#m.threads

[containatrocity]

"No. I'm fucking telling you, if we do it that way you're just begging it to come down with the next thunderstorm, much less a quake. Dig deeper, sink the post, it'll be shorter but we're working with shit all anyway." He rolls his eyes, as the other construction crew moves on to another project. "Fine. I'll dig the damn hole myself, fuckin' prick." He sets to doing just that, stomping the shovel head into the earth. "Shouldn't even have to do this shit..." He mutters- he doesn't seem to notice the other party for a long moment, placing a cigarette between his lips. "What. What do you fucking want?" He snaps. "Don't gawk at me like it's some performance, half these fucking idiots are gonna get us into another death-trap without help, I don't want to die."

There's something more to this, doing the work himself, dressed in simple cotton tee under a sheepskin denim jacket isn't... Mercy, after all. "You have anything important to say or are you just here to stare at me? Because I'm clearly busy- which you could be! Become a productive member of society. Or what-the-fuck-ever."

[containatrocity]

"Yes, you've made it clear that you're very upset about the news from sunday, but I fail to see how that's my responsibility, you old coot. You made the deal before they died, so you can either trade me what we agreed on, or I'm gonna leave your husband on that little shelf up there, and if I get bored, maybe I'll snort a line of him." Mercy deadpans, one brow arched high. "Crying doesn't work on me, it never has. So I don't know how you think this is gonna go, that family getting torn to ribbons by ghouls in a foul-play incident didn't accidentally trade off your husband's urn for supplies. Now you can get me the ration cards you owe me, or you can-" He snorts a laugh, as the woman lets out a short distraught sound and runs out of the shop- the bell over the door chiming once again as he lights up a cigarette, fire catching on black paper.

"Welcome to Auntie Em's, I'm Mercy, your most loved proprietor, can I interest you in this dead asshole, or a bunch of baseball cards? I ain't got a lot in the way of useful shit, baby." He sighs, smoke spilling from his nose. "What'cha here for, mein welpe?"

[containatrocity]

It's not like Mercy particularly enjoys engaging with the unwashed masses of Huntsville. All things considered, he likely would have stayed home today, if he hadn't been well aware there were very few opportunities for him to get to practice his circus-related skills- there weren't many places for a magician's talent set in a place that relied as heavily as this one on self-sufficiency. It made hustling hard, and being Mercy even harder, but with the prospect of people being willing to engage in the fiction of the fantasy medieval times the town's heads had laid out, there was always the prospect for his feats falling in amongst the folly. So he'd dressed up, dragged himself out, and was in the midst of a performance with a small crowd. "Ah, remember, ladies and gentlemen! I am a skilled professional, those without my specific talents will find themselves injured or dead in the face of attempting anything you've seen today!" He declares, leaping up onto the box in front of himself, blue eyes focused through his mask on the daggers he's juggling, joking and chattering with his crowd before catching each blade on the way down- throwing them sharply into a nearby board just behind them, each landing with a heavy 'thunk!' into the thick wood- whizzing past enraptured viewers. "And your risk here? Not exactly minimal! Best to tip your performers- a good meal means a steady hand, and all that." He grins- the action pulling the full-mask up his face slightly as the crowd begins to dissipate, depositing tickets into the violin case by his feet. He turns to a straggler, raising a brow under his mask. "You need something, dollface? you look a little bit like you could use a cheering up. Granted. I'm not that sort of Jester."

@lxvenderhxzehv

[containatrocity]

"Ash." Mercy sighs, adjusting his cup of coffee as he walks out of the cirque house. "What did I tell you about sitting on the stairs like this?" He manages to navigate around them smoothly enough, adjusting the strap of his backpack slightly as he checks the watch in his pocket- he's not going to be late, at the very least, and he looks... better, than he had, unkempt beard reigned in a bit further, dirty blonde hair once more purposefully messy instead of by neglect. "Hex and I will mind our step if you're in the way- Arkadeon can and will kick you in the head. If you're waiting around for someone, go inside." It's no secret Mercy's got a soft spot for Asher- she'd joined the menagerie before he got... cruel. He hates them for it, sometimes. The way they know a version of him better than this one.

It's harder some days to keep that under wraps. "C'mon. Up. Outta the way. I'm not listening to our Ringmaster throw his fit about how he tripped over you and spilled his coffee."

@endlessreruns

[containatrocity]

"Who does that little bitch think she is? A scene like that? In front of the whole fucking town? I'll- I'm going to-" He's seething, rubbing his jaw as Hex watches him pace from her perch on top of a stack of wooden boxes. She doesn't seem particularly invested in his great betrayal, smoking and watching Mercy swear. She nudges him with the toe of her boot a moment later, nodding at a still lingering set of eyes, A subtle suggestion that her friend get his shit together. He sighs, straightens his costume, the bright yellow suit no worse for wear despite the sting in his jaw- and levels the other man with an arched brow. "You need somethin', handsome, or are you just admirin' the view?"

