The mirth mirrored within this snapshot of time was communicable. Surayyah knew that their wink together couldn't last; it never did. Ultimately, one way or another, the centaur would gallop off to compose a litany of compositions. And she, a jinn, would be left to continue the lie and don that mask. The need to drop the guise, to reach out and feel something genuine, panged her soul. Nevertheless, the olive minstrel recalled why she shouldered this crusade. Her objective, while perhaps out of reach, was a mode to undo the fables. Surayyah felt that if she could demonstrate the stories as false, even to herself, her existence might amount to something. The threads she wore, the perfume, and her bewitching lingua were all tools—instruments she mastered for the sole purpose of proliferating the gospel she espoused. Whatever this was, be it fleeting or lasting, it was appreciated. Lyra had unknowingly supplied the wayward artist with a taste of what it was to be ordinary. And that, while seemingly mundane, was a treasure she'd cherish. That atmosphere ebbed and flowed, crashing against the rocks within the brook of their memory. A smile was such a simple thing, yet it held such power. How quickly a welcoming gesture could evaporate away the dew of misery. And as much as she yearned to unfurl her petals and be transparent. The fear of the ramifications kept this desert rose budded. The jinn's roots, at least, were planted in solid ground, something not many errant hearts could state with certainty. Silently, she hearkened to the mare's words. The resonations of which touched the troubadour. Those brown eyes, ever so brightly, gleaned the ambient light back. The calls of the wilderness filled the gap between those remarks as the two lolled within the meadow. Sheepishly, Surayyah resumed running her palm against the blades of grass. A sensation she knew she wouldn't experience when returning home. The desert wasn't known for its greenery. Lyra's deportment shifted, the spectacle of which inspired Surayyah's groomed brows to lift from intrigue. However, it all culminated and guided the gypsy to a familiar precipice. A fork in the road that may alter both their lives. Any cause, be it virtuous or wicked, requires its soldiers. But, the charmer preferred to avoid dragging every wanderer down the path she trekked. That choice had profound consequences, which her hooved friend may not have considered. If nothing else, the mare's conviction was alluring. Surayyah soughed, pushing out a warm breath while she fidgeted to become more comfortable. A gesture that bought her time to weigh their options further. Grant it, the delay wasn't substantial, and so she'd have to improvise. "You'd leave your herd to join mine? What about your troupe? How would they feel about such a drastic and life-altering decision? There is wisdom in what you state that I can't deny. Nevertheless, it does seem...impulsive?" She paused, wiggling that nose as those pearly fangs clenched onto the painted nail of her thumb. "There is a gentle glow emanating from your eyes. And like a moth to the fire, we're mesmerized by the dancing flame. It's something I think we both share. I could see us enjoying one another's fellowship, no matter the form it might mature into. I needn't be clairvoyant to piece that much together. I'll tell you what. Go, return to your people, and if you should feel the same, come tomorrow. Meet me here, in this patch by the brook. I'm not denying your request. I'd love to have you join our merry band of rejects. But," she paused before pushing that pointer digit into the centaurs leg muscle. "Some flowers are best left unplucked, so others may stumble across them and admire their beauty. If your self-assurance doesn't wane, we shall cast the dice. And, if tomorrow I return and discover you had a change of opinion. I will be happy enough knowing you followed your heart." She ended with a comforting nod and a weakened smile.

