#I saw a fiery cape outline and it was perfect :)

[echo-does-art]

Little Baby Dan!

Lovely lineart by @jadenoryuu for the @green-with-envy-phandom-event, with Dan colored based on the design I worked on with @ventisettestars during invisobang- I did say I wasn't done drawing this version of him!

[andturpentine]

An Abandoned Work

This is an excerpt from a story that I lost the outline for. I love it a lot, but I can’t remember where I was going for the plot, so unfortunately, this is it.

The Downfall of Margaret Rafferty, Otherwise Known as the Street Organ Peddler

Margaret Rafferty was a disgrace to the art of the Circus.  The bright lights and glittering costumes were muddled by her drab, lull of a personality. 

Smoothing out the wrinkles on her dress, the girl stood up from the mud puddle on the side of the road. The navy blue fabric was almost imperceptible underneath the dirt and grime, but even just a couple hours ago the fabric was beautiful, and unstained. 

Margaret walked down the uneven pavement on the road, all air of elegance depleted, her gait stilted. When had it all gone wrong for her? Her whole life had been given to her, fed to her on a spoon. Perhaps the spoon wasn’t silver, as most people believed it to be, but it was a spoon nonetheless. 

She glanced at herself in a shop window, disappointed with the face that looked back. Her once fiery hair was now a dark auburn of falling curls. Her eyes were a jaded shade of green, and her fair pink skin was dull, freckles blending in with the flecks of dirt on her face. She had been beautiful once. Before the art had died. Even before then, she was unmatched in her presence. 

Margaret looked away from the window, spotting a scrap of paper in the gutter. Kneeling, she picked up the paper, sighing as she saw its contents. 

One night only! It declared. See the talented Margaret Rafferty Perform! The drawing underneath looked nothing like her. 

Margaret sighed, folding up the paper and sticking it in her waistband. 

Margaret Rafferty killed the art of the Circus. 

Since being a child, in the home of a wealthy doctor, Margaret had found herself stifled by the constraints of the upper class. Finishing schools, strict schedules, even drinking tea felt like a chore. There was one thing that melted the stress of being a proper lady away. One day of the year, from her sixth to her tenth birthdays, her father deemed it questionably acceptable to visit the circus. Of course that stopped as soon as the unhealthy obsession arose. 

At age six, it was endearing. The small redhead with the wild hair, balancing on the edge of the road, parasol high over her head. By age ten it became less endearing, and more troublesome. Especially to the girl’s mother, Ellouise 

It seemed impossible for Ellouise to have a perfect child. She forced all of her energy into Margaret, her only child, and yet the— now adolescent woman— was as wild as ever. 

The final straw was crossed when Margaret had fashioned a tightrope from her bedroom window to the large oak tree in the field. Margaret was quickly sent to a boarding school. 

Dressed in white lace gowns, and tightly laced corsets, the girl learned to sip her tea quietly, never having an outburst, or an original thought, lest she be switched. It was pure agony. For a free spirit like Margaret, the school seemed like the end of her days. 

Nothing, of course, could stop her love for the circus. She worked in secrecy, creating elaborate costumes from the allowance that her parents send her each month. By the time it was her 17th birthday, Margaret had a collection of glittering acrobat costumes, each more elaborate than the last—all hand made, all hardly worn.

The spring was nearly unbearable. As soon as the weather started to get warm, Margaret could practically smell the buttered popcorn, and hear the beautiful waltzes played on the organ in the big canvas tent. 

Just before her final month of school for the year, Margaret received a letter. Mail was not unusual for her, but she didn’t recognize the sender. She furrowed her brow for a moment, quickly stopping. Furrowed brows cause wrinkles. Her mother’s voice rang through her ears. Margaret gently broke the wax seal on the back of the envelope. 

By the time she had finished reading the letter, Margaret was panic stricken. Her mother was trying to marry her off. Margaret hadn’t even met the man and here she was, already betrothed to him, without her consent. 

Margaret’s chest felt tight, and for once she knew it wasn’t the constriction of the corset. As night rolled over the town, and the circus lit up, she knew what she had to do. 

Margaret was going to become a goddamn carnie. 

Margaret was horrible at tightrope walking. It turns out that watching a funambulist was not enough for her to learn. She had walked right up to the ring leader, asking to join, but instead of being openly accepted among the freaks and frauds, she was asked to show her skills. 

There was only one problem with that. Margaret had absolutely no skills whatsoever. She balanced on the edge of the platform, ready to take her first step onto the rope. One thing that the ring leader could appreciate about Margaret was how gracefully she fell onto the practice net. Her face didn’t display any fear as she fell, almost appearing like an angel. If angels could have hair so red that it burned in the sunlight, of course. 

“You are exceptionally unskilled,” The ring leader offered her a hand, helping the ripe, young beauty off of the net. 

She smoothed out her skirt, a pink blush creeping up her neck. “Please. I need this.”

He bit his lip, observing her. “We don’t have charity to give to anyone who comes our way. Everyone in this troupe has their purpose.”

The flush on Margaret’s face immediately faded as a look of determination was firmly set in her eyes. “I can be very useful. I can cook or clean. I can learn to be a tightrope walker. I can learn anything. I’m willing to do anything.” 

Looking at her with sullen eyes, the man sighed. “Look. I’m sorry. I have to turn you down.” He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, his eyes twinkling, “Although it’s quite a shame.” 

Margaret’s posture escaped her, the spinal column in her back practically disappearing. She grabbed her small wicker train case off of the floor, walking past the ringleader and into the rehearsal of the circus. 

Margaret was by no means a clumsy girl. She had always carried herself with the elegance that many ladies had tried so hard to obtain through years of training. Yet, as if by magic— or some sort of destiny— she had tripped over herself, her belongings splayed all over the floor. 

The intricate jeweled costumes, on display for everyone to see, were hardly soiled by the dusty ground before the ringleader picked one up. It was a light pink number, with small, labyrinthine beads adorning the front, and a beautiful feathered cape trailing behind it. 

“Did you make this?” The man looked at Margaret, who was still frantically trying to keep the costumes from getting dusty. 

“Down to every last bead.” She closed the latches on her small piece of luggage, oddly proud that her craftsmanship was being acknowledged. 

“What did you say your name was?” 

“You never asked.” She smiled a bit. “My name is Margaret Rafferty.” 

He took her by the hand, kissing the top of it gently before intertwining their arms. “Welcome to the Circus, Miss Rafferty.”

When she was told she was going to be a part of the circus, she didn’t realize that the ringleader meant she was a glorified seamstress, but she didn’t really mind. The tightrope walker taught Margaret her craft, and in return Margaret taught her how to dance a waltz, and how to play the carnival’s organ.

Within a month, Margaret had mastered the tightrope.