Interview with a Knife Thrower

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Isaac Wheeler
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Interview with a Knife Thrower

Post by Isaac Wheeler »

((Taken from live play between Isaac and Canaan and posted with permission. Thanks Canaan!))


568 Greylane Drive. The thunderstorm grays of Isaac’s eyes confirmed the address while standing opposite the substantial red bricked façade of the Rhydin Center for Circus Arts. The building had a certain functional Victorian look to it with its large bays of windows for natural light and a terracing of high peaked roof tops which appealed to Isaac’s preference for the past. He had the wary look of a stray dog checking out new surroundings before crossing over towards the building in search of the front doors. His sister, Josette, had made mention of a cirque performance a few years back that she had enjoyed and that now Isaac hoped held a certain potential.

Patch had been full of promises back at the empty grounds of the Crossroads…fast talk about the new owners and the company pulling stakes any day now but Isaac had been with it and for it for some time now and knew when one of their own was just blowing smoke. He’d traveled for work in the past but now…with his sister flowering at the ballet…he felt a certain need to stay close and experience that with her. Hopefully, the thought like a lazy black water creek in his mind, he could find some work and pay the bills as he knocked at the door…money was getting short from their last jump months ago.

Isaac earned a response in the form of two high-spirited, giggling pre-teens bursting through the doors, neither of them paying any attention whatsoever that someone might be on the other side. They, of course, realized their error just short of colliding with the man, the taller of the two squealing an apology as she yanked her companion out of the way. Loaded down as they were with bulky gym bags, it was unlikely Isaac escaped entirely unscathed. Another chorus of sorry's filled the doorway as they skirted past him, leaving him alone with a clear view inside where a young woman in a uniform-esque track suit was waving him further in.

"Hi, hello! I'm Laurel," she sang, beaming at Isaac as if welcoming strangers was her most favorite thing in the whole world to do. "Come on in, sorry about the kids." Laurel stepped out from behind a desk sporting a placard reading receptionist. "How can I help you?"

The Showman reacted with all the grace and agility of the proverbial deer in headlights as the two girls erupted through the door and buffeted him about with their bags. Isaac typically eschewed such close contact with people, preferring the tranquil company of animals, yet he quickly tapped into the pool of amicability typically reserved for his stage performance as they passed.

“S’alright,” the dogwood drawl of the deep south answering the pair’s harmony of amends. He reached up to catch the door, ensuring the pair passed without further incident before turning at the sound of the woman’s voice and welcoming wave. “Mornin…Name’s Isaac Wheeler. Come over from the Crossroads Carnival an maybe looking for some work.” That antebellum accent absent of that stereotypical twang often associated with Dixie…the tenor of his voice carrying the echoes of a more refined and gentlemanly time before Sherman made Georgia howl.

Laurel tucked a hank of short, choppy bubblegum pink hair behind a tapered ear adorned with more than a few rings and baubles. "Well, Mister Wheeler, you are in luck!" Her reedy voice clear as a bell. "The Boss Man's actually in the office this morning." Bright green eyes widened. "I mean, not that he isn't usually here. I only meant--oh bother, don't tell him I said that. Come on, come on, this way." Her nylon track suit swished with every step, leading Isaac down a short hall to a closed door which she just opened right on up without knocking.

"Hey boss, there's a guy here looking for some work!"

A rumbling basso came from further inside the room. "One of these days I'll teach you lot to knock."

The pixie grinned cherubically and made a grab for Isaac's arm, meaning to drag him into the Boss Man's office where a large mountain of a man (with the beard to match) sat behind a simple wooden desk.

"I'd apologize for her, but she's beyond help," Cane said dryly. Laurel stuck her tongue out at him. Cane took it in stride, ignoring her antics in favor of giving Isaac his full attention. "Please, take a seat," he told Isaac, gesturing to the pair of chairs facing his desk. "Door can stay open or closed, I don't mind." Laurel was already making her way back down the hall, so Cane had to lift his voice to say, "Since apparently it doesn't matter either way!"

The Wheeler Scion ghosted a stunted smile as Ms. Laurel six catted her words and sought to bring him into a whimsical conspiracy regarding her explanations. “Chance is always fickle.” Fortunately for her, Isaac had matured among cotillion connivance and expedient arrangements meant to preserve southern standing. “Secret’s safe with me.” The slate of his eyes following that swish of her track suit before the Showman’s measured gait accompanied the woman down the hall.

As she made a grab for Isaac’s arm outside ‘Boss Man’s’ office, Isaac would politely blade his body away from the guiding hand yet still take the cue for what it was and step forward. He didn’t mean nothing by it, certainly nothing untoward, but reaching hands on the Midway often had iniquitous motivations.

