The festival was too crowded; not a bad thing, most of the time, but when you didn't have a whole lot of space to yourself and then a million more people showed up on the grounds, it got a little suffocating. Warwick didn't want to be alone, not exactly, he just wanted space. He wanted room. He wanted to move.

So he'd come out here a little after midday with his bag of hoops and juggling balls and a big empty barrel that had been abandoned after some big party to just...play. To juggle and jump and not be stressed, for a few hours, about where he was going to go once the party was over.

Now it was a couple hours later. He'd worked himself frothy hot, abandoned his shirt over a tree branch and his bag below it in the dirt, halfway hidden behind a barrel. He himself was up on two-foot-across sturdy branch, a makeshift highwire, hair damp and pulled out of his face. He was high enough that a fall would hurt -- but low enough that all he'd get if he fell, mid-tumble, was a few bruises and scratches.

Out to the woods again, to think, and walk around. This time without company. She was barefoot and her eyes were steadily on the ground so that she wouldn't step on poison ivy or any other harmful plants as she walked about. She felt the field before she saw anyone, and her eyes traveled left and right in search of anyone as she walked across the path.

That's why, when she heard something russtling above her head, she turned, yelped like a wild dog, and tripped over her own feet, stubbing her toe in the process. "Stop clocking mung!!!" She blurted out, "Ow ow ow ow, I'm fine!" Her hands were holding her foot to her chest until the throbbing sensation stopped, and Wendy looked up again.

"What are you doing up there?" She asked irritably. These wicks and their nonsense! "Get down here and help me up." Not that she really needed help, but Wendy would sit there and glare at the man with the tattoos until he darn well did what she said.

She folded her arms stubbornly, and stared up. I'm getting a crick in my neck...

Even as she thought this, she really couldn't help looking. It wasn't just a matter of pride, but this wick had...more tattoos than space on his body. Her eyes glanced at the black palms and she immediately assigned him to be part of Petra's tribe. Our tribe. Wendy, you should stop being an idiot about that...If Petra says I'm Black Hand, then I'll be Black Hand.

The sound of a wild dog yelping below him broke Warwick's stride, startled him off-balance -- and he had to flounder to catch his balance again, to straighten and catch himself before he went down on top of her. Long arms drew great pinwheels in the air, he teetered and twisted and eventually straightened. His heart was pounding as he finally stabilized and looked down at her, panting.

...not a dog, then, although she did have a wild sort of look to her. Not someone he wanted to mess with. It was enough to give Warwick a long moment's pause before he dropped down lightly beside her and offered a hand. "Demanding."

Wendy took his hand and lifted herself up. "Yes. Get used to it." she said waspishly, dusting herself off and then putting her hands on her hips. "Sorry." She added, feeling a twinge of remorse. "And thanks." Again, it came out awkwardly.

"I'm trying to be nicer to people...it's not working well, obviously." She smiled at Warwick tentatively, "Venadi. Black Hand..." Ish. "Are you from there too? You won't know me but you might know Petra. She's a healer of sorts."

Wendy cleared her throat. "I was just taking a walk...Sorry to um. Disturb. Your. Tree climbing..."

Warwick had an open face, in general -- bright and cheerful, grinning, approachable -- but the mention of his tribe...dimmed it. Closed him off a little. He looked down to his chest, uneasy, and went immediately for his patchwork shirt. Dragged it on.


"Dze, neh, no tribe...just me'n the road..." He spoke, through the cloth, pulled his shirt down so that his head popped out. A shame to hide all that ink, but..."Was...I dunno. Was practicing, but just in general. Self-improvement, hey?"

"O-Oh. Sorry." Wendy blushed when he brushed her off, "Yeah improvement's um. great."

Well this is awkward...

Wendy bit her lip and looked out into the forest, twisting her arms behind her back nervously. "Sooo... I guess you're part of a circus? I've never seen one of those..."

"I wish." He chewed on his lip, watching her in an uneasy way -- like he expected her to gut him, literally or figuratively, he wasn't quite sure which. The breath hissed out between his teeth and he fought down a barrage of questions about the Black Hand camp and who was there. Chances were he knew someone, right?

"What do you do?" So standard performing trick: distract and redirect. He hauled the bag over his shoulder, digging out his juggling balls and eying the barrel.

"Juggle. Right." Wendy bit back the urge to roll her eyes with quite a bit of difficulty. "I guess that must be um. Fun. I don't...juggle...much..."

Because it's so clocking useless!

"I used to clean, at my old job." Wendy's hands went up to her pigtails and tugged absently. "I'm good at cleaning." She cleared her throat. "So I guess you should show me a trick or something."

"...what, you want me to?" He said it with big eyes, sliding back toward himself, joking -- as if he hadn't been fishing for that exact reaction out of her. A trick meant she wouldn't ask his name, or where he was from, or anything else that mattered.

He started into it without asking again, too, juggling balls launched carelessly into the air. He could hold a conversation just like this, perhaps even more comfortably.

"That's very nice um...what...did you say your name was?" Wendy didn't want to make the same mistake she'd made with the bartender at the festival. Whose name I still don't know.

Her eyes tracked the balls and she blinked away with a sigh. "I suppose you practiced for awhile to do that, then?"

