Adventures on the North Shore

[Breanna Keelan]

Part 1


On a summer's night after a successful day in lanes, the Fire-Breather and his wife, the Fire-Dancer went to the shore to relax and spend the night. Conlaed had struck a successful deal with a Moorish merchant gathered at the bonfire where outsiders rarely go, and the others congregate to pass the warm seasons. He would deliver to the village of Luib a printing press and blue, leaving the excited man to only find his own ink and woodblocks. You see, fire is the art that binds them together. It allows them to travel, to tell tales and gather them. It had always been Conlaed's wish to resume his work as a book binder by using the magnificent invention to form almanacs for the common man who wished extraordinary knowledge. Care of the seasons, light, weather, harvests, and sayings of the wise. The pair celebrated the deal for it meant that soon they would not only finish putting the last nails into their cottage in Luib, but have the means for store. The Flying Dragon and Glittering Gypsy had many dreams. Talks of performing for the royalty, of Breanna's skilled hands making their costumes and accessories, of perfecting the art. He had never performed for high born, and none of her tribe had performed for royalty since the great migration from the sand up into the mountains by the sea of another land.

Things on the North Shore seem to be less simple than they look.


Conlaed: "Wha?" Was the response. There was a cant of his head, before he frowned a bit. Had he said that? There was a mumbled, "I ... forgot...." Pout! But with one such as his glittering gypsy, how could such a frown find purchase upon his features for long? Thre was laughing to hear talk about the sewing and performing for royalty. "What dreams have you, m'wife?" (D)

Breanna: "What dreams have I got? Mm..Conlaed...this is like a dream" The traveler's child and the Irish burrough woman's daughter proclaimed, "We were in the streets. We...played with fire, spoke with fire. No one was ashamed, or afraid. No one laughed at us, or called us vicious...and we could just..be. I do not remember the last time had real dreams." Husband and wife spoke in one another's arms, wrapped in star blankets and one another. "It is good to have those things again. (d)

Conlaed: There was a soft smile, as Conlaed held his beloved closer. There was a smile as he snuggled with her. It was like a dream. How long had they thought that such a time and a place had no longer exsisted? For two as old as they, such high and free times had long since passed. Or so they had thought. There was a smile, a murmur, "If this be a dream.... pray let it be a dream in the Forever Lands... So tha' may ne'er wake up and enjoy it always." Yes, to wish such a thing could mean embracing Death. But if Death was as great as this? Let it be embraced! (D)

Breanna: "Mmm...living with you is a dream," she let a hand absent run over his leg, over the muscle at his side. Some at the fire made the comment that surely they weren't married long or had merely married well! Breanna blushed, having forgotten the presence of other people at the end of the fire. The North Shore was littered with bonfires, like a network of twinkling lights. "A little of both I think it is. We are not married long, and we married well." She pulled on his arm so they could see what else the night had to offer


Conlaed: There was a soft smile, as Conlaed held his beloved closer. There was a smile as he snuggled with her. It was like a dream. How long had they thought that such a time and a place had no longer exsisted? For two as old as they, such high and free times had long since passed. Or so they had thought. There was a smile, a murmur, "If this be a dream.... pray let it be a dream in the Forever Lands... So tha' may ne'er wake up and enjoy it always." Yes, to wish such a thing could mean embracing Death. But if Death was as great as this? Let it be embraced! (D)

Breanna: "Mmm...living with you is a dream," she let a hand absent run over his leg, over the muscle at his side. Some at the fire made the comment that surely they weren't married long or had merely married well! Breanna blushed, having forgotten the presence of other people at the end of the fire. The North Shore was littered with bonfires, like a network of twinkling lights. "A little of both I think it is. We are not married long, and we married well." She pulled on his arm so they could see what else the night had to offer *d(


Conlaed: There was a grin to hear her say that, for he would readily agree. There was a moments pause, as he gathered up his performing tools. Once more, the Flying Dragon and Glittering Gypsy had a profitable day in the square. Was it odd to make your living by what you earned by enteraining the crowds in colorful grab and with death defying acts? Conlaed smiled as he slid his arm around her waist, walking with her along the beach. What did they talk of during that walk? It would be upon the edge of the fires, that the Conlaed paused. And frowned, "Didja hear that?" A horse had whickered. Where there should be no horses. (D)


Breanna A profitable day that had chink chiming in full pockets, burdened pouches, and the blessing of pondering what to spend it on. Across her back was a light pack of costumes, silk, and hoops while he carried the larger sticks. With neither vardo, busy-boy, or their hawker the size of the show decerased to what two people could carry on their own to the far end of the Northern Shore, where they stayed that particular night. Along the way the talk of what wood to use on their new floor in Luib was interrupted by that whicker. It'd been a long while since Conlaed saw his bride's ears twitch. "Aye, I did. Shhh, it goes again.." A horse's front hooves making a hard stomp on the earth. Now, there were no hores to the right of them. Nor horses to the left of them. "That is a Vaner horse, sounds very unhappy." It was coming from a rise of rocks that had a shelf of sand behind it. Taking hold of the rock, sheclimbed up to a point to peer in and find a band of three thieves deciding how much to collect for their stolen gypsy pride. It must have been the horse of a Rom Baro! So sleek, so deep a tan and beautiful (d)

Conlaed: "What see you?" Came the quiet call up to his bride, as Conlaed edge around the rock. And yet, he was not yet shown. He had long ago mastered the art of hiding. So he hid now. Although, he did begin to move. Quietly, he removed a sturdy rock from the ground. Then he would lay down his performing staves on the ground, taking up a short one. Using a bit of rock against his strike, he got it to spark at one end. There were others upon the beach -- he could not openly be as he was. When she identified it as a Vaner horse? He breathed up, "Gadjes?" (D)

Breanna: "Aye, gadje. That is a Rom Baro's horse. Horse of a King. It would take a Rom's daughter to know. Very gadje...I think they stole him from Ryven, Remember he was saying he thought his Mishka ran away. She is right here!" She edged up just a little higher - just a little higher for more detail. It was time to reach to the hip to make sure a bit of useful something was there. "We barter for Miksha, no?" 'Barter' entailed Mishka was going home. "We should tell the Shangl.......Sheriff." She corrected herself, realizing Conlaed might not understand all of the tribal speak she fluctuated into without thinking. But it seemd to indentify the horse was to have one of the men breathe '' Eh, rwight, wot's out there?" (d)

Conlaed: There was a start, before Conlead smiled easily stepped out from his hiding place, "Good evening...." He held his performing staff above him, much like you would a torch to find ones way. "I hope you will not mind... My companion and I have lost our way." Plausable. "Do you know the way to Luib?" Without waiting, he approached the horse, "My! What a beautiful horse....." There ewas a rather inviting clinking of his purse. Clearly on accident. Clearly. There was a smile, "I have been looking for a horse for some time... As a gift." (D)

