see ch. 1 for warnings, notes, disclaimer
Warriors + Chapter 50
A cold October rainsquall did
nothing to deter the crowds that flocked to Louis Armstrong Park on the
thirtieth. Bloom's Traveling Show of Wonders would open tomorrow, in the
big white tent decorated with orange sunbursts. Tonight it stood dark
and ghostly beside the smaller silver and black tent a few hundred yards
away. An avenue had been marked out with crescent moon-shaped lanterns
from the park gates to the ticket booths and covered annex that led into
the main tent. Inside, a round black circle of raised stage stood under
two steel archways that intersected at a ninety-degree angle. The one
that ran front to back disappeared behind black curtains. In the shadows,
speakers and an elaborate lighting system were hidden in the black super
structure. Banks of seats faced the stage in a semicircle, facing a black
silk scrim at the back of the stage which Quatre had painted with a twisted
tangle of silver roses and moon flowers blossoming under an ominous looking
There were programs decorated with similar designs. Inside were photos
of the actors in full make up and costume, their faces hidden behind elaborate
masks. The cryptic titles of their acts were given, with hint of what
it might be, but no names. All of them, even Trowa, were listed simply
as "The Night Company."
Heero and Duo had front row seats near the scrim, handy for Duo to slip
backstage and help Trowa and Quatre with their makeup. Staff make up artists
would take over after tonight, but they'd wanted him for opening night.
The body paint had been his idea, and his design.
The "Gundam Fearsome Foursome's" nighttime antics and Trowa's free pass
idea had guaranteed them turn away crowds. Tonight's performance, and
the actual revelation of what he'd been so obliquely promoting, would
make or break the venture. They'd all stayed in last night, and no one
had done any drinking in two days.
The moment arrived. Every black and silver seat was filled, and a hush
fell over the crowd as the tent went dark. Then a blinding searchlight
flashed briefly, sweeping the black stage and making the audience blink
and squint. It strobed again, showing the empty circle, and a third time,
giving a startling glimpse of a very tall, very thin figure in black that
had somehow materialized at center stage.
Duo grabbed Heero's hand, tense and squirming with excitement.
A softer, blue tinted spot came on, centered on the tall man in black.
It was Trowa, Heero knew, but he doubted anyone else could have recognized
him. A collective murmur rippled through the crowd.
Quatre had designed Trowa's outfit as a parody of a traditional ringmaster's
suit. He wore a dented black silk top hat tilted forward over his face,
with a raven's feather stuck in the band. His torso was bare under a loose
black cutaway tailcoat. The sleeves of the coat were short, baring his
wrists and the glint of silver bracelets made to look like barbed wire.
His tight black leather pants were laced up the sides, baring a generous
expanse of pale skin. His black boots had a high heel to increase his
already considerable height, and silver death's heads capped the long
sharp toes. Duo had used bone colored make up and shadowy highlights to
make Trowa's face, chest, and belly look supernaturally gaunt, and his
mouth was painted to look wider than it was, more visible to the crowd.
He looked spectral and sinister. Heero thought of vampires again, but
Trowa had no fangs, just a coiled bullwhip held loosely in his right hand.
He stood motionless, eyes hidden in the shadow of his hat brim. He seemed
unaware of the crowd leaning breathlessly forward. Then that painted mouth
widened in a sinister smile.
When he spoke at last, his voice was the husky, insinuating one he'd used
at the clubs, with an edge of menace. He spoke slowly, as if caressing
every word with his tongue.
"Ladies and gentlemen." The smile tilted a bit. "Ladies-- and ladies!"
Someone in the crowd let out an approving whoop and Trowa's head came
up a little, so that they could just see the dark glint of his eyes as
he licked his lips and smiled a little wider, and twitched the whip against
his thigh. "Gentlemen and not so gentle men! Welcome all, to the Circus
della Notte's premier performance. You, our honored first audience, will
see wonders unlike any other ever presented under the big top. No lions.
No clowns. Not a dancing pink poodle in sight." He paused and licked his
lips again. "I can assure you, they were delicious!"
He let the flurry of nervous laughter subside. "No, we are purveyors of
only the finest dreams and nightmares here. Every performer you will see
tonight has witnessed death and destruction first hand. Our souls are
tainted, our dreams often dark, but don't be afraid." He twitched the
whip again. "Well, not too afraid, anyway. After all, you're safe out
there, outside the charmed circle. My lovelies can't get out, I assure
you. Not unless I let them out."
