David Fletcher, 27, after another day in a dead end job.

“You, sir!” David startled at the sudden booming voice, nearly dropping his lunch. Not that it would be a great loss, he reflected morosely. His sandwich had been a frankly lackluster affair. The bread had been slightly stale, the lettuce wilted, and the tomato was unpleasantly tart. And as for the bacon, well, David felt that this BLT was just barely clinging to its B on a technicality.

“Sir?” The voice came again, now far less booming and just a touch uncertain. David looked around for its source.

He blinked. The figure before him was dressed in a red and white striped blazer and, aside from an eerie porcelain mask, looked to be the very image of a stereotypical carnival barker. Seeing they had David’s attention, their spiel started back up in earnest, voice carrying a noticeable tinny quality that made them sound like they were talking into an old megaphone.

“Well sir, if you don’t mind me saying, you look like life is getting you down. Working much too hard, if I had to guess, and for far too little reward. Why, anyone would feel worn down. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, don’t you know? Well don’t you worry sir, we have just the thing to take your mind off the stresses of the day. A night at the Circus, yes sir, that’s what you need! All the fun of the fair and a night to unwind! Lucky for you, we have a show in town, here for one night only! So how about this; two tickets to Cirque du Luxure, free of charge, for you and a friend? I shouldn’t do this, but you earned it sir, my treat! Doesn’t that sound swell, sir? Why, join us tonight and your troubles will seem worlds away, you have my word on that!”

“I…” David opened his mouth to protest, but the barker had already pressed two tickets into his hand and was walking off. He stared after them for a moment, then sighed and pushed the tickets into his pocket. Lunch break was over, back to the grindstone. Those spreadsheets weren’t going to review themselves.

David could have easily forgotten about the tickets, had they not fallen from his pocket as he fumbled with the key to his cramped apartment. He looked at them. Was he really considering going? Could he think of a reason not to? After all, it’s not like he had other plans for his evening. His Friday nights were invariably spent the same way as any other night of the week, home alone. When was the last time he’d even gone for a drink with his friends? God, the barker had been right, this job was eating him alive. He looked at the two tickets, and something in him reached a decision. He was already calling an old drinking buddy before he’d gotten to the ground floor of his apartment block. “Frank, hi. Only me. Yeah man, it’s been a while. Wanna go for a few pints at the Old Pig? Work’s been… well it’s been a lot. Plus I've got two tickets to a show tonight if you're down.”

By the time David reached the Old Pig, the ginger man-mountain known as Mad Frank O’Donald was already waiting by the Bar with a pint in each hand. Frank had been David's closest friend since college, and in that time David had never known him refuse a night out. Frank had been captain of the Wrestling team, and a member of several other teams to boot, and he drank the way only a college athlete can. He'd slowed since graduation, but still could down liquor like it was water. David jokingly blamed his friend's towering build; by the time the drunkenness made it up from Frank's liver to his brain, he was already sobering up. The problem was that when drinking with Mad Frank, you felt compelled to match his pace. Maybe the madness was contagious, maybe the redhead just had a magnetic personality... or maybe it was the way whenever he got a round, he made sure a glass of whatever he was having was pressed into your hand before you could say anything.

"Looks like the first round is mine this time, eh Dave? So, sit your arse down and tell ol' Frank everything about that pit they've got you working in. Looks like ye needed this. I think a dram or two is just the cure for what _ales _you." Frank chuckled at his own joke.

Which is how he found himself, 8 pints deep and stood in line before the big top with Frank. The Barker at the tent flap punched their tickets with a curt nod. _“Right on through, sirs. Quickly now, the Show is about to start, and you won’t want to miss a thing.”_Beyond the flap was darkness. Frank dashed ahead, presumably to try and find a good seat. David followed after, stepping into the dark which rose to swallow him whole, his feet feeling like they were walking on nothing. He walked on in the disorienting darkness, until The Barker’s voice echoed throughout the tent.