Breanna: Shimmy down the rock. Tell the sherrif what you saw. That was supposed to be the sensible plan his wife envisioned to act upon for the sake of seeming law abiding members of the citzenry. Beneath a rather darkened head of autumn russet churned the angry voice of the Moor-General who had made a nasty show of disapproving of her way of speaking to one of their own. "Conlaed..Conlaed don't..dont! Come back" She hissed at him but it was too late. He was already beginning to work the bujo on the unfamiliar - wool pulling over the eyes - to the crowd. By the time she appeared at his side she was a smiling, affectionate young wife who said little until the beautiful horse distracted her. "Husband, what a beautiful mare. What type is she, I know nothing about these things...but we are not interrupting them are we?" Clink. Clink. Clang. Bags full of circle disks and paper cuts of wealth. Bags that they could have now instead of waiting to cross over to the other side of the island. "She's 'ard to part with you see," the thief went on, "couldn't give 'er to just anyone..." He came closer. A tip glinted to the sharper eye of what lay lurking in closed fist in case he 'disagreed' with the deal. Another of the trio lay back, picking at his fingernails with his knife, while the third went to make 'introduction' with the man's wife. "Late to have pretty thing out. Eh there." He crooned a croak that smelled of heavy ale induced waves. The pungent odor nearly cost the gypsy woman the contents of her stomach. Already the tension was picking up in the air (d)

Conlaed: Conlaed smiled that hopeless unkowning smile, as one would expect to see on an unkowing. "I'm not sure....." There was a cant of his head, before he said, "Oooh. But it is one of those beautiful horses that we have seen the gypsies ride!" There was a smile, as he slowly began examine the horse. "Oh, dah. I understand. Such a pretty thing." There was a cant of his head, before he said, "I can understand you not wanting just anyone to have it..." Hekept a careful watch on his wife. As discreetly as he could. As he did, he removed his flask from his pocket. He uncorked and took a nice pull. There was an offering of it toward one of the theives. He hoped it wouldn't be accepted, seeing as how it was refined whale oil. (D)

Morrigan: Morrigan really would need to learn not to go wandering about dark places at night. It was just going to get her in trouble. But she couldn't sleep, and she was restless. The crash of waves against the shore called to her almost as much as the much-loved scent of the stables did. The wind whipped her hair as she meandered towards the shore, wolfhound trotting along diligently at her side. As she walked, she looked up at the starry sky. However light in her peripheral vision drew her gaze, and she frowned slightly as she saw.. a camp? Who in the bloody hell would be camping out here? She knew she should go back.. it was no business of hers.. but Morrigan had an extremely bad habit of letting her curiosity get the better of her. It was this that led her to creep around to where that glow was emanating, pulling her petite frame easily up slick rocks with work-worn hands, to peer around a rocky protrusion at the scene below. Everything was immediately forgotten at the sight of the horse, though. Never had she seen one of its ilk before, and she was.. fascinated, to put it simply. Leaning forward, trying to get a better look at the stately equine without revealing her position.. she completely forgot Liath who had been accompanying her. The canine made his presence known with a quiet, gruff bark, which startled the horse-loving lass badly enough that she lost her grip and her footing all in one go. Eyes widened as she tumbled down the rocks.. opposite of the way she'd come, ending with her landing with a thud and an 'oomf' on her back, dazed and staring up at the sky, down at the edge of the scene she'd been observing moments before. Confound her luck... One of these days, she was going to get herself killed. She just knew it.

Breanna: "We'd uhh, needs be negotiating a price ye see. Sir. Aye. A good price for this....fine....gypsy..horse." He looked down at the extended flask and reached for it with gnarled hands. Half opened grasp pawed the edge of the flask making it go halfway between his hand and Conlaed's. Breanna remained still, smiling bitter-sweet at the man with the bitter-sweet breath . "Think'll share if Ah help tae make a good deal,pretty?" She nodded like a good wife ought. One second, two. Three seconds. Four. The ring leader held the flask of unknown whale's oil while a discreet hand was slipping down to the pocket of the wrap at her hip. "Now now, 'ands up...." he proclaimed..just as it all went down to hell. Rock recliner had heard the shift of stone from the top of the rock (well, it'd fallen on his head too. He wasn't the sharpest tool but he functioned enough for basic things) and on looking up, had caught the partial view of a wavering bit of dark that wasn't the stuff rocks were made of. Just as he was about to voice his opinion, "Lads, we're The Gods delivered unto them the catalyst that would set off the next chain of events. From the corner of her eye Breanna saw the woman topple down to hit the sand with a thud. So did the fellow infront of her. "What's this now!" He exclaimed, offended. Dooped? Fooled? "No deal.." the one spoke to Conlaed with a snarl, but not before Breanna let go of the act. Her hands were on a refined, black and white powder that when the man asked for the show of her hand she threw it in his eyes! "Dover, Dover ahhhh what'd she do to me eeyeyeeeeeeeee I can't seee!!!" He yowled and cried, reaching out to take hold of something that had already slipped past him to take a hold of the Vaneer's reigns! "You..hey..hey you.....girl...you!" She called to the toppled Ana. "Run...run! Run with Mishka!, go find the magistrate!" Breanna had led Mishka over toward the girl, throwing the long rope down within her hand's length just as a small ring of metal snapped out and caught around Breanna's hand. The rock sitter said, "Not so fast..." and Breanna all but froze in horrible pain (d)

Conlaed: Damn! He would glare at Ana later. For now? Now was the time of action. Taking a good, long deep breath -- the fire-eater put his torch to his mouth -- and the leader called Dover joined his friend in screaming. For the fire eater, the man-turned-dragon spewed a stream of fire in the man's face. There was a half-turn, before he saw what was happening to his wife. "Breanna!" He bellowed. Nae, roared. Let them know! They had indeed screwed the hellup. T hey had chosen to fight two unusual mortals. Conlaed raored, charging at the one that had dare hurt his wife. He roared again. (D)

equiem of days: "Huhwha?" What in the blue blazes was happening here? Still a bit dazed and confused, her head snapped up when everything suddenly seemed to explode in a flurry of madness. Then she was being thrown a rope and told to take the horse and go? Eyes widened as she sputtered, and jumped to her feet as quickly as she could.. albeit not without a touch of difficulty, considering her impromptu tumble and the dizziness that had resulted. She wanted to help the woman.. but it looked like her companion was coming to the rescue. Looking up towards the rocks from whence she'd so unceremoniously dropped into the scene, she spotted Liath, hovering anxiously, and gave a whistle to summon him. Even as the protective wolfhound bounded down to join his mistress, Morrigan was wasting no time. Her petite stature aside, she vaulted easily onto the back of the mare and gripped tightly to that rope, as well as the horse's mane, and bent low over her neck as bootheels gently thumped into her sides. "Run like th' wind, lassie!" Little urging it took to send horse and rider both off, with the wolfhound speeding after them.