A ring of silver white neon lights glowed softly to life, outlining the
perimeter of the round stage and a deep, ominous pulse of electronic music
Trowa flicked the long whip out to its full length in front of him and
silver sparks flew from the tip. He smiled and patted his hat more firmly
on his head. "So, mes amies, it begins!"
Lowering his head again as the music shifted to something even more ponderous
and dark, he began to sing.
/Sick things with scars
Rotate around my stars./
A star pattern appeared on the floor around him and began to swirl slowly.
Trowa cracked his whip and it spit sparks, making even Heero jump. He
sang on, voice growing deeper, harsher.
My pets, my things!/
The music swelled. Lights pulsed, adding a surreal glow. Trowa whirled
the whip around himself, creating a small storm of sparks and gunshot
cracks as the black floor, actually a cleverly stretched scrim, started
to ripple and roil around him at his summons. The lighting shifted, casting
a dull gray glow over it at an angle that threw shapes into relief as
they pressed up through the cloth, hints of clawed hands, rounded breasts
and buttocks, and tortured faces. Trowa spun, grinning wildly, and sang
in a growing snarl:
/I love you, things, I see
As much as you love me./
He struck the scrim and tore the cloth. Bizarre figures, naked except
for elaborately molded leather masks and codpieces and body paint, erupted
up from the hole, tearing it wider. Elsewhere, silvery claws tore more
holes, releasing more of the writhing figures.
/You things are heavenly
When you come worship me!
You things are chilled with fright
For I am out tonight.
You tell me where to bite.
You whet my appetite!/
The "things" writhed and tore at each other. Groups of two or three or
four simulated small orgies. Others rolled in apparent agony. Catherine
was out there somewhere, and Quatre, too, along with most of the other
cast and extras from the day show.
The music shifted, grew softer, but still with that deep pulsing beat
that Heero could feel in his own chest like a second heartbeat. He'd had
no idea what to expect, but nothing like this. It as dark, as promised,
and disturbing, but there was something primal about it, too. Duo pulled
his hand into his lap, letting Heero feel the erection in his black jeans.
Heero felt his own body stirring, reacting to the sights and music.
The tattered scrim disappeared, pulled aside by silent motorized wires,
to reveal the true stage. It was black, but painted with stylized stars
and clouds like a stormy sky. Trowa stood above it all, on a small raised
platform. He laid about with the whip and the creatures began to untangle
themselves and form a crouching, cowering circle around him. As he sang
on it was more like talking, almost a whine.
/I eat my things.
What looooove it brings!
Come here, my things
Don't fear, my little things!/
He beckoned and the creatures advanced on him, still wary of the whip
hanging loose against his leg, but looking more dangerous and predatory
by the moment.
/Sick things!/ Trowa cooed.
MY THINGS!/ Trowa roared as his body arched and the creatures surged
forward in a writing mass at his feet, the closest fawning and pawing
at his legs. The whip fell from Trowa's fingers and disappeared. One slender
'thing' with blue-streaked skin and a mop of familiar golden hair rose
sinuously from the press and shamelessly stroked its master's thighs and
crotch. Abandoning himself wantonly to the creatures, Trowa caressed his
own chest, his voice a raw, throaty wail over the rising music:
/I love these things you see
As much as they love me.
My things are heavenly
When they come worship me!
You sit there chilled with fright
When we come out at night.
We'll fill you with delight.
We'll whet your AAAA-PPE-TITE!!/
Trowa let out a long, ragged scream as the 'things' engulfed him, pulling
him down and crawling over him with claws flashing. The light went red
as the music rose to a shattering dissonance.
It ended in a crash and the lights went out, leaving the shaken audience
in complete darkness and silence. A lone, tightly focused spotlight flashed
down, showing them a crushed black top hat where Trowa had been standing.
Something dark and misshapen clattered past on too many legs and then
even the hat was gone. The circle of light slowly closed to nothing.
There was a moment of stunned silence, then the crowd went wild, screaming,
clapping, cheering, and stamping for more. Heero and Duo were on their
feet with everyone else as dim lights slowly rose over the empty stage.
"Holy shit!" Duo yelled, jumping up and down and pounding on Heero's shoulder.
"I mean, I saw bits and pieces, drawings, but-- Holy mother fucking shit!"