The ambiance continued to bud as it radiated forth a palliative wave. Here, amidst the meadow, the outside world's misery withered from one's mind. The laving of serenity was wholly embraced as the caramel jezebel felt rekindled. The idyllic backdrop and wholesome calls of the wild demonstrated a fabrication. Nevertheless, while conceivably a lie, the jinn dared not shatter the illusion. Surayyah was engrossed in this fleeting memory. The furlough from her mission was needed and allowed her to weigh over her drudgery. That mystification had woven a hex over the mare. Lyra appeared poised to loll within Surayyah's mesmerizing performance. The bewitchery of the jinn was infiltrating the centaur's senses. Bit by bit, the pull of that orbit increased. Naturally, the troubadour wasn't impervious to such matters of the heart. The desire to belong and feel accepted was ubiquitous in its reach. It was a pang as old as time itself. And she'd be a fool to refuse its allurement. Those chestnut eyes studied her hooved acquaintance as the subtle inflictions divulged much. The gypsy swore she saw the twinkling of attraction within those bright eyes—a point bolstered by the mare's body language and nuanced idiosyncrasies. Providentially for Lyra, the wish granter wasn't one to manipulate such heartfelt resonations. And while she might be inclined to pluck such strings, she'd never do so with malevolent intentions. Her profile communicated as such by the welcoming smile that was still visible. Surayyah's hand still supported her weight as she resided close to the horse portion of Lyra's body. Those tempestuous lips were parted as she grappled with how to reply. The steed had done her great honor, and the wayward instrumentalist knew not how to air appreciation. The genuineness of those subtle compliments was not overlooked, and that realization inspired her bosom to expand. The olive performer doubted herself and questioned if it was all her mind reading too much into things. How could such a graceful creature be drawn to an evil spirit? The venom of that folklore had been swallowed throughout Surayyah's voyages. She even began to ponder whether those accounts had a pittance of truth. The tarot reader often battled the urge to employ trickery. However, didn't everyone? That internal conflict was visible in how she veered her gaze to the blades of grass. Her free hand fiddled with those raven locks as pearly fangs clenched her lower lip. Her strands of hair were spun into curls around the digit before being let loose. Lyra concluded her myriad of remarks. And the jinn couldn't help but deliberate. Those brown eyes trailing up from that mare build up to her human portion before settling on those eyes. A smile, one sincere as ever, greeted the centaur. The gypsy cleared her throat as she recomposed herself. "Surely I'm not the most exciting person you've stumbled across?" She questioned, lifting those brows to convey her curiosity. The jezebel coquettishly nictated as she couldn't help but return to her siren-like behavior. "Disappear? I hope not. I want to think you'll remember me long after I vanish over that horizon. Otherwise, the melody of life is short-lived, and what is the point of a composition if it doesn't leave an echo within the soul of the audience?" That throwaway comment, while easily missed, didn't escape the jinn's cognition. Was Lyra warming up to her? The very thought caused those legs to shift as she turned her back to the mare. Surayyah placed her chin on those knees as they were pulled inward and against her breast. Sir Schwoopy moved close, rubbing against the enchantress. A behavior that was odd for a coney and was something one would expect from a cat. "Some canaries are never meant to be caged. Their born to soar across the firmament and grace us with their chirping. Perhaps you're one such songbird?" She added, forgoing looking back at the centaur while one of her palms rubbed against the grass. "Not all stirring is bad..." She paused again, this time for a second, lifting that head and staring out across the wilds. "Such an eclectic array of descriptors. It's funny how they fail to do justice to those we hold dear. My group is in good spirits despite some hurdles. I wish I could do more for them, they deserve that much." Surayyah had a habit of speaking about others. Seldom would she voice her interests—a point those of sharp minds might pick up on. "We're heading into the jungle. However, such a trek will be arduous. I can only hope the roads are more secure than the desert. It's been a while since we ventured that far north. But whispers claim the Dynasty has changed. Even if those of the South still regard them as savages. I'm not worried, music and art has a way of transcending our differences." She concluded on a positive note.

The arts were one of the few mediums that could transcend cultural and linguistic dividers. Surayyah beheld it as a universal tongue and a form of sorcery. She understood the mode by which such a feat was achievable, and it didn't require the sword or a fireball. Many a mage and lord endeavored to contort the wills of men. The jinn learned long ago the inanity of their pursuances. Nevertheless, she judiciously and liberally applied her craft for such aims. Manipulation, while not inherently evil, will often lead to villainy. Surayyah walked a perilous and lonesome road. As a jinn, the need to project her influence was ingrained into her character. However, the caramel jezebel mastered her lesser compulsions and helmed those negative auras to facilitate positive vibes. Such resonations chimed outward and presented the palliative air that Lyra languished in. The purveyor of gaiety yearned to take in all the anguish of this world and bottle it inside her vessel. The mare before her may have tolerated the performance, but that didn't signify she'd welcome the disfigured face behind that mask. Outwardly, many might find her unassuming and of little significance. Such duplicity allowed Surayyah to camouflage herself better so she might experience winks of acceptance. Nonetheless, no matter how much she longed to lark within such pasturages, the instance could never last. Invariably she'd have to vault from location to location lest others become suspicious. And her time here within the meadow would not demonstrate itself as an exception. A tender glow radiated from that smile. The mystical being mesmerized the starlet before her. Surayyah felt a kindred bond, the sort of