The circus was in town, and Carnegie P. Rath, the owner and ringmaster of the Cirque Du Morte, was pacing around an empty , but quickly filling, plot of land, barking orders to the many workers scattered around. Caravans were being parked in one area, and a large black and red striped tent was being put up near the center. Animals in cages were being unloaded and placed in their respective areas.
All around him, his circus was coming to life, and it was always a glorious sight to behold. This was his pride and joy, the product of years of hard work. He had given blood, sweat, and even his very life to make this dream a reality, and here it was.
The tent was up now, and the various booths, poles, and other miscellaneous items were being set up. Soon the whole area was built from the ground, and everyone stopped to eat a hearty dinner of chilli.
Despite his somewhat standoffish exterior, Carnegie always took care of his own, making sure they were fed, happy, and healthy. Unless of course, they didn't do their job. There was a no-freeloading policy, and everyone was expected to do their part.
There had been a team who had posted fliers all over, and had returned shortly before the completion of the grounds, but the posters all read the same date of opening. Tomorrow.
For now, they would rest and everyone would prepare to do their part in making the Cirque run smoothly.
Carnegie had not eaten yet, as he was oft to do in these situations. He rarely ate the day they arrived, and rarely ate the day they left. He was too busy making sure everything was going well, and now he was patrolling the grounds, giving one last check to everything.