The acts that followed all had a dark edge. The 'things' remained on stage
in small groups, doubling as set movers and rope wranglers, as well as
providing odd little tableaus and visual interest. They sat in rapt attention
as a Chinese man climbed an ever growing tower of black chairs, and cringed
as a naked woman painted gold whirled baskets of fire on long chains,
painting designs on the air. Huge robotic figures transformed into a series
of monolithic shapes reminiscent of mobile suits, then fell apart in scattered
pieces across the stage, with no sign of the actors who'd given them life.
The steel arch overhead was fitted with moving rails that transported
set pieces for the high wire and trapeze acts. Mechanical arms appeared
and stretched the wires, held platforms, dropped and retracted the climbing
ropes. The music varied from harsh and jarring to a sweet caress when
a trio of nearly naked women on a raised platform formed living sculpture
with their bodies.
The audience ate it up. They cheered and sighed and groaned with sexual
tension. Heero felt it, too. His left hand and shoulder were sore from
Duo's excited pummeling. After nearly an hour, during a second trapeze
act, Duo leaned over and kissed him, whispering, "Be back. Gotta get 'em
ready for their big act."
"Yep. Can't wait to see what all the secrecy was about. Later!"
Catherine came on with a version of her knife-throwing act. She wore one
of Duo's more ornate half masks and was dressed as a dominatrix, her hair
teased and streaked with gold.
With her usual target of choice otherwise occupied, her victim tonight
was one of the things, a muscular man painted blue and silver. Catherine
chained him spread eagled to the wooden backdrop, then smiled at the audience
over her shoulder and yanked his codpiece off, leaving him naked except
for more paint. The crowd cheered, then gasped as she proceeded to come
very close to making a eunuch of him with throwing blades and hatchets.
A fire walking act followed, then the stage cleared completely and the
lights dimmed. Duo returned and slipped back into his seat, leaning almost
into Heero's lap and gripping his hand. "Here goes!"
The lights dimmed more and a soft golden spotlight spread across center
stage to the drawn-out, mournful wail of a flute. There was no tune, just
a series of sad, breathy notes. It was prerecorded, like the rest, but
the audible whisper of Trowa's fingers over the holes and the hitching
intake of breath gave it a strange intimacy.
Gears shifted in the steel arch overhead as a large, bunched mass of blood
red silk appeared from the back. Hanging from a metal bar. It reached
the apex of the arches at center stage and came to a halt. Two black banners
spangled with silver stars tumbled down from the shadows to flank it and
a black curtain fell behind it all. Something moved inside the red material,
a jerking spasm, then the whole mass seemed to let go and fell in a long
banner that reached to the stage fifty feet below. It hung there, and
then shivered. The bar swiveled, turning the entire length to reveal the
pale, thin, masked man holding himself in place as if crucified, by nothing
but his hands fisted in the edges of the red silk.
Heero caught his breath, unprepared for anything like this. One slip,
one tear of that cloth and Trowa would fall. But his face was calm below
the mask, his silvery body motionless as he hung there a moment more,
as if caught in the lingering notes of the flute.
The music changed, growing harsher, faster, as he suddenly tangled both
legs in the silk and let go, sliding perilously close to the ground before
he stopped himself somehow and wove himself into the cloth, seeming to
struggle with it as he wound himself higher and higher. Lights were moving
against the scrim behind him, and shapes began to form. They were indistinct
at first, just flashes of white and red and green. Trowa reached the top
of the banner again, swathed in red, then let himself fall again, this
time spinning and twisting as the silk unwound around him. He climbed
again, using only his hands and strong thin arms, then stopped half way
and caught a few turns of cloth around his legs and upper arms, twisting
himself backward, touching his feet to his head as he spun with arms outstretched.
The shapes on the scrim took form, still abstract to many in the audience.
But Heero recognized them, and so did Duo, clutching his arm.
Mobile dolls. Leos and Cancers. Epyon. Tallgeese. And Shenlong, Wing,
Deathscythe and Sandrock. They were just partial shapes, blotches of color,
but to any pilot who'd fought those battles, it was clear. They were all
there, all but one.
"He's Heavyarms!" Duo whispered. "That's space and he's Heavyarms!"
Heero nodded, and put an arm around Duo as tears stung his eyes. Trowa
used the silk to fly as the music grew more frantic. He threw himself
through the air, tethered by a single hand at times, whirling and twisting,
tangling and fighting. In the end it became a painful struggle. He climbed
one last time accompanied by aching wailing notes, then fell in a spinning
death spiral, only to end caught in the silk like a broken puppet, hanging
by one leg, the other splayed out awkwardly, head down, arms limp.
