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Yurick fairly steered michael toward the front of the circus, acting as thought he could have waited all night for the Asian boy to stumble his way forward. Faintly he knew that he shouldn't be stumbling, but michael was enjoying the happy bubbly feeling, the giggles that seemed to come from his mouth unbidden as if they were simply inviting themselves out and into the air, his arms around the brown haired vampire's arm. He just wanted to keep hanging onto him, and smelling that so different scent of him.He wasn't sure why he was so instantly attracted to him, but he supposed part of that could be that he had fallen so drunkenly into the boy's brown eyes. He wasn't irritated about it though. It hadn't been long enough or hard enough to keep him, to take his mind and bend him to Yurick's will. But the falling, that sensation of utter blissful surrender, it had tickled that masochistic center of him, and made him just more intrigued with the boy.

They came within view of the front of the building, and Michael's eyes slid over the terribly macabre and terrible posters plastered over the walls where they could fit. It was all arranged just so, in such a way that your eyes wandered from one poster to another, and they all complimented each other, until you were found helplessly looking over them all again, as if each complimented the next and somehow made it look greater than the one before it. An endlessly enticing circle. Michael's eyes stuck to the poster about "Live Zombie Rasings Every Night!" and he grinned. It was something he had always wanted to see, remembering seeing old black and white movies about the dead rising and taking their slow shambling steps, eating people. It wasn't so much he wanted to see people get eaten, on the contrary. He wanted to see if the movies were accurate. He had so many things he wanted to compare, and it was like he was in science again, cause and effect, theory and fact, the ideas struck through his dulled mind like lightning on tree branches. He giggled, leaning into Yurick.

"Welcome Kiddies, to The Circus Of The Damned!" there was a terrible sounding female villain laugh, and Michael jumped despite himself, his stomach giving an unhealthy sloshing as his head whipped to the side, hands gripping the arm under his fingers as if he would beat the voice with it. Suddenly giggles broke out, and Ezzy tossed a cigarette to the ground, stamping it out under her boot heel. Michael curled his lip at her, then stuck his tongue out while wrinkling his nose. "You're gonna end up sounding like a Vegas grandma someday, Ezzy." he said, voice sounding soft and somehow firm at the same time. There was an odd feeling of unease in his head, and he could smell something sick and old from the building as they drew near the doors, small puffs of smells coming out. But it was like fifty cooks in one kitchen, each making something different, but all making something very pungent. The scents mixed together, making him want to both sniff harder, and cover his nose.

He was suddenly not eager to push into that thick cloud of smell, and the sounds of laughter, talking, and screaming came as one thick rushing wave, making him want to run. He quivered lightly, and he wasn't so sure that it was just the alcohol he could smell coming off himself now. He licked out over his bottom lip. He wasn't a child anymore, he could handle this. He stood up straighter, pulling that sulk around him like a worn and favorite coat, eyes narrowing in irritation as Ezzy rolled eyes at him, shoving the thin package of cigarettes in between her breasts, Yurick's eyes following her hand like they were meant to. With a soft shove he pushed the brown haired vampire away from him, moving to stalk on his own. He was still dizzy, but he was walking on more solid ground than the parking lot, and he had that sullen exterior to make him feel more solid. He felt that small push to animal, and that made him stop a moment.

He wasn't sure why he wanted to change, or what was pushing it, but he took a deep breath and tried to pull it back in, as if he were taking steps back himself, backing away from something. There was a cry in his muscles, in his head, that urge and want to go down on all fours and stalk forward, feel the ground under his thick furred paws, use that pale white-blue gaze and glare around at anyone who dared say he couldn't be there. He felt a little sheepish for the thought, but thicker was that need to prove himself, to assert himself as being allowed to be there, as having the right. He would take this place and conquer it, make it someplace he could go without fear.

Or that was his plan. But as he pushed open the doors, he stalked in, that swaying roll of hips with one boot in front of the other as a wave of smell and sound hit him, making him stagger slightly. It wasn't so much shocking, as simply a rush of just too much at once. He smelled sweat, fear, that stale scent of corn dogs left under lamps, of cotton candy made and packaged longer than they actually say, old popcorn, and the acrid scent of vomit. Underneath it all, there was blood. He didn't understand the scent of blood being there. It was both old, and new. He tilted his head to the side as if he were listening to things other than the screaming and excitement. As if he were thinking thoughts colder and calmer than anything you should have been thinking in a place so alive with the rush and push of humanity and controlled fright.

