Welcome to the Black Parade

House of Wolves

"It's a mad house in here!" I yelled over the cries and cheers and crescendoed white noise in the area.

"Yeah," Paxton agreed, "what's going on?"

We both whipped our heads around to face a portable stage centered in the middle of the tent. Atop the stage was a man in a magician-like costume. In front of him sat a large crate, about 4' by 4'.

Choppy mutters of "Who is that man?" "Why is he here?" and "What is in that crate?" could be heard throghout the curious crowd.

"Gee must've hired hired him to keep the marchers busy while he was taking care of Poet." Paxton concluded. "Now, what's this guy all about anyway?"

I think we're about to find out.

"Marchers, dancers, prancers alike; I am tonight's entertainer, Nixon Daes. I am to provide you some of the most spectacular stunts and apparations you've ever seen. Now I'm in need of a volunteer..."

I had tried to crouch down as far as I could to avoid getting picked.

"You! I can see you!" Daes laughed. "Don't pretend to be invisible! March up here!" Shit.

I slowly waddledup to the stage.

"What's your name?" He asked, bringing his face close to mine... uncomfortably close.

"It's She. My name's She."

"Well, She," Daes cheered, clapping his hands together. "Choose an animal of any sort. Anything from a rhino to a whale! However, it would make a very lovely spectacle if it was a slightly majestic creature."

I looked up at the ceiling of the tent, to think. Aha. "A wolf would be quite nice."

Daes nodded, then gesturing with his silk gloves in a manner very similar to Gee's. "Open the crate, dear She."

I bent down, I could feel my corset and the hoops in my skirt popping slightly.

My fingers lightly laced the handle at the top of the wooden crate. The very same moment my hands produced enough strength to pry open the door, black smoke danced out through the now empty box.

Everyone watched in awe as the smoke wolves, paw by paw, pranced in the sky of the tent.

They sparkled, hopping up and down over everyone's head.

Suddenly, the maned creatures dove down, scrambling with the crowd. They seemed to clash with few people in the throng, then disappearing after hitting their chests.

And they dropped. To. The. Floor.

Those still consious gasped, stepping over the bodies and fleeing from the tent.

Beneath Paxton and I's feet, 20 former marchers, unconsious on the dusty floor. I could just barely see Nixon Daes packing up his crate and sprinting from the premisis. He planned this.