Breanna "What are you about! Come on! You caused my horse to get way! " If he lived to tell the tale in the morning to the thieves den what a legend it would make him! Dover was screaming as the fire singed at the left side of his face,crisped his hair, and began to work wonders at devouring the clothes on his back. Denver, his brother, only found a small radius of shadows to see through as he managed to get sand caught up with the pepper-burn in his eyes. "Dover, Dover?!" He reached out only to find his brother's hand made him draw back. As for the last one, he was looking wildly at the Fire-Blower when he roared out the name of the girl in his grasp. He unfurled a whip to snap the tricks off his body. Even while the chain whip held her wrist, it didn't stop her from doing anything else! By this time the whip master was having a hard time trying to place her eye color. Hadn't it been a warm brown before? Copper? "What the hell kind of freaks are yah, eh? Take you both.." He laughed like a mad man gone awry! On Ana's journey, by now the North Shore Commotion had drawn a few strained necks, stander-ups, and people wondering why a woman raced by on a rope bound Gypsy Vaneer. "What's the meanin' o' this" said a distinctly Scottsman wearing the emblem of the Griffin. He had been called down from the wall watch to see what was going on at the North Shore when an explosion of fire made a column into the quiet night. He went over to Morrigan to try and still her. Was she stealing - coming - going- a witness "Wot in Jesus' hod bodkins is goin' on down there girl?" Breanna shook her head furiously at the whip-master, and with a charging fire eating man and the
bound up woman with molten eyes he began to wonder what it was he was up against! She put her other hand atop the chain and a flame began to creep it's way over the metal (d)

Conlaed What would the whip-wielder do, when the fire-eater approached? The seeming dragon-turned-man reached out, catching the man by the throat. Effortlessly, Conlaed lifted the man off his feet. There was no effort to it. A simple grab and lift into the sky. God! What had found the man? The Fire-Eater's eyes seem to have glowed -- like fire. His mouth slowly opened, revealing not the square teeth of mortals. But the dagger sharp teeth of his name sake. What in the hells had he drank that night to make this real? Drawing in his breath, Conlead roared out at the man. Roared loud enough for the people on the beach to hear him bellowing his anger, when to the one he held, he might as well have been a beast. (D)

Morrigan: From unfortunate to luckier than sin in the blink of an eye! Morrigan reined in the mare almost fast enough to lose her seat, but kept it nonetheless, speaking quickly to the man that stopped her as she pointed back towards the source of the uproar. "I ken bandits stole 'is 'orse, an' I fled wi' 'er tae find 'elp! Ye 'ave tae gae 'elp those people!" She gripped the mare's mane tightly in her hands, staring intently at the man as she gasped for breath. Her heart was racing and she could feel the mare trembling beneath her.. or was that the girl herself trembling? She couldn't tell! This was such a bewildering, yet exciting situation.

Breanna: "Mary n' Christ n' Magdelene's son.." The whip-master kicked his feet, wide eyed and blubbering now. "What part of hell do ye both come..what the hell are ye?!" Whatever was going on behind the outcropping, three grown men hadbeen reduced to screaming (and less functional portions). He gripped onto the flexed muscle of Conlaed's arms and watched in abject horror as the metal now on fire seemed to be reversed. Instead of holding her, it held him! "White Eye....put him..down." she called out to him, half filled with adrenaline, the other grasping for a semblance of sense. With a flick of the wrist the flame ridden entity was biting hard through the leather, down into the cotton.."Put hm down! ...we need to tell Shanglo what happenend!" Behind the rock was one perfect piece of drunkard's nonsense. The magistrtate instructed Morrigan to stay close to the shore as he turned to investigate the bright as day outcropping. When he got there, what would he see but the remnants of burning-down embers on rocks, one man who sobbed over his half-burned body, the other at his redder than sin eyes, crying that the Devil was the fire-eater. As for the other..Conlaed was holding him up, the magistrate was insisting he put him down, that it was all over...not to go so far as to make murder and make it worse. (d)

Conlaed Conlaed looked at his wife. Put him down? He looked up at the man, that he held. Then looked at the Sheriff. "........" Remembering what he was, or what he claimed that he was, he began to look as though he were straining to hold the survivng horse thief up. Slowly lowering his captive down on the ground. Then he stepped back, holding his hand (and his performer's baton) up. Then he stepped away from the man, "Sheriff.... These men are horse thieves. They attacked us, when we discovered them." (D)

Morrigan: Morrigan had absolutely no problem with staying right where she was. She did not want to go back there with those freaky men! Liath whined up at her, and after shushing the wolfhound, she slipped off the mare's back, moving around to stand in front of her and gently stroking her neck as she crooned soothingly. "Thar thar, lassie.. ye be aright, now.. nae bad men wi' get tae ye, nay while Morrigan Stirling is 'ere." She began singing softly.. most horses seemed to relax when she sang, she'd noticed, and she hoped it would work for the poor terrified mare.

Breanna: Mishka was a mess of tense sinew under the beautiful tan coat. Her dark mane was tossed helter-skelter, head bobbing, a constant nickering from exposure to abuse and fire. Morrigan's voice seemed to the be the balm for her hurt as she leaned in closer. People began to crowd around Morrigan, asking her the story. What happened, how many were there? The fire-eater and his dancing wife were just at the fire what of them? So many questions voiced in hushed tones, for so many outsiders were not often on this tip of the coast. "The girl told me about that, the one on the mare...seems you've taken care of it well enough.They say the heard the sounds of threat before the ...fire started to come up. I'll get an extra pair of hands to 'elp me with this lot. You know who's horse? I'll trust you to return it." Strangers the pair were, but not so that he didn't recognize their shows from the lane. "Call the watch.There's always a patrol.." he cautioned for next time, God forbid there be one "You were both lucky..that's all it was." The most solid of the three, the whip master, he picked up by the back of his hair to start the process of tying up his hands. Another onlooker had found a pair of patrolmen, and soon enough they came to pry the blind and burned men off the sand. The scent of whale oil, charred rock, and smoke lingered as gusts of salt-infused air attempted to clean the wrong doing away. She looked at her husband, equal parts angered as she had been terrified by thedeadly proficiency of their artforms. As she passed beyond the rocks to look for the horse and girl, she was holding her hands together to hide where the chain had left a hard red burn on her wrist and hands. (d)

Conlaed: Once the fire-eater had finished saying his words to the magistrate and the patrolmen, he would politely excuse himself. When he came close to his wife, he reached out to touch his wife's hand. There was a slight squeze of her hand, a sigh. A soft as he murmured,"I'm sorry m'dear. I did nae mean to cause a fuss..... I meant fer ye to go for the magistrate while I distracted 'em....." (D)

Morrigan: Her hands never ceased to stroke that soft coat, petting away the lovely Mishka's trembling fears as she told the gathering people what had happened. She hunkered against the horse, though, not wanting to get too close to any of thestrangers. Liath, well knowing his mistress' discomfort around those she didn't know, took up a position between her and the crowd. This effectively penned her in, and provided a sense of security that calmed her immensely. She was inexplicably relieved that Mishka was calming down, and couldn't help a small, self-satisfied smile. Looks like she still had it! Now where was the woman that had sent her off for help? She peered around, looking for the lady and who she could only assume was her husband.

