Annie wasn't quite sure what was going on for Wendy's 'trick', but played along anyway. It was only when the sponge hit her square in the face with a resoundingly wet 'thwack' that she realized it was not at all what she thought. At least I ain't swabbin' the stage...

It took her a second to catch the sponge, what with her eyes full of water, but a short juggling routine found it firmly in her grasp. Annie promptly flung it hard and fast, aiming directly at Wendy's feet, smirking mischieviously.

"...oh no..." Warwick stood in a twitchy manner as he realized what Wendy was doing, and his pained wince was melodramatic -- amused despite himself. He took one step forward to break it up, to mediate as that was supposed to be his job, but stopped mid-movement. Quite frankly, he didn't want to get caught up in the mess. Wendy could deal with it herself.

At least everyone seemed to be taking it pretty well...

Wendy shrieked when something landed by her feet and jumped back, lifting the bucket hesitantly. She laughed when she saw what it was and took the pail off her head completely, setting it down on the ground.

"Well Warwick. It's your turn." She said, holding her arms and shivering a little when a brisk wind flew by.

No choice, then, but for him to step in again -- so Warwick did it. Just...slowly, awkwardly, and reluctantly, as he neither wanted to be hit with a sponge nor the aftermath of what Wendy had done. He only picked up speed when it seemed clear enough no one was going to go for anyone else's throat. That meant he could breathe and relax, by notches, and slide back into his stage self...

"Ah, Venadi, yer not supposed te...well, te throw shit at th' people who pay." He shook his head, grinning at her volunteers and waving, just a little. He cleared his throat, ushering her in one direction and them in another.

"...especially since now I need a volunteer myself, an' I doubt anyone'll be willing. Anyone? Someone big'n'strong maybe?" He wiggled his eyebrows, hopeful. "An, also, someone little, maybe between five an' ten?"

"And if anybody has a drying cloth I would appreciate it!" Wendy called loudly from the back, grinning at Warwick. She knew she was sabotaging his act by taking some of the attention from him but...well any help she could get. Her trick had been more of a play on the word trick than a real performance act and she was well aware of it.

"I'm kind of wet because of my amazing trick!"

Tristaan offered an apologetic smile to Sarinah as she returned to her seat. He refrained from chuckling and didn't offer his thoughts on how at least he was grateful it was only water.


The passive's smile became a smirk and just as he was about to rest his hand on the lovely witch's thigh in comfort, he stuck his hand up in the air at Warwick's words. He winked at the dancer playfully, hoping to lighten the mood a bit with the understanding that what happened on stage was totally unexpected, "Maybe this'll all seem a bit better if we both end up on th'wrong end of a joke."

Sarinah sat down beside Tristaan, wiping water off her face and chest, highly unamused. As the passive raised his hand, she took the wrap back off him.



The dancer bit her tongue, refraining words she wanted to say, and smiled.

"I ent sure you can participate kov, being a judge and all. But by all means, go for it. I'm sure they won't dare throw wet things at ye." Raising an eyebrow, she bit into the wrap, much more interested in the food than the performers. But in the back of her mind she was watching Wendy. Tristaan around her made the dancer edgy.

"If Venadi don't mind, works for me." He gave Tristaan a cheeky, careless sort of smile, fingers in his hair again as he twitched a look to Wendy. Eyebrows raised, he looked comfortable in the middle of the stage, now that he was there. "What do ye say? Do ye mind if I climb all over one'f our judges?"

"Only if I can watch!" Wendy said immediately, then clapped a hand over her mouth, turning red.

There's something wrong with me. The small passive hid her face in her hands.

-- oh, really? It made Warwick's grin widen, a laugh bubble up through him, comfortable as his eyes slid back onto Tristaan. "Well, alright then. Hate te disappoint, so if ye think ye can be impartial, climb on up."

He hesitated, though, leaning forward a little. Expression maybe a little too innocent. "...If he have any weapons on ye, though, leave'm behind. Wouldn't want to get stabbed."

Tristaan shrugged; he wasn't so concerned about being an impartial judge as much as he wanted to attempt to make things fair for the dancer. It'd been hard enough to get her to come and here she was unhappy and wet. The passive found that more than just a little disheartening; he knew there'd be more to say about it all once this was over.


Climb? Tristaan arched a slim eyebrow, suddenly suspicious. It was too late to put his arm down.


The passive kept his mouth from hanging open at the unexpected comment. He blinked, keeping his gaze between Warwick and Sarinah instead of glancing at the blue-haired woman. That was ... awkward.


Tristaan laughed, removing his feet from the row of seats in front of him and making a motion to stand, pausing only to plant as encouraging a kiss as possible to Sarinah's forehead. He knew this was totally not where she wanted to be, but he more than appreciated her presence.


With a smirk, the passive stopped, "Oes, I might have something sharp on me here ... Hang on." He reached for the daggers he normally kept in his boots, only to realize that for once, he was actually disarmed. The passive smirked, chagrined, and shrugged, holding out his hands in placation, "Well, nevermind, kov. Looks like all I've got on me's my wit today. I ent gonna be able t'put that aside, though."

