The Carnival God | Professor Archibald Lockhart (theteninone) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2010-05-31 12:17:00 |
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Entry tags: | absinthe, anastasya pavlovich, anatole, carnival, corvina delaney, dorian feenix, hephaestus, horror, jofranka westwick, kane frost, larisa, maarten mander, tyki |
Who: The Carnival God (theteninone) and all his carnies. Anyone and everyone in NYC is welcome to visit.
What: Midway Plaisance comes back to the home of the sideshow.
When: Memorial Day weekend; starting around 05/30 or thereabouts.
Where: Midway Plaisance's campgrounds in Coney Island.
Notes: The carnival's not a bloodless place, but it is Archie's domain, and he'll be the final word on any scuffles. I'm encouraging sub-threads, and carnies, feel free to breeze in and out as you please.
Fliers appear first. Tacked to telephone poles and taped against bus stops, they're part of New York's normal landscape, drawing the eye as if out of spite. After a week they begin to appear elsewhere: restaurant lobbies, car windshields, tucked between the curves of folded newspapers. Midway Plaisance persistently prints itself across the city, a touch insidious in its bright colors.
For all that, they still manage to arrive on little cat's feet. One evening nothing, the next something. Coney Island lights up with promise when the carnival comes to town. Rousties set up camp as Management sends the showmen out like gypsy emissaries. Lady Francesa, the bearded lady, charms her way through the Meatpacking District with two clever burlesque dancers by her side. A magician at one corner of Central Park, an escape artist at another, a lizard man at a third. They sing a siren song of wonder, of excitement promised if only you pay them a visit on their own grounds.
The carnival itself is a wonderland. Its sign is a great arc overhead, lit with lightbulbs like giant fireflies. Admission is cheap, cheap, cheap, reassures one of the talkers. Even before you enter, out comes the snake charmer, the fire eater, and they reassure you this is the least of what you'll see inside. Once you pay your measly couple of bucks to the dwarf in the ticket booth (Is it just a few bucks? Wasn't it a few pennies? Or was it just a wink and a smile, a nod and a 'I say thankya'?), on you go. Inside and through the arc there's a moment of anticipation, an elastic second where feet hesitate before carrying on uninterrupted. This is the Carnival God's temple, and in that moment he takes tribute gladly.
Up front for children and lovers spins the carousel, its horses more magnificent than any real steed. Calliope music floats through the air in a smoky aural haze, settling around peoples' shoulders, a content Cheshire cat. While food and games are vended to the left and right of the horseshoe layout, magic happens. A pair of fortune-telling sisters predict doom for some, joy for others (and a worrying fate for most pets). Shows are tucked to each side -- Maarten Macarius Mander the Magician, Feenix the Knife-Thrower & Escape Artist. The strongman grins down at women and children while his friend the blockhead draws others closer, further back, nearer to the 10-in-One by way of gnawing on lightbulbs and driving nails up his nose with a ball-peen hammer.
Outside the main tent there are caricature paintings of the Living Skeleton, the Spider Girl, contortionist Siamese Twins (not co-joined, no; they like tradition here at Midway Plaisance), and others still to fill out the numbers. "Step up, folks!" grins a talker, and it's not just a carny talker, but the carny talker. Professor Archibald Lockhart stands on a raised platform, a portrait of a stereotype with cane in hand and straw hat atop his slicked-back hair. His voice is a tenor boom, and while he's not a physically large man, his presence is immense, electric, impossible to disregard. "Gentlemen, grab hold of your ladies, 'cause this here is the finest, most infamous, most glor-ee-yus 10-in-One in all the world! Marvels await inside, miracles of magic and science, wonders like you've never seen! From the back alleys of Vienna, Werner the Living Skeleton! From the furthest reaches of the Amazon, Agelista the Spider Girl! Pulled straight from the cabarets of Paris, Frederique and Georgine, Siamese Twins, forever entwined! We've got ten -- count 'em, ten! -- anatomical amazements for you to feast your eyes upon, each with their own story to share! C'mon in, but be warned, 'cause this is not for the faint-hearted! And tonight only, if you can all bring your hands and hearts and minds together, you may just be lucky enough to see our delightful, our delirious, our de-lovely friend the Androgyne!"
For those who do manage to eventually pull free from the ebb and flow of Professor Lockhart's voice, at the back of the carnival's horseshoe is a giant of a ferris wheel. It seems a trick of the eye, too big to be real. 'Ride COLOSSUS', the sign says, and the somber roustabout manning the controls says not much at all. To its right is yet another tent. Smaller, this one, and set back, its entrance is guarded by a grinning carny. Sinuous music streams out from the tent flap, music which brings to mind images of swaying hips and sweat-slicked skin. The polite word is burlesque. When one of the talkers makes his way up to draw interested men closer and warn away those too young, he refers to it as the hootchy-kootchy, the Arabian muscle dance. Inside the lights are dim, the air is humid, and the dancers know exactly what they're doing. They shimmy out between shows and costume changes to show the crowd what they're missing, only to wink and blow air kisses on their way back in.
Kids and punks turned away from the kootch show are more than welcome to the opposite side of Colossus. A stage has been set up inside a shallow tent. It's a puppet show, and though no one can put their finger on why, once having noticed the place, they're invariably drawn to it. They are flies to the puppetmistress' spider. Horror draws them in with her own deft charms, telling stories which scratch their way under the skin and stay long after it's time to head home.
This is the carnival. They want you there.