Breanna: "There wouldn't have been the chance, anyway." She muttered in half-comfort, offering him a worn smile. She winced when he held her hand, but it went away as time went on. Only the red, offensive glare off the sun-kissed skin remained. "He had a chain that wasn't pure silver," she joked as they walked out into the people just ahead, saying no more but knowing he knew what it meant. "gadje thieves are poor judge of goods." Breanna watched as the patrolmen and magistrate led the trio off in the direction of the city walls for questioning in the barracks and a stay in the dungeons underneath Blue Castle. A pair of warm, liquid copper eyes met up with the gaze of the horse soother and smiled a silent thanks, voiced a wordless introduction. Names were paltry when adventure bound you, but she paid respect to costume. "Mishka wants to go home, will you walk with us? We can take her, tell the Rom Baro how you cared for her too?" (d)

Morrigan: Horse Whisperer? Ha! That was a funny one. Mayhaps a tad true, but she didn't consider her way with horses anything particularly spectacular. It just.. was what it was, the same as her. Lifting a calloused hand to sweep away the dark locks that had once been in a braid, and now spilled carelessly around her face and shoulders, she looked over at Breanna and Conlaed, offering a shy smile. "Morrigan Stirling, an' 'is be Liath." Said as she gestured to the wolfhound, before laughing softly when Mishka nudged her shoulder, turning slightly to give attention to the beautiful mare as they walked. She was just glad she'd managed to save the lovely beast from what she suspected would've been a grisly demise.

Breanna: "Morrigan Stirling. The Rom Baro won't forget that name. Mishka is a jewel bright among his treasures, and a favorite. Morrigan Stirling and Liath. Saviors of Mishka." The tide pulled the waves up closer to the toes of shore dwellers, but not reaching, retreated back to the moonlit sea. "Favored of the Fates. How did you come to be atop the rock, eh?" How did Breanna and Conlaed come to be atop the same rocks themselves? (d)

Morrigan: "I wen' fer a walk.. could nae sleep.. I saw a glow.. decided tae look, an' see what 'twas." She nodded, trying to pretend she wasn't blushing and feeling horribly embarrassed at the memory of how she'd fallen down the aforementioned rocks because Liath startled her. She cast a glance at the shaggy-haired dog, who just looked up at her with a very canine grin, and wuffed softly. ..He was such a mess, but then again, so was she. She looked back at Breanna, her curiosity obviously piqued. "..What be 'is.. Rom Baro o' which ye speak?" She'd never heard such a term before. Was it some kind of leader?

Breanna: "It starts small. Conlaed and I were going back to our wagon when he heard Mishka." Nevermind that even the smallest sounds behind that rock outcropping had to be hard to hear except for muted muffles. Nevermind that fire batons and a gypsy circus art had melted flesh. Liath occupied her interest by being shaggy, sweet in a way. Perhaps she would tell Conlaed they should have such a companion when they were in Luib. "Rom Baro means big man. He is a leaderof a band of gypsy, the King if you will." (d)

[Breanna Keelan]

Saul: Along the beach, amongst the edges of land met with wallopin' sea, sat the warrior gone bard. Drunk, and still drinking, he sat upon his grounded sword which was upright, deep within the sand and earth. Upon the hilt, a single white cloth was tied with a simple over hand knot, caught in the westerly winds, pulling it back. He was feeling loose this evening, having been to lazy, or perhaps intoxicated, to care for his fire thus leaving it to glow a luminescent orange that barely captured his young face. Leaned back, legs wide with his leather boots pulled up high, he plucked the strings of the guitar in rythym with the waves. He wore a smile, euphoric from the sweet nature he called love; others called it Rum. The wind carried the tune with it..[d]

Morrigan: "Gypsy?" That made those big brown eyes widen in awe. She'd heard of gypsies, but aside from her brief foray into Carnival Lane, she'd never seen anything even resembling one, at least that she knew. Though she had her suspicions about the lovely Breanna and her.. admittedly intimidating husband, as well. Gypsies had always seemed to embody the kind of life she thought would suit her.. though whether or not that was true was considerably debatable, seeing asshe'd tired of her wandering ways. Or so it seemed, anyway. She still got that restless feeling.. but she stifled it, at least temporarily, by going for walks. Long walks. Anywhere and everywhere. Liath uttered a gruff bark, and she absently shushed him.. only then noting a somewhat distant glow, which seemed to be the reason for his alert. Sometimes the dog was useful, after all.

Breanna: "Dah...yes, gypsy. He is Hungarian Rom. Very important among the people even the different gypsy from the different country respect him. He is going to reward you very well I think." What prize could you want from the embodiment of road and wind? What would you ask the sun and moon if you coul dask it one question? A waiting Hungarian and the Vaneer Mishka were mighty tokens in Ana's basket of what! Cautiously the step was slowed to ascertain if what lay ahead was gypsy-friend. Conlaed edged the necessary five feet forward to see the lute playing lyricist singing silent homage to a bottle of liquid ephoria. Waving his hand that it was fine to continue on, she breathed a sigh o frelief. (d)

Saul: ``Hmmm.. hmm.. hmm.... hmm...`` He mumbled lyrics only he could understand and enjoy. His fingers moved expertly over the strings of his guitar. The orange embers of his fire being licked by the waves from the wind, and glowing brighter with each breath. Shadows danced across the young man's face, and his hair, let down from the usual crop, hung low and over his cheeks. Dark, parted, and wild.. he looked the part of a bard. A large, thick looking leather hung across a portion of his upper body, and another around his waist. ``Hmmm.. hmm..`` He paused and grabbed his bottle again, tipping it back, then gingerly setting it back down again. He would continue from there.[d]

Morrigan: "Reward?" Though it shouldn't have been possible, her eyes widened further, until the earthen hues seemed ready to fall from her skull. "Tha'.. tha' isnae needed.. I was just glad tae 'elp Mishka..." Another flush stained lightly sun-kissed cheeks as she shook her head. She'd never been one for rewards.. though she supposed if this Rom Baro insisted on it, she would have no choice but to accept. The thought made her a tad uncomfortable, but then again, most things involving people made her uncomfortable. People were complicated, and she just didn't understand them, most of the time. Animals, on the other hand... She lightly stroked Mishka's velvety soft nose at the thought, though her gaze deviated to the man beside the fire with a curious tilt of the head, and attention remained on him though she spoke to Breanna. "..Is 'e aright?" She didn't know, was it normal for men to sit on beaches in the middle of the night?