He winked and hopped up on stage, waiting for direction, hooking his thumbs in his belt.

Warwick opened his mouth to say something back but -- but he took one look at Sarinah and he swallowed it. He was, at least, smart enough not to poke the angry wildcat. The angry wet wild cat. Instead he offered the crowd a bright sort of smile and maneuvered Tristaan square into the center of the stage.

"Now all ye gotta do is stand still, yeah?" From there, he carefully adjusted Tristaan's stance, the way he held his shoulder, his hands. This part, at least, was practiced and it was serious. The running off once he was in place, and pausing to wink at Wendy, leaving the poor man frozen alone in the center? Well, that was probably more act.

He came back with his juggling balls in hand, and bowed briefly to the crowd before hoisting himself up onto Tristaan's shoulders. The movement was graceful, easy, except that he missed; tumbled over Tristaan and down onto the other side instead, scrabbling after his juggling balls. He looked annoyed as he stood, until he turned his head just so and winked to bring Tristaan in on the joke.

"...nono, ye gotta stand still. Nonna this move at the last minute...." He was already climbing up again, juggling balls in one hand and the other on the top of Tristaan's head. No graceful movements now -- this one was fumbling, and awkward, and clinging. Warwick was a great spider monkey wrapped in around him, legs swinging out, arms flailing, fingers against the side of his face, juggling balls lost...

It'd take him three or four disastrous attempts to get up there, hopefully to the laughter and jeers of the crowd, and hopefully without Tristaan getting too pissed off at him. He finally stood, puffing out several sharp breaths to knock the hair out of his eyes, wobbled and settled. Beneath him, the passive would be able to feel just how balanced Warwick was: he didn't need to be very strong to support the light wick, nor did he have to do much. It really was a matter of just standing there.

The juggling routine was short, average -- except all the fumbling made it seem more impressive than it actually was. It had been so hard for him to get up there! Obviously this was a big deal! He quipped at Tristaan to stop wiggling as he tossed the balls in the air, solid as a rock now, and tumbled comfortably down off of Tristaan's shoulders...

"...guess I need more practice, ne? Everyone give'im a hand fer bein' a good sport!" And Warwick himself offered a hand to shake, his mouth pulled into a giddy smile.

Tristaan smirked once left alone, standing on stage awkwardly in front of the gathered crowd, few of which he really knew. It was far from a comfortable experience for the normally reserved passive. He let his gray eyes fall on Sarinah, waiting.


Relieved at Warwick's return, he was more than a little surprised as the wick began to climb onto his shoulders,

"Wo chet! Are you—"


With a laugh, the swordsman revealed he understood the gag. He played along, offering an apologetic look and holding up his hands in awkward supplication as a show for the crowd.


Then Warwick was all over him again, clumsily, obviously making everything look more uncomfortable and awkward than it really was. It was still a little rough, but it was perhaps being in front of the crowd that brought Tristaan the most discomfort. He regretted volunteering, though it did seem like the wick monkeying around on his person was enjoying himself immensely.


Once Warwick had stopped making a show of himself and settled on his shoulders, Tristaan relaxed under his easy weight. The younger man was hardly a burden once properly positioned; he was certainly nothing the lithe swordsman couldn't handle.


Tristaan couldn't really observe the routine so much as watch the crowd's reactions to it all. He sort of just felt the movements and did his best not to look up or be distracted. He scanned the faces, catching smiles and appreciative glances, but mostly ended up focusing on the lovelier, more familiar face of a particular witch.

Then, it was over and Warwick clambered off his shoulders. He was offering his hand and grinning. The passive chuckled, pausing to sweep his now-disheveled hair from his face before reaching for Warwick's hand in his own calloused one, shaking it warmly, firmly.

"Mujo ma for not takin' an eye out on your way up t'my head." He winked, gray eyes bemused. Releasing the wick's hand he tipped a hat that wasn't there and wandered back to his seat, grateful to be out from in front of everyone. Tristaan sighed and settled down next to Sarinah, throwing his arm around her waist with a shake of his head,

"I think I'd rather've gotten wet, macha." He whispered, revealing that while he'd put on whatever show he could on stage, it wasn't something he'd ever do again.

Sarinah watched the act closely, shaking her head with a slight smile when Tristaan caught her eye. That was just embarrassing. When the performance ended, she placed the half-wrap in her lap and clapped politely, watching him return. She could see he was uncomfortable.



The dancer wiggled closer to him and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"You did benny kov." Pausing, she nodded.

"Mujo ma." He'd gotten up there for her, she was pretty sure of that. Turning her eyes back to the stage, she just wanted it over now.

Some kind wick had provided Wendy with a blanket and she had wrapped herself under it, shivering delightedly. She no longer felt like she needed to hurl herself off a tall building, and she didn't want to throw up anymore. They were down to the last act. Whatever that was. The nervous feeling started again. It made her feel like her stomach was detached from her skin... That was the closest she'd come to explaining it.

