A beautiful dark-skinned human woman walked the festival grounds in the soft light of morning. At first glance, she looked like a teenager, but the confident manner in which she moved spoke of someone quite a bit older. She was wearing a midriff-baring top and long flowing skirt in a muted turquoise and yellow watercolor print. Her midriff, however, was not exactly bare. The lower half of a long albino python was curled around it. The rest of the serpent was draped across her shoulders, his head snaking back and forth as he tasted the air with its darting tongue.

Xanadu Aurelia stopped and lifted her head in the direction of the sun. Her long black ringlets bounced against her thighs as she stretched her arms to sky, careful not to startle Seferu. It was good to be back. It had been five years since she had been to this festival, five years since she had seen the tribe that had raised her as one of their own, five years since ... she winced ... five years since Glorie died.

Unconsciously, she clenched and then unclenched her fist. There was no little hand in hers now, no exclamations of delight in that sweet little voice. All gone in a moment. Now she's here; now she's not.

Oh, she'd made those two galdori suffer before she had killed them, but it had not helped her heal. If anything, it had made her aware of a cruel and heartless side to herself that she didn't really want to face. But wouldn't any mother exact revenge on those who had killed her child? Was what she had done truly so horrible?

She shook her head to clear it. It had happened. It was over. There was no taking it back.

Part of the reason she had come here was to relive the good times she had spent with Glorie ... to remember the way she was in life and not the way she was in death. The little girl had loved the wick festival. She had wanted to see and do everything, the yellow eyes she had inherited from her galdor father shining in wonder. She had also inherited his red hair, although hers was dark auburn, and her skin was quite a bit lighter than her mother's. She'd been a absolutely beautiful child.

A hint of a smile crossed Xanadu's lips. The memories were bittersweet, and didn't hurt as much as they once did. She was beginning to heal at last.

Seferu's scales rippling against her stomach brought her back to the present. The snake was trying to change position, to slink around her arm. She didn't want him there so she pulled gently on his tail to get him to stay where he was. His scales rolled against her skin as he pulled against her, but eventually he settled back around her midsection. His head hung over her shoulder, as if defeated. She smiled again. Although it was said that snakes did not experience the same emotions as humans, Xanadu was not so sure.

His tail flicked the hilt of one of the six juggling and throwing knives in sheaths at her belt. Wearing only the knives was about as unarmed as the young bounty hunter ever got. She didn't believe there would be any danger here, but without any weapons at all, she felt positively naked.

She looked around her as she walked. Wicks were everywhere, laughing and talking, eating and drinking, buying and selling. Some of them looked like they had settled in for good. Then again, the festival was nearly half over.

Xanadu had only arrived the previous evening. She'd had a job to do that had taken longer than planned. Between what she had received from capturing the fugitive and what she had stolen from him before she had turned him in, she had quite a bit of money to spend here. Perhaps being late was not so bad. She needed some fabric for making new dancing costumes, some good hot spices, and a few other items as well. Maybe something else would take her fancy. Whatever it was, she would probably have no trouble paying for it.

She also wanted to meet back up with her old tribe, the Black Hand. She wanted them to know that she was not bitter that they had left her five years ago when she had been too seriously injured to travel after the accident that had taken Glorie's life. She had never joined back up with them, mainly because she did not believe that going back to the same routine without her daughter by her side would be beneficial to her emotional healing. It was bad enough having an eidetic memory; she did not need those memories enhanced by simply going about her daily life.

The change had been good for her, and now it was time to see them again, to renew old ties, and perhaps reunite with her parents as well ... as long as they had not made good on the promise that they were ready to give up the nomadic life and settle in the Muluku Islands where she was born. The young woman chuckled. She doubted that would ever happen, no matter how many times they threatened to do so.

A delicious aroma tickled her nostrils. Her stomach rumbled, which set Seferu to rippling again. She hadn't eaten yet this morning and could use some breakfast. Xanadu glanced around the area. Now where was a good place to find something to eat, preferably something warm and spicy?