Breanna "Aye, he's fine." Conlaed wouldn't have allowed them forward if it weren't. Pieces of russet faded to black in the bend of the wind; tilting her head into the shadows meant the strands drank up the blue-black wanderer's history. Salt afforded a pleasant sting to her nose, which still seemed to full of whale oil and ire. She narrowed her eyes as if studying a book where a man should be and in the quick grab for details picked up his name in grace, "Saul?" to await an answer to what she believed to be true. The Rom Baro, Mishka, Morrigan for a second faded. In an attempt not to allow everything else to become bland scenery, she went on while awaiting an answer "Rom Baro believe in being generous to many he makes enemies with few, especially with those not gypsy. See yon tentsa...tents..ahead." Morrigan would fathom what a tentsa was, let alone the gradients of life above or below that. As she became comfortable on the North Shore, so supressed culture came to bear ripe fruit. "he is just there." (d)

Saul: He heard his name and looked around. With the red from the embers of his glowing fire blotting out what he considered his night eyes, he couldn't see much. ``.. 'm hearin' chyt.. `` He mumbled, looking to his bottle beside him. When he glanced back up, he started plucking again. ``Mmmmm nammmmess Saull...`` He answered, hoping he was talking to the wind who had mysteriously called out to him. [d]

Morrigan Saul? She knew that name! She did a double-take, stopping and crouching down to peer at the man. Just as she was about to speak to him, she saw the bottle.. and blanched. In the blink of an eye, she was up and scuttling after Breanna with a deathgrip on Mishka's rope. It was several moments before she could reply, and then the words were tremulous, her voice barely above a croaked whisper. "..I see. Weel, I'll.. I'll ah.. just 'ave tae speak tae.. 'is Rom Baro fellow..." And then she was going back to Griffin castle and sleeping for a week.



To continue, most assuredly.

[Breanna Keelan]

Saul: So the night had passed on, and the start of another dreary morning followed. Eyes cracked at the sound of thunderous waves crashing upon the shore. Saul felt as if his feet had turned into two blocks of ice. He sat up, his hair going everywhere. Sand fell from the crevices made by the stylish shirt and onto his lap. Saul even sneezed before glaring at the water. Gods, his head hurt. ``Alright.. alright..-- I'm getting up..`` Another thunderous crash upon the shore led the water up the short incline to the soaked soles of his leather boots. Lamenting a string of curses to the source of this icy feeling, he let out a war cry that was dwarfed by the sound of the ocean. The sky had taken on a gray color. Mist filled fog hovered low across the water and land about him, and cut his war cry short.. where he fell back down on his ass reaching for the temples of his head. ``Ow.. stop yelling...`` He mumbled to noone in particular, his expression changing to a pained one as he pushed through his hang over.-- The day would carry on in the same tone, just dragging by with threat of rain. Evening approached, and Saul was.. back on the shores again.. with a new bottle, a new fire, and his guitar. ``Hmmm...hmmm...``[d]

Morrigan: The previous night had.. certainly been an adventure. Adventures weren't common for Morrigan. But at least she'd slept well afterwards! Exhaustion could do that, after all. But now, well-rested and.. obviously a bit pensive, her footsteps led her down to the shore with a slow tread of sturdy brown boots. She had to get away! Some crazy woman in the castle was trying to get Morrigan into a dress and she'd be damned if she let it happen. She was quite content with her usual breeches, shirt, and vest. The wind whipped stray strands of mahogany around her face as she neared the water's edge, arms folding while rich earthen gaze fixed on the crashing waves. She'd always been fascinated by.. any body of water bigger than the average pond. It was just so.. wild, untamed, and.. beautiful. Much like the horses she so loved, though it still couldn't rival the subtle grace and majesty of those equines. Like Mishka! Oh yes. Her thoughts dwelled on Mishka since the night previous.

Breanna: Nights pass on as they are want to do, and so with them events that sliced through the veil to be impressed in memory. That is, if you were want or able to recall the details in any sort of candor. Morning broke in a murk; gray cloud banks milled around far too close to earth for a sun lover's taste. Still, the season aside, Celtic weather was no friend of the sun. Skye was the oft exception to a tride, true traditionalism that froze the flesh of distant travelers until they learned to love the like of fog or rain. Three bags of silver and copper coins had been dolled out by the Rom Baro of the Hungarian caravans; one to the rider of Mishka, and two to the pair that discovered the sounds of a horse where there should be none. The day after was a blissful void of excitement's lack. She, Breanna, had moved the Keelan vardo away from the questionable conclaves for the comfort of stranger voices denoting civilization. As the day of domestic activties drew to an end, she did nothing more than pull down dry clothes from a line strung between the vardo and a long tent pole as the rum-drinker resumed his revels. "He wastes goodrum muses," she called out to the wind as if to educate the man on his folly. "should strum strings on guitar a lil' harder while fingers are loose." It wasn't yet moonrise. Close, but not yet. It's only indication was in silver at the hip of a scimitar sharp curve as she still found a pleasing rhythm in the work. (d)

Saul: He was not far from their camp, and the voice she used to yell out to him did not go unheard. He barbed a grin, continuing the soft delivery of the notes and chords on the guitar. He knew how to play well enough, better when he was drunk, or so he thinks! ``THESE CHORDS AREN'T JUST FOR ONE TO ADMIRE!`` Smirk.[d]

Morrigan: Drawn from her thoughts by the sound of Breanna's voice, Morrigan blinked and turned her head.. only to spot Saul, as well. Though she didn't know the fellow that well, that he hadn't gotten frustrated with her shyness and yelled ather put him on the short list of people she could be around for longer than a few minutes without having a panic attack. Tucking wind-tossed curls back behind her ears, she started down the shore to eventually plop herself down in the sand near Saul, though not.. too close. It would take something akin to a miracle to get her closer than three or less feet. Legs drawn up, arms wrapped around them as knees were tucked against her chest. She didn't speak, which wasn't unusual, only gave him a small smile and nod of greeting before looking out at the waters again.

Breanna: "OH? IT IS SUPPOSED TO BE MY NIGHT OFF, SWEET' EART. IF YOU COME A LITTLE CLOSER MAYBE I CAN SHOW YOU WHAT THAT GOOD MUSIC IS FOR HMM?" She lifted a hand to wave at the shy Morrigan while taunting the vagabond rum-drinking Bard to give the music a reason to break proximity. If the stars could be pulled one by one from the twilight and the sun told to stay up but one more hour it would be because the shift of her hip cracked thunder over the hills. Brought a hush to the skeptics and gave blind men a reason to see. While only gathering up the laundry, there was promise of art. Paired with fire? Heaven help the bard. He may take a hang-over after being drunk on dervish's delight (d)

Conlaed: "An' the voice o' Wisdom tis heard," Conlaed voice came from behind the drunken troubadour, "If you seek to honor Dionysus...." There was a dramatic story. Expertly picked out by the storyteller and fire-eater. "Then you do it quiet poorly. A Muse designs to speak to you -- and you ignore it? More the pity!" There was a smile toward Ana, a wave of his hand. There was a smile, as he brushed his lips against Breanna's cheek. There was would be a few moments pause, as he watched his beloved gather int he laundry. Then he settled himself down upon the porch to the vadro, allowing enough room for Breanna to pass through. Once he was settled, Conlaed took out his wood working tools and a nice, solid block of wood. There was a smile, as he looked up at Breanna, "Do you think that may'ap we should put the press' name on the alamanc?" There was a braod smile. As he turned back toward his work, he paused."Oh!" He reached inside his shirt, to remove a few scaps of cheap paper from where he had tucked it. "For our first almanac!" There was a broad smile. He murmured, so that only his wife could hear, "Can you see if it matches the times?" (D)