“Come one, cum all, and see simply the greatest show in 7 worlds. I bid you strip right down and step right up, Ladies and Gentlemen, and welcome… to Harem Hotel: Carnal Carnival!”

A spotlight flared, briefly blinding David. When it cleared the Eerie porcelain mask of the barker filled his vision.

“AAAAAAAH!” As he stumbled back, David noticed he’d stumbled into the sandy floor of the main ring. He stammered a few apologies, but the barker simply talked over him in their booming voice, playing to the shadowed and silent stands. David idly noticed their striped blazer had now been replaced with a full jester costume in blue and red.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I am Motley, and it is my great pleasure to be your host for this fine Season of Harem Hotel. Long time viewers know the score but, for those sweet virgins in our audience who have never seen one of our shows before, allow me to recap. Harem Hotel is a show much like the Bachelor. But instead of a single winner, each season sees a new cavalcade of carefully curated contestants compete for a place in the Harem of their new Master. Gain enough favour with the Master, and they’ll secure their spot. Fail, and they risk Elimination.” The frozen porcelain smirk seemed to stretch a fraction wider. “But this season will add a new spin, with all the fun of the fairground! And what good is a circus without a Ringmaster. So, lets bring him on up, and meet our new Master!”

David tried to back away as the mask turned to face him, but his legs seemed to have other plans.

“So, David, why don’t you introduce yourself?”

He wanted to tell the bizarre court jester where to shove it but, like his feet moments prior, his mouth ran away with him. “Hi, I’m David Fletcher, I’m 27 years old and I work in data analysis. I have been single for 3 years, and honestly my life has been in a rut for the past 5. I haven’t had the motivation to date, as work leaves me feeling so drained I’ve barely even kept in touch with my old friends.” He blinked. He hadn't meant to say any of that. He'd put it down to the beer in his system, but since the lights went up he'd felt disconcertingly sober.

“I see, so your job’s getting you down and you don’t have the strength to get yourself back up? Well, we at Harem Hotel are happy to assist, yes sir! We have a line up of six stunners, ready to strive for a spot at your side, each with something special to shape your sad little life into something spectacular!” The grinning jester pivoted to face him. “But first, that outfit simply won’t do, will it? A ringmaster should look the part!”

David was about to ask what Motley had meant by that, but the spotlight cut out plunging his eyes back into inky blackness. A drumroll echoed through the tent as search lights flicked on and roved the ring. When there beams converged on him, David found himself in a deep red tailcoat and tailored white pants. Leather riding boots, white silk gloves and a black silk top hat completed the outfit, giving the appearance befitting his new role as ringmaster of this perverse circus.

“This is insane, what, you really expect six girls to fight over me? Where did you find people who’d agree to this?”

The jester’s porcelain smile didn’t waver. “Agree? Oh, sir, you seem to be unaware of how we do things around here. These girls are not random volunteers, who sign on to be paired off with whichever sap is Master this season. That wouldn’t do at all. Where’s the chemistry? Where’s the drama? No sir, our contestants are drafted from those with whom you already share a bond! People you know, people who already feel strongly about you!”

“What? No, you can’t just kidnap girls I know and make them fight to date me!” David, finding his limbs willing to obey him for the moment lunged for the masked jester. “I won’t go along with this if they aren’t interested, you freak.” He raised a fist, aiming to shatter that smug ceramic smirk.

His punch didn’t get very far. His fist hung in midair, wrist gripped tight in Motley’s gloved hand. It was like a steel vice, and the jesters form seemed to stretch and contort as the mask leaned closer to fill his vision once again.

“You may be the ringmaster, Sir. And I suppose you think that means you’re the one in charge. But let me remind you; the Ringmaster rules the circus, only with the consent of the Clowns! I am still the host and if you want to avoid a terrible fate for ALL the contestants, you’d do well to play along.” The clown’s grip softened slightly, “The show must go on, Mr Fletcher. We’re all just playing our roles. Now,” Motley released him, clapping their hand and returning to the booming voice of a performer for the unseen audience, “without further ado, please welcome to the ring our first contestant!”