Brendan Harrows had been enjoying himself thus far. The whole festival had an edge of the amazing that he'd never really experienced before. His Pa had been entirely against him going but he'd ignored the old man entirely for once and gone. He'd even found some of his mother's tribe and caught up with some family members. They'd liked his ability to simultaneously get beaten up and hit on girls.

He saw Xanadu and it was as though the clouds had parted on a rainy day and a sign had come down from the heavens baring a suggestive slogan. She even had a snake. He didn't know what they said about girl's with snakes but it had to be good.

"Hello lovely lady." He said, flashing his perfect white teeth. "You got any plans later?"

His Old Rose accent was obvious in his accent and his outfit. He looked ready to step onto a boat with a sword in one hand, a gun in the other and a smile on his face.

Not another one! Xanadu thought. Why is it that every man thinks that every woman wants nothing more than to fall in bed with him? She would never understand that particular arrogance as long as she lived.

This one, however, was more likely than likely to get his way with the girls. He was certainly not bad-looking, although a little young for her tastes. With her youthful appearance, she attracted quite a lot of young men, but she found most of them on the shallow side. There were always a few exceptions, though.

Was this man one of them? She rather doubted it, but she did like his smile. It was too bad she had to cut down his hopes, although if he did stick around after she made it clear she was not interested in a romantic interlude, she would not be adverse to having breakfast with him.

“Plans for later?” she asked innocently. “Oh ... I don't know.” As she spoke, she grabbed one knife from her belt, flipped it high into the air, and caught it with her hand behind her back. “I suppose I'll do what I usually do ... go around and emasculate all the guys who make passes at me today.” She flipped the knife to the front again and replaced it in its sheath.

A sly smile crossed her face as her dark eyes met his. Would he know she was not really serious? Most men turned and ran as fast as they could in the opposite direction when confronted with her not-so-subtle rejoinder. “But that will only take part of my day. What exactly did you have in mind?”

Brendan smiled, quite pleased. There was only one kind of woman that pulled a knife on you upon introducing herself.

"You should have told me you were from Old Rose! So am I! We have something in common!" He grinned more widely, in an attractively goofy way. "What does emasculate mean?"



Brendan was fiddling around with his belt as she finished talking. He pulled a long knife out from one of the sheaths at his waist.

"This is my knife, her name is Yolanda, after a barmaid I know." He said, cupping the flat of the curved blade in his palms. "Do you want to get a drink or something?"

His expression could only be described as keen, possibly also peachy.

"Nice snake, by the way." He added, trying to ingratiate himself.

He didn't know what “emasculate” meant? What a lugger! Maybe it was true what they said about handsome men: they were all either married, stupid or gay. She wasn't sure if she wanted to spend any time with him now. Idiots bored her.

“Emasculate means to castrate.” Taking a knife from her belt again, she pantomimed, quite realistically, slashing off a man's most treasured possession. “I don't appreciate guys making advances towards me. If I like someone, I'll let him know. As for those who won't take no for an answer ...when I get done with them, they'll be singing soprano for the rest of their lives. And I'm not from Old Rose. I've never even been there.”

She wasn't well-known enough in Vienda for word to get around about what she did for a living. When that happened, she had no doubt she would probably be approached by the criminal element in Old Rose. Whether she accepted or not depended on how much they had to offer. She charged quite a bit more for the illegal jobs. The risk was much greater.

The young mercenary watched as her new acquaintance reached for his knife. She did not bother raising hers in warning. This silly boy was not even close to a threat. It wasn't a bad-looking knife, though.



He named his knife after a barmaid? Xanadu did know a few mercenaries who named their weapons. They actually tended to be the fiercer of the lot. You would certainly not make fun of them for it if you wanted to live another day. This young man was definitely not one of them. They didn't go around bragging about it.

“I don't drink,” she said. And it was true. She had imbibed quite heavily after Glorie's death, so heavily it began taking over her life. After one particularly destructive bout, she had decided that enough was enough. She had given it up then and there, and never once regretted the decision.



