CARNIVAL (The Spark Form Chronicles Book 2) (5 page)

              "If you needed time off, you could have spoken to me any time. You know that, right?"

              "No," I blink, realising that Sean is genuinely concerned. "No, I didn't. I always figured that I was more of a pain in the arse for you than anything. Plus, I couldn't afford to turn down any matches. Fenrir's a costly beast to keep running."

              "You are a pain in the arse," Sean nods, "but I'm not a slave driver. Plus, you've been responsible for a major part of Emblem's profits for the past few years. Having you hit a point where you need to step back for an extended period wouldn't make the bosses very happy with me. And besides, I like you."

              "You like me?"

              "Of course I like you Fahrn. You turn up, do what you're told without any real complaint and you keep the character marketable by living it when you're out in public. What reason have you ever given me to dislike you? Or did you think I'd treat you less favourably than everyone else because you're an Offlander?"

              I sit, jaw open and unable to form a response. I'm so used to being public enemy number one that it seems strange to think of anyone other than a handful of people looking at me as something other than an extension of how the law interacts with my heritage. Maybe we really have just been visiting the wrong areas. Either that or I've gone too deep into the Starchaser character. Maybe I've been losing track of what's real and what's show. "Sorry," I manage at last.

              For a moment, Sean looks at me, his head tilted curiously, then he bursts out laughing. "You know; I think that's the first time I've ever heard you say sorry for anything."

              "I apologise a lot actually," I say with an embarrassed grin. "Usually to Maria."

              "Well, that makes sense," he says, still laughing. "You are a pain in the arse, after all. OK, how about this? If everything comes off how we want it to, I can't really keep you off the tour shows, not entirely anyway. What I
can
do is make sure that you don't have to actually compete at all of them. At the very least, we can have you do an extended interview instead of a match at the first one, and after that we'll see how much more time you need. That way you get to rest a little, you keep relevant in people's minds and you still get paid. Would you be happy with that?"

              "Yeah," I say, taken aback. "That would be great."

              "Good," he replies. "Then that's a deal. And the changes you wanted to make? I like them. I need to run them past the Djorkiev's and Day Rawley before I can agree them, but I don't think there'll be a problem."

              "Day?" I ask. "I understand the Djorkiev's, I mean I assumed the whole thing with Dorian was a family idea, but why Day?"

              "I thought I put that in the e-mail? Day helped come up with the whole thing. It's as much his baby as the Djorkiev's."

              "Oh," I reply, slightly embarrassed. "I must have missed that bit. So how'd he convince them to go for it? I would have thought that they'd be worried about damaging their legacy through association?"

              "Wait, you mean you don't know?" Sean replies with a bemused grin. "The Djorkiev's are one of the major sponsors of the Offland Civil Rights movement. I mean, sure they keep out of the public eye with it, but they've been supporters since the beginning. A lot of the early conferences and rallies were funded by them."

              For the second time in the last ten minutes I have to fight to find an answer and once again fail to manage anything profound. "I ... I didn't know. At all."

              "Hmm," he says, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms behind his head. "Well, I suppose if they're keeping it a secret then that makes sense. Maybe it was only Day that knew. It makes sense when you think about it though. I mean, look at how many Offlanders they've worked with. And have you ever heard any of them kicking up about it?"

              "No," I concede. "I can't remember them ever saying
anything
about Offlanders actually."

              "After this," he replies with a smile and a flick of his risk, "I'm guessing they'll have to. At the very least, they'll need to be seen throwing their support behind you against Jareth's wayward son. Who knows? Maybe they'll come out as supporters?"

              "Maybe. So when will I know if my changes have been approved?"

              "I'll get on it straight away. All being well, I'll have the paperwork ready before your first match."

              "Oh yeah," I say, suddenly remembering that I wanted to ask about the line-up changes. "I thought I was first on again. Why'd I get switched up the card? Was that because of the thing with Dorian?"

              "Nah," he replies with a wicked grin. "You got moved up because
Connor Ford
is a pain in the arse."

              I laugh and push myself to my feet. "Thank you Sean. Let me know as soon as, yeah?"

              "Will do," he says, and starts unlocking his phone.

              I
should
think it's rude to be left to see myself out like this, but I think I can forgive him that. He's a busy man, and he is working to do something for my benefit. That and I think that I'm beginning to like him too. I smile to myself while I walk back to the changing room. Maria, Meera, the Merc guys, Slade and Charla, Jeanine, and now Sean ... Starchaser, you really suck at the whole moody, solitary thing, don't you?

              "Like a raccoon?" he asks, gripping the face paint tightly and clearly unsure that he heard me properly.

              "Yeah," I reply with a grin. "But make the top all flamey," I say, waving my hands just above my eyes to show what I mean in a doesn't-really-show-what-I-mean-but-I-can't-think-of-a-better-way-to-explain-through-sitting-down-interpretive-dance sorta way.

              "OK," he nods, his eyes still uncertain. "And you still want it in neon blue?"

              "Like Carnival, yeah. I still want her face markings too though. Maybe in white. Would that show up over the raccoon bits?"