Saul ``BAH!`` He replied, shifting forward and off his sword which he had plunged deep into the ground to make the spine of a chair. Wrapped about its magnificent blade was a thick blanket meant to protect it from the elements and provide warmth to Saul when he was sleeping upon a bed! Were they all devices sent to torment him, or convince him better company was just in the other direction?! Morrigan would see him struggling to stand, until he swaggered a bitand then straightened his clothing. ``Dionysus will not get the honor of my music-- Be it wine and spirits.. I dishonor him with a much sweet concoction.`` With a smile, he brought the bottle of rum up from the sand and held it skyward. ``RUM!`` And to his mouth, tipped back; he'd gulp and casually hold it. ``Come Ms. Stirling. Better company awaits in.. that way direction..--hiccup--, and I aught not keep 'em waitin.`` His sword was plucked from depth of the ground, and hoisted upon one shoulder. His guitar sagged on its rope and hung low about his back. He stumbled and mumbled, but made his way toward them, leaving his fire. He would only stop to see if Morrigan was moving up behind him.[d]

Morrignan: Waving back to Breanna and Conlaed, she offered a shy smile to the couple, before hands curled onto the top of her knees and chin dropped to rest on them, not even bothering to stifle her soft laugh as Saul and Breanna yelled at each other. Although when he stood, she blinked, wondering where he was going. Eyes widened slightly when he.. invited her to go with him? Head lifted, and an anxious nibble was bestowed to lower lip as she peered back and forth between Saul, who was obviously more than a bit snookered, and Breanna and Conlaed.. also known as assured safety. Still.. she somewhat liked Saul, as much as she could any man.. and well.. she would admit, she was worried that, what with his inebriated state, she was worried something might happen to him. All these thoughts rushed through her head in the span of a few seconds, before she pushed to her feet and dusted off the seat of her dark grey breeches, shrugging at Breannae and Conlaed as if to say, 'Someone has to keep an eye on him.' Then she started after the knight-turned-bard.

Breanna: The son of a lost king asleep in the sand in the company of the horse-whisper with an Irish hound. They went to see the fire-eating book binder and his fire-dancing wife who hung the laundry one summer's eve. Stuff of legends wasn'tfinicky in picking players to act on the stage. Dionysus wasn't getting his due, so what God was? Perhaps Apollo was more appropriate, or Taesin, patrons of arts. Travelers in search of creative perfection. A-step, a-two, the vaga bond managed to approach the community of civic nay-sayers who found welcome on the Isle. Water sloshed hard on the shore enough to launch spray in the air. As flecks of it fell in Breanna's hair, it became ensnared as thoughon a spider's web, dallying in the ornament hanging on her long hair. "Come for supper, stay forever?" Fingers pointed at the pair on approach, shifting to the woman, "Make sure that one is a good boy, and that he doesn't fall into tide pool." That voice was exquisite. She read turned it to her husband as she read his work with great pleasure, " Conlaed Keegan, most famous Fire Eater and Vagabond Book Binder' (d)

Conlaed: "Oh," Conlaed said. There was only the briefest, most amused, looks up at the troubadour knight. "Oh." There was a soft, teasing, smile, "So, perhaps, that is why you play as you do....." As he looked back to his carvings, he said, "You play so poorly to avoid the Maenads, hmm?" There was a chuckle. He paused, brushing away some of the sawdust that was accumulating on his chosen piece. With the tools he had, he worked slowly and steadily. So as to be able to coax creat art from the wood. At the moment, he was slowly coaxing out what was to his publishing and book binding logo. On the left most of his long block - about the size needed to fit in to a printing press' length - was a beautifully raised image of dragon taking wing across a halfmoon. He had already traced out the words "The Flying Dragon Publishing House" on the rest. There was a smile, as he looked up to his wife. His paper containted a forecast for the phases of the moon for the next several months, since he was not yet certain when the Moorish merchant would be able to deliver his printing press. But there was also other writing. In his pages, the voice of ages: long past would speak, as he printing the sayings and lessons from the masters of Greecian, Roman, Moslem, and Asian thought. At least, they were in the times before the Celtic Nations had sought to rise. But perhaps the greatest writing that his wife read, was fiction. For it was to be preface to the first printing run of his alamancs - and, say, repeated perhaps every year? - that alleged he (the Vagabond Book Binder) had learned the knowledge herein from an actual dragon. There was also a place for "The Dragon's Wisdom" - more for the relating of sayings or other prudent advice that the dragon had. (D)

Saul: ``Or the Maenads perform so poorly, they stay away from me!`` He replied with a quick wit, but he was obviously quipping back. Brought to the forefront of their .. home, Saul sought another place to sit. Bringing the sword from his shoulder, he would shove it into the ground. He wobbled a bit, tossing a glance to Ms. Stirling before grasping the neck of his thick guitar and plopping down, with his back to the sword. He bent his knees and dug his heels into the sand so he could prop the guitar up against his stomach. All settled in, he lifted the bottle of rum and took a gulp before setting it aside. ``Ahh.. now where was I?...`` He mumbled.. ``Oh yes.`` Strum. ``..Always marry an ugly girl cause that's the only kind. She'll never .. ever leave you and if she does.. you won't mind!``.. --hiccup, grin. Damnably handsome grin at that.[d]

Morrigan:: "Aye, I'll keep an eye on 'im." Offering a brisk mock-salute to Breanna, she chuckled as hands snared her uncooperative hair and tried to tame it back away from her face. Not like she had much luck, but she tried. Glancing over at Saul, she flopped down near him once more - though of course, again, not too near. Settled comfortably with her legs tucked close, she was in the middle of yawning.. when he began singing. She choked on absolutely nothing but air, and looked at him with an expression that was a mix between horribly affronted and unbearably amused. Always marry an ugly girl? Jaw snapped shut, and lips twitched with the threat of a smile, before a hand rose to cover her mouth, fighting to stifle the laughter that was on the verge of bursting forth.

