Donavan: The ShadowMature

After nine years, Donavan could never accustom himself to the putrid stench of griffin feces. The other cages radiated the same foul aroma. The wyverns simmered in their own defecation, screeching through the circus train whenever business had been...done. They were the worst, making Donavan clean every hour or so. He couldn’t fathom how pompous mythical creatures could be.

And yet, none was more pompous than the General himself. He walked through each train car, becoming more anxious and aggravated with each step. His ideals of perfection was a shadow of the man Donavan knew before the deal was made, the man who struggled to get a circus to be as cohesive and self-sustaining as it has become. Had it not been for the shadow of his nights, who would the untamed Sinestro be?

That was the real problem: the creature that tags Sinestro through the car today. It was a miracle to see the shadow haunt the day, but it was far from a momentous occasion. Donavan could always sniff out a rat, and the black man reeked in the same way. Why is he here? Everyone in the circus knew that ten years still haven’t passed, so there was no reason to attach himself to Sinestro.

What are you so focused on? The benefactor is only keeping an eye on him, one of the wyverns told Donavan.

Is that supposed to be some cruel irony? If so, I don’t have to clean up for you then.

I’m being serious. You mortals always love to back out of your deals.

Is that why he’s here? To make sure he doesn’t run away? Sinestro is an honorable man, he would never run.

Keep telling yourself that, mortal.

“Silence!” Donavan roared. He had a tendency of snapping on the creatures, even though everyone would stare with concern for his wild behavior. They know of his gift, and yet, they watch him like he is one of his “animals.”

However, the thought wouldn’t escape his head. The “benefactor” was here among them, only to preserve his deal. Donavan growled; that wasn’t the only reason, he thought. He was already proceeding to the next train car to see what the shadow was up to.

Donavan stalked the two as they approached Savian, the trapezist, who was an eagle overlooking them. Sinestro yelled for him to descend from his perch. The shadow was still an arm’s length behind him.

Sinestro called for an absurd adjustment of Savian’s act. He envisioned a fallen angel, and Savian rejected it. Sinestro selfishly overruled it with a shake in his voice, and a slight hesitation in between sentences. Donavan began to wonder whose voice was truly coming out of the General’s mouth. However, fear was apparent in Sinestro; the darkness was torturing him.

This was not the same General from nine years prior, or even the day before. His own shadow had finally caught up to him. Sinestro became a rattled general, more concerned about his life than his soldiers.

Donavan returned to the cages. He had to speak to the wyverns once again. Tell the benefactor I would like to speak with him, alone.

The benefactor does not take such requests—

You don’t listen to him! You listen to me, and I want you to tell the benefactor to meet with me! Do you understand!?

Fine. Donavan began to walk to his quarters. Stupid mortals.

What was that?

Nothing, boss. Nothing at all.

The End

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