad idea. Let's move topics. You. What is your history like? I want to hear how you arrived where you are now." His accent was thick, maybe a little difficult to understand at times, but it was much more comfortable to speak in. It was worth noting that he didn't stumble and trip over his words as much.
“We getting into backstories now, eh?” Donny said with a smile. “Alright, but I’ll spare you the boring details. I was born different, as us all. Didn’t know that straight out, thought. Took me ‘til I was ‘round seven that I actually realized fire didn’t hurt me. Happened in my father’s fireplace.” Don chuckled. “Can’t believe I actually walked right in. After that, I started playing with fire— dancing with the flames, you see. My parents never thought much of it— to engrossed in their own work, eh?”
Donny shifted his weight onto his other foot, pressing on. “I decided to take it into my own hands— quite literally—, moving over to the United States. Found you lot when I was ‘round seventeen. The ringleader said he saw potential— I did not disagree.” He snickered at his own statement. “Now look at how far I’ve come. I’m one with the ribbons of heat, yeh?”
The boy glanced up at Oleg, then closed his eyes, enjoying the soft piano. “What about you, Wolfie? What’s your story?”
(Also, would you mind if I drew Oleg and Donny? I have a cool idea for them and wanted to see if you’d be okay with it. If you are, I’d love to see some reference pictures for Oleg. If not, it’s totally ok.)
(Of course! You can do literally whatever you want with him. I have a Pinterest board if you want to see it, lmao)
(Thanks! And sure, I saw where you posted his link, I’ll go check it out :D )
"Ah, let's see.. well.. I was born in Siberia, in Russia, you already know that.. Cold spot. Snow. I love the snow. I grew up as a normal child until my family and I moved here in 1946… terrible famine. I was… 14, I think? I joined the circus age…. 15. They grab me, take me very quickly. I was told that werewolves are very popular." He drained what was left of his vodka, setting it back down. "And now.. here I am. Trying to figure out how strong and obvious I can make that accent before the bartender gets alarmed."