As if he knew he was being complemented, Seferu lifted his yellow head and slid it towards Brendan, undulating back and forth in front of his face. His forked tongue nearly touched the young man's nose as it darted in and out. Xanadu chuckled to herself. Those who said snakes had no feelings had never meant Seferu. The serpent was positively vain!

“If he could speak, I'm sure he would thank you,” she replied. “He seems to like you.” Seferu had no taste, no taste at all.

Her stomach rumbled once again. Perhaps he could suggest a good place to eat. There were stalls selling sustenance everywhere, but she had no idea which ones sold food that was actually palatable. Her stomach did not tolerate grease well.

“I haven't eaten breakfast yet this morning. Would you know where to get a decent spicy meal around here? Something not too greasy? And remember ...” she smiled and realistically pantomimed cutting off a penis again before returning the knife to its sheath. “... don't come on to me unless you never want children.”

Brendan's brow furrowed.

"So... If I like you... I'm not allowed to let you know?" He asked, confused.



Brendan smiled at the snake and bowed slightly, in a respectful fashion.



Brendan sighed and rubbed at his golden locks with one hand.

"Look... I was just asking if you wanted to hang out sometime and you keep waving knives at my goolies." He cupped his hands protectively over his manhood. "I may be lackin' in formal education but that's just 'cause I'm poor, not because I'm a bad guy. There's plenty of places to eat down that way, where I came walking from. Have a nice day."

Brendan backed away slowly. until his back was up against a tree. He leant into it, watching to see if Xanadu was going to walk away or try to take his trouser python so her snake would have a friend.

For once, Xanadu did not relish being the bad guy. And she certainly didn't mean to come across as a toffin. She didn't have a formal education either, although she could read, write, and count her money. She just carried herself as if she did.

She looked at him, cowering up against the trunk of a tree. Why do you run everybody off? she asked herself. Why do you always have to think the worst of everyone? Perhaps this young man only wants a friend and doesn't know of any other way to approach a woman than to be suggestive? You could use a few friends, you know. And he might be able to help you avoid any obvious mistakes if you do decide to venture into Old Rose Harbor.

Seferu was trying to follow Brendan. He was moving more and more of his length away from her. As he stretched outward, the rest of him moved from around her stomach to twine around her arm. With her other hand, she reached out and gently encircled his head, trying to get him to wind around that arm and go back around her shoulders. He did, slinking up that arm and passing the lower half of himself as he settled on her other shoulder. His tail wound around her waist again.

She spoke as the snake maneuvered himself around her. “Look,” she said. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. It's just that most men have the wrong idea about me. They think just because I'm pretty, I'm also constantly horny. I have to admit I get a bit defensive. And I don't really castrate people. I only did that once.” Idly, she wondered if her former fiance had lived or died after her attack on his manhood. Not as if she really cared. At least he would never prey on children again.

“Now that we know where each other stands, how about we start over?" She smiled, and this time her smile was genuine. "I would really enjoy a little company for breakfast.” She stepped forward one step and held out her hand. “My name is Xanadu.”

Brendan's eyes bulged in terror.

"Wuh-once?" He stuttered.



Brendan recoiled, now quite terrified. His legs were shaking a little. Truly, he'd never been threatened quite like this before. Normally he just got a slap if he was being annoying and that was it. This woman had de-goolied people!

"A-and my name is... S... Simon... Simonson Oh... Please leave me alone." Brendan pushed himself away from the tree and ran like hell towards the Black Hand camp.

Xanadu sadly watched the young man run away. Even when she tried to make amends, it all went wrong.

What was left of her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. Maybe she didn't belong here anymore. Maybe she shouldn't have come.

Dejected, she turned in the opposite direction, continuing her search for breakfast.

The wick festival was bustling with morning revelry. The makeshift streets were full of every kind of stall, from artists to smiths and, of course, food. To her right Xanadu would see a cart overflowing with pastries, to her left she could smell curry and other rich stews. Anything she wanted was available.

