As people walked out of the Vienda city gates, they were greeted with wicks and their kints, all lined up like alleys, offering food and drink, games and sideshows and wares. The atmosphere was jovial and cracking, like something big was coming. Talking and music filled the air, becoming one medium hum of sound. Colors assaulted the eyes and smells reeled in the senses.

Moving through the caravans, people could see the entrance to a tent, flaps being held open invitingly. It was quite dimly lit inside the big red and blue tent. Inside, people were filing in, finding seats and chattering. It was a good turn out. All races it seemed. In between the guests, wicks were ushering people to empty seats and a few were walking around selling onna-stick's.

Balder looked at the troupe in the darkness of the backstage area, smiling. His face was painted to exaggerate his eyes and a thin moustash was painted on his upper lip. He wore a black top hat, bright red vest over a white shirt and black pinstriped pants, shiny black boots and white gloves. Carrying a riding crop and a hand held amplifying cone, he nodded at the gathered 'family'.

"Here we are guys! Just moments away. After everyone has settled, I will cue Hal to drop the lights and go to my mark. You all look great! Alioe be with us, and good luck!" He turned back to glance out of the canvas curtain, watching the crowd.

Behind him, Dorian was dressed in only a pair of black tight pants, with sequins sewn on the belt, front part and down the sides of the legs. His bare chest and face were painted in a colorful, peacock like design. He was taking deep, meditative breaths, one hand on his sternum, the other on his stomach.

Winslow stood off to the side, next to Jaq, bouncing from toe to toe. He was dressed in oversized pants and a garish loose shirt. His face was painted in a frowny face and his grey hair was teased all on end. Right at the back, Taegan sat on a crate, closest to the rear exit of the tent, cooing quietly to Clarabelle who was still in her caravan. He wore a gold and red jacket over white tights and white boots, bare chest and ab's rippling just right, accented by gold shimmer dust. The paint on his face was black and gold, accentuating his eyes and temples. His blonde hair was slicked into a pomp and his hands were gloved in black leather. The whole outfit really showed just how strong the teenager was.

The four men looked at each other and slowly, Balder saluted at them. Winslow was first to salute back, followed by Dorian, then Taegan. It was a salute to say, we did it boys. This is it.

And so, they waited, time was closing in.

"...Let's run away and join the circus, Nikos!"

Memory stirred her into leaving the barracks in very plainclothes for Balder's Circus. Ilithyia hadn't intended on going, she had things to do. But she'd been dismissed from some rather idiotic paperwork by a clumsy recruit with two left feet and a mug of coffee. The mess had been indecipherable, and her officer-in-charge had released her. Echoes of happiness drew her to this mysterious fanfare, and she had made due haste to make it to the spectacle a little early.

Now here she was, stalking to the very gates she had evicted so many from, so many that she could possibly see. It was like picking at a sore, to have a Seventen show up at the circus. Yet old memories of her brother made her. They had been the marvelous Lutgardis siblings, Nikos the strongest man in the world and the lovely Ilyia as the flying woman. Aniketos would hoist her up by the waist and hold her above his head, running, and she could feel the wind in her face...

Shaking away the feeling, Ilithyia walked past the assembled booths, eyes downcast. She didn't want to see any familiar eyes. Although the smell of some of the food called to her, she forwent everything and instead marched to the main tent. She allowed the human to escort her to a seat nervously, and she couldn't even muster a smile for him. She knew she reeked of melancholy; the more she tried to suppress, the worse it felt.

I ought to be the crying clown, she thought with a sigh as she watched the vendor peddling the meat sticks. She hoped the circus would be enough of a diversion to keep the creeping sadness at bay... but she doubted it. Nikos, it was all so simple then. Please don't let this last. Please let me make amends with Alstair. Please let me forgive him... She shook her head, wondering why the desire to heal things felt so dire. So this is heartbreak.

Hal was twitching amongst the lighting equipment. From where he was, the people below were indistinct blobs under the medium-dimmed lights. People shuffled and spoke indistinctly. Now and again a burst of laughter would erupt. He sat tight, trying not to fidget and knock over a light unit, or send a coil of cable down on some unsuspecting passerby's head. He was keeping his eye on the various performer entries, looking for Balder's signal to further dim the lights.

Kynth nervously adjusted his cape, his nose turning slightly red. Taking a peek out to the ring, the place was almost packed.
"Woah, that's a lot of people.."