"That's when we lost him!" Duo whispered, pressing his face to Heero's
shoulder. Heero held him tighter as the music died away, leaving only
the sound of people softly sniffling in the dark around them. There were
other pilots in this audience, other soldiers. Even civilians who couldn't
know what Trowa was revealing now, even those people saw the pain in that
final fall. Only when it was over and the light was dying did Heero recall
that the sketches for this act had been labeled "Passage." He wondered
what that meant to Trowa.
Trowa hung there, twisting slowly as a new note sounded, the sweet sound
of a violin. The black star banners shivered, then some outer layer fell
away, leaving long swaths of white and golden silk in their wake. The
red banner was lowered, bringing the limp pale body to the stage and smothering
A crowd of thing creatures stole in, circling the pile of fabric, and
pulling the fallen black cloth into a circle around it. The violin played
on, Quatre's work, as soothing and melodic as the flute had been sad and
dissonant. The red banner rose slowly again and withdrew as it had come,
and where it had been there was now a raised, white-draped platform and
two figures; Trowa sprawled as if dead, in the same mask but dressed now
only in the revealing leather straps from the drawings.
The other figure, looking smaller than he really was in the straps and
half face mask, knelt over him and touched his chest. Trowa arched under
Quatre's touch, came up into his arms, and somehow traded his mask for
the other half face mask without revealing his face or how he managed
Quatre pulled him to his feet and the flute joined the violin, still sad,
but gentle and melodic now, a duet. Trowa gathered Quatre into his arms
and Quatre climbed onto his shoulders, balanced perfectly, then bending
back to clasp his ankles. What followed was the full version of what Heero
and Duo had glimpsed that morning in Madrid. Slow acrobatic contortion
was how it was listed in the program. The title said it all; "Meld." They
twisted around each other, balanced each other in impossible poses, wound
around each other's bodies like snakes, as the duet spoke of two souls
becoming one. It was erotic. It was sensual. It was beautiful and heartbreaking.
There wasn't a dry eye in the house when they came to rest at last entwined
in each other's arms, masks close together to form a single face as the
golden light faded to black.
The crowd exploded, the lights and music came up in a reprise of the opening
song, and the company rushed back onto the stage, still masked. Trowa
came in from the back, having somehow managed to change back into his
sinister ringmaster's outfit. He sprang in a running leap to body surf
his way to the front of the group. They deposited him on his feet and
Catherine and Quatre, still in costume, stepped in on either side, wrapping
their arms around his waist.
The crowd gave them a thunderous standing ovation that went on and on.
No one in the company bowed. They just stood there motionless as the lights
dimmed to swirling stars, staring back at the audience.
At last Trowa stepped forward and raised his right hand, gripping the
coiled whip and motioning for silence.
When everyone finally quieted and sat down again, he bowed. "Ladies and
gentlemen, gentlemen and ladies, we thank you for sharing this piece of
the night with us, here in this city of death and sex. We hope we made
you feel with us: love and lust, life and death, nirvana and nadir, but
most of all the fact that, for at least a little while longer, you are
all still--alive! Wrap yourself around someone for what remains of this
night, drink and fuck and laugh and share that life with them. After all,
it's all we really have to give each other. And now-- I release you!"
He unfurled the whip and struck at the front of the stage, shattering
some of the white neon of the charmed circle. Sparks shot up and a section
of the circle went dark. The company let out a collective demon shriek
and flooded out, streaming down the aisles past the startled audience
to disappear through hidden exits in the back. When it was over the stage
was empty except for Trowa's battered top hat, caught in a sharp white
beam of light.
Heero and Duo stayed in their seats as the house emptied, euphoric and
drained. When the last of the audience was gone, Duo grabbed Heero by
the hand and pulled him backstage, where the company had gathered again.
Trowa was standing with his arms around Quatre and Catherine, talking
with a group of reporters. He spotted them and waved them over. Duo elbowed
his way though the crowd and launched himself into Trowa's arms. Trowa
caught him up, laughing, and kissed him. Duo wiggled free and wrapped
himself around Quatre and Trowa at once, jumping up and down as he hugged
"You did it! You really fucking did it and they loved you! Did you hear
Trowa caught Heero's eye and motioned him over to join the group hug.
