He strained to hit 5’6” and came in at a 130 lbs that refused purposeful exercise. He had buried what self-loathing he had in turning himself into a work of art. He had gained a habit of getting a new tattoo in every town he performed in until there was quickly little room left. Being in the world of circus arts and guerilla theater meant he could get away with piercings and hairstyles even an artisanal microbrewer might want to think twice about. His quick, bright smiles and soft blue eyes helped disarm worries his alternative streak might cause, particularly paired with his penchant for intentionally quirky fashions.
The titter of birds and hum of insects can be heard. Stronger magic causes the appearance of vines, blooming in an array of flowers, to grow up his arms.
Before awakening, James Romane – now Cricket to those in the know -- was just a Chicago born twerp with good comic timing. He learned at a young age the power of hiding behind smiles and laughter. Perpetually hateful parents, a delinquent older brother, a bitter middle sister and he was left juggling the shards just to survive. He leaned on quick fingers and wit to the determent of everything else, finding focus only in the pulse and rhythm of adrenalin to be found on stage. Beanbags turned to dull-edged knives, then they were sharpened, and then set on fire as he chased that wild thunder of applause and ecstasy of a body drowning out those darker, squirming thoughts.
He barely slid out of school and was immediately leading a nomadic life following seasonal Ren Fairs, Burns, and the occasional Shakespearian role as a jester for the high-minded across the country. He found actual passion in working with animals, at first just another part of the act, but then growing into a real cause. The purity of their existence mixed with their helplessness against human cruelty, the same he’d faced more than enough himself, gave him strength and purpose.
He Awakened when one of his performances became all too real -- the dove, the trained dog, the taunting parrot, and all the insects that skittered among the grass became the true audience and he was there to make the humans dance for their delight. The signing of a fan’s back in marker was to him an etch upon The Stone Book carried forth to him by lumbering, living oak it was embedded in.
His rebellious spirit quickly found home with The Free Council and he was all too eager to flex his newfound power in the fight against anyone or thing he deemed an abuse of power. Humanity, particularly when it was improvised and uninhibited, was magical to him. The most mystic of any totem animal. He bowed only to the authority of raw talent and flowing passion, everything else was only oppression. Speaking truth to power was his life’s work and now he had the power to make his words as sharp as his knives.
He’d felt the rush of his Path like both the rabbit and the wolf, running from and towards something he felt far more clearly than he understood. Whether that was on the stage, changing minds and separating rich willing from their money at charity events, or more dangerous rebellions among the shifting networks of The Free Council he was a sharp pebble being worn down into something smooth and pure. That was how he ended up in Sacramento, just passing through on a gig. Yet something about the place lodged in him like briar. The mix of urban and natural spaces touched him. It whispered of something like home, or at least a place to put down a root or two for once.
He's made a minor name for himself as Vaude The Clown, a vaudeville/sideshow/theater clown/freak/actor/whatever anyone will pay him for (in either money, food, or anything worth his time really.) Check him out on his poorly designed and updated social media presence, it's worth a laugh!