The Pony Night Circus- Part 1: Primordium
The circus arives without warning.
No annoucements precede it, no paper notices on town posts and billboards, no mentions or advertisments in the local newspapers. it is simply there when yesterday it was not.
The towering tents are striped in white and black,no golds or crimsons to be seen.No color at all, save for the neighboring trees and the grass of the surrounding fields. Black-and-white stripes on grey sky; countless tents of vrying shapes and sizes, with an elaborate wrought-iron fence encasing them in a colorless world. Even what little ground is visible from the outside is black or white, painted or powered, or treated with some other circus trick.
But it is not open for business. Not just yet.
Within hours everypony in town has heard about it. By afternoon the news has spread several towns over. Word of mouth is a more effective method of advertisment than typeset words and exclamation points on paper pamphlets or posters. It is impressive and unusual news, the sudden appearance of a mysterious circus. Ponies marvel at the staggering height of the tallest tents. They stare at the clock that sits just inside the gates the gates that nopony can properly describe.
And the black sign painted in white letters that hangs upon the gates, the one that reads:
Opens at nightfall
Closes at dawn
"What kind of circus is open only at night?" ponies ask. Nopony has a proper answer, yet as dusk approaches there is a substantial crowd of spectators gathering outside the gates.
You are amongst them of course. Your curiosity got the better of you, as curiosity is wont to do. You stand up in the fading light, the scarf around your neck pulled up against the chilly breeze, waiting to see exactly what kind of circus only opens when the sun sets.
The ticket booth clearly visible behind the gates is closed and barred. The tents are still, save for when they ripple ever so slightly in the wind. The only movement within the circus is the clock that ticks by the passing minutes, if such a wonder can even be called a clock.
The circus looks abandoned and empty. But you think perhaps you can smell caramel wafting through the evening breeze, beneath the crisp scent of the autumn leaves. A subtle sweetness at the edges of the cold.
The sun disappears completely beyond the horizon, and the remaining luminosity shifts from dusk to twilight. The ponies around you are growing restless from waiting, their hooves shuffling around, murmuring about abandoning the endeavor in search of someplace more warm and cozy to pass the evening. You yourself are debating departing when it happens.
First, there is a popping sound. It is barely audible over the wind, conversation, and thoughts. A soft noise like a kettle about to boil for tea. Then come the lights.
All over the tents, small lights begin to flicker, as though the entirety of the circus is covered in particuarly bright and dazzling fireflies. The waiting crowd quiets as it watches this display of illumination. Ponies around you stare with disbelief at the sight. A small foal near you stares wide-eyed and jumps up and down with excitement at the sight.
When the tents are all aglow, sparkling against the night sky, the sign appears.
Streched across the top of the gates, hiddin in curls of iron, more firefly-like lights flicker to life. They pop as they brighten, some accompanied by a shower of glowing white sparks and a bit of smoke. The ponies nearest the gate take a few steps back.
At first, it is only a random pattern of lights. But as more and more of them ignite, it becomes clear that they are aligned in scripted letters. First a C is distinguishable, followed by more letters. A q, oddly, and several e's. When the final bulb pops alight, and the smoke and sparks dissipate, it is finally legible, this elaborate incandescent sign. Leaning to you left to gain a better veiw, you can see that it reads:
Le Cirque des Reves
Some in the crowd smile knowingly, while others frown and look questioningly at their neighbors. A foal near you looks at her mother, begging to know what it says.
" The Circus of Dreams" comes the reply. The filly smiles delightedly.
Then the iron gates shudder and unlock, seemingly by their own volition. They swing outward , inviting the crowd inside.
Now the circus is open.
Now you may enter.