Returning back to Balder, he stood calmly between his "Family"


He pulled his leg behind him, grabbed his shin and began stretching. He repeated this with his other leg, than started stretching his arms. "S'gonna be fun, but I'm nervous.." He breathed out and in. "Nono.. Calm down, calm down.. It's just like dress rehersal, I flew that.."

He was talking to himself again. He wished in the back of his head that he could stop that.

Sarinah made her way through the central aisle, towards the front row. She was looking around at the same time, hoping to catch a glimpse of Tristaan before the show started. She had gone out into the kints around the circus and bought an outfit especially for tonight, especially for Tristaan. Hiding it, she'd waited till he'd left to get ready and then gone to town. It was the first time in a very long time she'd dressed to be pretty, not sexy, and it was nerve wracking. She fussed about her hair, her makeup, and even her jewelery she'd managed to buy. It felt strange not being half exposed, but at the same time nice.

It was an off white, long tiered dress, with slightly frilled sleeves that sat just off the shoulders, and seemed to be made of a slightly shiny material almost like silk, black lace trimmed each tier and the neckline. The front of the dressed was designed so it ruched upwards and exposed her shins. She was still barefoot, anklets tinkling quietly. Her makeup was very minimal, almost non existent, lips neutral and eyes only accentuated by a little liner and brown shadow. Her thick black and red hair was pulled back and gently held in a slightly askew chignon by a pretty sparkling hair piece.

Finally reaching the front row, she excused herself and slipped passed a few guests, seating herself directly in front of the arena. Looking around wistfully once more, she sighed and sat back, hands in her lap.

Calli was off near the edge of the tent, using some boxes to help herself stretch. She was humming softly under her breath, a calm smile upon her face. It was a strange sense of quiet that came to her before a big performance. She was ready for this. She looked different, she felt different. Her face was painted in golds and burnished bronze, highlighting her cheek bones and lips, making her look sharp and exotic as opposed to awkward and gangly. She'd painstakingly pinned a mask to her hair, covering her face, one her eldest sister had made for her. It was designed to look like a series of intertwining leaves and vines. It covered her blonde hair fairly well, leaving only a few yellow whisps showing at the back. Her leotard was also green, though her slippers were golden and laced up her leg for contrast. The leaf motif continued around her chest and calves, stopping the one piece from looking too silly.

She finished stretching and walked up closer to Balder, ready for her cue. Gone was her usual bouncing enthusiasm, although it was probably going to return once the show was over. She was incredibly quiet, though anticipatory.

Fion had mixed feelings about the past few days. She'd spent much of them crying when no one was around. She felt woefully out of control and she wasn't sure she could handle it.

But hey, tonight she was at the circus with her son and her boyfriend. Her boyfriend. It wasn't so bad.



Fion almost didn't recognise Sarinah, she was dressed so differently. She brightened, glad to see the other woman was ok.

"Sarinah!" She called, shifting Piran in front of her so he would be seated between them and so Dem could sit next to her. "How have you been?"

Her relief was almost mind-boggling, she'd wanted someone to talk to and in a very real way she and Sarinah were in the same boat. She guessed that since Sarinah was outside the main town that she wouldn't be able to get back in.

"Oh, it is good to see you looking so well." She said, shoulders relaxing forward.

Tristaan had been watching the crowds from behind the main curtain. Leaning against one of the tent poles and listening to everyone behind him get ready while they worked out their last-minute jitters, the passive watched Sarinah enter and take a seat. He was suddenly grateful for two things: the post to keep him standing on instantly weak knees and the curtain to hide his slack-jawed face. The crowd seemed to sort of melt away and all the noises faded. He realized it was an altogether different and yet still altogether amazing look for the dancer. Instead of wondering where it came from, he found himself wondering how he could possibly sit next to her looking so lovely and even pay attention to the Circus.

Alioe, what have I gone and gotten myself into? If this is your way of smiling at me, I am not complaining.

He hovered, somewhat helplessly, and wrestled for some control over his senses before he snuck out from behind the curtain and into the crowds still looking for their seats in the sand around the edges of the ring. He tried to blend in but was afraid that he couldn't, all washed and shaved and brushed and dressed and tied. It was all he could do to keep from staring at the dark-haired witch as he wove between some of the crowd to get to his seat.

Tristaan approached in time to see Fion, her boy, and a very Mugrobi man take their seats next to Sarinah. He grinned, mustering what roguish nonchalance he could find with the lingering awed excitement still pounding in his chest. He stepped up and stopped somewhat in between and in front of Sarinah and Fion to lean against the taut double ropes that separated the ring from the seating, setting one foot on the bottom rope and resting his wrists on the top one.