"Since I was about...five? Maybe?" It was only too easy to gloss over the other question, let himself mull that one over, watching her with his head tilted to the side. He didn't even watch the juggling, it was second nature. Useless talent, perhaps, but a lot of it.

"How long have you been at the festival?" He raised his eyebrows at her, seeming genuinely curious. "Cleaning a lot?"

"Mmm."

And still no name? For shame. You could at least make one up for me to call you.


"Oh. Awhile. We got here early on." Wendy shook her head at his second question, "No I don't think so. All of the women here either already keep their kints clean, or they like them messy."

Wendy paused, "If...if you don't want to tell me your name that's okay. But I can't call you 'man', and I won't call you 'sir', so make one up if you like...Mine isn't real either so I won't be offended." She looked at him shrewdly.

The color started at the tips of his ears and worked its way down -- over his cheeks, blossoming across his throat and collar. Caught in the act. He almost dropped his juggling as he cleared his throat, had to catch the balls and still for a moment.

"...sorry. I'm..." He floundered, not looking for the word but fighting with it. "...drifting. And you're staying with my people." Understandably, that made things awkward; he fumbled all four balls into his left hand to offer his right.

"Leslie Warwick, but I prefer Warwick."

Wendy stared at him critically for a moment or two and then shrugged, "Nice to meet you, Warwick. I'm sorry about um...your tribe." She wanted to ask him a million questions. She'd been with the tribe for awhile...they all seemed decent. Some of them were a little shady, but that was okay with Wendy. It wasn't her business, anyway.

Instead, though, she glanced at the orbs in his hands and bit her lip, "Okay. Teach me to juggle." She said in a reluctant, although firm way.

"Just like that, huh?" His relief was palpable, as he took his hand back -- a slump in his shoulders, a slow breath out, a slackening in his expression. He didn't want a hundred uncomfortable questions. This was much better.

She'd asked for it, so he tossed one of the balls at her, underhand. It was full of rice, and if she didn't catch it, it would hit her with a thud. The second followed quickly, without warning, and then the third. She'd have to scramble to get them all.

Wendy laughed, "Yeah I guess. I know a bit about not wanting to answer questions, ye chen?"



Wendy dodged the first ball instinctively with a squeak. The second hit her in the arm, and the third she dodged again. "Clocking-- I'm not going to learn if you're attacking me!" She growled, bending to pick up the balls and then straightening. "Alright. Now what?"

I can't believe I'm doing this...

"Now we determine that ye're hopeless." He smiled at her, still touched with relief for the change in subject -- and he was only half kidding, really. He gestured for her to toss the balls back at him, a slow and rolling gesture.

"Keep one, an' gimme the rest. Toss it up and down. If ye can't catch one, ye can't catch three..."

"I thought that was a given." Wendy said sarcastically, tossing two of the balls his way. She threw the last one up and down a few times.

"So we've established that I'm rubbish. And that I can juggle with a single ball."

"That's th' start, oes." Warwick absently tossed the others between his hands, watched the way she threw with a critical eye, and dropped the rest back into his bag. He stood with one ball in his hand, held it up for her to see.

"Watch," and he launched it upward, an arc from his right hand to his left. Caught it in the left, stilled for a moment, and tossed it under to his right, so it formed a loose sort of triangle in the air. Again, except this time he didn't pause between tosses, just kept the ball going in an ever-faster circuit and watched her expectantly. Juggling just one ball -- now it was up to her to repeat.

Wendy had a harder time with this exercise. She'd pass the ball quickly from right to left, and then there would be an interrupted pause as the rhythm changed when the ball was in the air. She tried to make up for it by tossing the ball even faster from right to left and then missed her own left hand. Wendy bent to pick up the ball, and wordlessly started again, this time going for preciseness, rather than speed.

"Takes a while." His consolation was honest, anyway, nothing condescending about it. It wasn't as easy as he made it look, not even the movement of one all by itself. And that was about all he was going to show her at the moment, until she got the hang of that...he shrugged.

"Want te hang onto it fer a bit? I have extra, and I know where te find ye.." Warwick offered her a shrug, a blossom of another smile.

"Yeah alright." Wendy said dismissively.



Wendy grinned back, "Sure. I'll practice. Maybe some day I'll show you how to clean."

She paused and and scratched the back of her head, "You sure you'll want to stop by the Black Hand camp? You could always tell me where you're staying and I could find you..."

"...yeah, I don't know. I've been moving around some, mostly with Laughing Sky..." But worst case, he could put together a new one. Scraps of cloth and rice. Warwick shrugged off the question with another grin.

"You should relax a little, though. Smile." He dug the tips of his fingers into the corners of his mouth in demonstration, but at least he didn't try to do it to her.

"Alright. I can ask around, if I need to find you."



Instead of doing the same, Wendy pushed her cheeks together and made a fish mouth. Her eyes crossed, "AmIdoin'itright?" She asked in what was, for her, an astounding display of goofyness.

"Hmm." His expression was critical, head tilted to the side and eyebrows raised and only his eyes showing a bright sparkle of amusement. Smothered laughter. It crept into his voice as he opened his mouth, teasing.

"Try a little of this, too --" He reached up to press his thumb against his own nudge, a rude gesture upward to turn it into a pig's snout. It made him sound nasal, just as silly. "And honk."