Circus/Freak show,S.O.A.D AU

The circus train rattled and groaned, a metal beast lumbering through the night. Inside, the air hung thick with the scent of sawdust, stale popcorn, and a hint of something vaguely exotic. It was well past the final performance of "The Marvelous Menagerie," and most of the townsfolk who had come to gawk at the “freaks” had long since dispersed. But for Serj Tankian, Daron Malakian, and John Dolmayan, the night was just beginning.

Serj, his usually jovial face creased with a nervous energy, adjusted his striped jacket. "Are you sure about this, John? What if that ringmaster catches us?" He fretted, his fingers drumming an anxious rhythm on his thigh.

"Relax, Serj," John said, his voice a low rumble. "I’ve got this. I know the schedules better than anyone here. All the tent dwellers are winding down for bed." John, a picture of stoic calm in his beige vest, always seemed to know the precise moment to avoid detection.

Daron, perched on a crates, adjusting his top hat, let out a theatrical sigh. “Honestly, do you two ever not sound like a pair of anxious rabbits? We’re going to see Shavo, not sneak into Fort Knox.” His jabot collar bobbed with each word, his perfectionist nature evident even in this clandestine operation.

The three made their way through the labyrinthine corridors of the train, past the snoring giants, the hissing snake charmers, and the occasional unsettling giggle that seemed to drift from the shadows. Their destination lay down a narrow, poorly lit passage leading to the “freak show” tents.

The tents themselves were a bizarre collection of canvas and rope, a temporary village of oddities. It was here they found Shavo's tent, marked by a single flickering lantern and a slightly out-of-place cluster of purple flowers around the entrance.

They ducked inside. Shavo was sitting on a wooden crate, his large frame draped in a frilly purple dress with white ruffles, his long braided goatee a striking contrast to the feminine garment. He was methodically polishing a bass guitar, his usual calm demeanor betraying no hint of the humiliation he surely felt.

"Shavo, my man!" Serj exclaimed, his earlier nervousness forgotten in his relief at seeing his friend. "How's our bearded lady doing tonight?" He clapped Shavo on the back, wincing slightly as his hand landed on the unexpected fabric.

Shavo let out a long suffering sigh, which rippled through his braided goatee. "I have to ask, why do you guys always come here looking for trouble?" he grumbled, his brown eyes fixed on his polishing cloth. "You know the ringmaster thinks I’m a woman. It’s hard enough being called ‘Madame Barb’ at every show.”

“Madame Barb?” Daron snorted and laughed. “That’s gold. You know, with a bit of extra padding, they could make you the star attraction.” He clutched his chest and feign gasped.

John rolled his eyes. “Don’t even start, Daron. You’ve been making the same joke for weeks now. You’ve been calling him ‘Baba Barb’ or ‘Barbette’ or ‘Barbara’ it’s getting redundant.”

Shavo just shook his head. "It's all fun and games until some drunk clown tries to lift my skirt to see if I am 'real'." He shuddered, the image clearly not a pleasant one. “I just want to play my bass and watch the sunset.” He finished and looked out the open slit of his tent.

Serj, ever the peacemaker, offered a hand on Shavo’s shoulder, his dimples showing as he tried to lighten the mood. “We’re just messing with you, Shavo. You know we don't think you're a...lady. We came to keep you company. To say we care, you see? “ He paused and shrugged. “And to hear about any juicy circus gossip.” He added with a sly grin.

"Well, there is the new strongman," Shavo began, his voice lowering conspiratorially. "They say he can lift an elephant, but I think he just has a really good back brace."

The four friends launched into a comfortable rhythm, sharing stories, making jokes, and just enjoying each other's company. Even Daron's constant need to pick apart every detail of the "act" was somehow endearing. John, ever the responsible one, made sure to keep an eye on the time, knowing they couldn't stay too long.

The conversation drifted from the ridiculous to the poignant. They talked about their past, their hopes for the future, and the absurdity of being a bunch of Armenian brothers in a travelling circus. As the moon reached its zenith, so did their laughter, echoing softly in the still night.

As John gave the signal to leave, Serj couldn't help but apologize to Shavo for all the jokes. "I'm sorry for being such a clown, Shavo. Sometimes I just get caught up in the moment but you’re one of the best friends I could ever ask for." He admitted, a hint of genuine regret coloring his voice.

Shavo, surprisingly, didn’t seem to mind. “You guys are all idiots, but you're my idiots. And you keep me from going crazy in this dress so I won’t complain too much.” He offered a rare smile, the dimples forming beneath the braided goatee.

With promises to return soon, the trio slipped back into the shadows, leaving Shavo to the quiet hum of the circus night. As they walked, Serj, Daron and John couldn’t help but chuckle and shake their heads. They were a strange bunch, these circus performers, but they were a family, bound by shared history, a common heritage, and the unspoken understanding that sometimes, all you need is a good laugh with a friend dressed in a purple dress.

The train clicked and clacked on, carrying its peculiar cargo towards the next town, under the watchful eye of the old moon. And within its confines, deep amidst the bizarre, four friends knew that they were not alone in their strangeness. And that was more than enough.