Hunger rolled through her body like a wave, rippled through her senses and pawed at her mind. She smiled. It was time for a show, and she'd chosen just the place to do it: golly turf, the rich neighborhood, where ging flowed from coffers to her pockets like waterfalls of wine. It had been some years since she'd last been to Vienda with the circus, but she found her way uptown with ease, following the best-dressed gollies out of the Dives and into the light, moneyed air of the rich district. It smelled sweet and spiced here, like sumptuous meals for the taking, and she walked with jaunt in her step at the thought of food.

Another pulse of hunger grumbled low in her stomach. She slowed her walk and looked left, right, her trained eye searching out the bulging pockets and tipsy expressions that would mean payday. A tavern, a bar – she needed to find where these rich folk drank themselves into states of impressionability and generosity. Where the gollies got sloshed, this nattle got rich.

She watched as a portly galdor stumbled onto the street a few feet away, his gloves held limply in one hand and his cane tapping the ground in the other. There was a lopsided, vacant expression on his face, and she could almost smell the wine in the air. Aha, she smirked, eyeing the nondescript door he came from. Her eyes traveled up, up, and lit finally on a rough sign above: The Paper Tiger. Must be a pub, she decided. Perfect.

She moved like taffy, stretching and pulling with a slight snap at the end, showmanship and dazzle in every step. Something big was about to happen, she seemed to say, smirking. When she'd almost reached the door, she stopped though, and settled, instead, next to the door, crosslegged and shut-eyed on the ground.

Pause.

Pause.

Snap. One leg was now taut, pointed toward the sky, touching the side of her head. The rest of her posture was undisturbed; there was simply that leg, extended far beyond the usual range of a leg. Her eyes opened now, and she moved languidly, rolling slowly onto her stomach, one leg still held aloft behind her and one leg bent. With this one bent leg and the strength of her arms, she pushed herself onto her elbows and let her back arch: a basic elbow stand. She smiled out alluringly at the passersby, holding the pose with a steady, practiced ease.

Any time now, Ailios knew, the coins would begin to fall -- hats and forts, at least at first. But this was only the beginning.

Wind whistled briefly through the streets, a mere impression of the raucous applause the human performer perhaps expected. The sky looked ambivalent, with some flat indifferent areas set behind pompous stained cottony constructions floating heavily in a curve overhead. It had not yet begun to rain, but the air was tense with expectation.

The reception from the people wasn't a great deal different. Some in the street instinctively curved their path away from moneyseekers as they had grown used to over their longer years, and from beneath some set frowns and barely covert turns the words "wick" and "filth" could be heard.

One set of feet skipped up to the performer from the side, footfalls light and uneven.

"Again! Do it again!"

The girl of seven clapped with glee, and the clink of two tallies cupped in her left hand made it sound more like a tambourine than just small hands. Immediately after a groaning and disapproving presence approached a little way behind her.

"Oh 'Cinda, this is what you want to spend your pocket money on?"

The mother folded her arms and spoke like there wasn't even the option of disobedience.

"Come now, get back."
"Aww, but-!"
"Now!"

The child pouted, then let one tally go in a defiant turn, masked by the action. It landed silently and alone next to the performer. It was expertly done - no doubt Lucinda would grow up to be a master of manipulation and subterfuge, but it would be some years yet before she'd have her mother beat. Her mother grabbed her wrist and hissed close.

"Stay away from those types! They've got all sorts of diseases and I don't know what else! I brought you up better than that Lucina Gabriella Montforte!"

The girl was tugged off in their intended direction, and one fat purple cloud washed what remained of the light and shadow away from the scene, like a smothering disappointment.

Still, there were some blurred sounds of joviality coming from inside the tavern - the day was not yet lost.

Aili was uncertain of what exactly had changed since her last visit to Vienda – maybe her previous perception had been nothing more than a half-false “memory,” embellished with the glowing optimism of youth, but this was not the Vienda that had lived in her mind for the past several years. This Vienda was tenser, more separated, less willing to let down its hair and have a laugh or two. This Vienda did not seem like a very good place for a single shabby street performer to ply her trade and expect anything more than slurs and dirty looks. She frowned a little, eased into her next pose (the needle scale, and she slowly leaned forward into a more intense bend), and watched the disinterested passersby. She hadn't expected raucous applause or buckets of kings and queens to be dumped at her feet, but she also hadn't expected this.

She heard words such as “wick” and “garbage” and “filth” muttered, and she countered with smiling sarcasm, “Human!” and “Mujo ma, thank you very much, you fine golly, you!” all the while bending away in hope of some little coin.