"A round of applause for our other silly contestant! And maybe a few coins for such a good trick!" Wendy said, approaching him and elbowing him hard, sticking her tongue out. "See? I'm learning."

She winked and stared out into the crowd, getting flutters in her stomach again.

"Um....J-udges?" she asked hesitantly, and then a little louder, "Judges? The winner is?"

The applause was bright and quick, complete with some whistles and squeals. Warwick's act had made a big splash, forcing laughter even from the most taciturn of wicks (which admittedly wasn't very taciturn at all).

Petra looked around the crowd, catching sight of a few other Black Hands. She signed something short and uncomplicated, then counted down, 3... 2... 1...

"Venadi! Venadi!" They started chanting, hoping to sway the judges and the rest of the crowd.

Warwick had eased out a step, had started to echo Wendy's question, to demand who had won, when the chanting began. His first instinct was to tip his head, to grin, to take it in stride but -- well, once his eyes landed on who it was, his expression dimmed down to a brittle sort of smile, unconvincing.

It had been maybe three years since Warwick and his family had passed through the festival, and he'd shot up quite a bit since then but...well, Reese had always kind of made trouble, drawn attention to himself, and Warwick got caught up in the mess more than once. And they had always stayed with the Black Hand.

It wouldn't be bad if anyone recognized him, just uncomfortable. So he forced himself to focus on the judges, to raise his eyebrows and fight down that vaguely kicked-puppy expression.

Other members of the crowd caught sight of Warwick's disappointment and, annoyed at the rowdy Black Hands, began some chanting of their own. The Black Hands present actually hadn't recognised Warwick yet at all, though one or two had an inkling. Some of them didn't know him at all. Petra had spent the best part of her years near Brunnhold and was part of that latter group.

Soon half the crowd was shouting Warwick's name, the rest calling for Venadi. A particularly rowdy group of young chips had even started belting out silly chants about Warwick's attractiveness.

Ah, this was probably why Tristaan was not happy about being chosen as a judge—deciding on who was sillier was almost as ridiculous as volunteering to be up on stage in the first place. This was bad. There was a crowd of wicks, chanting names and enjoying themselves by taking sides. It was fun, but the passive didn't really want to pick one over the other.

He shifted in his seat, sliding his arm from around Sarinah and sitting up thoughtfully. He glanced at Jerzy with a crooked smile, revealing a bit of indecision in his gray eyes. Standing and wiping his palms on his breeches, he reached up with one hand to rub the bottom half of his stubbly face, "It's a tough choice, ye chen. I'd have t'say y'both got a bit more than th'average amount of silly, but with that in mind ..."

Tristaan had no idea. He stalled. Fidgeted. Rolled his eyes. Judging a silly contest was silly.

"I'll have t'cast my vote for Venadi, if'n only because I have a feelin' bein' silly's more of a challenge than it looked."

His smile had started to soften at the chanting but -- but, well, that made it go brittle again, dangerous. Tristaan out of good graces again. This contest wasn't about who tried harder damnit, it was about who did better. It was hard, and he'd done a clocking good job.

But. He kept his mouth shut and didn't call Tristaan a biased sonnova in front of the crowd. He just raised his eyebrows at Jerzy, the other judge, and bit his tongue.

Wendy's eyebrows rose when Tristaan called her name. Of course, she was happy about winning... but Warwick's trick had been amazing. She shifted positions uneasily, a tiny frown creasing her face. She hated pity when it came from people who didn't understand-- wicks, galdori, humans...all of them alike. She never thought she'd see it from a fellow passive.

But he's been out for awhile.

Her eyebrows drew together in the customary V and she opened her mouth-- drew breath to complain--

And shut it. This was not the time or place. The crowd had been shouting her name as well, right? It didn't keep her from looking unhappily at Tristaan and giving Jerzy a rude You better judge this correctly or I'll kick your head in look.

Next to Warwick she let out a small mutter. "Lucky you brought Jerzy, eh? Seems my judge is a bit addled. " She shook her head, clearly displeased with the decision.

"He knows you better than he knows me." It was soft, mild and frosty and gave away surprisingly little, especially considering how bright and emotional he usually was. Warwick kept that flat smile on his face as he said it, rolled his shoulders in an uncomfortable way.

Annie heard the chant coming from the back of the crowd, and while she had no idea who started it, she was dang sure she wanted in.

"Go, go, Venadi! Go, go, Venadi!" she added to the noise, calling out loud enough that others nearby were bound to pick it up. Granted, she had a slight bias, but still...it took nerve to dump a bucket full of water over your head in front of a bunch of strangers.

"Well arses to him." Wendy snapped quietly, wrapping the blanket around herself more tightly. Her face was decidedly taciturn. She was fully prepared to let this one thing ruin the whole event for her. She was Wendy after all.