"It was amazing," Heero told him, kissing him and Quatre and handing them
both the bouquets of roses he'd had hidden under his seat. Cameras flashed,
capturing Trowa and Quatre's looks of pleased surprise, and Heero blushing.
"I'd like to introduce our master mask artist and make-up designer, Duo
Maxwell," Trowa told the reporters. "And our new apprentice mask maker
and emotional mainstay, Heero Yuy. And now, absinthe and oysters for everyone!"
The public after-party lasted for several hours, with more interviews
and endless photographs with each other and various celebrities who'd
been in the audience.
Heero and the others escaped at last in a rented limousine, along with
Catherine and a few others from Trowa's inner circle. It was nearly four
when they arrived at the house, to find Marie waiting with champagne and
a hot breakfast.
As they sat around over plates of sausage and eggs, Quatre climbed onto
a chair and raised his champagne glass, motioning for silence. They'd
all changed into jeans and sweaters and everyone was a little drunk. Quatre
was wavering dangerously on his chair, and Catherine stepped in to steady
"We have several announcements to make!" Quatre told them, a bit more
loudly than necessary. "Cathy, you go first." He surrendered the chair
Catherine smiled down at Trowa. "Trowa, my darling, my best friend, and
my brother, I have three-no, four things to say to you right now. I love
you. You are an absolute genius. Your show was a brilliant smash, and
so--- you're fired!"
"Huh?" Duo grunted, leaning on Heero and Trowa at the same time.
"That's right," Catherine told him, beaming at Trowa, who was blushing
and wiping his eyes. "Tro and I have had a secret deal for a while now.
I wasn't sure about this new venture of his. It's not the circus I know.
But I know how brilliant he is, and you, too, Quatre, and Duo, too. Those
masks and costumes were--well, they were obscene--but beautifully so.
You're all wonderful and once I saw the direction things were going, I
knew it was going to be something amazing. I just needed to know if the
audience was going to agree. Well, you all heard them. Heero, what did
Everyone clapped. Heero raised his champagne glass. "It was a tremendous
"Damn straight it was!" Duo yelled, and let out a howl. Trowa, Quatre
and Heero joined in, then everyone else.
"Damn straight!" Catherine laughed. "So Tro and I agreed that if it was,
I would fire him with a two week notice from Bloom's Traveling Show so
he and the others can put all that genius into Circus della Notte, full
"Della Naughty!" said Duo. "I'm making him change it for sure, now that
I've seen it. I think he got Quatre pregnant out there."
Quatre gave him a tipsy grin. "You wish, Auntie Maxwell!"
"Anyway, I'll miss you." Catherine's voice broke over that, but she was
still smiling. "But your understudies will be thrilled. Trowa's been hogging
the headliner spot for years now! Trowa, boys, I wish you all every success
in the world. Break a leg!"
Wiping her eyes, she relinquished the chair to Quatre again. He climbed
back up and looked lovingly down at Trowa. "I have some further announcements.
As most of you know, Trowa has chosen October thirty first, Halloween,
as his official birthday. By my watch, he's been twenty years old for
about four hours now."
Everyone clapped and cheered and pounded Trowa on the back. He looked
like a shy kid again, free of costumes and make up. But he was smiling,
"So this is your first official Halloween birthday party," Quatre went
on. "I wanted to make it special. It already is special, with the show,
and being here. Folks, Trowa loves New Orleans. It's the only place, ever
that he said he loved. And he's spent the last couple of weeks showing
the rest of us why he loves it. I wanted to get him a present to celebrate
all of that, and help him remember forever what this has all meant to
us." He jumped down off the chair and went to Trowa. "Trowa Barton-Winner,
for my sixteenth birthday you gave me the best present I could ever have:
yourself. You asked me to marry you that day. But you already have me,
so I had to find something different to match that. Happy Birthday, Trowa!"
He grinned up at his husband, eyes bright with some secret.
"So what is it?" Duo demanded. "What's this amazing birthday present?"
Quatre was still gazing up at Trowa. "You're all standing in it." He pulled
a long blue envelop from under his shirt and handed to Trowa. "This is
the deed, mi amor. You spent months finding this place, and talked my
ear off about. I've seen how you fit here, in the house and the city.
So I'm giving it to you, the house and New Orleans. We don't have to live
here all the time; that's up to you, but now you have a place you can
always come back to and call home."
