THE NIGHT WE MET && double joining.

[tequila]

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.