Placebo Effect (Cassidy)

[vin]

"And why are we here?"

One stern look from the Ringmaster and the question was dropped. The firebreather simply popped his hands up and moved on, carrying the rope on his back to the pile of equipment growing in the middle of the lot. This was the next spot for the greatest show in the universe and the crew of the Carnivale Exotica were bustling about readying themselves for their adoring audience (adoring, morbidly curious; potato, potatoe).

The Ringmaster walked back onto the ship through the docking bay. He observed which crates and barrels were moved and left behind, listened to the noise and voices growing exhausted and ornery with every passing moment, and watched his crew notice him watching them. It kept them to their duties, especially when the crew members were always so eager to make love to the earth whenever they landed. They'd run off and explore the towns and cities nearby, find mischief, and usually leave breadcrumbs behind so that very mischief would follow them back to the ship. There always had to be a fight, and almost always involving a clown.

"The stalls are up," an upbeat voice chimed. The Ringmaster remained unmoved. "Was...there anything else you needed me for?" Jara asked. "No." Her shoulders dropped an inch. "Because I'm not doing anything. I can't practice until the nets are up. Unless...well there's still the new outfits I could try on. You can critique them and let me know if you want anything changed!" On the other side of the docking bay, one of the clowns was attempting to slip his hand through a hole in the crate; the liquor crate.

"No." The Ringmaster walked away with his eyes zeroing in on the clown, leaving Jara standing alone. He stopped behind the clown and cleared his throat. The clown's whole body shuddered. "Oh, hey Ringmaster. I could use some help moving this," the greasy clown coughed. "It's a little early to be tian di wu yohn," the Ringmaster answered. "Jara!" The young acrobat turned at the sound of her name. "Take Kul here to some closet and lock him inside." Jara shuffled over to the clown and pulled him away from the Ringmaster before his order evolved into something actually cruel. A few members looked on and their leader noticed. "Hurry, hurry. We have a show to put on," he smirked.

[roland]

As Roland made his way down to the docking bay and ultimately outside onto actual dirt as opposed to the substance caked onto the grates under his feet, he was experiencing more traffic than usual. Stepping to the side and turning his body so as not to take up too much room with his broad shoulders, the Carnivale Exotica resembled the inner workings of the human body; cells running through veins to keep the organism alive. Habitual and drone-like, these moving parts of the ship simply passed by Roland without so much as a nod, completing the job that they were tasked to do.

Roland wasn't interested in his usual duties today--he instead was looking for the Ringmaster to address an issue that has been turning into a bit of a problem as of late. Despite being in the medical bay and locking things up when he could, there had been some theft of medical supplies, which has left Roland sometimes giving out remedies that are less effective than providing a syringe of potent medicine. Roland has dealt with circumstances far worse than his current predicament but his superiors usually knew the rub in times of war. The Ringmaster, however, might not be aware of this issue. Besides the fact that buying medicine was nothing short of expensive, which isn't going to come out of Roland's fairly shallow pockets.

Entering the docking bay after bumping into quite a few people, Roland happened to pass by Jara who was forcing a clown out of the docking bay. Jara's facial expression looked pained, but not from physical pain; more so from an obligatory one. The clown looked to be struggling against the direction he was heading in, but never made an actual attempt to break from Jara's grip. Roland raised a brow as the two of them passed, slowing his moment as his eyes tracked them for a second. Weird. His eyes then quickly looked forward and located the Ringmaster talking to a few crewmembers--or talking at them, really--and quickly descending upon his location.

"Excuse me, uhh..." And just then, Roland realized that he didn't know the Ringmaster's real name. He had never actually spoken to his employer either because of time constraints on either party or simply because they never ran into each other. To the best of his knowledge, everyone called the man the Ringmaster, so he decided to do the same. "Actually, I don't think we've ever been properly introduced. I'm Roland, the ship's medic. I was sort of hoping that you and I could speak about a small issue of theft, more specifically the theft medical supplies." Roland held his hand out to the Ringmaster as an introduction. He didn't speak like most, giving away the fact that he probably came from somewhere other than the bottom in life. He was smiling slightly just to seem friendly, even though it didn't seem like the Ringmaster was going to smile back.

[vin]

Whatever pause there might have been with his decision to rid them of Kul the inebriated clown was gone and the traffic resumed. One of the bear trainers approached the liquor crate, ready to take it outside with the rest of the belongings, but the Ringmaster laid his hand on the box. "Not until opening night." The trainer nodded and moved on.