@ghostsbrokenbyfairytales

[containatrocity]

"Welcome to Auntie whatever's blah blah blah and oddities... Shit's over there, I'm not Auntie whatever, but finding a sign maker who isn't dead is a task and a half." Mercy doesn't look up from his work, a cigarette dwindling in the corner of his mouth, blue eyes slightly narrowed at a stack of old electronics, stripping wires and solder from the back and tossing the contents into a box on the table beside him, a rotary phone sitting in pieces nearby just the same. "If you need help with anything, don't need help with anything, I'm clearly busy." With what is unclear, but he glances up from his work anyway, looses a slight whistle.

"Damn, you're a big boy, aren't you? Didn't know they built boys that size." dark brows crease slightly. "Oh wait, you're the... cowboy, fellow. Mm. The statement stands, if you need something. Don't need something. Unless that something is company on a lonely night."

@darkestxdreams

[containatrocity]

"Ah yes, of course, take all the time you want, it's not like some of us have employment to get to..." it's muttered, as he adjusts on his feet, empty to-go cup held in one hand and the exhaustion that could surely only come from a party the night before and an early shift at the antique store could provide painted on his face. The line's not even that long, the person in front of him at the diner simply taking slightly longer than he'd like. He turns, slightly, to the person behind him. "Can you believe it? Acting like the same shit hasn't been on the menu since we got trapped in this fucking shithole... It's not changed in a decade and some change- I've known my order since I watched my father get eaten by ghouls."

@violenttempest

[containatrocity]

"And, do come again- there's no harm in a peek beyond the veil after all- or in funding your charming guide's next drink." He calls after a departing group of faire-goers, the hard porcelain of his mask- a Jester grinning and frozen- hiding the scowl beneath as he counts his funds from the last performance. He sighs, tucks meager tickets into his pocket, and pulls his mask from his face, sitting it aside on a nearby picnic table and scratching absently at the black paint on his cheek, a second more flexible grin marked into pale skin. "I swear, you spend 11 years trapped in a shitty little town and you forget how to tip apparently." He mutters, picking up his violin and beginning to tune up. He's dead to the world for a long moment, the violin case on the ground by his feet closed to indicate he's not performing at the moment. But he catches eyes on him- or perhaps eyes on the forest just over his shoulder- and shifts his own glance to be eye to eye with the source- He's seen her around before- looking troubled, more often than not. "I've not got another performance for a while, love, I'd hate for you to linger around and get the wrong impression of me as an artist." He insists. "... Odette, yes?" He questions, one dark brow arching. "Do you always look as if you're a deer about to meet the vicious front end of an 18 wheeler?"

@odette-abbott

[containatrocity]

THE REAPER: MERCY WAINWRIGHT

Hello lovely, I'm corruption- I just noticed that you seemed a little down. Just sign right here on this line and I can change your life This is a blind shot in the dark, I don't think what you need is love- Take that off we're gonna make you a star!!!

"Have Mercy baby! Merc Wainwright, but you can call me daddy. The better half of the Sidon Brothers, 30 years young. Freakshow barker performing feats of human strength, firebreathing, human blockhead, coal walking, ever seen a man put a hook through his face? you want to? But I'm outta the game, as seven years ago my idiot brother took a wrong turn with our circus and landed us here, in Huntsville. I've recently taken ownership of the oddities shop in town and trade in useless shit nobody wants anymore. Me and the commune don't fuck with each other, really, guess I spend too much time sniffing around it for tail and not enough time 'participating' in their whole gig. I'm a hedon, who doesn't believe in vices, but if I had to pick one, I've been known to get myself involved in the affairs of those married, taken, and otherwise off the market."

Name: Roewan "Mercy Wainwright" Sidon

Aliases: Merc, Mercy, RoRo, The Marvelous Mr. Wainwright

Age: 30 (October 13th)

Sexuality/Gender: Pansexual Cis Male

Personality: Mercy's a showman, and that much is clear moments into knowing him. Loud and demanding of attention, he commands a room when he enters it, and isn't one to shy away from conflict. a true hedonist, Mercy's only goals in life appear to be his own pleasure and receiving the affections and accolades of others, quick to assume something is wrong with them if they don't like him, or find him attractive. Vain to a fault, he continues to defy his surface-level behavior by being a loyal friend, protective and willing to die for those who mean the world to him, if push comes to shove. A con-artist and gambler who loves to rig the game in his favor, Mercy's tendencies to challenge people to bets they 'surely can't lose' only to rinse them for their belongings is well known- a man skilled in sleight of hand and misdirection thanks to a background in the circus- not everyone in the Menagerie is a conman, but Mercy certainly took on the role early into his life.

Occupation: Former sideshow performer and 'freakshow' announcer, current owner of Auntie Em's Antiques and Oddities.