A warm hand on his bare shoulder and he looked back, blinking white blue eyes at Ezzy, and another hand at his arm, a cooler more solid thing brought his gaze to Yurick. Ezzy hadn't seen the eyes, but Yurick had felt that energy. "You feel like you're thinking things that aren't entirely human, Michael." Michael blinked eyes at him. How could this guy read him so easy? He hadn't really thought about it before, but maybe he felt what Michael felt...that soft pushing of energy. Well, it was soft now. It tended to rush like a hot torrent if he was angry or frightened enough. But he had thought it was just something he felt alone. He would have to remember to ask him later about it.

"As you've pointed out already tonight, I ain't entirely human." he gave the boy a look of slight irritation, and wasn't sure why he was snapping at him. He shook his head, moving forward with them still touching him. He felt a small bit of comfort from the touch, like he should have leaned into them and let them pet him, stroke his fur. ..That wasn't right. He wasn't covered in fur, and he wanted to go see Zombies.

But with the hard press of humanity around them, he wasn't really sure where they were supposed to be going, and he stopped, bitting down on his lower lip as a sudden feeling of dizziness stole over him. He wasn't liking it so much anymore, and he wanted to pant, as if that would make the slightly irritating feeling in his stomach go away. It wasn't hunger...and if it was that he had hunger somewhere in that feeling, he couldn't tell. He felt like he might vomit if he smelled something sweet or tangy too close under his nose. He wanted to suddenly run and flee from the building, but he steeled himself, rolled his shoulders. It was too close in here, entirely too close..

"Oh come on mikey, the zombies are this way. we wait for you to figure it out, and we'll miss the show." Ezzy pulled him forward, rolling her eyes again with a smirk on her face. She tugged them to one of the low tents to either side of the taller tent, ducking them inside. Michael scratched faintly at the back of his hand, looking down to see a little red stamp on the back, a grinning fanged smiley face. It looked oddly sinister for a smiley face, but that wasn't the point. "This ink is itching me...Ezzy, where'd I get a stamp?" he didn't remember anything. They moved in, and Ezzy pulled them to seats in the front, grinning wide and bouncing in her seat before turning to the boy. "Mikey...right after we came in. I paid, the nice woman stamped you, and we moved on. You were really out of it, I thought you were just staring off into space again." She quirked an eyebrow at him, giving Yurick a look to say she obviously was thinking maybe she gave him too much alcohol.

The lights were dim, and the crowd was silent around them, and michael turned his head at a sharp and salty scent. Somehow thicker and hotter than the rest of the blood scent he smelled here. His eyes moved through the darkness, and he suddenly saw a beam of light from the ceiling, pointed at a circle in the middle. There was a crumpled white form, what looked like a large cotton ball sitting with one side coated in red, as if it had soaked up too much kool-aid. But michael knew what it was the moment he cast eyes on it, and his stomach gave an unwelcome roll, made him sit forward in his seat. Blood. something had been hurt down there, and it had bled.

A man stood in the center of a dark circle on the ground, and he had fingertips coated in red, michael swallowed, suddenly his throat was dry. The man wore something like what they always show voodoo shaman wearing in the old telly flicks, the black and white ones with the cheesiest dialog you ever heard. But this wasn't cheesy, not with the blood dripping off the tips of his fingers. The man suddenly spoke loud, casting a booming voice into the stands. A real public speaker, that one. He didn't sound like he was straining as he cast hands out dramatically, turning toward the center of his little ring. "Rise, Steven Hobs, rise and walk once again! I call you with Steal, and Blood! COME!" it was like the ground at the center of the ground there rippled, rolled. It was dirt, and it looked like some great giant had shivered, and the ground started spilling a man up from it's depths as if it were water, only too eager to spill the tattered horror into the spotlight.