Keiyra had watched the scenario in front of her, bemused. She leant, tattooed arms crossed, against her blue kint with a half smirk on her face. Pink dreds loose around her face, hanging down to her waist, she chuckled as Xanadu walked past her stall.

"That was an interesting way to make an impression." Her voice was not nasty, more amused.

Startled, Xanadu turned toward the voice, and the pink-tressed girl who owned it. A scathing retort formed on her lips, but she held it in check. Do you want to alienate everyone at the festival? she asked herself. You came here to have fun, renew old acquaintances, and make some new ones. Snarling at everyone in sight isn't the right way to go about it.

“Interesting, perhaps, but certainly not the impression I intended to make. I hope that young man is not scarred for the rest of his life. I suppose I was a bit harsh with him, but I do get so tired of being constantly propositioned. Whether he meant it or not, that's the way it sounded to me.”

The way it sounded to me. Would another woman have seen the situation differently? She walked over to the kint where the tattooed girl was standing, and smiled a bit wryly. “Did you hear the entire conversation?" she asked, her tone friendly, albeit a bit confused. "Did it sound like a proposition to you?”

Seferu wound his head toward Keiyra, evidently wanting to be admired again.

The witch moved away from the kint, reaching out with the back of her hand to let the snake smell her, smiling a little.



Keiyra chuckled a little.

"Oes, I heard it all. I would say it sounded...friendly, but it could have been taken as a proposal to step out. Maybe not enough of one to threaten with castration, but each to their own." She tilted her head, watching the snake. Looking up at Xanadu with hazel eyes, she raised an eyebrow.

"Black Hand, oes?"

Seferu moved closer. He would try to twine around the girl's arm Xanadu didn't stop him. She guided his head in the other direction. He stayed where she put him, seemingly engrossed in something behind her.



So she wasn't exactly overreacting when she took the man's words as a proposition. Perhaps the castration joke was a bit over the top, but it was difficult to be civil when most men were more interested in what was between your legs than what was in your head. Generally she enjoying watching guys run for cover when she used that line. Today, though, she felt rather bad about it. Perhaps it was this place, and the memories of good times spent here, that had her thinking differently. She was in polite company now ... not with the mercenaries, thieves, and other riffraff she regularly encountered in her primary occupation.

Now, if he had asked something like “How are you enjoying the festival?” or “What tribe are you from?” or “Don't they sell a lot of interesting things around here?”, she would not have become defensive. But .... oh, never mind. It was over and done. She couldn't take it back. All she could do was learn from it. She would be more careful about using that line in the future though, saving it for the more odious types who accosted her.



“Oes,” she replied. Her smile grew wider and she laughed softly. “What gave it away?”

Keiyra shrugged and gestured vaguely with one hand, stepping away from the kint to a more conversational distance with Xanadu.

"Ohhhhhhh, I don't know. Maybe the threat of mutilation on another person? Or the fact ye speak with the confidence only Black Hands seem to pick up?" Nodding, she made a wry face.

"That might have been a little give away." The witch stretched, one arm back over her head, then the other.

"So, Mrs Blackhand, what are ye doin' scaring away the menfolk this fine morning?"

“My name is Xanadu,” she said. “I just arrived last night and I'm actually hoping to get reacquainted with my tribe today. I haven't seen them for five years.” Glorie would have been eleven now, perhaps already learning to use the magic she had inherited from her father. While Xanadu might not be a true wick, her daughter was.

A haunted look crossed the mercenary's face as an unbidden memory insinuated itself into her mind: Glorie running to her in tears, throwing herself into her mother's arms. “The other kids say I won't have any magic when I grow up. But that's not true, is it, Mommy?”

“Of course not,” Xanadu had replied, hugging her close and smoothing her dark auburn curls. "You'll be able to use magic when you're older just as they will."

The scent of the outdoors had been clinging to the child's clothes and hair ... the scents of trees and grass, flowers and sun. She could smell it as if it were yesterday, feel the springy curls and the little body leaning against hers, see the small beloved face gazing up at her trustfully.

"When you're older" had never happened for Glorie. Xanadu would forever be tormented by a promise that had never come true.