The Ringmaster turned around to find a strange looking man approach him. He was strange in the sense that he wasn't strange at all (considering the company the Ringmaster kept). He was not, however, a stranger. The other day when the musclemen found the stowaway, their paths crossed in a less than professional way, but in a profound one nevertheless. Now, formalities were in order.

"Roland," the Ringmaster repeated, etching the name into his memory. "That is an unfortunate problem." His tone was nearly undecipherable. The constant additions and subtractions in the crew made the Carnivale Exotica a puzzle. Players were constantly moving, power shifting from person to person. The Ringmaster hasn't once lost control of his ship, but that wasn't because no one had tried to take over. He was infinitely in battle with his crew, which meant he always found ways to influence players, gambling with tricks and lives like a game (a fairly important one, though). Roland could be useful.

The Ringmaster cupped his hands together behind his back and walked slowly for Roland to follow him. He approached a large metal box and sat on it, inviting his new medic to join him. "It shouldn't come as a surprise that not many doctors are interested in joining our ranks," he said with a corner of his mouth slightly elevated. He crossed his legs and looked on toward his crew. "I couldn't tell you how many so called 'medics' we've had. People just don't feel like they can rely on them, let alone trust them once we finally have someone. So they tend to take matters into their own hands. A scrape here, a burn there. They'll take the supplies they need and heal themselves as best they can. It's not ideal, but it happens..."

[roland]

Roland did stand out on the Carnivale Exotica, which was somewhat ironic because where he came from, he could have easily blended in with the populace despite his broad frame. By not being a freak, Roland realized he himself became the freak; people would question his smiles or think that the injection of medicine he gave was something more than just medicine. Being a combat medic, Roland was given some rudimentary psychological training as well with a focus on analyzing irrational behavior in wounded soldiers. Some of the inhabitants aboard this ship would keep some psychologists busy for years.

Feeling slightly awkward that the Ringmaster himself did not offer his name, Roland was just going to shoot from the hip and call him Ringmaster if needed to grab the man's attention. His eyes quickly studied the Ringmaster as he spoke, more so when he turned his back. An odd person to say the least, Roland began unconsciously examining him as if he sat upon the table in front of him. His body still operated under normal conditions, following the Ringmaster to the large metal box and taking a seat. It made sense that decent medics would be hard to come by; Roland himself would not have taken up the job was he not a few hours away from killing himself.

Crossing his arms, Roland listened to the Ringmaster's explanation as to the disappearance of the stolen medical supplies. It made sense. Still, it almost sounded like the Ringmaster was showing sympathy for those that were taking the medical supplies. Not that it bothered Roland, but that meant the supplies would have to be replaced, and they weren't cheap. "I get that. Not many people trusting of a stranger with a syringe. I don't think that's the case in this situation." Roland's tone was not accusatory or negative-sounding; it was simply matter-of-fact. His eyes also wandering to the crew passing by.

Roland uncrossed his arms, as an index finger and thumb reached into a breast pocket, pinching a small vial of a clear substance. He held the tube upside down to where his finger and thumb pointed upward, showing the Ringmaster. "This is called morphine, a potent opiate analgesic medication...which means it's very effective at negating pain. It's made from opium, which is a highly addictive drug. This small vial can keep someone higher than the stars for hours and can also fetch quite a price in certain areas of the market." He placed the vial back into his shirt pocket, hoping that he grabbed some attention from the Ringmaster.

Roland's voice lowered slightly so as not to be so loud with whatever empty accusations he might be making. "It seems someone is clever enough to realize which supplies would work best for use or sale because very little is missing elsewhere. This should probably concern you only because to restock these supplies is not cheap and coming up with something to replace said supplies is nowhere near as effective." Roland almost went into how, during his service in the Alliance military, he saw quite a few soldiers get addicted to morphine due to chronic injuries. Some had their lives destroyed. Roland destroyed his life in a similar fashion, but instead of physical pain it was emotional.

[vin]

The Ringmaster's dark eyes narrowed at the sight of the morphine vial. Now it wasn't a shock to see a doctor in possession of such a drug, but someone on a ship like this with that kind of drug, that was curious. How much more did he have? How protected was that vial? How has he managed to keep it for so long? Even in the vastness of space, secrets, particularly valuable ones, aren't kept for long. Roland was a strange case, and the Ringmaster knew strange.

"No. I don't imagine they are," he answered deep in thought. "Hmm." A couple musclemen needed the metal crate the two men were seated on, but knowing that contemplative look on the Ringmaster's face, they were sure he was not to be bothered with small requests, even ones like, "Can you move?" Instead, they grabbed the box from the sides and carried it, along with the Ringmaster and the medic now riding atop, down the ramp of the docking bay. The Ringmaster seemed unmoved, but as the daylight hit his pale face, he looked at Roland. "Does this mean you instead to stay with us?" he asked, brow raised. "No medic before has cared enough to bring such a topic to my attention. At least, not as formal as you've done today." Formal, of course, meaning seated upon a box full of pickled animal fetuses, carried by two musclemen, cursing at one another in some untranslatable mesh of language. In other words, "circus formal."