linkage she seldom savored. While different, their commonality was enough to keep the troubadour within Lyra's orbit. Whatever apprehension once stewed had long since been dispersed as she sat beside the centaur. The gentle breeze, whispers of the wind, and earthy smells highlighted the serenity they experienced. Surayyah turned her head, those amber eyes meeting Lyra's own while those painted nails combed back her raven hair. The centaur had rated her undivided attention while she hearkened to her speech. A glimmer of genuine mirth could be seen in those spheres as the hooved maiden verified the need for their crusade. And that cajolery concerning her crooning, while succinct, ushered much elation. How serendipitous that she'd stumble across one of a parallel philosophical lens. The jinn was taken aback, rousing her to settle that palm on top of her bosom theatrically. Those groomed brows raised to communicate a mite of inquisitiveness while Sir Schwoopy continued his foraging. Surayyah drifted her eyes away as she peered out across the wilds. Those knees were brought inward as she planted her chin onto them before huffing. The puff of air pushed aside some stray strands of black hair as she relaxed. "I sometimes wonder if those smiles are lasting. Even if they're fleeting, I can take solace in that. Nevertheless, I would love to leave a more lasting signature across our tiny world." She declared with a discernible degree of forlornness. The minstrel moved those brown eyes so they peered at the mare from the corner of their prisons. "How curious. Is that a gentle ruddiness I see on your face? There is no need to behave so kittenishly. In actuality, I too am relieved." A pause followed as the olive sphinx leaned slightly into Lyra as she beamed. "What good is a song if no one is around to hear it and appreciate it? Life without anyone to share it with is meaningless. It's as appealing as a single note, lonely and vapid. However, if aligned with others, it forms a chord—a series of chords that billows into a layer of harmony and melody." Surayyah listened to Lyra as she spoke passionately about dancing. Those stitching of words revealed that the same string plucked their hearts. She'd chuckle, leaning closer as one of her palms supported her weight. The arm was brought inward against her chest as she stretched out the free hand and booped the mare's nose. "I think a bit of rambling is cute. Whatever the case, how you speak of dancing affirms that we share the same stage—two souls from different worlds but of one play. It's almost too poetic." The jinn wiggled her nose as those bright eyes not once deviated from the mare's gaze. "Any question? How tempting. So be it; I'll give myself to the odyssey of discovering you. Why is it you wandered so far from your herd? I doubt you trekked out here to relax in my presence. Also, why are you so timorous? no, that's not the right word..." Surayyah paused, placing that pointer finger on her lip as she pondered. "Why are you so shy?" She concluded while wiggling that nose.

The desert rose wondered if she had witnessed a glint of allurement. The way Lyra stared at her was flattering. Surayyah shared her enthrallment, wheedled by the prospect of experiencing something new. She had hoped that their chanced encounter might present itself as a muse. The minstrel had been missing her spark, which ruffled her mirthful deportment. Nevertheless, she considered it to be a temporary inconvenience. A point she kept bottled inside as she maintained her bewitching facade. Lyra was considerate. That mare didn't emerge keen on devolving their meeting into aggression. The soothing warmth radiating from those steel mirrors communicated volumes. Surayyah beamed, feeling a kindred bond as if they operated from one heart. The tempo of their spirits complimented one another and ameliorated any initial concerns. The jezebel glimpsed the reciprocation of the gesture. A bow, while simple, signified a great deal. And she was moved by the hooved maiden who endeavored to espouse her customs. Surayyah remained hushed, hearkening to that speech. The jinn wiggled her nose as she kept a watchful eye. Upon hearing the centaur was alone, a tinge of sorrow took hold of her chipper soul. Could she have been ostracized? Doubtful, given how she spoke of the matter, wasn't steeped in remorse or longing. Sir Schwoopy squealed in response, acknowledging her praise as he hobbled over to the gypsy. That fluffy companion rubbed himself across her leg as if he were a cat. That recognition of her crooning inspired her heart to skip a beat. Unabashedly, she'd settle her dominant hand between her bosom as she wiggled her nose. The caramel enchantress strutted forward once she deemed Lyra as a nonthreat. However, prudence necessitated she did so rather leisurely lest she risks offending her fellow wayfarer. Surayyah lowered her hand, allowing the palm to rub against the foliage while she inched closer. Her gait seemed more of a waltz, a tidbit that alluded to her more salacious performances. "You're so kind. How fortunate that the wind brought my voice to your ears." The ballerina added before standing before Lyra as she rested on the soil. Surayyah tilted her head while a few strands of her raven hair obscured those honeyed-hued orbs. Her body language was devoid of fear as she gravitated there for a wink of time. "Sir Schwoopy likes you. And anyone he approves of can't be a bad person." She declared before clapping her hands together theatrically. The hare moved over to the mare as he took in her scent, or at least appeared to. "Yes, we go wherever the road takes us." She nodded to affirm her statement. The gypsy squatted close as her painted nails drew into the dirt while that fragrance of jasmine and honey was more potent than before. Those amber lanterns sparkled as they trailed up in an endeavor to meet Lyra's own eyes. Surayyah's tongue now sketched her succulent lips as she moisturized them while providing a delay as she weighed over whether or not to answer the mare's query. "You may ask, and I will answer. Although, I wonder if you might return the favor. We stray to bring smiles to those who need it. This world is full of misery, and if our performances can lighten the miasma, then that is a life worth living." She paused before sighing and shrugging those brown shoulders. "Did my song make you smile?" She questioned before sitting beside Lyra as Sir Schwoopy's aquamarine eyes studied their surroundings.

