THE RINGLEADER

Name: Player: Position: Group:	Pai Ban-Bao Shoji [[swall0wtale]] The Ringleader Asile
Appearance:	I'm not as young as I used to be. These bones are creaking with the approach of seniority. I'm nowhere near as agile as I once was, little like the acrobat I was born to be, and too much like the Ringleader who can bring tears to every eye. My hair will be white in less than ten years and my eyes will sink slowly into the sockets they spring from. I have wrinkles when I smile, and even more when I frown. But even with the approach of old age, my eyes are as sharp as ever-- never dull and unclouded by cateracts. My shoulders can still bear the weight of an entire circus full of performers, and I can still accompany my loved ones with the whistle of the diabolo. There's only two reflections in the replay of my life that matter. That of the wife that I could've had and that of the daughter that is still mine. My hands never shake, my veins are still healthy, and my sense of acrobatics is still stronger than all but one on the other side.
Background:	The circus of Asile was a tradition passed on from eldest son to eldest son, through my entire family line-- a family of nomads, gypsies, performers, and street rats. There was nothing noble about our profession; we simply had one goal. To evoke, invoke, and provoke a reaction. To illicit pity. To sow sorrow. To extract laughter. To harvest happiness. Through centuries of war and turmoil, through centuries of waste, negligence, intolerance, greed, and ignorance, my family has been selfless in sacrificing itself for the happiness and horror of the people. When I was a boy, I was trained-- eventually my forte became bamboo pole and the diabolo. My strength was the pole, but my passion was, of course, the diabolo. When I was a boy, I always used to love watching one little girl train. Her name was Qiang Xin-Yan, and she was the most beautiful bird I'd ever seen. She grew up to be the most beautiful woman I'd ever laid eyes on-- Ciro. And through all the tragedy we endured, with the eventual passing of all of the older generation, it came to pass that these families would cross. I became the Ringleader, and she became my lover. We had a beautiful daughter when I pulled her from the sky-- I created a cat's cradle cage with string between my fingers, and the whistle of the diabolo drowned out her desire to fly again. She worked, and she pleaded, and she begged, and she cried, but I couldn't bring myself to let her fly again. I always knew she was the best-- and I think my not letting her go back to her family was a selfish decision. I wanted her here, next to me, grounded, knowing she was the best and that she was safe, rather than watching her fly at her best with the negative one percent chance that she'd fall from grace. She worked, and she pleaded, and she begged, and she threatened to leave me with nothing, but I couldn't bring myself to let her fly again. And when the argument started, it never stopped-- and the ceasefire wasn't called until her brother lay dead on the floor of the main tent, centerstage, in the podium spotlight. That night the unthinkable happened-- the circus split in two. Ciro formed a new circus with her family. I continued Asile with my family of freaks. And my daughter. Of course, I trained her to be everything her mother was and more. A hand balancer, a contortionist. Always grounded. She's never learned how to fly. She's beautiful. Just like her mother. ... Her name is Pai Jian-Yi, but she doesn't know it. I named her Follia, a memento of her mother's folly; a reminder of the hardheaded stupidity and fear that made her leave. ... She calls herself Ila-- a nod to the opening of Dies Irae: Days of Wrath.
Activities:	I joke. I tumble. I feud. I lead. I drink too much, I sleep too little, and I smoke more than can be good for me. I'm getting older at an alarming rate, and there's still wrongs in my life that haven't been righted. I sort my business, I train my daughter, and I manage my performers. There's not much else for a man to do.
Ideals/Motives:	To present a world of beauty through pain-- to heal through smiles, laughter, horror, and pity. If he cannot live with his chosen dichotomy, he'll just have to make do, now won't he?
Attitude:	There's nothing left. There's nothing right. There's nothing wrong. I'm one. I'm two. I'm all yet none of you. The truth the lie, the tear, the laughter, the hand and the empty touch. Here I am alone waiting for the curtain fall.