"Or perhaps a better question is, why do you care? You do know the pay isn't good, the ship smells of animal piss, and are women are quite a handful to put it politely. You understand my reservations, right? You are, after all, a freak among freaks. Why would you want to work here?" the Ringmaster asked.

[roland]

Roland's protection of such items is two-fold; one of them being a lock and key, and the other being that few would forcibly take from the on-board medic. It seemed almost arrogant to think that someone on the ship wouldn't attack Roland for expensive supplies, but if that person was a regular on the ship, he or she would be taking a big risk; attacking the only person that could properly patch up wounds? Besides the fact that Roland isn't some gaunt medical practitioner who spent his face in a book his entire life; he'd be sure to leave enough of a wound where the criminal would actually need Roland's help after the scuffle.

When the musclemen came to lift the box, Roland leaned forward slightly, an action that, if fully completed, would have had him slide off the box. Instead, he looked from the Ringmaster, to the musclemen, then back to the Ringmaster as he slowly leaned back into place, being carried along. An oddity indeed, but something that Roland was going to get used to in the future.

The question the Ringmaster asked--the first about staying--seemed to strike Roland as odd, which could be seen on his face as a raised eyebrow. He did accept the position of being the ship's medic and he couldn't see why he would abandon said job. It was probably something that was taken for granted on the Carnivale Exotica, but Roland agreed upon a verbal deal to be the medic of the ship, and he planned to respect his side of the deal. The job was also something to keep his mind off of a darker past that he recently allowed himself to be removed from in hopes of never falling back into it.

When the Ringmaster asked why he took the job, Roland's facial expression leveled out as he ran a few scenarios through his mind as to what he was going to say. He decided to keep things simple and leave out the fact that he was discharge from the Alliance and spent years getting drunk and high. He clasped his hands together in front of him as he tilted his head back, looking at the ceiling, choosing his words before looking at the Ringmaster. "Let's just say...I was in a bad place. This ship is something of a fresh start, despite the pay, piss and feisty women." Roland stifled a single laugh at the perks of the job that the Ringmaster described. "I just needed to get out from where I was before I couldn't."

"And since this seems like an interview--" Roland placed his hands on his knees and leaned forward slightly "--as you and I have not formally spoken since I inherited this position, my qualifications well exceed what this ship requires and I'm trustworthy."

[vin]

What does it say about a man to be honest out here in the Verse? Was it a sign of honor, or one of frailty?

Despite what the Ringmaster decided was an honest answer (not a complete answer, but honest), he still yet felt unable to size up Roland. Plenty of people, normal people, hit rock bottom. They lose their money, they get involved with bad characters, or a loss in the family could send them straight down to the pit. There they find others and the spiral can continue for years. The few that choose to crawl back out into the world hardly think of joining a circus; at least that was the Ringmaster's experience. So either this Roland has an ulterior motive...

or he's actually a freak inside and he needed refuge.

The corners of the Ringmaster's mouth shot down as his bottom lip pursed upward. "Well then, that seems as good as any qualification test," he responded, part jokingly but fully serious. "That means you do need supplies and what better place to get some than here!" He jumped up from his seated position and stood tall on the metal box. With his arms extended out, a stance similar to his opening remarks before any show, the Ringmaster announced, "Beaumonde, the factory planet. From weapons of partial destruction, to baby bottle nipples, Beaumounde has and does it all. The majority of its populace live outside city limits, but the few brave souls living near the factories have a life expectancy of 3-0. The fumes are just that poisonous. How tragic," he faked a pout and looked at one of the passing contortionist who giggled. The other crew members walking about listened as well but continued to work.

The Ringmaster hopped off the box and faced Roland. "So unless you want to reduce your lifespan by a few years, we need to be quick once we reach our destination," he said, his voice dropped considerably. "So!" the Ringmaster's tone perked up once more. "Go put on something thick and meet me at the transporter in fifteen." He turned around and spread out his arms again to address the rest of the crew that were in the area. "The doctor and I are off to get medical supplies for all you lovely people. Your medicare at work!" A few clapped and others chuckled as the Ringmaster left the area to handle a few matters before they left.

And, of course, he left before Roland could ask just how the Ringmaster planned to buy supplies from factories and warehouses...