Notes

Clovis Barrineau was a large and rather unappealing man, but he was also a determined man, and in his mind, that was a much more rewarding trait than any sort of beauty. Determined might not even be the word. Obstinate or relentless or even pigheaded could also easily describe him. He had come from a lonely, desolately poor family of five: himself, his mother, and four sisters, residing in the unhappy downtown of Roubaix, France. More often than not had the family gone to bed without any supper. But somehow, every Christmas, the beautiful Madame Barrineau managed to scrape together enough euros for a tiny gift for her children. To this day, Clovis had no idea how she managed to do it. He, of course, had no family of his own; there was no time in his life for such petty matters.

He had always been captivated by the idea of magic and mystery. And when he'd seen a glorious miniature circus at the impressionable age of eight, that only solidified his love for entertainment. There had been men throwing and catching fire; men on unicycles, carrying bowls of food; women swaying their hips as rainbow-colored hoops circled around them. In the middle of the performance, elevated on a red pedestal, was a tall man in a top hat, carrying a posh-looking cane. That day, while struggling to peep over the heads of the taller children gathered around, he decided: one day he would be that man, stood on a pedestal, above everyone else. He would be the best circus master there ever was.

It had been nearly forty years since that day in the foggy town square of Roubaix, and Clovis Barrineau had yet to achieve his dream. It was true, he was the master over a circus (ringmaster, as he'd learnt it was called), but it wasn't the best circus. Quite the opposite, actually. With the help of a more technically experienced boy that worked for him, he had set up a small website, detailing acts and dates, as well as the opportunity to leave ratings and reviews. The results had been less than expected. Overall, Cirque du Masque was nothing more than a three-star show, nothing to be excited about, and nothing to travel for.

At the moment, he was taking a stroll through the woods, to clear his mind of things. His agent had been badgering him of their slowly-but-surely trickling profits for weeks now, and he needed a break from the stress. Going out and admiring nature was always useful, even for a hardened cynical man like him. There was something about the dignity of it all, how everything worked like a machine built by Mother Earth herself, that he took pleasure in greatly. The weather was perfect. The slight breeze offset the heat of the sun, but it wasn't too chilly. The leaves swayed carelessly, cloaking the ground with their sunlit emerald glow. He was mindful of the birds and animals, scattering as his considerable weight shook the ground around them. There was nothing to disturb the scene before him, nothing out of the ordinary. And for Clovis, that was perfectly fine. He spent enough time exploring the unusual world of circuses and magic; a bit of normalness was lovely every once in awhile.