It was all he could do to pretend not to recognize the dancer, though his gray eyes longed to stray in her direction, "Fion!" He smiled at the seamstress, "Junta! It's good to see you again. I'm glad you came."

Glancing at the boy, "You must be Pirian. You're going t'really have an amazin' time. You've got a benny seat there. Right front'n'center t'all th'action, young man. "

Tilting his head, he stuck out a hand to Dem with a warm smile, but there was a hint of heated color rising to the passive's cheeks as if it was very difficult to keep up his ruse, "I'm Tristaan. Your rosh here works wonders with a needle and thread. I'm most thankful t'her handiwork."

Finally, he gave in and slowly looked in Sarinah's direction, though he spoke to the seamstress still, "Wo chet! Who is your lovely friend? For a moment, across the ring there, I thought that maybe you had invited Alioe herself in all her moonlit beauty t'come an' grace our Circus with her presence." He grinned, unable to hide the recognition and excitement that filled his eyes and rung in his pulse despite his valiant attempt to pretend he didn't know exactly who she was.

With a laugh, he reached over the rope that separated them and placed a hand on the dancer's knee, "You know, rosh, people are payin' t'stare at th'Circus. It's a good thing some of us got in for free, for I might just have t'stare at you all evenin' instead."

Sarinah looked up and smiled at Fion, shifting her legs to the side slightly so they could get in. She nodded to the boy and the dark skinned man, obviously Fion's date for this evening. As the woman settled in beside her, she shifted back.

"I've been benny rosh. Well, mostly. I got caught and thrown out of Vienda, but its turned out to be a blessing not a curse. There's this wick..." Her smile turned soft and she looked at her hands.

"He's a benny balach..." She started, but something caught her eye. A man was approaching them inside the ring rope. He was a very attractive gentleman, seemed like a galdor but not quite, and slowly she realized it was Tristaan. Her mouth fell open just a little. He was, for lack of a better word, gorgeous. His dark hair was brushed and tied back, allowing her to see all the piercings he had in his ears. He wore a pair of black breeches, a red vest and a white shirt, under a cravat and long dark coat. The whole outfit made him look so regal, and it accentuated his aristocratic features. All in all, she was speechless and suddenly felt incredibly underdressed. The passive really scrubbed up well. A warm flush rose to her cheeks slightly as he stopped and lent on the rope between herself and Fion. He didn't seem to even notice she existed and for a moment, her heart caught. Did she make a mistake dressing like this?



Sarinah felt a small lump rise to her throat. She must look so stupid, he didn't even acknowledge her. And she'd been talking to his friends about him, without even realizing it! She felt deflated and almost hurt, but kept her face blank. The witch wouldn't ruin his night by being a silly upset girl over a silly outfit. As soon as he left, she would go change.



He seemed like he was blushing a little, oh Alioe, did she embarrass him that much? The dancer looked down at her hands again, waiting for him to go.



Her heart started racing and slowly, she looked up at him, lifting her head. Seeing the look in his eyes, she smiled shyly and blushed. Shyly? For a moment she pondered how ridiculous that was, but couldn't help it. She felt so vulnerable dressed like this, and he made her feel like she was beautiful. His words were like poetry and she was utterly swept away by it.



Reaching out, the black and red haired witch placed a hand lightly on his own, still blushing lightly.

"You are too kind. I was thinking almost the same thing, balach. You look, really benny." She said softly, unsure how to tell the passive he looked good enough to eat. Rubbing his hand lightly with her thumb, she smirked.

"I'm glad I had the pleasure in catching your eye." The emphasis on the word was quite clearly referring to more intimate types of times. Right now, all she wanted was to leave with him. Instead, she took her hand away and gave him a sultry smile, that held promise for later.

At the comment and the smile, the passive stepped to one side and deftly hopped the ropes to slide into the empty space next to the dark-haired witch with a grin. He pulled her close with one arm, whispering mischievously in her ear, "If I didn't know it'd break Calli's heart if we didn't watch her be amazin', I'd be of half a mind t'carry you out of here right now."

Tristaan chuckled and leaned away, leaving his arm where it was, settling into his seat contentedly. He knew he'd have to pay attention to what was going on out of the ring as much as in it, regardless of how distracting Sarinah might be. It would be an interesting challenge.