Tears were streaming down his face and Trowa's and just about everyone
else's by the time he was done.
Trowa took the deed and stared at it, then pulled Quatre into a hug. "Thank
you, corazon, thank you! I love it and I love you. But you've gotta know,
anywhere you are is home to me!"
That pretty much finished everyone off. Even Heero was wiping his eyes.
They had more champagne, then guests went home, and the four friends and
"So you really like it?" Quatre asked. "I mean, you were just looking
at it as a temporary rental, I know, so if you want to sell it or--
Trowa grabbed him and flung him over his shoulder, carrying him up the
stairs. "I love it, mio dolce. I chose it because it was perfect. Once
I saw it, I'd been thinking I'd see how the show went, and how you liked
it, then buy it for you!"
Duo rolled his eyes. "I think they like it."
"Would you like Duo and I to sleep next door?" Heero asked as they reached
the bedroom door.
"Yeah, first night in your new home and all?" Duo said, grinning.
Trowa set Quatre on his feet. They exchanged a look, and then held out
their hands to the others. "Come to bed. Some of us have to work tomorrow!"
The news was full of their success the next day, from the local papers
to GNN. It would have been in any case, given their continuing notoriety,
but the show itself was a sensation and by that night every remaining
performance in New Orleans was sold out. Shows had to be added, to meet
demand. Within days cities around the planet and colonies were calling
Trowa's agent on L-3 with offers to book the show.
Heero went again the next night, and helped Duo backstage. It was astonishing
what went on there. Planning coordinated attacks on OZ had been simple,
by comparison. Trowa and Quatre seemed to be everywhere at once when they
weren't on stage, handling every minor crisis as it came up. Duo helped
out with make-up, and soon put Heero to work dabbing and airbrushing paint
onto naked bodies. It was fun work and they both could have gotten laid
several dozen times over if they'd been open to invitations. Duo laughed
about it, but the other cast members soon learned how unwise it was to
proposition Duo, even jokingly, within earshot of Heero.
They staggered home around three, exhausted and flushed with another successful
night. This time Heero did pull Duo into their separate bedroom, and not
out of any consideration for the others.
The sound of his cell phone woke him a few hours later. Sliding out from
under Duo's arm, Heero grabbed it and carried it onto the balcony before
it could wake his sleeping lover.
"Hello," he growled, still half asleep and not happy to be out in the
cold rain naked. Marie waved up at him from the garden and he turned back
to face the door.
"01, is that you?"
"Affirmative." Instantly alert, Heero registered that it was Sally Po
on the other end. The fact that she'd used his number and the tension
in her voice told him no names were to be used and the line assumed unsecured.
"Can't talk now, 01. I'm sending you a present. Check your mailbox. Copy?"
The line went dead. Heero went back into the bedroom and pulled out his
laptop. Duo mumbled sleepily into his pillow as Heero sat down on the
bed and called up his public email account. There was no message. Frowning,
he dialed into his secure server; somehow, Sally had gotten his private,
unhackable address. Wufei must have given it to her, at least he hoped
so, but why? They'd all agreed not to share that information.
There was one message there, from a blocked address. His frown deepened
as he read it.
"Sorry to dump this one you, 01. I've seen the news and know you're all
busy. But you have a friend in need up here. Situation serious. Please
meet me at dragon's lair ASAP. See attached files."
The files were encrypted, but Heero soon had them open. They appeared
to be Wufei's medical records, with a cover letter from Sally.
"You know I wouldn't do this if it wasn't an emergency. 05 has had a serious
nervous collapse. I've been expecting it for years now, but didn't anticipate
what would finally set him off."
He scanned the rest quickly, frown deepening to a concerned scowl and
outright shock. He read it through again, sifting out the facts, then
shook Duo by the shoulder. "Wake up, Duo. We're going to L-4 and you're
CdN's opening song adapted by T. Barton-Winner and Q. Winner-Barton from
"Sick Things" by Alice Cooper, Billion Dollar Babies album, 1973, Pre-Colony.
I hinted earlier that Trowa had been studying old vid disks of Cirque
de Soleil, and was using it for inspiration to create CdN. Red Silk was
inspired by an act in Quidam. Meld was inspired by an act in Saltimbanco.
The rest is all my own-er, Trowa's doing.
For those of you having trouble picturing "Red Silk" see: http://aerialexperience.com/page12.html
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