[Gift] [Writing] A Good Reason to, or Not to Put Your Name in Random Draws

 Wind Valley, quite the dreary place once the extravagance of rolling meadows and sparkling ponds wore off. It was good for a trip, there was no point in really staying too long. There was the Hidden Garden a good deal away from here which had seen a comparable uptick in fabric tourists as of late, but that was more of a meeting place, not really worth the few nights stay foxes visiting Wind Valley came there for.

Hidden Garden had an abundance of flora, and all sorts of secret nooks and crannies serving tea to its visitors. It’s as though they invited every fox, but didn’t want them staying too long. How else were they going to get the gardening done when there were so many strangers around? It was supposed to be hidden, so maybe they had a well-guarded secret to keeping its flowers spiffy and its tea delicious. 

The valley had rooms; however, little houses nestled among his blossoming cherry trees which a Fox could live in for a night or two if they pleased. Everything was purple barring the tall green grass and the white mountains, the perfect time of year - if any, to come witness the valley’s splendor. This translated to a scarcity in lodging as Foxes came from all around to watch the valley in bloom.

During the last season of shows the circus had cut a promotion with the Valley, two crystals for the chance at nabbing a six day reservation next spring. The odds were so tremendously stacked as attendants dropped their pennies for a ticket, that it just wasn’t worth the ticket, but at the same time the price was so comparably cheap why wouldn’t a fox put their name in? There was a maximum of about three or four entries per person; however it was doubtful anyone cared enough to buy more than three.

The people running the draw didn’t know the final rates either, it couldn’t be guessed until every single slip was gathered then drawn from an especially giant hat, and by then nobody would have cared to write it down. There wasn’t enough time in the world to count the thousands of entries, just grab one then get a hold of whoever was written on the paper. 

So all the circus performers and crew-foxes were totally allowed to place their name into the ballet, so long as they played. There was nothing about the draw they knew in particular which would gain them the advantage, other than it was a waste of a crystal or two. It was dumb luck, but luck which made both the Circus and the Valley quite happy.

The little scare-show ran its course, terrifying people, showing off all sorts of freaky magics and clever illusions to those brave enough to spend the crystals to come to their spooky show. There was doubt it wouldn’t be as successful this season, it missed the spooky season by a day due in part to a snafu behind the scenes involving a chainsaw and a ladder. The situation was quickly mended that very day as an employee was allowed a charitable sum of crystals to spend the rest of the season at their house.

All things considered, it had gone pretty well. Especially well for Corny, full name Corn Chipz.

Just at the start of this month, when he had forgotten about the chainsaw incident, the carnival and when the circus was starting to murmur about this year’s big scares, he had received a letter in the mail. It was purple, stamped with a yellow seal. He brought it inside where he opened it with a machete he kept on hand and was immediately hit by an aroma of flowers. When he saw what was written on its patterned parchment, he could hardly believe his eyes.

By sheer luck, the two crystals he threw away into the ballot box during his lunch break had landed him the grand prize. Suffice it to say, any plans he had on doing little street performances were thrown at the widow as he packed a trunk full of gadgets for an all-expenses paid vacation to Wind Valley.

As he exited the carriage he was hit by the valley’s gentle breeze which carried the scent of its blossoms for miles around. From where he stood he could see snow-cap mountains surrounding him from every angle, beautiful, well-trimmed fields rolling all the way to the horizon, and stalks of bamboo hidden therein. He was expecting more windmills, but the view alone from the cottage could easily be seen on a postcard.

Then just like that, he was left to his own devices. Free to wander the valley for the six days he’s going to be here, six whole days he would likely be spending trying to get to know the types of Foxes who paid for the ludicrous prices for a week of time out here. Maybe he’d look into seeing if he can’t make a name for himself here, then maybe whoever runs these cottages would look into getting him back every so often to humor its many guests with the hundreds of horrifying tricks he kept up his sleeves.

Maybe instead he’ll just spend it all napping, who knows? He’s got all of night to decide what’s best.

He took his trunk with him, a wooden chest which was one yellow, which he had painted green after he permanently borrowed it from a friend. It was heavy. Moving it required both of his giant hands, and when it did nudge it sounded like he was carrying a hoard’s worth of treasure in there. Which if several sharp instruments of wildly varying sizes could be considered treasure, then he most certainly was.

He grabbed it by its rope handle, pulling it all the way to the cottage before he hit a bump in a road. The whole building was a foot and a half above the ground, raised and made of bamboo. A wise person would keep his trunk there while calling for someone to help him with leverage. To be fair to Corn Chipz, he was pretty tired and there was surely a bed inside just begging for a fox to collapse onto.