Michael moved to his knees, crawling the little way to the barely there metal bars around the center of the tent. They looked as if they were meant for simply making people remember they weren't supposed to go any further, and he put hands up on it, heart beating in his throat. He wasn't too keen on the zombie now, no. His eyes were locked on the red at the man's fingertips, a soft sigh going through him as if he were watching the man handle precious sweets bare handed. He wanted to move over, lick that slick salty sweetness away. He pressed a hand to his belly, trying to calm it, but his eyes were locked, unblinking at those red and dripping tips.

A form came up from the ground, and started drawing himself up from the ground. There wasn't so much about the figure that would have made you think 'male' other than the fact that it were in a suit. Apart from that, the figure was wasted. Withered,sunken, torn. There were spaces where you knew the body had been eaten away by time, and others where it had been eaten away from something more lively. Grayed skin like paper sat over the bones, looking shrunken, as if one single movement would pop the bones out from it, as if the sheer weight of the suit must have been too much for it. But somehow, it moved, it crawled, it pulled itself to knees and looked suddenly lost and still there on the once moving ground. Solid and smooth, the earth was. As if it hadn't been spilling this terror into the so harsh light of the spotlight.

Soft cries, moans of fright, and a few shrieks here and there sounded from around, but there was a general and collective feeling of awe on the group. Michael swung so his feet were hanging over the edge, eyes flicking to the figure, and for a moment they held there. The creature was more like an unwrapped mummy, but somehow you knew it wasn't all dry skin and bones. There was simply a look of wet to the thing, and as it moved something thick and dark spilled from a hole in it's side, as if all the moving had jostled something loose. There was a cry of utter disgust from the crowd, and someone sobbed up in the higher seats. All the fear, all the metallic scent, it all washed over the boy and drowned out that scent of decay that suddenly filled his nostrils. Michael bit down on his bottom lip, but that didn't help the excited hunger in his throat as he gripped the bar above his head, curling his toes over and over in his shoes, knuckles white from his harsh grip.

He was fighting himself. One one side, he was thinking about how much he wanted to rush over, to take that blood. It's cooling..it's never as good when it's cool.. he thought to himself in a voice as if he were thinking about someone who he could have had some great sex with. As if he were letting something luscious and precious slip through his fingers. Thoughts kept chasing those, about how he simply couldn't, how he had to control himself, how he would get in trouble, and above all, how all eyes would be on him if he went out there. He didn't much like the thought of all those people suddenly paying attention, and a soft whimper of excitement, nerves, and near physical pain.

"Come, Steven. Feed on this small offering, and speak to us." there was suddenly an excited murmuring, but the man knelt, going down on one knee, holding out those bloody fingers. Michael watched with a sudden look of possessive irritation as he narrowed his eyes, watching that figure move agonizingly slowly forward. With a sudden spurt of speed, Michael threw himself forward, a graceful ark as he went down into a low crouch then threw himself into a run, but he didn't want to be on his feet, and it was easy enough with his current state, pushing into wolf form like he were slipping through water. Human before that liquid look rushed over him, and a wolf the size of a pony afterward. He ran, and the man's head turned as the crowd suddenly roared, cheering and pointing, excited voices.

His eyes went wide moments before he ran toward the man. The circle of blood was actually to keep the zombie in, and acted as a wall between the dead. They couldn't pass through it, but michael could. He felt it like a thick layer of cobwebs against his nose, his shoulders, paws. It clung to him and made him growl, wanting to push it away, but he had his target, and he wasn't going to let him escape. His paw caught at the blood line, and it tore that barrier down, his body slamming into the man and throwing him to the ground, his head cracking sickeningly against the dirt, and his head lolled on his neck in a way only an unconscious person could manage. His pulse beat in his throat, and michael was tempted, but he went for the more obvious scent of blood. He would clean that up, then seek more fresh and flowing food.

He moved off the man, head dipping down as he licked eagerly at those coated fingers. He had never tasted anything so good as this! It was like every fine christmas ham he had ever tasted, a smoky thick flavor, of the man's skin, and he faintly knew the huddled white form was a chicken. He found a wound, a pin p***k on the man's skin and he rolled that finger into his mouth, and the knowledge that he was going to bit down on him, pull that finger away didn't phase him. He was hungry, and the man lay weak and vulnerable before him, and he would eat.