Eriyenna stood calmly backstage, violin in one hand, bow in the other. Her form-fitting white and gray outfit was mostly cut-away on one side and long-sleeved on the other, revealing nearly the entire length of the swirling purple tattoos that ran from her neck to her feet. Wherever her skin was exposed, it shimmered with glitter. Her long purple hair was pulled up in a variety of braids and sparkling silver pins like stars, no longer hidden by a wrap as usual. A bit of make-up carefully detailed her facial features for those who sat far away in the audience. Her expression was peaceful, but her dark eyes were shining with excitement.

She hovered near Call, Jaq, and the other musicians awaiting her cue. She taut and ready in her stillness, humming to herself a completely different tune than anything she had planned for tonight.

Sarinah's smile grew as he jumped the ropes to sit beside her, giggling a little as he pulled her close.



The dancer nodded and looked around. Surely they would be starting soon, it seemed to be getting full in here. Turning back to Tristaan, she watched him quietly for a moment, he was gazing around, watching for trouble. Smiling to herself, she settled back to watch the show. This night was almost like a dream, and she was so pleased she'd taken the time to dress up for him.

Demkaih shook the man's hand with a nod. He felt hugely out of place here in his traditional red wrap. Settling beside Fion, he watched the exchange between the finely dressed man and the pretty young wick beside Fion, leaning back and holding the seamstresses hand. Inside, his heart ached and his throat formed a lump. This was going to be a rarity soon, just casually going out with his beautiful poppy. Looking at her, he forced a smile and squeezed her hand.

"Would you like anything to eat or drink? Would Piran like something?"

Piran tried to force a smile as well, grinning and grimacing at the same time. "Fine, thanks," he said, though in reality he was a bit hungry.

The presence of so many wicks and strangers was making him nervous. All around him he felt fields, pushing in on him, almost calling for his natural ability to show itself. Though he had not yet tried any other magic, he knew it was there, lurking and waiting for him to lose control of it. Ever since the wick ban his mother had been hiding him away, fearful that someone would sense him, and he hated that beyond anything he'd ever hated in his life. Something inside him had made his mother fearful, angry. It had robbed him of his life.

If she lost Demkaih because of him, she would hate him and resent him. He felt entirely sure of this, because she was clearly in love, and though he understood little of these matters he knew instinctively that anything that kept lovers apart was bad and evil. How many stories had he heard that involved wicked kings keeping their daughters from their prince or evil hags locking the girl away in the tower? He was like that - a monster, basically.

And what would become of his mother's respect for him when he turned into a wick? Would he have to go live in a caravan? Dye his hair blue?

All of these worries were swirling around inside Piran's young head as he watched the colorful pageantry of the circus, the throngs of happy people, cheerfully trying to forget the events of the last month.

((I'm so sorry, quotey post is quotey.))



Fion smiled, saddened that Sarinah had been so rudely removed from her home but glad that she was out of that horrible city and pleased to boot.

"Do tell." She said, looking brighter.




Fion laughed and waved.

"Thank you for the tickets! I can't believe you got us into the front row!" She said, feeling enthused about the entire evening. "You look great by the way."

She allowed herself to bring a little smirk into her smile, as though implying she had something to do with that. In truth the man would have looked good in a paper bag. As would Dem, come to think of it.

She thought about it for a giddy moment.



Fion blushed a little and leant into Demkaih happily. She almost felt as though this was a feather in her cap. Like a letter of recommendation saying "Stay with me forever, I'm an excellent long-term investment."

Only more romantic, of course.



Fion raised an eyebrow and leant over, whispering so softly that Piran wouldn't hear.

"Good job!" She said, Tristaan looked very happy to see the other woman and from what Fion knew of him, he was a very good man. The fact that he took advice at all was mark enough. He was cute too, which never hurt.



Fion didn't want Dem going anywhere, to be honest. She wanted to spend as much of tonight right next to him as possible, and next to Piran as well. Being cooped up all day wasn't good for him and she didn't know what to do about it.

"Are you sure you're not hungry, P?" Fion asked, running a hand through his hair, finding the motion calming. "Dem, would you mind maybe finding us some nuts or something?"

She turned to look at him, squeezing his hand back and loving him oh so much. This was hard but so long as they could organise nights like this it would be bearable.

Demkaih leaned back to look at the boy behind Fion's head. He knew there was strain on the young man. Leaning forward again, he wondered if he'd known the lad long enough to sit him down and talk to him, man to man.



The mugrobi man nodded and stood, excusing himself from the group to sidle past the others. He strolled down the aisle, face set. Once out of the tent, he glanced around and started looking for a food stall. There was an elderly woman with an open stall on the right. It was a start.