Breanna: "Good girl! He needs a firm hand, be quick now. If he starts to misbehave just pop him a good one, threaten to take his rum. It worked while on a pilgrimage through Spain." The origins revealed of where Saul had met the dancer, it was not on a mission to see saints, so much as to partake of the wealth the religious threw on their feet when she danced, and he was cognative enough to strum. Blasphemy would label her the 'Fire in Saint Sophia's' path to the sea. Ah well. Names were unimportant in the grand scheme so long as memory pulled color together and sense. "Oh, come now something else. I thought I wasn't dancing right..show me? Play well enough, and I might reward you best bottle of rum in cart... IF you play at our next peformance hmm/" Musician of said instrument was not yet obtained. Could he be tempted? "I dance hard.Make good money to buy things to make fabulous other things. Come precious, help me practice." From inside of the wagon she brought a basket of fruits; apples, oranges, and grapes. Kneeling for the guests with dagger in hand shewould peel the skinned fruit quick as you please. (d)

Conlaed At hearing Saul's song, Conlaed looked up from his working. There was pause, before looking at Breanna and Ana. Then he looked to Saul again. And frowned. The shake of his head was enough to show his displeasure at the man's attempted humor. Ah well, there was bound to be one in every crowd. A shrug of his shoulders, before Conlaed went back to work on the carving. When the fragrances of the fruit basket wafted into his nose, he could not help but smile. As he listened to her speak of Saul, Conlaed lifted his eyes again. There was a quick of hsi brow at the man, who suddenly became an object of study. Then he shook his head, laughing quietly. T'was before they had met again in these Celtic lands. Although, he did start quietly. There was a cant of his head, as he turned to look at her. "What will you wear..... if you and I are to dance?" Then he turned back, to Saul. Conlaed said, "An' if you play poorly... ye'll hafta watch me drink tha best rum in tha cart." And it was good rum! Conlaed sat his carving aside, quietly putting up his wood working tools, to rise. He extended his hand to Breanna, saying, "Do you wish him to play now.... so that we may dance?" (D)

Saul: ``..'old on..just a tick.`` The rum was aquisitioned once again before setting it within the sand. It was a deep gulp, one that polished the bottle off. He sighed, shaking his head slightly and biting his lower lip. He sat up some on his sword, and strummed his fingers across the strings. It was a mediocre beat, but one that was good for dancing. It was a good, catchy tune. He sang, but it was in another language, and in his accent [which happened to be somewhat an Irish man's], matched the tune of his guitar melodically. His right foot bounced as a means for him to keep in time, but his eyes stayed skyward. It was.. as if he was imagining some place in his past, and putting the memories in the form of music. The language wouldn't be any that anyone present would know.. it was something passed down in his family. [d]


Morrigan: "Me? Nay, I couldnae dae tha'..." She blushed, laughing softly at Breanna's instructions. ..Maybe threaten to take his rum, but 'pop him a good one'? She giggled at the thought, her dark eyes sparkling with undeniable amusement. Maybe she needed to spend more time with Breanna and the others.. she hadn't been seen this far out of her self-built walls by anyone other than Bess and her mother's kin in years. When Saul began playing and singing, she fell silent, dark eyes becoming even moreso.. almost black as the night around them, while head again descended to rest on knees and she just.. listened to him, and watched. Music was the way to the heart of the savage beast, and mayhaps that of the withdrawn girl, too, for she looked more at ease than she had in many a year.

Breanna:Old languange in concordance with music boasted a fine brew. It was almost alchemy'; the right tune, the right lyrics, and the right expressive twist of skin produced gold. "Get out your rum, husband." Breanna advised Conlaed to be prepared to procure the sweet liquor as Saul rose to the occasion with a challenge. What would she wear to the dance? "You and Saul enjoy fruit, yes Morrigan? I am to harvest a different sort." Grin could almost be called lavicious. No flesh lust could compare to the desire to make love to the music. Oh, sweet siren! How would she rise to her own invitation? Boasting the idea for a new show, it was then and there that Breanna decided the introduction. Using a low bodied strut to the vardo door it progressed as such - left, right ,left by left by right. Speaking not the language, she hummed the tune's melody as she stepped inside. What was she doing? There was the man's overshirt to be discarded, that wouldn't do at all. Two layers of long skirt, leaving a circular one with slits in four places to reveal the billowed pantaloons of red and black stripes beneath. Scarlet and onyx. A scarlet harlot? A few beats of your heart later she returned a'spinning down the steps. Pantaloons and over'piece were settled at the low hips. This would leave sun-kissed skin to rise the thrum in blood within the veins as the turkish vest and hard, rushed cloth inside held up important pieces of a lady's make. A breath lifted the lot where the coins on a choker necklace fell. Rat-a-tat-tat. d)

Saul: The tune would've been haunting had it been sung at an octave lower, the music slower. To Saul, his mind slipped back to the tall, thick trees of his homeland. The air so thick with oxygen, the smell of rain and life; one only needed to wake him to part the memory from reality. He specifically remembered running his fingers along the damp leaves as a boy, watching his smaller boots sink into the mud. The mountains were tall, looming in the distance with low hanging clouds that were always white or gray, filled with rain.-- No, he hadn't fallen asleep, but he sparcely blinked while singing and watching. His fingers continued the tune from the chords of his guitar. Saul was relaxing. He panned his gaze over to Morrigan who was intent on listening, but his gaze did not leave her. His dark hair fell about his cheeks, parting at the center of his scalp, he couldn't keep the strands back. The wind would claim them, pushing and pulling as the salt air rushed between them all.[d]

Morrigan "Mm.. aye..." Yes, she liked fruit. Though that was pretty much all the response she could muster, considering how enraptured she was by Saul's music. Though she was vaguely distracted by Breanna's return, and watched the woman for a brief moment. For a split second, she wished she was that lovely and that graceful. Then the thoughts were dismissed. She was the way she was, and she was no great treasure. People could take her or leave her, she wouldn't be changing. Her gaze returned to Saul, mere heartbeats before he looked at her, and she felt her breath catch. He looked so.. wild. Like the ocean, and the sky when a storm hovered on the verge of exploding in a flurry of rain and lightning, and horses running free across the plains. She'd never seen a human look that way before, and she wondered if she was dreaming.

Breanna: Her hum was the thrum of a drum-skin being beaten down. The first few movements from the vardo door were that; she wanted to emphasize the connection to the minstrel's music. Thick, organic stranes that emphasized something unknown, something almost primal. Lifted arms had fingers that floated like lazy birds held up by the clouds instead of soaring over them. Salt-air was full of the sound of horse hooves competing with the thunder storm striking silver in the distance. Small finger of right hand animated first, a sequence initated with the turn of wrist that pulled all fingers in before fanning them out on the arm before it began to twist like a serpent, slithering across her shoulders to release on the other side, and then again. She could run around the fire ring - but no- it was not quite that way yet. The man was still walking in the place where all the sounds collided to leave the silence and white light. From it, she came. The heart-beat. A hand rested on the valley of her bosom as she lifted her sternum up, up. It seemed to separate from the center of her body until she lifted it up, placed it down, and that seemed to jettison her spine back and pull her pelvis up. As she straigtened, the shells and coin on her hip began to sing together. Turning her eye over her shoulder to her husband, her body awaited the stone to be moved for the fluid river to run, would he come move it? (d)

Conlaed: How long would it be for one of good and solid Irish stock - for such Conlaed was - to begin moving? Perhaps, it was not long. While there was none of the Spaniard blood in the vagabond's heart -- there was more than enough fire and passion caged within his chest. It would take only a few moments, for him to begin moving with the music in a fashion that suited his wife's own movements. There was a smile, once he felt the music at last go ahead and coil through him. Felt it begin to guide his muscles to let him know where he should next place his foot, or how he was to move his hands. As Saul played upon his guitar, he would dance quietly up to his wife. There was would a slow smile, as he reached out and did what few had been able to do: catch within his hands the hips of the Glittering Gypsy. There was a faint smile, as he met her eyes. It seemed as though, for a time, even the most passionate of the Spanish dancers were to be put to shame by two of Celtic stock. For the more Saul played, the more that he was able to loose himself in the music. The more that he lost himself into the music, the more that he became a more suitbale dancing partner when he was opposite his wife. He kept his hands on her hips as they danced, his head lowered. So that he could look into her eyes. Ah, but let them watch! What was in his eyes - the fire and passion - only his wife saw. But soon, it would be seen by all. For Conlaed lowered his head -- and took up his wife's in a kiss that matched the dance. (D)