Suddenly deathly strong hands wrapped round his throat, and a sharp hard pain in his furred shoulder made him howl, let the hand drop unmarred from his jaws. He shook, howling his anger to the walls around as a thick snarl hit his throat. The zombie hadn't fed, and he had knocked out the only man keeping it from going feral. Keeping it from turning into a killer. It would hunt, and claw, and eat until it found enough sustenance to return enough sanity to it to be a thinking thing. Fed off enough blood a zombie could speak, remember, think. But it was an empty thing. It was a shell filled with memory, but it was truly dead. It could suffer, mimick emotion, but a zombie was empty of a soul. There were some who could bring the soul back, but it had to be trapped, contained until the spell had been completed. It was something that was looked down upon as badly as child molestation, or cannibalism. You just didn't do it. souls were meant to move on, whatever that meant for them.

There was screaming, but people weren't leaving their seats. They all thought it was still part of the show. Apart from Ezzy and Yurick. "Stay here, Elizabeth!" Yurick threw himself over the barrier, a look of fierce determination on his face. He knew michael had been drunk, but this was hardly the reaction he had expected. Didn't this boy have more control over his beasts than this? No..Of course he shouldn't have expected more. The boy was only fourteen. He couldn't have been living with them that long. He moved, but Michael was spinning, moving as if he were trying to throw the decrepit creature off his back. But he wasn't thinking, wasn't using his brain. And the zombie, though a mindless thing, just wasn't weak enough for such things to work.

Yurick moved, grabbing the thing by the shoulders and yanked it up off of michael, who howled appropriately as the arms stayed just where they were, the body tearing away from them. The hands clasped, fingers digging into the furred flesh under their fingers. There was a cool and somehow burning feeling at his right shoulder, where the thing's jaws had been clamped, and he whimpered, a low snarl at the end of the weak outburst. He was more angry now, with blood dripping from his shoulder than he had been. Before he sought to claim the food so proudly paraded in front of him, wanted to take lingering licks over that man's bare belly, and dig his muzzle into it, but now he wanted to rend the zombie limb from limb, tear it to pieces and howl his victory to the ceiling.

There was a moment of stillness, then michael whipped around, pouncing on the zombie danging from Yurick's hands, throwing them both to the ground as he tore at it, as a dog would a newspaper with the scent of another dog on it, tearing bits away until there was nothing left whole, as if he would have disjointed the thing at every joint, every connection, down to it's fingernails. He felt such anger and hatred for the thing that had hurt him, and his mouth was thick with the taste of the disgusting and decayed thing. He moved back to the center of that circle, eying the still blinking head, the still twitching and writhing bits as if they would each seek out food for themselves. Yurick stood, brushing the bits off himself, off his now blackened and filthy shirt, a look of soft surprise on his face.

Michael growled, a low rumble of warning in his throat as he stalked the edges of the circle, finally turning eyes into the suddenly cheering crowd. Whatever she saw, a woman close to him shrieked, throwing herself up and out of her seat. And like a wave of rats fleeing a flood, the crowd peeled from their seats in a wave, all moving to run away from him, rushing for the exits. He couldn't seem to be able to navigate his way under the metal barrier as he had before, shoulders too large, and he was trying to rush. With a howl of frustration, he spun, making to run to the opposite side, planning to simply leap the barrier with enough momentum to carry him over. He ran past Yurick, who suddenly threw himself on top of him, his strength and force pushing them both to skid across the ground.

Michael snarled, snapping at the hands that suddenly bound him, pushing himself to his pawed feet as he threw himself forward, spun, tossed. Yurick hung on, unsure what exactly to do. Would he have to kill the boy..? Surely that wouldn't be right. "GET JEAN-CLAUDE!!" his voice roared out over the fleeing shrieking people, catching the ears of those rushing to actually get into the tent. Guards, lycanthropes, the stronger workers. A few had guns pointed, and one female moved forward with the rest, and they moved as a wave, as if she were the master of their orchestra. "Don't kill him!" Ezzy's voice was high and frantic, eyes going between the black haired woman and the two figures wrestling in the center as if it were some kind of bloody floor show.