He took one look around him to see if anyone was watching, then unlocked his trunk. He took the heaviest things first; a medieval longsword, a hacksaw, also the head-sized lockbox to go with it, then trotted his way to the door. He slithered inside, then slid the door behind him, taking a deep breath.

“That’s a lot of weapons to bring to a vacation, wouldn’t you think?”

The calm formal voice came from a fox across a table. Their hide was dark, their garments a mystical blue and decorated with constellations. A golden star-shaped brooch was pinned to their hood where he saw them smiling from a distance as though they were inviting him to their abode. He wouldn’t know the why or what they were doing here until a bit later, but the enigmatic fox had much more going on than what a wily smile could convey.

“Take a seat, but please put your weapons at the door.” their eyes, although closed, could be felt watching his every move. “Your arrival here was ordained.”

“Ugh.. these aren’t what they look like!” he says, doing what was asked of him as he props them up near a rack of unbrellas. “They’re props.”

“They look sharp to me.”

“How can you expect someone to convince people that they're in danger when it’s not just a tiny bit sharpened? I’ve cut myself a few times on them,” he seems proudful, “I can show you a trick if you want.”

“That won’t be necessary, I have already seen your work.”

Corny’s ears flick, the bells on his clothes jingle - yes he’s still wearing his circus uniform months after it finished its round, and his eyes open just a tad. Underneath his clown facade he’s just a little bit nervous. Even though he talked to himself about running a show here, much to the dismay of the carriage driver who had to listen to him, the moment he’s recognized he’s suddenly a bit worried. Why exactly? Because when the mysterious stranger starts speaking riddles about knowing him, his mind immediately wanders to the chainsaw incident.

Yes, he may or may not have been responsible, but the books said it never happened. He’d like it that way, prophetic nobodies be damned.

“Saves me having to introduce myself then,” he acts flattered, “who may you be th-”

“Sit”

“Sit? Is your name Sit Downes?”

Their expression doesn’t even change.

“I would like for you to take a seat first.”

Directly across from her was a little seat, a pillow cushion with bright jade tassels. The thought of running away briefly crosses his mind, but he’d rather not end his vacation three days early. Corny hops himself over, then lies on the floor, his head barely managing to be level with the table and the fox behind it. 

“All of your weapons.”

Corny’s big fake smile twitched as his giant hands slithered up his sleeves, pulling out all manner of things: Tiny shivs, hunting knives, siss army knives and the two or so sets of silver cutlery he kept on his person for him and his boyfriend. He laid all his things out onto the table then put the weapons in a pile on the floor,  the tools in the other, and his cutlery out in front of him, then threw himself back onto the ground.

“Are you good?”

Corny produces a four-pronged spork out from under his hat and tosses it onto the table.

“Yeup. I am now!”

There’s a reserved, deep sigh from the stranger. It seems like the whole world shook as they breathed.

“I find it highly unusual after winning a vacation lottery, you opt to head there with a trunk full of weapons and several more up your sleeves.” They briefly look towards a balcony where they could see the beautiful meadows behind its doors, “You aren’t planning on causing any trouble here, are you?”

“Not at all! I always bring my toys with me,” he laughs, “you never know when you want to put on a show. It doesn’t hurt to be prepared!”

“Of course, and being ‘prepared’ constitutes carrying several sharp instruments with you wherever you go?”

He didn’t understand this. Everybody should know about the Horror Show already, and all the frightening stunts they did with swords, knives and other horrifying things. The way he chose to dress every single day of his life should be enough to let folks know he belonged to some kind of circus, not necessarily a horror circus, but any sort of traveling carnival. So him going around with a trunk of worrisome, though not necessarily dangerous things.

For instance, many of the longswords were only ever sharpened on one end to give the illusion of it really hurting when a performer gets walloped by the steel stick. The chainsaws they had on the circus were usually fitted with harmless rubber blades, while the hacksaws they made sure to only use when someone was held down to a contraption allowing them to conveniently escape certain death. There was room for getting people actually hurt every now and again, but they had waivers and all these tedious precautions put in to prevent someone from being maimed beyond repair.

He wasn’t some traveling murder-fox with a trunk full of killing tools, he was an entertainer for the all mother’s sake! While the stranger hadn’t accused him of anything quite yet, he really didn’t like the path this conversation was headed. He could already smell the foul scolding from a mile away.

“Hmhm, yeup!” he answers after a long pause, “I would carry more if I had my friends with me. You can’t just go places carrying the same-old tricks, you gotta have the whole repertoire at your disposal. You need to surprise people!”