"Excuse me, would you have something small to eat? Like nuts?" Maira gate the dark man a critical look with her steely blue eyes. She pursed her old lips and nodded.

"Eye have something. Not nuts. I have crispy fried flatbread, and you can also get some dipping sauce for it. One tally." Demkaih pulled the tally from his coin purse and gave it to her.

"It will suffice."

"Mum," he protested softly, a little embarrassed but not upset. His mother had the temporary effect of assuaging his worry, but he could tell she too was agitated; he didn't pull away, for fear it would upset her.

To distract himself (and her), he began doing a little play with his hands, acting out the parts of some of their neighbors - a catty woman and her unfaithful husband. His voice was drowned out in the din of the crowd, but the pantomime was a familiar one, inspired anew by the latest argument the two had had before the riot. It concerned the man's frequent visits to the butcher. Piran was too young to understand the meaning, but he realized that something uncouth was going on and it amused him endlessly.

Fion was relieved when Piran didn't twist away from her. One day she was going to reach for him and he was going to push her away. She was glad that day hadn't arrived yet.



Fion bit her lip and tried to feel guiltier about poisoning her son's gentle young mind. Right now she didn't give a rat's ass, if even Piran was picking up on that subtext then there was no helping it. She could faintly hear Piran making voices to accompany the play, though she could not intuit the words over the din.

She laughed a little to herself. The butcher was a wick. She was fairly sure Miriam's husband was planning on moving them all out of Vienda to follow him. He'd been hinting it. She moved her hand to Piran's shoulder and watched his face move as the play continued.

It was time. Balder turned to the group with a strange smile on his face.

"It's showtime." With that, he stepped out and waved a small red flag at Hal, which would cue the passive to lower the lights. Counting the steps as practiced, he walked out to the center of the ring. A moment later a single spotlight came on over him. He stood, riding crop tucked under one arm, one hand on his brim, the other holding the cone. Slowly, he looked up and the crowd and grinned.

"Peoples of Vienda, lend me your ears!" He boomed into the cone, sweeping his hand around the room, turning a circle.

"Welcome, I am your host for this event, you can call me Balder. Tonight, you have come together under this tent to witness possibly, the most amazing show of your lives. Prepare for a musical, mystical journey that will lead you to a world of dazzling colors and amazing feats!" Pausing for dramatic effect, he turned again, grinning at the people.

"Now, with no further dallying, I present...Cirque De Vienda!" His voice trailed off and he held out his hand, sweeping to the side of the ring where the curtain was. The spotlight faded out on him and rose slowly where Eriyenna's mark was.

Just as the tent flaps closed, a smallish man ducked underneath. He fished some coin out of a small bag at his side, however he shooed away the escort in favor of leaning against one of the wooden stands, smiling into the ring. Any near enough to scent him would notice he smelled of salt and of dew, and that while his clothes were dull and brown they were sturdy and fine.


The chuckle that escaped his lips was light, and he looked about the assembled crowd. Vienda, in all it's many colors and kinds, was displayed almost as well as the showring. There were the tall sturdy humans, the slinky 'olio' wicks and then... his eyes fell on some galdori in the crowd, and once again he felt the lack of his field. Passives ain't a lucky bunch, that's to be certain. He wiped a strand of hair from indigo eyes, noting the massive, almost ungodly amount of wicks about the place. Nothing like being the bastard children of the aristocracy... 'cept perhaps being said aristocracy and disowned.

It irked Viator how being so near his former peers made old grievances rise. Dze, as they say. It matters naught. He rolled thin shoulders, one hand at his high collar.


Like most others in the crowd, Viator was drawn by the spotlight to look to the center stage. Lessee if this was worth coming inland at all.

Jaqueline's knees shook with mounting anxiety. The dress rehearsal that afternoon had gone wonderfully, with a few minor twinges here and there. She'd perfected her costumes, gone over the routines in her head repeatedly, and tried to keep calm. And then the audience started arriving. The more people who came through the tent opening, the more nervous she became.

This isn't going to be anything like I thought it would, she thought. Just remember: you're in costume. This isn't about them, it's about you. It's like that time you sat in on the speech in Brunhold and nobody realized you were there. Picture them all naked.

Jaq watched as a relatively large fellow came through the tent opening. DON'T PICTURE HIM NAKED! She stiffled a giggle at that thought, and her knees relaxed a bit.