Anita Blake, holding her handgun in a sort of teacup grip moved forward, pushing air from her lungs in a soft calm movement, eyes going cold and empty. She was pulling herself into that white place where she killed, and those brown eyes somehow gone cold in her pale pretty face made Ezzy shiver. "He...he just needs to eat! He gets...he gets a little cranky.." her voice was soft, and the plea sounded weak even to her. The woman raised an eyebrow at her, as if she had said something insane.

"what do you want me to do, Kid? You want to go down there and offer yourself up before he rushes the crowd?" her tone was empty, cold. She wasn't trying to be cruel, but she wouldn't be able to stop him if she wasn't in that cold center, that calm and empty place where she killed. Ezzy fidgeted, actual tears in her eyes, and she sobbed a moment. "He...he's only fourteen.." that caught her, and she flinched, but she wasn't going to let one kid kill a bunch of people. "I'll just wound him, if I can. But it's him or them, and I'm going for the poor humans. Sorry." she did sound like she meant it, as she raised her gun to point at the two figures, taking calm and sure steps forward as she slid herself quickly over the railing. Thank god for jogging shoes.

"Whoever you are, get off him NOW or I won't be responsible if you get hit." she faintly thought she recognized the curly head of brown hair, but couldn't he sure. If he was still wrestling with the black mass of wolf, then he must have been strong, and a small taste with her power breathed vampire over her skin. There was a feeling like hot water boiling over her skin the closer she got to them, and she could feel it pushing at her, and her own more alive powers tried to rise up to meet it, taste it, but she squashed them down.

Yurick turned surprised eyes up, and then jumped back and clear of the snarling figure who whipped around, pale wolf eyes landing on her. It wasn't like most shifters she came across. There was always that push of human to them, always that shine or hold of their eyes that made you think that what ever was looking out at you wasn't just human, but there was nothing in there but animal. Nothing you could talk to, or reason with. "s**t." She said it with meaning, and she steadied her hand, blew a slow breath out, aiming between those eyes. She wasn't sure, but she just felt that a crippling wound would just piss the thing off more. She wanted him stopped, and in that moment she believed that stopped meant dead.

"Enough." Jean-Claude's voice carried, slid through the room with that heated promise of pain, and it made the wolf shudder, whimper, shrink back into himself a moment. Anita had been just about to squeeze down on the trigger. You didn't pull the trigger of a gun as most people thought, you eased down on it. She moved her finger out, taking a step back. She kept it pointed though, moving her finger back once she had taken a few small breaths, calming herself.

Michael shuddered, he wasn't sure what had happened, but it had made him stop. Made him look around. He had felt pain, but there was nothing touching him anymore, and it confused him. Made him stop and look around. It had felt like heat had been spilled against his skin. Like dipping your finger in boiling water to see if it was hot yet, knowing if you weren't quick enough, it would burn. He cringed, the wolf in him making him want to roll over onto his back, bear his belly. He couldn't find the source of that hot flash, and it had scared him. He didn't want to test it again.

"Ma petite...If you would come back and away? I do believe I can handle him." Jean-Claude strode toward the barrier around the center of the tent, and he looked like a French 1800's wet dream. All lace and actual honest to god leather pants. Not this shiny stuff they have today, but brushed black leather. Laces held them together at the sides, lines of faintly broken white alabaster skin all the way down until his pants disappeared in knee height soft leather boots, somehow soft and loose, supple. The shirt was a white gauze thing, one that tied closed at the neck, but it was open, spilling the top apart over his skin, nearly as white as the bleached cloth, a cross shaped burn scar like a blemish, and an improvement in his skin. Lacy cuffs were held closed at his wrists by more string, but the lace was so intricate, so detailed it made the so simple shirt something elegant.

Black curls hung around his shoulders, a stark contrast against the so white shirt, midnight blue eyes shone from his face, long lashes in his fine boned face. High cheekbones, a somehow masculine and feminine face that made him look very much the fallen angel, complete with his perfect Cupid's bow lips. That voice slid over Michael's body like a caress, so different from the heat of before, and he whimpered, slipping from animal to human. So quickly the change was, so shocking the body underneath that both Anita and Jean-Claude stopped a moment, looking. Was such a delicate and somehow alluring frame really the center of all that anger and ferocity?