“So correct me if I’m wrong, Corn Chips, but-”

“How do you know my name?” he blurted, getting up off the floor  “I didn’t even get to introduce myself yet. There’s a whole gambit and everything I’d have to show you before I get into saying my name! It’s a performance you just missed out on!”

The stranger lifted their hand, silencing the jester. He was allowed the moment to get it out of his system, bicker and lament, but the stranger was the one in control here, not him. There was no way to get out of this conversation without letting them have their piece, so he slumped his head in defeat, this time sitting himself down onto the cushions and clasped his fingers together. 

It felt like he was being pushed around, being played for like a fool. He may look the part but he certainly was not stupid. This mystery fox wanted to do serious business, so he let them know just how much he hated formality with a dramatic sigh, the likes of which only heard by a fussy little toddler.

“You must not have seen the town bulletin, it had your name plastered on a poster as the draw’s winner. They didn’t have a photo of you without your outfit on, so they cut out one from the paper then glued it onto the poster.” 

They kept their arms splayed out over the table, seemingly as a way to show they meant no harm. As if somehow the fox who had been waiting for goodness knows how long for him in his own room was a person to be trusted. He didn’t buy it, but there really was not much of a choice.

“It doesn’t take a fox who knows as much as I do to find you, especially when you’re the only person here who looks as though they had come fresh out of a late-season circus.”

A short, wheezing sound escapes them. Did they just try to laugh? Nothing about what they were saying was funny. This merlin-esque blue robed weirdo sounded like an obsessive stalker, and he had no idea what they were even doing here. Corny still could not shake the feeling he had done something wrong, whether that was the saw accident or something else he had said. If he was about to be arrested by Wind Valley’s guard, a totally imaginary force of guardsmen he had just now made up, then dragged off to a dingy dark dungeon for the next foreseeable decade.

This was all nonsense, if they were here because they were upset with him, they would have slapped his face so hard his hat would have gone flying out of the nearest window. As long as he personally doesn’t mention anything fishy, everything should pan out just fine.

“Well if it’s the show you’re worried about, then we’re still set to go this year! Right around when august rolls, don’t forget about the spooky special we have in October!” He's repeating what he remembers from his circus’ posters, something to fill the void of conversation. “I always wear my outfit to… to uhh… promote the show. Yeup!”

“You start your promo campaign this early? It’s only May now.”

“Performers are encouraged to promote the upcoming circus whenever, and however they want. I just so happen to do so all the time!” he says from side to side, letting the bells on his clothes jingle like a bunch of copper maracas. “I sleep in it, I work in it, I go to the store in it. I got five extra pairs of clothes, and twelve hats overhome to swap out to my heart's content!”

“Not only do you work in a circus, which involves dangerous weapons to frighten the poor people who attend your shows, but you dress like a jester every waking day?”

“Only when I feel like it.”

“Do you ever feel like you don’t wanna wear...that?” they point to their ludicrous hat.

“Mmm, I take it off when I’m really tired. Which I happen to be a magical, whimsical Fox who doesn’t really get tired!” he tilts his head, his smile as wide as a crocodile’s. “The robes stay on, the hat sleeps right next to me, and my partner always cleans it overnight! He’s a bit of a night owl, you see. Always there when I’m not around, but there when I need him the most!”

“And you didn’t bring your partner with you?” they somehow don’t seem surprised. “I’m sure he would love Wind Valley if you gave him the chance.”

“No silly, I brought them with me!”

“Are they outside?”

“Nothing like that, he’d never leave my side. He’s right in this room with us, he’s just very shy so if given the choice he’d rather not be seen when there’s big, mysterious foxes in the same room as him!” he recoils, “Um, I meant no offense!”

They pause, taking a steep breath. Just when the Fox’s mouth began to move, they stopped, and rose from their seat. They dusted off their robe, adjusted the star brooch keeping their hood together, then turned back to Corn Chipz with a friendly smile.

“Then I guess I will leave you and your partner to be. I hope to see you soon, when I suspect you’ll be running a show for the Foxes up by the Sacrificial Tree.”

Corny nods enthusiastically.  

“I have many things to ask about this circus of yours, and until then,” they walked towards the door, waving to the Fox behind them. “I bid you a good evening.”

The door slides close behind them, and Corny waits until he could no longer hear their footsteps to take a much needed sigh of relief. Either they weren’t aware of the accident or they were kind enough not to bring it up, he thankfully made it through without having to explain why that one saw in particular was given real teeth.