Affiliations: The Menagerie Circus, the Town of Huntsville, Arkadeon Sidon, Hex Sif-Sidon

Scent Profile: Heady notes of sugar and honey under something more bitter, like warm coffee, petrichor and blood. Lanolin from violin bows, a scent and a talent he shares with Hex, the dusty scent of old, well loved books and furniture, and the herbal notes of marijuana cigarettes smoked out of black paper rolls.

Aesthetic: A clean, well pressed vest and perfect white dress shirt ruffled by hands reaching to run down covered chest. The glint of a dagger, juggled, swallowed, or tucked along the hem of someone else's smallclothes. Rosy colored glasses hiding the aces tucked up your sleeves, blood on your tongue but the pain's always been a pleasure, so you share it, copper between lips, steel hidden away. A brother wearing a crown, your hunger for power insatiable and only asleep, not quelled by the platitudes you were offered. Black-painted nails and several rings streaked sanguine. Your suit is still impeccable, somehow.

Hello darling, Names seduction- Why don't you find something comfortable? Let me take your coat.... Don't be reluctant. Nothing you want can phase me, I'm all ice inside baby! Let's fix that addiction, You're sick'n I've got the remedy.

CHAPTER ONE: LIFE IN HUNTSVILLE POST ARRIVAL

The hedonistic, self-serving younger of the Sidon siblings, Mercy has made himself a rather unpopular member of the Menagerie in the time since his arrival with a substantial number of people. His tendency to serve only the interests of himself at the end of the day prove him to be rather impossible to get along with, and only those who have successfully appeased the selfish, lavish man first have come to know him as a loyal, well-meaning friend. As the now owner of Auntie Em's (as of mere months ago) He takes in the relative 'junk' that people can't find uses for- or things that townsfolk who meet an... untimely end, leave behind. He functions similarly as a fence, with a no-questions-asked policy for buying and selling, no matter the item. An eclectic, an artist, and an inventor of his own regard, he has a tendency to tinker, taking apart the junk and oddities in his shop to create something new- though it's typically something sharp or naughty, all things considered.

His pleasure-seeking ways aren't completely, and uniquely self serving, of course, as he's become rather well known for his 'get togethers' held overnight in houses no longer occupied, cheekily touted as the 'chance to get to know your neighbor' but decidedly leaning into the carnal. While it's an open secret- and something Mercy himself tends to hand out invites to like candy, It's still something he plays dumb about- especially to the police and government around Huntsville- generally distrusting of them at large. He doesn't seem to be bothered, by the fact he's trapped here, the looming threat of death embraced like a dagger held in his teeth- a living dead boy with no fear of death since his childhood, Mercy Wainwright has no want or need to get attached- and dead bodies piling up around him are par for the course. Calamity made flesh, chaos in flesh and bone- Mercy's seen the world before he could even drink- and now he's found himself bored of what it has to offer. He can only climb higher and higher- but Huntsville may yet melt the wax holding together inky black wings.

[containatrocity]

"You know, I thought I hated the 'Artemis that's over sleeping with me' thing that was going on." Mercy's voice rings out as he makes his way to the party- fashionably late, as usual. "But I think, actually, I hate the whole... miserable sadbitch thing you're doing now way more." He declares, pulling his cigarette from his lips as he comes to a stop alongside Artemis, slinging one broad arm around her shoulders. "You know, I don't do that whole... 'feeling and sharing' bullshit thing, but like. You look. Miserable, baby. And typically I don't give a shit, be as...." He motions with a hand- middle finger in a splint and quickly tucked back into his pocket. "This. as you want, but something about your vibe is harshing mine."

He exhales smoke from his nose, head tipped up and away for a moment. "Anything that stuffing a piece of paper in somebody's deadbolt at night or no-strings quickies in the ranger station bathroom can fix, or is this like, a therapy situation, Cherry Bomb?"

@exmcrtis

[containatrocity]

He's not dressed the way he usually is when he turns up at the video store, a loose tee shirt over swim trunks, a towel flung over one shoulder, it's clear enough what he's coming back from- or headed out to, perhaps. "I told you, we need to pick up whatever the hell we're watching tonight first, or else we're gonna be stuck watching the Lion King again, and if I have to hear I Just Can't Wait to Be King again I'm gonna-" He lifts a hand, placing two fingers to his temple, thumb sticking up- a 'bang' mouthed back toward the door. "Morning." He greets as he passes Poppy at the counter, stopping at the 'new releases' rack as if it might have something new on it. "Hey, human centipede part 2- Ow-" the woman with Mercy smacks his arm, rolling her eyes. "What, you can't party down with this in the background? Shame."

He puts the DVD back down, whistling sharply to catch Poppy's attention. "Hey, has whoever rented Contagion and Paranormal Activity 3 brought them back yet?" He rolls his eyes as his companion insists he find something that isn't scary. "None of us are gonna be watching it, Candy, christ almighty- My question remains the same, you got the stupid outbreak movie or the stupid ghost movie?"

@causingaracquet