              "That would work," he replies. "But what about your arms? You had Carnival's markings on them yesterday."

              "No need. I've got the show gear peeps grabbing me some mesh arm warmers for today. I figured I'd wear those and go topless this time, just to mix it up a bit, ya know?"

              "Oh, OK," he replies, clearly relieved. "That makes it easier."

              Aww, he sounds nervous, bless him. The kid from yesterday must've told him all sorts of horror stories about me. Ooh, speaking of which.

              "So," I say, drawing the word out longer than needed and letting the note drop as it goes. "What happened to the guy from yesterday? They normally give us the same person each day to do the makeup."

              "K-Kevin?" he stutters. "He um, we're working on a trial basis you see, so they wanted to move us about to different jobs to see how we, I don't know, how adaptable we are I guess. My name's John too by the way. John Thorpe."

              "Cool," I say, offering my hand for a handshake. "Pleased to meet you John too." John's jittery, but it's different to how Kevin was yesterday. Kevin was fun to play with. You could see that you could push him and throw him off balance, but he wasn't likely to
break
. He was reboundy. John though, he's fragile, I can tell from the body language. Whenever I move, his brush stroke becomes slightly heavier and you can see his hand tense. I shall have to give him a mental 'handle with care' sticker and make sure Carnival doesn't do anything too OTT if we bump into him again later. "So what did they have you do yesterday?"

              "General stuff. Errands for Mr Carlston mostly. And um, some tidying in one of the merchandise shops. It ..." he pauses, trying to decide if he should continue.

              "Aww c'mon John," I coax. "You can't stop mid-sentence like that. I'll end up spending all day trying to figure out what you were gonna say."

              He grimaces, swallowing hard. "It's just that, it wasn't what I expected, that's all. I thought I'd be doing stuff like this, but Kevin got to instead."

              Ooh, the young world of professional jealousy. Still, it'd be a shame if one bad day put him off. You can tell from how much care he's taking that he really
wants
to be here. "I wouldn't worry about it," I reply. "They probably picked who got to start with the makeup at random. Plus, you got to gain some experience doing other things too and that makes you a potential future asset for them. Did you let them know that you weren't happy doing the odd jobs?"

              "No," he says with a shake of his head. "I didn't want to cause trouble. Maybe I should have told them. Kevin wasn't happy doing the other jobs today, so he told them and they gave him a different job instead."

              I give him a short round of applause then reply, "That John was a very wise move. What you did I mean, not what Kevin did. He'll get places quickly like that, but he'll only get so far before his attitude gets in the way. That said, he was completely different around me yesterday so there may be hope for him yet. Either that or all the talk about Carnival freaked him out so much that he couldn't misbehave. Anyway. What was I saying? Oh yeah, that's right. You. You. Now with you, the recruitment guys'll appreciate that you did what needed to be done without complaint and so you've put yourself in a good position from the get-go. Chances are you'll move through Emblem slower than Kevin, but you'll go further than him if you want to. See? Sure, you need to stand up for yourself sometimes, but you need to know how to pick your battles. You did well John too, you did well."

              He smiles nervously, and his arm relaxes a little. "Th-thank you Mr Forrester."

              "Call me John, John. Not John-John though, just John, John. Or John also. Or you could try Bob, but I might not answer if you call me that because it's not my name. So what job did Kevin get today?"

              "He's in makeup again. With Connor Ford."

              Here it comes ... queue uncontrollable giggling. "Oh, poor Kevin. They must have been really unhappy with him. When is he booked in for that?"

              "Ten fifteen I think."

              "Ooh, call him," I giggle. "Call him and see if he's still there. That'll really get Connor angry. Does Connor wear much makeup? No, not much actually. Just general facial smoothing stuff I think. He might even be done already. I bet Connor had fun with him. You should totally ..."

              Before I can continue my plea for gossip, someone cuts me off with a loud knock at the door. I cough lightly, trying to calm myself, much to amusement of the other John, then let out a musical, "Come in."

              The picture cuts in abruptly, the initial blur quickly settling and drawing the focus to Connor Ford as he stands, arms crossed, scowling at someone off camera. "Well?" he sneers. "Is the damn thing on or not?"

              "Is it?" asks the person off camera.

              "Yeah, we're rolling," replies the cameraman.

              "OK, swing it around here," says the voice and the camera shot obediently pans around to show a flustered looking Gaz Davis. "Hi," he says to the lens, applying his best TV presenter smile. "I'm Gaz Davis and I'm here ..."

              "No one gives a damn who you are," Connor Ford cuts in, walking straight across the shot and grabbing Gaz by his jacket as he marches on, the camera following along behind. "Get moving."

              "Whoa, whoa," whines Gaz. "I'm coming; you don't have to drag me."

              Connor lets go with a loud harrumph and continues his way through the corridors while Gaz straightens his jacket and dashes to catch up. "You still haven't told us what we're doing."

              A vicious grin cracks across Connor's face like a whip. "We're going to pay a visit to that arrogant little upstart that I have to fight today."