“Thank you.” For Ms. Laurel before he turned to face Canaan’s desk. There was a lightening spark of recognition within the swirling storms of the Showman’s eyes; Isaac vaguely remembering the man’s face from when he was selling shine at Boozefest to put some folding money in his pocket. He looked like he could give Boz a few tough rounds, Isaac noted as he took the offered seat. “No apology necessary.” Formal as he sat, that ghosting smile reappearing as they radiated a familial energy similar to the Crossroads. “I’m Isaac Wheeler…thank you for seein me.” Opening with introductions just as his Mother had instilled with words and a switch from the tree out back. He didn’t know if Canaan remembered him or not. “Come over from the Crossroad Carnival…been layin dog for several months now…was hopin to maybe take my stage show here…maybe perform…help make ends meet. I’m a knife thrower…could maybe even teach some of that too if you got anything like that.”

Isaac might be able to see that spark of recognition mirrored in Cane's eyes, something vague, with perhaps a hint of uncertainty, as if he couldn't quite place the familiarity. "Isaac," the man rumbled amiably. "Pleasure to meet you. You can call me Cane." There was a placard on his desk that spelled out his full name: Canaan Devillier. He sat back comfortably in his chair, crossing his leg ankle to knee, an elbow propped on the very edge of his desk to set a casual, laidback tone with this simple bit of body language and hoped Isaac felt free enough to follow suit. "Well shit," he said, further stamping out any lingering traces of how a proper businessman should behave. "You came to the right place, brother. We're still growin' an' I'm always looking to take on new blood. We don't have anyone with your particular skill set--not since we lost Lirssa." Cane stroked his beard with calloused, weathered hands to hide the quiver of his mouth after saying her name. "Sounds like we might be able to help each other out. Now, my troupe only performs a few times a year right now, and we could certainly work an act like yours in, but if you're needin' something more steady than that, could fix you up as an instructor."

He wore himself a fish hook smile that pulled higher on one side than the other, and just as sharp. "I'd like to see you in action first, of course."

“Cane.” Isaac spoke with a nod, accepting the laid back tone though found it difficult to adopt it for himself…too many years spent in the front pew so everyone could see, his mother’s nails digging deep furrows in the skin of his arm whenever he even began to act up and threaten the carefully stitched ideal. “Appreciate the opportunity…my sister, Josette, she dances o’er at the Shanachie Theater…she got sick awhile back an…” Isaac pausing, shoulders lifting in a conceding shrug. “an I jus need something local…don’t wanna hover, but I still want to be around if you know what I mean.” The somber gray of his eyes lowering for a moment, the mention of Lirssa pulling them back up. “Josie…” The shortened name of his sister a sign that Isaac was slipping into a bit more easy familiarity, “…she was fond of Lirssa at the theater…m’sorry for the loss.” Isaac added with a polite inclination of his head.

The moment passed and Isaac moved with it, nodding in understanding as Cane mentioned that there were only a few times of the year set aside for performances, countenance brightening as he mentioned something more steady. Isaac appreciated the put up or shut up attitude and met the fishhook smile with wry wisdom. “You got the knives I got the time.” The drawled words accepting of the challenge. No reason to bring his own knives…would reveal more artistry and expertise when he flung another’s blades with equal poise and accuracy as his own.

Ah, so he at least knew of Lirssa then. It didn't surprise Cane in the least. His girl was a friend to just about everyone, and still wore a smile for all the rest. Isaac would find a framed photo of Cane and the girl together on his desk, each dolled up in the their stage best and flush with excitement, embracing as they both smiled for the camera.

The pain of her death was a subject he'd yet to put behind him, and was one of very few things Cane did not know how to handle gracefully. He wore the hurt on his sleeve, though it manifested in a sudden stern demeanor as he straightened up in his chair to fish around in a deep drawer. He didn't say anything like thank you; instead he produced a trio of sleek knives. Isaac might wonder why Cane kept a set of throwing knives on hand, but he tidied that up with a short explanation as he leaned across the desk to hand them over. "These were hers. Lirssa's. I know she'd be happy if they got to fly one more time."

He got up from his chair and walked over to a bit of bare wall, entirely unconcerned that he was about to ask Isaac to embed a few weapons into the drywall around him. "Please tell me this demonstration involves the knives getting tossed at me and not just the wall." A wild grin now.

Isaac had toured the back roads which crisscrossed the realms with a traveling carnival and its patchwork kaleidoscope of misfits, malcontents and mavericks…needless to say the wayward Showman had seen enough to know better than to question the motivations of others. Carnies kept a simple code after all: keep your nose outta business that wasn’t yours, don't screw up anyone else's game, and when the trucks leave the lot all debts are paid.

“Course…” Isaac readily agreed with the sentiments. “Blades ain’t meant to dull in the darkness.” Isaac’s drawled words hanging lazily in the space between them like the pliant branches of a willow tree. He reached a hand out as Cane set them down in front of him, fingers worn rough from practice and hard work taking a light touch to their sleek profile as well as a cursory test of their edge.