Saul: Saul's lips formed that handsome smirk as he afforded the dancing pair a look. He was humming now, and the guitar had stopped. From within the fold of his shirt, he pulled out a small flute. The beat began to pick up as he brought the mouth piece to his mouth. Eyes closed and fingers moved over the carved holes. The beat picked up! It was faster, but just as pretty! Eyes opened, and he leaned back against his sword for comfort that just wasn't there. Another glance found its way toward Morrigan, and he seemed to focus on her. The tune.. subtley changed, but kept the pace..[d]

Morrigan: She, too, glanced over at the couple as they danced.. but as she saw Conlaed kiss his wife, she blushed a vibrant shade of crimson and immediately looked back over at Saul. Not particularly safe, but, safer than being a voyeur to the dancing duo.. at least for her sense of modesty. As she watched Saul set aside his guitar in favor of a flute, she smiled softly, continuing to watch him as he played. Though unfamiliar with the tune, she soon began hummingsoftly along.. and in a show of boldness that was quite unlike her, her eyes locked on his, and didn't look away.

Breanna: Safety was for the person who believed that to live behind four walls sealed by a door would be the way to make it from one world to the next. Safe was a state of mind that while the body needed to know it could be secure, the mind wouldn't stray from the leash if safety became synonomous with prison. Unabashed by his want, she drew in his heat and returned the taste of wine on her tongue to him. A crowd was drawing. Stragglers at first- lone wanderers. A lover on a walk. A child with a street urchin playmate, until the few citizens of Turas Lan were joined by the gypsy who never stray from joviality if it could be found. Minstrel found his guitar accompanied by soft drum beats, ashake of tamborine. Perhaps an appreciative clap of hand. By the time Breanna pulled away from Conlaed, she was ready to fly. Floating on the music, she allowed the fire to refract in the curve of her hip hollow to make a prism in the bangles on her left hand. She pointed her foot, placing the delicate arch right into Saul's lap. Up it crept as she balanced, up..up and just before it could go to unmentionable terrterrain she turned, falling flat on her shins as she bent backward. In a single arch her hair fell into his lap. Upside down burnished golden eyes gazed up at him as the brown in them seemed to play second-fiddle to the shine. Hair swayed over his fingertips but did not intterupt his hands - and so the crowd knew why the path to see St. Sophia's pilgrimage had been so blessed in Spain with nothing to do of the Pope! The minstrel was skilled, veryskilled. Marrionete strings seemed to pull her knees further apart, with one side lean she was standing up again. A wink was her thank you to Saul for his energy "Two bottles of rum for you, my brother.." Opening her arms came a few applauses, "Who has a sword for me?" She grinned, content to be offered an unbalanced scimitar to stick into a deep clay pot. Dancing around it, this allowed it to be soaked for a bit of a surprise - though one seemed to come as an..ardent..admirer....stole the touch of a few fingers..and then a wrist..oh dear (d)

Conlaed Ah, poor Conlaed! The vagabond fire-eater had missed but a beat, as his wife danced. ... Had she just?.... Then he laughed, shaking his head. No. It was true enough that all men were jealous, for many were threats true that faced their women. Better to watch for what was a true threat or dishonor, than concocting his own. Besides, to even have thought of his wife doing such a thing - on purpose or by chance - only served to belittle the skill that he knew his wife possessed. There was a chuckling, as he watched the crowd. As he danced by his lonesome - if but pace and a half from is wife, so that the two might dance as their own - he kept careful watch. And then he did see the foolish gadje, moving to - gasp - touch his wife. Bad enough that, dah? But to try and grab her wrist? Without loosing time to the tune that was played upon the many instruments that the two dancers had conjured upon the beach, Conlaed would dance over toward the scene. Perhaps Breanna was ready to tell said 'admirer off? Sadly, such a chance she wouldn't get. Conlaed's fist came over her should -- the last thing that the gadje would see for several minutes. It had been enough to knock him on his ass. And give him leave of his senses. (D)

Ada: With Ren on the hunt, Ada was left to her own devices. Mischievous devices. No one would believe she was merely mushroom hunting, so she dangled her shoes over her shoulder and walked along the shore, letting an occasional wave hiss over her feet in a not-so-surprise attack that still made her skip when the cold water hit. Scotland's shores were beautiful, yes, but the water was much colder than in the south of France. A crowd was gathering up ahead, where fire glowed, but Ada did not usually plunge headlong into crowds. She liked to skirt around the fringe, listening and watching, as careful as anyone once burned. Dark eyes glittered though as she began to understand what was afoot. Ada taught a class on un-dancing, but that did not mean dancing to the beat was a foreign concept to the strange healer. With a sway of her hips, and dropping her shoes somewhere in the dark, she grabbed the hand of the nearest soul in the crowd. Man or woman, it did not matter. Ada was singularly persuasive when she wished to be, with a laugh, twirling her partner as they entered the firelight, and at just that very moment, Ada saw a fist go flying. Stars, could she never have a peaceful night?! *

Breanna: "Ves'tacha!" Breanna exclaimed, clucking her tongue as she peered over her shoulder at him through a curtain of tossled hair, "I was going to tell him gently that I am taken woman!" Her voice purred, wedged between the Gaelic thick and the natural Kalderash pur. Ah well, she shrugged. What was there to do? Men became jealous, women were the sensible ones. From the clay pot she pulled out the sword, passing his rear end a swat punishment before she tilted the tip toward the fire. Voi-la! Tip alight she placed the scimitar on her lower back, delighting the crowd with emphasis to her chest and arms in motion while remaning perfectly poised with the tool of possible destruction.Tut-tut Conlaed. As if another man could handle your fire-wife. (d)

Saul: The risque dance put against his lap had his blood flowing until he turned a bit red in his face, but it did not alter the way he played his music. Theeen, came her hair, and it was bit eccentric of a dance, but not his first show, per se. When the song came to a close, and she announced his reward; everyone present would see a handsome smile as he struggled to stand upon his two booted feet. Swaggering a bit, his hands came up with : his arms going wide as if to steady himself. His movements were flamboyant, and he dusted himself off with an expression that read he was offended. Offended that the sand had gotten on those stylish clothes. RUE THE DAY! Hands dusted himself off, swaggering enough to take a few steps right, then left. ``Rum.. rum.. rum..`` His hair was wild but hung about his face when he moved. Thick, heavy steps carried him toward the cart, with only a glance to flash toward Morrigan when he passed. She wouldn't see that smug grin he wore.[d]