              "Wait, you mean John Forrester? But ..." Gaz checks his watch and shakes his head. "He's probably still in make-up. You can't just barge in and demand to speak to him."

              "Oh can't I?" the veteran mocks, coming to a stop outside a door and rapping his knuckles across the woodwork.

              After a moment, a familiar voice sings back "Come in," and Connor slams the door open, storming in with a growl.

              "Forrester! I want a word with you."

              "Oh, yay! Connor!" the defending champ replies, clapping excitedly. "We were just talking about you. How was Kevin?"

              "Kevin?" Connor growls, anger visibly rising in his face.

              "Yeah, the makeup guy. He was supposed to be with you today," John replies, turning his head to face his own makeup artist before asking, "right?" He gets a nervous nod in response and continues, "It's cool, this is all part of the fun. Just keep going." John turns back to camera and says, "This is John. He's painting me today, like literally. Or he's painting my face anyway. It's gonna be ..."

              "Enough," Connor screams over John. "I didn't come here to listen to your nonsense. I came here to teach you some damn respect."

              "This is so awesome, it's just like yesterday" John giggles, then turns to the camera and says, "He totally yelled at me like this yesterday too, but no one filmed that one. Ooh," he says, turning and waving to the interviewer. "Hi Gaz! You are so lucky getting to hang out with Connor like this." John gives the camera a quick wink, then turns back to his opponent with a cheeky grin.

              "Now listen to me you little bastard ..."

              "Whoa," cuts in Gaz, "You can't say that on ..."

              "Bollocks," Connor yells back. "I'll say whatever I bloody well want."

              "Mr Ford, you can't swear on the interviews. We've already had complaints about Fahrn yesterday."

              "Out!" Connor rages, grabbing Gaz by his jacket again and shoving him out of the room. He slams the door shut and turns an angry finger on the cameraman. "You stay."

              "I, um, I think you're done," comes a small voice just off shot.

              The camera pans back around and we see John Forrester hopping off his chair and stretching.                                           "Awesome work John, awesome work. What do you think Connor? How do I look?" he asks, throwing out a series of quick cheesy poses ripped straight from various TV action heroes.

              "I think," growls Connor, as he steps forward and squares up to his bouncy foe, "that you look like a bloody idiot. You look like an idiot every time you step out in front of a camera, Forrester. You're a disgrace to this sport."

              John, unintimidated by the angry veteran, shoots him another cheeky smile and replies, "You're so passionate about all this, aren't ya? I always did love that about you."

              "You dare mock me boy?" Connor sneers in response. "Tell me, where's that blasted Lopine of yours? I wanted to get a good look at her before we battle."

              "Ooh, kinky. I'm not sure you’re her type though."

              "You can keep your little fantasies to yourself, you little shit. Now bring her out here."

              "No can do I'm afraid. She likes to do her own thing most of time. She's special like that."

              "Special is she? Well, we shall see how bloody special she is once I'm through having Jariah rip her to shreds."

              "Oh Connor," John replies with an uncharacteristic calmness. "You know I'm not gonna let that happen."

              "Do I now?" Connor smiles. "You're not the first competitor I've met that thinks they're something greater than they are Forrester, and believe me, I've taken great delight in finding weaknesses in each and every one of them."

              "C'mon Connor," John laughs, "I know
that
already. I spent my entire youth pretending to be you every time I played a game of Spark Forming. I know how you play inside and out, and I know
exactly
how you work. So why don't you tell me how you're going to get under my skin once you've realised that I think your ranting and raving is actually pretty cool and not in the least bit scary?"

              Connor locks his gaze on John's and for a moment they stand in silence. Finally, a laugh slowly starts building in Connor's throat, quickly giving way to an almost triumphant roar of mirth. "Very good! But not near good enough. All this bravado, all this confidence, they're common masks boy and bloody fragile ones at that. I saw it in your eyes when I mentioned Jariah tearing your little pet to pieces. You don't want to see her hurt, do you? And why is that I wonder? Shall I tell you what I think? All the dancing, the quick strikes, the ducking and diving ... Carnival is nothing more than an extension of that mask you wear. The truth is, you hate to lose, no ... no, not even that. You can't stand the idea of being upstaged in any way, can you? You crave the spotlight. You
need
to be the one that everyone talks about, don't you?"

              Again, Connor laughs. "Oh, this is far, far too beautiful. You've forgotten what it's like to come up short, haven't you? Well then, I'm going to make you a promise boy. I am going to shatter that mask of yours. And do you know how I'm going to do that? Hmm? Jariah is going to take Carnival apart, piece by bloody piece. I am going to take everything that you
think
makes you special and I am going to destroy it. Slowly." Connor moves his face closer to John's, their foreheads touching as he growls. "Ever. So. Slowly. Runt."

              Throughout his opponent's rant, John hasn't let his smile slip, and even now with the legendary competitor leering down at him, it remains fixed across his face. After a tense few seconds of silence, John finally makes the next move, giving Connor a light, friendly slap on the shoulder. "Good luck today Connor," he says, then walks away.

              The screen fades to black on Connor Ford, scowling as he watches the defending champion leave.