The gollies she remembered from Vienda were just as scornful as these, and yet they were willing to be entertained by a scrappy little girl in tights who could bend and flip like a river toad. They enjoyed flinging a bit of pocket change down – hardly money at all, really; what could even be bought these days for a hat? – and watching the desperate antics of performers. At least, in Aili's memory they did.

But now, now who was her audience? A sneaky little girl and her disapproving mother? Well, a tally was a tally, and Aili winked at the child as the single coin hit the ground. To the mother, she let out a feral growl and gnashed her teeth, then chuckled bitterly and swung her leg forward. It arced out before her, then went up, up, and hooked behind her head. “Have a nice day, gracious madame!” Her voice was edged with sarcasm, though her face was smiling.

Still, she picked up the glinting tally and shoved it into a pocket in her black pack, which lay where'd she slung it against the wall of the Paper Tiger. Just then, she caught a bit of the glass-clinking, soft-music noises coming from a window of the tavern. People were most likely looser with their money in there, in the cushy seats and warm light and pleasant smells of the place. Security, though, was most likely tighter – would there even be room enough to contort? Aili stood, frowning at the plain door and then at the unblinking passersby. Hmm... What was the worst that could happen?

Well, she thought, Let's find out. And she pushed open the door with the palm of her hand, squinting into the dim pub interior, hoping for the best.

The best didn't happen, though neither did the worst. The door swung open more readily than it should under her push alone, and the cause was discovered immediately. Three palace guards of varying states of dress and sobriety spilled out the door towards her. They were each wearing fake tits - it was a stag-do. The barmaid could be seen in the background, angrily snatching the ample but messy stack of tip coins they'd left among empty and overturned glasses.

"Eyyyy! S'a dancer for ya mate! We thought of everyfin!"

"Show us ya tits lov-ay!" He squeezed his own and gyrated obscenely.

"Haha, lads, you ent got me nearly drunk enough for this!"

The first man produced a fistful of coins and flicked one with his thumb towards her.

"Impress me!"

Aili took a step back from the men, her thoughts immediately turning to the tally in the pocket of her pack. It was really enough to get by for the day, but...
The glint of coin as it spiraled through the air caught her eye, and she reached out a hand to grasp it as it came towards her.

((Can we assume she catches it or is this the sort of action a mod such as yourself would have to decide?))

More money was always a good thing.
She lowered her eyelids slightly and put a smile on her face, leaning toward the one who'd said he wasn't drunk enough. "Y'know, kov, I ent drunk at all, which means I'm considerably farther from 'drunk enough' than you are. And I ent a dancer -- I'mma contortionist."

She raised one leg until it pointed directly upwards, then leaned slightly forward to sling it over the shoulder of one of the guards.

((Short. Sorry.))

(( Sorry I left this for a bit. Back now. Also yeah you can catch it, it's no big deal! ))

The sober-ish guard recoiled, not expecting such a feat possible, though admittedly he knew little about performers. His friends laughed at him, and one fell over with the effort.

"Arright, arright, show us what ye got, half-breed. I got, hmmm...four tallies here says ye can't impress me sober friend here." one said.

A challenge it was, then! From the looks of him, it wouldn't be easy.

Ailios wasn't sure what to make of these half-witless men -- first they shouted lewd encouragements at her, then one recoiled from a simple leg stretch and a little attempt at contact. She smiled at them, but in a calculating, eyes-narrowed sort of way, the corners of her mouth curled up as she tried to assess them.

"Oh, good sir, I ent no 'alfbreed," she said in mock horror, still with that curious smile on her face. "But I'll try an' give this frien' of yours some fun nonetheless."

She turned to the least wavery of them and sauntered a step closer to the man, eyeing him as she did. "Four tallies, eh? An' whatsyer name, sirrah? I'm Ailios, Aili for short." She stuck out one gloved hand, keeping her eyes on his face. What would this kov, out of them all, find entertaining? She tried to assess him too, scan him, read a bit of his personality from his face, his posture, his body. Start too slow and he'd probably lose interest. Start too fast and all her best tricks would be over before he'd even start paying attention. But the question: what balance of fast and slow would be the right balance for him? She watched for any little clue.

(( Sorry it took so long! Crap week for me. ))

The man stood stock still, arms folded. He wasn't shaking anyone's hands today, though he no longer seemed to recoil in disgust - it seemed that he had a particular distaste for wicks, a not-uncommon position among the higher race.

"Awful lotta make-up for a human. You gonna do a trick or what?"

The one who'd fallen down had now made it back to his feet, and began rubbing the nipples of his stag party fancy dress bust in the face of the other.

"Come on Lionel! Giv'r a chance! I bet, I bet you can't put both feet in yer mouth! Hahaha!"

Lionel snorted, "Ha, yes, or if you can do something yet better than that, the metal's yours."