this was strange, in truth. this land was not the land he had grown up with, it seemed darker and less joyous. however, he had only cared if it contained a shelter where he could restart his paperwork. he still had a hard time looking at himself, expecting the familiar dark red of the canine he was trapped in, not the blessed skin he was now residing in.
while cleopatra had been enjoying the new life given to them, the belial was struggling. it just felt so strange. this skin felt so big. the bags under his eyes were much more exaggerated than they used to be, but he was a belial. he was bred for perfection.

with his hand firmly attached to cleo's, he had made sure to keep close to her side. protective was always a word she had used around him, however, he viewed it as protecting his property. it was a simple instinct, he had earn what he wanted. cleo was earned through years of hard work and heartache. the absence of her children haunted him, for he had been a main figure in their life. now, it was just them.

he was used to the cartel, it felt more homey, but he despised carnivals. clowns had a special place in hell, and the joyous atmosphere was ruined by the lack of care. "they need to be cleaned." he was made to be as efficient as possible, his work didn't include fun. it was strictly work.

[ ooc ] i apologise for my late reply. i would have replied yesterday but i was really busy </3

He used to cry a lot when he was younger, a mere boy who didn't know any better than what he liked and what he didn't like. Back in the village, which was the only other place he did know, everyone used to hush him: "Jean-Jacques, please don't cry." Sounds were all he had ever known. It was hard for him to differentiate between talking and shouting. Once he woke up in the middle of the night, screaming from what his parents thought to be a night terror. He heard something sharp but later it had only turned out to be the sound of a person slicing vegetables, cooking at the brink of midnight. Later he came to learn that no one else could hear the noise he heard, and eventually came to assume that only the animals could hear what he heard. Tequila always wondered what it would be like to be an animal. As far as he was concerned, the universe had always meant him to be human. But even sometimes he's capable of realising just by the smallest of tremors that the birds didn't know what he was worrying about. The stillness of their fragile forms and the brief ruffles of their feathers meant that they understood and knew nothing. He felt almost alone again, increasingly aware he was just different.

His fingers press gently against the bandages over his eyes, feeling the ovular shape of his unknowable hues before dropping his hands in an almost defeated manner. He always used to say he had good ears, and it was always proven. After all, Tequila had been on high alert for a while now. He knows strangers have approached and by the pattern of feet launching and landing off the ground, he counts two figures approaching the edge. There's an uneasy breath. His toes wiggle within the soles of his boots, expecting to feel a tremor but realising the material of his shoes were so thick that they often drowned out such distances. He had never been able to control his sense of touch, it was too easy to be overwhelmed by the tremors of the earth that he had to find other means to block it out. His head raises. A female and a male conversing is what he hears and, immediately possessed by initiative, Tequila himself begins to move. They must be talking about a hurricane wheel and he begins feeling mildly sheepish. He's never had particularly good aim himself and may have been responsible for a few dramatic injuries and deaths with that wheel. He can only say that it's a bad idea to make the blind one throw knives, no matter how good they were at navigating about as if they had eyes.

"They could be cleaned by they'll just get dirty again," Tequila muses, phasing his head through the torture device. He gives a polite smile to the two foreigners as he pulls the rest of his body through the wheel and stands on his two feet. The boy isn't unaccustomed to greeting two strangers at the border. Heck, he was sure he had met entire families wishing to give their lives up to the circus so he couldn't say he felt the least bit uncomfortable or nervous. That being said, he was wondering when their 'Marvelous' Maverick would arrive. He points to the older male, tilting his head a little, "Luci? Is that a nickname?" He giggles to himself then turns his head to the woman, a figurative gaze burning straight towards her with a strangely brimming curiosity. "And your name, miss?" He doesn't, however, let them answer straight away. He quickly slips into what's more important as names can be learnt later. "It's a bit too early for a show to start but I'm sure we can make an exception - we've been a little quiet lately." Yes, it seems like with the other groups absorbing all the hype, they haven't had much limelight. It's been a while since he's been able to show his card tricks. "Unless, of course, you two are looking to join The Berserkers instead?"

as the delicate sound of another had came to his attention, luciano had casted a cold look towards the boy. an otherwise expressionless face. it didn’t matter if the knives were going to get dirty again or not, it was common procedure to simply wash their utensils. otherwise, it was just disgusting.