At Balder's words, Eriyenna's heart became as a caged bird, flapping to be free from her chest. It's only possible means of escape, however, was through her lungs and in her voice. Her opening song was meant to fly through the air like an arrow shot from great height, with a swift beginning, a slow arch to the middle, and a building, speeding, falling sort of ending that opened hearts and imaginations to see beyond the reality of the somewhat disturbing events of all of Intas. She really did live to let people enjoy themselves; there was hardly anything better than a lifting song and a good time had by all, in her mind, anyway.

Taking her cue without hesitance or fear from the ringmaster, she gracefully followed her measured steps, glitter on her skin sparkling in the light, making the swirling purple of her tattoos seem to glow. The musicians began subtly following her lead as she began on the violin. With practiced ease, the purple-haired witch let her instrument fade away into silence before lifting her voice instead while the musicians continued to support her.

"O Vienda
Bright star of Anaxas shining
O Vienda
Can you hear Alioe singing?
O Vienda
Across all of verdant Vita
Calling for a joyful
Celebration
Lifting all eyes to the heavens
O Vienda
Bright star
Shining with promise renewed

"Come and see
The same song is a-weaving
Star to star
O Vienda
Light of joy to share again
Heart to heart
Mind to mind
O Vienda
Enjoy this giv'n moment
Brought this night
For your eyes"

Crisp and confident, her words were an unusual if not unorthodox mix of language and culture, as if she secretly wanted to make as much a political statement as an artistic one. Though she would never admit to such a thing if asked directly, the words were fortunately applicable enough to the situation to avoid suspicion. The verse and chorus were the same, sung first in Estuan, again in rather antiquated Tek, once more in Mugrobi, and then back into Estuan. She had actually prepared several languages, but picked one to both shorten the length of her song and to prevent from alienating too much of the audience. Mugrobi had just the right flow, and it fit in like it was meant to be there.

As her voice faded with the last chorus, Eri returned to her violin for a rousing sort of outro intended to raise anticipation for the next act, gracefully allowing herself to fade from view on her cue while she continued to play her instrument for Calli's entrance and act.

((Obvious musical reference, though perhaps my measure is slightly fail: http://jp.youtube.com/watch?v=y8YjtozRX1o))

Demkaih heard the booming voice of the ring master and grabbed the food from the vendor, running as best he could with the chips and dip. He slipped through the now closed tent flaps and made his way in the dark as the man spoke. Finding the front row, he slipped past the two wicks, Piran and sat down beside Fion.

"Sorry my poppy, here is something the lady suggested was good." He fell quiet as a beautiful purplish wick walked into the arena. The music that began was so beautiful and haunting, it caught his attention immediately. And then, somewhere in there she began to sing in mugrobi. Demkaih couldn't help himself. He felt tears sting his eyes, she sang such beautiful words.



He looked at Fion, and with a smile, kissed her cheek.

(placemaker of sorts)

Athrym and the others had found seats in the center of the crowds, not too far back, but not to close. She sat quietly in the dim lighting, poking at a bowl of hingle pieces she'd bought. It was nice enough, but so many humans and wicks. The whole thing felt dirty. But at least they were here now. The lights faded and a central spotlight came up on a stumpy old man in the center. He began booming through a cone, talking about Alioe or something. Athrym sighed boredly. Then he finished. And the music began. Wonderful haunting music. The girl sat up straighter in her chair to listen.

Calli stepped into view slowly, arms shifting in delicate floating turns, shoulders twisting like a flower in the breeze. She turned her eyes about the audience, as though looking for someone, steps beginning to quicken. Her legs shifted in graceful arcs, flying through the air as she spun with practiced ease. Her feet touched the ground and she bent her knees slightly as though ready to shift into another arabesque.

Then she twisted sideways, flying through the air like a cat, closer to Eri and her music. She was like a puppet on a string, flung by some bored god-hand. Calli shifted from left to right, looking about hurriedly, now appearing agitated. She spun on her toes, allowing some flamenco to flavour her dance. Soon she was stamping her feet and twirling like a wild creature full of fire and passion. It was difficult to throw herself about like this but the effect was always worth it, it was an applied form of her statue tricks.

She sped up, flicking high kicks before pushing herself towards Eriyenna yet again. The violin was like fire in her blood, spurring her on. She twisted, cartwheeled, danced on air and ground and nothing at all. She jolted, head falling back like water from a jug and her hands shifting up, seemingly suspended in the air by ropes attached to her waist and wrists. Then the invisible ropes dropped and Calli was falling, spinning again and landing at Eriyenna's feet on one knee, kneeling like a knight before his mistress.