Eidetic memories were often more of a curse than a blessing.

Perhaps that is why she had unwittingly terrorized that poor young man. In her anger at being propositioned yet again, she had briefly forgotten the pain of losing her daughter in this place that brought back so many memories.

A small shake of her head, and the haunted look was gone. She smiled again at Keiyra. “But before I do that, I think a bit of breakfast is in order.” She placed a hand on her stomach. “I haven't eaten yet this morning. Would you by any chance know of a stall that sells a good hot curry ... something that burns the tongue and numbs the soul?”

Keiyra knew that look, and she didn't want to know it. It was the thing she wanted to deal with the least. Part of her brain locked it all away, it was to hard.



The witch pursed her lips.

"Not here, my daoa has a fireside stall here, but she's not got anything spicy. If you go hit up the Yellow Eye camp, they should have something." She gestured towards the distant yellow part of the festival, far across the other side of the isle. Stepping towards her own stall, Keiyra started pulling out needles and inks, setting up for the day, not really sure what else to say to the woman, forcing thoughts of the Riot far far away.

Something in the young witch's attitude had changed, but Xanadu could not figure out what it was. Had she said the wrong thing again? She couldn't see how asking after a decent meal could be offensive. Most likely the reason had nothing to do with her. Everyone had their own problems to face.

She watched the girl preparing the tools of her trade. Xanadu had worn more than her fair share of piercings when she'd traveled with the Black Hand. Most of them had closed up after the accident. Her recovery had been long, and her grief nearly unbearable. She had not had the strength nor the interest to take care of her piercings.

She had never had a tattoo, but now it might not be a bad idea. She had a medium-sized scar on the side of her stomach from an injury received when the fugitive she was sent to capture discovered her intentions and quite naturally fought back. It had been nearly a year ago, but it was still quite noticeable. She often wondered if the audience could see it when she danced. Not that they would really care; a woman who danced with swords was bound to have a few scars.

She walked over to the stall. “Ahhh, so you do tattoos,” she said conversationally. “I might be interested in having one done ... to cover a scar that I received about a year ago. It is quite visible when I dance. Do you think you might be able to help me?”

The scar was currently covered by the coiled tail of an albino python, but she could certainly unwind him if the girl was interested in making some money by tattooing her.

"Of course she can't, but I can," came an obnoxious, hoarse woman's voice. Hamari was up to her favorite pastime: bothering Keiyra and attempting to steal her customers. She was finishing up one wick's forearm tattoo-- some exotic whice in a ring of fire-- so she didn't look up more than a glance. "You don't want her designs-- all trite and overworked. And over priced," she added with a raised a pierced brow.

In all honesty, her own designs and prices weren't any better than Keiyra's, but like any competitor, she felt that a little bit of hyperbole wasn't uncalled for.

((Original appearance here, top post, if you want to know what she looks like.))

Keiyra had been about to answer, when that loudmouth Hamari answered. She shot the woman a dark look. Competition was just that, competition. But Hamari was a bitch.



The pink haired witch picked up a book and dumped it on the table, flipping it open to some designs to catch bystanders eyes.

"Ye charge as much as me you old hag. At least my customers get what they pay for, not some half ersed copy of some better artists work." Her hazel eyes fell on Xanadu.

"Oes chip, I do tattoos and piercings. Ent anyone better." She said pointedly, ignoring the other witch.

Hamari pursed her lips, "I'll old hag you--"

She finished off the last of the ink and handed the man a bag of care supplies while he handed her a handful of coins. "Now, tell the nice lady how good I am. Didn't hurt a bit did it"" she leaned on the man, oozing sickly sweetness from her pores and cocking an eyebrow at Keiyra.

"Um," the confused man started," I come to yeh every year, so I guess yer good enough... an' it don't hurt a bit."

Though he was quite potentially biased-- his arms were sleeved in ink, and it was apparent that there was a lot more ink underneath his clothes. He left shaking his head-- women were so strange.