"it’s luciano belial. that’s it." had came the curt response, attention fully settled on the boy. he didn’t get why cleo chose here. it lacked charm. in fact, he could find so much to change, but that could also be the business man in him. however, there was something missing. the boy continued to remain a mystery, which wouldn’t be allowed for long.

"now, let’s finish these pleasantries, i just need your name now." luciano never cared for little y’all or any introductions that had been strung out. they were a waste of time and he would not be hesitant to say so. his time was valuable, and he had things to take care of and finish.

joining? sadly so. with a quick glance towards cleopatra, his hands going to massage circles into her beautiful skin.  "we don’t need a show. we were planning on staying for awhile." nothing more, nothing else. however, he was curious as to why someone so young would be greeting them first. it seemed…strange…to say the least.

Tequila has never had a romance with someone. Sure, he has had a crush here and there before, the feeling of a bubbling attraction towards someone, but the girlish-looking boy has never gone beyond just the feeling of liking someone. So, of course, if he had been good at reading past the woman's stony face, he wouldn't have felt sorry. If the couple had wanted time for themself, it was better they did it further away than The Berserkers so that no one would interrupt. Before the adolescent could even begin to let his mind wander, he voice strikes him as something to pay extra attention to. He only now recognises the heavy formation of words that leave her lips, an accent he knows not the name of. Tequila's not particularly good at geography and he can feel his ears strain a little as his brain frantically echoes the words in his head. Cleopatra. He wonders if the woman is Egyptian from the sound of the name. He knows of his studies as a kid about Egyptian pharaohs - the woman didn't have the best of reputations in his opinion. Although she was celebrated for her feminism, he doubts there anything honorable can be reaped in marrying a man for power. Of course, these were only the boy's distracted thoughts. He doesn't know this woman at all, nor does he know the man she had nicknamed 'Luci'.

On the topic of the man, he finally hears him speak his turn. Turning to face him in a polite manner. He can't see them but he doubts they will assume that of him. His fringe, after all, covered his eyes so it is likely they all assumed his vision to be quite obscured. Still, he can't help but feel the male's disapproval towards his comment on the knives. Well, if the stranger was willing to clean them then he could clean them. Tequila wasn't going to fumble over polishing knives and the smell of blood had always had a strange comfort to him. It was how he knew that The Berserkers were never going to change. If charm was what 'Luciano Belial' wanted then he was clearly at the wrong place, though the feminine boy had a feeling that the man was only here because of the Cleopatra woman. "Jean-Jacques," he replies with a hum about his voice, "But I'm known around here as Tequila so that's the name I'd prefer." There's no reason for him to mention his birth name but he often does so anyway, as if it were a lame attempt to stop others from questioning how on earth he can be named after an alcoholic drink. Besides, he justifies to himself, he doesn't mind the nickname J.J. He just wouldn't offer it as an option.

Tequila, without moving his head, already knows of Maverick approaching from behind him when he begins twiddling with his strands of alabaster hair. He can smell the Ringmaster's very stench, feel the murmured tremors of earth beneath his feet. He counts quietly in his head, grin widening against his cheery cheeks whilst his heart thundered in amused excitement. He loved his little games because they were little methods to pass the time, ways to make fun of life and her predictability. Five. He can hear the vibrations getting closer as he curls his fingers into a fist, feeling the cold touch of his fingerprints against his palm. Four. He wonders what kind of mood the Ringmaster is in today. Chippy, he hopes. Three. His attention zooms in to the motion of each footstep, imagining the distribution of Maverick's weight roll from heel to toe and launch the man forwards. The propelling of arms, the expenditure of energy. Two. He has a feeling he'd started his countdown a little too early.

"Welcome to The Berserkers."

And there it was: Maverick's voice, cutting through the air before he'd even have time to count to one. Well, Tequila is no psychic. He can be very lucky at times, used to the formulas and patterns of life, but that was it. His nose twitches at the man's spiel of their little circus freak group, adding nothing but quietly listening. He doesn't need anyone to snap or remind him when and when not to speak his turn. The last thing he is interested in is embarrassing himself but he can feel a ball of distaste growing towards him, suddenly realising that Cleopatra must be quite the looker. It was too bad that she seemed the same as the rest of them, crazed. The Berserkers had a reputation for luring in all kinds of strange people. He's never surprised by now. Tequila himself first joined the circus for the fun. "What kind of entertainer?" There's a genuine curiosity which laces the boy's words, tilting his head so that one of the golden bells which made his ears appeared through his shifted hair, accompanying his voice with soft chimes. Mafia. He chooses not to ask about it.