Thunderstorms rolled with the large man’s movements as he stood and walked towards the bare wall, Isaac putting the pieces together with a humble smirk of amusement. Had to hand it to Cane…man was willing it to put it on the line. Wheeler would respect that. “Wall’s jus there to make it easier to fetch them blades.” Standing as well, the trio of knives collected in his off hand as Cane stood ready. “Can give ya a shave or give ya a scare…” Isaac lifting a shoulder. “Provided ya -jus- want a demonstration with ya standin still…” The gales in his eyes churning with a sudden intensity as he shifted one of the knives to his dominant hand and sent it tumbling end over end towards Cane where it dug into the drywall beneath the ear and above the shoulder. “Guess now be a good time to negotiate my pay…” A little smirk as the second blade was readied.

The Cajun's wild grin widened at the same time the knife found its mark. To his credit, he never flinched. Maybe he really was crazy. Cane turned his head to study the patina of the blade so close to his head he could have puckered his lips and kissed it. Impressed, he turned to fix Isaac with a steady gaze, arching his pierced brow in challenge. "Can promise you it won't scare me." Though he politely refrained from explaining what else it might do. Man had some class, and after all, this was an interview, not a night club. "Cher, you'll get paid handsomely providin' you don't stick me. Show me what else you got."

Isaac had a reputation at the Crossroads as a Showman who toed the line of spectacle and, depending on which former assistant one spoke with it, too often crossed over it into the realm of hazardous menace. Cane might be crazy…and Isaac just might be deadly. “That’s what they all say on the first day…”

The second knife found purchase in the wall a little lower and outside the first, this one lodged just beneath the arm and a fraction outside the rib cage…just inches from the heart. Isaac had performed a routine with his sister numerous times to the delight and panicked dread of the audience…Josette turning faster and faster on her toes across the stage as Isaac followed her with a stinging line of thrown steel sticking into the stage just beneath her en pointe posture while the audience struggled the solid mass of fright lodged in their throat.

“So he is afraid ta bleed…” Isaac surmised with a cunning and adroit smirk as Cane hung his compensation in balance with the Cajun keeping his skin intact. The third knife was flung suddenly, and from Isaac’s off hand, to drive home the interview just beneath the wrist, the cool kiss of steel felt with the slightest relaxation of tension in the arm. “I show you anything more and you have ta pay me.”

Cane's responding smirk held something more of a secret in its depths, though he did not bother to correct the other man's conjecture. After the last blade had been loosed, he slipped away from the wall with a satisfied rumble of appreciation like thunder rolling deep in his chest. There was a moment taken to admire the holes in the wall after tugging each blade free before he returned to his desk, still smiling.

"I'm impressed," Cane admitted freely. He didn't resume his seat, opting to lean his hip against the corner of the desk instead, facing Isaac. "And I'd be more than happy to hire you on. A class like yours will sell out fast; you're likely to keep more'n busy here, brother." He offered the other man his hand. "What say you?"

It took a moment for that addictive energy to bleed itself out of the Showman, that lethal edge manipulated and held within the palm of one’s hand a kind of high that was not easily put down and even more challenging to forget. It was Cane’s movement away from the wall which prompted the slate colored eyes to blink and lungs to exhale.

“B’happy to have work again.” Isaac agreed, listening to the bearded Cane explain the expectation and opportunity. He took the Cajun’s hand in a firm yet gentlemanly handshake. “Appreciate it.” Releasing Cane’s hand to produce a simple business card from a front pocket of his shirt. Nothing extravagant or showy…just a contact card for the Crossroads Carnival and a hand scrawled cell number on the bottom. “Easiest way ta get a hold of me…” Isaac explaining. Staying on carnival grounds had its advantages for certain, though if this worked out as well as Cane said Isaac would certainly be finding his own private place. “Got all my belongings there as well…I’ll show fully equipped an ready.” A nod to punctuate the words. He had a Puritan’s work ethic despite hailing from the land of plantations, largess and lethargic living.

“See…didn’t even spill a drop.” Isaac tacked on with a wry smirk. “Thanks again for the opportunity.”

"Nah, man, thank you. If I'm right, an' I usually am," he smiled here--his arrogance somehow more endearing than anything else, "you're fixin' ta make me a lotta money." The longer they interacted, the more that Mississippi summer drawl crept its way into Cane's voice. He'd long since put his Cajun accent to bed, but couldn't quite shake the last two decades of backwoods influence. Especially when he was in good company. "We'll get the details ironed out in a way that suits us both, an' I'll be sure ta getcha anythin' ya need." He pocketed the man's business card with a pleased smile. "Glad ta have ya on board."
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