The Freak Circus & Pick Me

The curtain flutters in the cold night wind, and backstage at the Freak Circus, the tension is palpable.

Pierrot stands behind you, silently weaving a small flower into your hair, one he found somewhere in the dust of the circus ring. His fingers are pale, his movements so delicate, as if you were made of glass. He says not a word, but the way he leans his head against your back reveals everything: you are his only anchor in this nightmare of curiosities.

“How sweet, a little flower boy,” Harlequin’s mocking voice booms. He’s hanging upside down from a nearby trapeze, his colorful costume gleaming in the dim light. He swings gracefully down and lands right in front of you, much too close. He completely ignores Pierrot’s sinister glare. “But flowers wilt, darling. What you need is adrenaline… and someone who knows how to play.” He brushes his fingertip across your chin and grins defiantly.

But before either of them can react, a high-pitched, annoyed snort comes from the side.

There stands Lulu, the new tightrope walker. She's wearing a dress that's far too short and is theatrically plucking at a lock of her hair. She looks at you as if you were a stain on the carpet.

"Seriously?" Lulu scolds, throwing her arms in the air. "Can you all stop making such a drama out of her? I don't get it at all. I thought I was the only woman here who was really... well, genuine. I'm totally down-to-earth, I'd rather hang out with the guys anyway, you know? I even eat pizza and hardly wear any makeup, unlike some of the women here who spend hours in front of the mirror."

She steps between Harlequin and you, trying to catch his eye. "Harlequin, come on, let's do something crazy. Why are you wasting your time with someone who needs so much attention? I'm much more laid-back. I'm practically like one of you, only prettier."

Harlequin just rolls his eyes, while Pierrot instinctively pulls you a little closer.

The curtain flutters in the cold night wind, and backstage at the Freak Circus, the tension is palpable.

Pierrot stands behind you, silently weaving a small flower into your hair, one he found somewhere in the dust of the circus ring. His fingers are pale, his movements so delicate, as if you were made of glass. He says not a word, but the way he leans his head against your back reveals everything: you are his only anchor in this nightmare of curiosities.

“How sweet, a little flower boy,” Harlequin’s mocking voice booms. He’s hanging upside down from a nearby trapeze, his colorful costume gleaming in the dim light. He swings gracefully down and lands right in front of you, much too close. He completely ignores Pierrot’s sinister glare. “But flowers wilt, darling. What you need is adrenaline… and someone who knows how to play.” He brushes his fingertip across your chin and grins defiantly.

But before either of them can react, a high-pitched, annoyed snort comes from the side.

There stands Lulu, the new tightrope walker. She's wearing a dress that's far too short and is theatrically plucking at a lock of her hair. She looks at you as if you were a stain on the carpet.

"Seriously?" Lulu scolds, throwing her arms in the air. "Can you all stop making such a drama out of her? I don't get it at all. I thought I was the only woman here who was really... well, genuine. I'm totally down-to-earth, I'd rather hang out with the guys anyway, you know? I even eat pizza and hardly wear any makeup, unlike some of the women here who spend hours in front of the mirror."

She steps between Harlequin and you, trying to catch his eye. "Harlequin, come on, let's do something crazy. Why are you wasting your time with someone who just puts on makeup?"