There was nothing wrong with a little good-natured competition, but Xanadu didn't think the other tattoo artist's comments were very cordial. Then again, neither was Keiyra's comeback. If they were always at each other's throats, why didn't one of them move her stall elsewhere?

She did feel uncomfortable being the center of attention. She was accustomed to merchants vying for her business, especially at a festival like this, but she did not really enjoy it. Being thrust in the midst of such a situation made her feel awkward; she was happier skulking about in the shadows and going unnoticed. Except when she was performing ... but then she forgot about everything but what she was doing. When you juggled with knives and danced with swords, you couldn't let your mind wander or you were bound to be injured or even killed. She'd had her share of accidents. The scar on her stomach wasn't the only one, but it was by far the most noticeable.

Xanadu watched the tattooed man walk away, and smiled at the bald Mugrobi. She had to admit she admired the woman for having so many body modifications. Some of those must have hurt horribly. She couldn't imagine what it might feel like to have needles poked in your head. “I'm sure you're good at what you do, but you just had a customer. I should think it's her turn now,” she said, indicating Keirya. “And she is the one I asked.”

The bounty hunter turned her attention back to the pink-haired girl. She also thought that Keiyra would be gentler with a needle than Hamari, although she didn't know why that thought crossed her mind. It was just one of those odd feelings she sometimes had.

She unwound Seferu's lower body from her midsection. Needing something to grab onto, he twined around her arm instead, rendering it pretty much useless. She could use her hand but she couldn't bend her arm very well. Seferu was not a small snake and he was coiled rather tightly. His head rested on her shoulder, his pink eyes staring into space.

“This is the scar.” She indicated the vertical, slightly curved pink line on the right side of her stomach. She had instinctively done a belly roll to move out of the way when she had been stabbed, so she supposed that was why it was curved. It was also deeper on top and shallower at the bottom.

“Since I dance with snakes,” she continued, glancing hopefully at Keirya and hoping her sudden idea was not impossible, “could the tattoo be in the shape of a snake, using the scar for its body? And could it be done in various shades of yellow, like Seferu here? That way it will stand out on my dark skin.”

"There's a reason I'm busy-- it's because I am that good," she stood with her hands on her confidently cocked hips.

"And you can compare services, love. You wouldn't buy the first kenser in the stable, would you? It's fine to shop around," she leaned against the entrance to her stall and waved an arm inward, inviting her to take a seat and look at her books, indicating that 'shopping around' meant 'choose me.'

She leaned in nosily as Xanadu showed Keiyra her scar. She pursed her lips, "I have a design that'd fit there nicely. An' have you ever considered a navel ring?"

She was practically basking in every irritated glare Keiyra shot her.

Keiyra ignored Hamari, mostly. She looked critically at Xanadu's scar.

"I can do that, ye chen? But, gotta warn ye. Tattoo's sometimes hold badly on new scars. I wouldn't usually get one till about 3 years after the scar has healed." Looking up at the older witch, she started fiddling with one of the tattoo needles, checking it for damage.

"I'll do it, and I won't just give ye a design I already got. I'll draw ye up an original. One of a kind. No one else would have it." Her voice got a little louder.

"Ye hear that Hamari? A new design, not a stolen half ersed thing like what you got. Have ye ever drawn your own, from your head? Or is it all just copy after copy?"

Hamari pursed her lips and crossed her arms, "I'll have you know," she said in her raspy voice, "That every design here is a complete original by me, inspired by designs from around the world." Something in the way she said "inspired" seemed to indicate that she drew them, but they were practically copies.

She looked up at Xanadu, "Probably some from your homeland, even."

"Ent nothin' here half ersed," she told Keiyra, before calling her something nasty in deep tek.

She knew when she'd been beat, but that didn't mean she had to accept it gracefully.

She turned back into her stall where she pulled up a hookah, lit it off with a quick spell, and began to smoke. The wind was blowing just so it wafted toward Keiyra's stall (they could smell a certain pungency to the material), and she grinned irritatingly at Keiyra just to rub in the rude gesture.