"S-s-sorry..s-s-sorry..." Michael murmured, barely a handle on himself, unable to form a coherent thought. He wanted to moan, that faint ghost of a touch hanging over him, but it was fading. He wanted more, and his lips were dry. He licked over them, turning his husky blue eyes up at the two figures as the black haired man gave him a wide and generous smile. He wasn't looking at him as potential sex though, and Anita was glad for it. Even though the...boy...? That was really a boy..? But the girl had said so, and it couldn't have been a slip. The boy was dressed like he should have been standing on a corner by an upscale night club, snaring rich men for the night.

The moment she thought it, she wanted to apologize. Her hands were starting to cramp around the gun, so she put the safety on, and pushed it back into it's shoulder holster, taking a deep and settling breath. Jean-Claude moved forward, using one long fingered hand to reach out to the boy who flinched, closing his eyes. When he wasn't hurt, he cracked an eye open, then took the hand with a thick angry blush on his cheeks. He didn't want to look silly, and he certainly hadn't had this man prove he was dominant to him, but he had to admit that it was hard getting up from the ground in the boots. He wasn't catching many actual human thoughts, still sitting in that space where instinct ruled.

"Now...Might I ask what you are going trying to eat my patrons..?" his voice was smooth, and that press of a silky caress moved over michael again, making him shiver, a soft moan in his throat. He couldn't help it. It hurt, and it felt good. He could smell the contained anger coming off the man, feel it like cold frostbite across his skin. He wanted to press against him, and push him away at the same time. "h-h-hungry..n-n-need ta eat..c-c-can't...can't.." tears welled up in his eyes, and he felt he wasn't expressing the feeling, the need correctly. One of the figures broke away from the rest as if he had been called, but there had been no vocalization of such a thing that michael had heard, and he knew he wasn't having hearing problems.

"I'll take him downstairs, get him something to eat." A boy taller than him came forward, long auburn hair braided and down to his calves. He had lavender eyes that michael couldn't tear his own away from, and he wanted to move toward him, smell him. There was a ruffling scent, a thick and heavy musk that caught his nose and a low curious keening noise sounded in his throat. He wanted to pull his hand from the man who suddenly tightened on him, but he stayed still, face going calm and waiting. He recognized that scent, the smell of panther. It was the first animal he had ever learned to shift into, and the strongest influence in his mind. Well, when he wasn't pushed by wolf to feed. The wolf was a more aggressive press in his head, the more take and keep side of things. Panther was calm, and sometimes even detached. Calculating, but there was a warmth and contentment that he couldn't keep contained in the right moments. Those were the eager pushes of feline in his head.

"I'm Nathaniel. Want to go get something to eat?" He asked as if michael were someone on a ledge, all careful sweetness. He held his hand out, and michael reached for it, his hand in the vampire's letting go as he caught that offered hand. The boy was warmer than human, and michael pulled himself against him, and for a moment the boy went stiff, tense. As if he expected something sudden and violent to happen. But after a moment of michael simply pressing against him, sniffing at him, a low and heavy rumbling sounded against Nathaniel's chest, and he relaxed, a curious and pleased look on his face. "Hey mikey, I think he likes it." Ezzy grinned, leaning down on the railing around the ring. Eyes raised to hers, and she suddenly felt like she shouldn't have spoken.

"You will go home now, child. And we will call his parents, speak to them. But I do think he should be fed, and soon, lest we have to put him down in reality." secretly Jean-Claude wanted to speak to the boy. Find out just what he was. A quick look from the figures still standing in obvious body guard fashion, Anita, and the grinning Nathaniel said that they all wanted the same thing. Yurick came over, petting michael on the head with an apologetic look to Nathaniel, who was now tangled in the circle of the Asian boy's arms, said "Well, let's go get you food, pretty thing." He was trying to leave without being scolded, though he wasn't sure what he was afraid of. What had he done wrong?

"Yurick, we shall have to speak to you about your choice of entertainment for the furry and hungry." ..Oh...That.