Aelius had little to complain about today, and that had put him in a rare good mood. His performances had gone perfectly the past several shows, the temperature had been agreeable for once, and Amenemhat had noticed him. All told, things seemed to be going his way, and he was not going to jinx himself for once. It was still early in the day, late morning, not quite midday yet, and Aelius had too much restless energy for his own good.



He found himself wandering the circus tents, helping where he was needed for his hands and back, and then wandering on to the next attraction that caught his eye. When he was a ball of pent up energy like this he often found that many small tasks, spread out over an area that he could roam, helped channel that energy into something useful. And there was, as always, plenty of work to do. There was always a performer needing a hand, or a slave struggling with some task. While it may have been beneath him to help, the circus, and the Tempest, had given him his life--and he was not going to let the favor go unpaid. Everything he did mattered, and so he tried to be mindful of his actions. When life and death were so easily in his hands, it was a duty to not act lightly. Those with power had a greater responsibility to exercise caution, lest they harm an innocent.



But Aelius knew what he was invested in, the god he served. There were no innocents, only those in need of liberation from the doldrums of their lives, freedom from routines and monotonous order. Order, which threatened sanity, and ultimately one’s soul. Chaos was the storm that reformed the shapes into new and fascinating things. It was the master stroke that transformed the bland, perfect painting. It was Chaos that kept him on his toes, and kept his dance in constant, shifting, motion. He would have been swallowed by the sea of Order, but for now he was free of all constraints.



Aelius’ swords hung at his hips, like they always did, and they seemed to move with him, as though they were a part of his physical body, as he went about his tasks. Their familiar weight gave him no pause, only if he were without them would he notice the difference. The instruments of death swaggered suggestively in the sun, looking for release, and a purpose. Aelius would take them through their paces later, if nothing kept him. Practice, after all, made perfect.



Aelius had been lost in his thoughts, as he usually was, until he heard a familiar voice somewhere in the distance. It was sweet and melodic, firm, yet supple, and it was a familiar comfort that he could never forget. Raziya, his dearest friend and oldest confidant within the inner circle. She had brought him to Amenemhat all those years ago, when he had been starving in the street and laying himself upon death’s door. She had rescued him like one would a stray pup--and he had remained loyally attached to her ever since. But it was more than that, what, Aelius did not know. There was no use defining it, other than he loved her dearly. He also knew how she loved Amenemhat, and how he also burned for the Ringmaster. But that was a love that would never be.



Aelius was still prone to jealousy, but he had never let it salt the earth of his and Raziya’s friendship. Love was the most chaotic thing one could have in this life, there were no constraints or limits, no shackles, (save for the physical) to contain it. Aelius strode with more intent in his step, an idea forming in his mind. Raziya had been pestering him for weeks now to help her with her sword skills, and while they had started training (and she was quite good, a natural even) they had both been busy and their sparring sessions had gotten away from them.



“Raziya!” Aelius called out to his dearest friend as he approached. “There you are, I have been looking everywhere for you,” he said, his normally stoic, dark expression shifting ever so slightly to one of a more joyous nature.



“I have had the most wonderful idea!” he proclaimed as he pulled his brother’s sword from his hip, watching as it caught the sun in a menacing glare. “Do you remember our little training sessions? I think we should resume course,” he said enthusiastically flipping the sword with a practiced ease, grabbing it just so it would not cut him, and presenting the hilt towards the woman.



“It’s a beautiful day, I have energy to spare, and I’m in a perfect mood to be slashed and stabbed. That is, if you think you can. I know you’re still a bit out of practice....” he teased, hoping against hope that she would take his playfully laid bait. A very good day indeed, and if she accepted his offer, it would be damn near perfect.