The jinn felt respite as the colorful wildflowers girdled her. The shade the tree supplied induced succor as the jezebel beamed. The dismay that beset her heart was whisked away as a semblance of equilibrium took root. Complacency was a dangerous thing; however, Surayyah felt compelled to loll. The recollections of former halcyons eclipsed the tragedies and travesties she had glimpsed. Commoners often romanticized the life of a wayfarer, souls quick to paint such a lifestyle with idyllic brushes. Nonetheless, the interminable voyage brought with it a myriad of ordeals. Throughout Surayyah's life, the troubadour never was able to settle down. Normalcy was a word that rarely entered her mind. She vicariously culled normality via her interactions. Nevertheless, it made the caramel enchantress more akin to an apparition than a person. Her odyssey was one filled with glee. Yet it always ended the same. Surayyah would leave, and their bouts of laughter always faded as her sandals trekked down this neverending stretch of road. The gypsy often buried her nose in romantic novels—tales of nobodies like herself who inevitably were carried away by another. The happily ever after, that story never told seemed ideal. Surayyah took delight in those accounts but knew she wasn't meant for such deliverance. Her existence was one of pain. She bore it all so that others could have their woes alleviated. If those she entertained knew of her true heritage, their praise would alter to that of vitriol. A jinn was undeserving of a home. An insidious creature bent only on propagating hexes across the kingdoms. Surayyah's entire life was a facade, a performance. Her fragrance, garb, deportment, and voice are fiction. No more true than those romantic books she relished. The temptress soughed, rising and deflating her bosom as those digits ceased their shuffling of the deck. Her back rested against the rough bark as those brown orbs glanced through the verdant canopy. Such rumination would wane as a temperate breeze danced throughout the meadow. Those knife ears hearkened to its reassuring whisper as its nippy buss furthered her placid state. The hymn of that psithurism brought with it a calm voice. A speech so faint that Surayyah initially considered it as her imagination. However, she made out a large and blurry shape from her peripherals. The songbird stopped chirping while her foci promptly focused on the blob. Startled, the gypsy positioned her hand between her breast as she turned to face the stranger. That fear was short-lived and was replaced by an inquisitive stare. Unabashedly the bohemian studied the centaur before presently a belated simper. That smile was amicable. A maneuver intended to lessen the probability of an affront developing. The minstrel had heard tales of such a creature. The stories described them as wretched abominations of man and horse that abducted maidens in the woods. Fortunately, the same folklore spoke ill of her kind, so she didn't believe such nonsense. Sir Schwoopy climbed down from Surayyah and hopped a few paces forward, standing stalwartly between the two. Meanwhile, the purveyor of song found this amalgamation of nature and woman to be engrossing. A poetic marriage and living proof that the two needn't be at odds and can coexist. Surayyah extended a salaam toward Lyra, a gesticulation that the fearless coney soon followed. The plucker of strings held that position for a moment before standing upright. She wasn't confident that this centaur understood the purpose behind her gesture, but she felt such concerns were immaterial. Whether or not Lyra comprehended it didn't transform the fact it was a respectable thing to do. "Hello, my name is Surayyah. Surayyah of no one. I do pray my singing didn't disturb you." The gypsy snapped her fingers as that deck was sucked into her sleeves and vanished. Those painted nails now gripped her broad hips as she stood confidently. Sir Schwoopy, on the other hand, let out a squeak as if to protest. "A thousand pardons. This cuddlable hero is no other than the renowned Sir Schwoopy the valiant, the esquire of the white sands and third of his name and last of his kin. Perhaps you've heard of him? I know his appearance is different from what most expect. When I was a child, he suffered a malediction that altered him from a handsome and noble warrior to his present form. Please don't fret; he will get better." The bard added without an inkling of deception. The hare's downy chest puffed from pride as he nodded. "If we've trespassed, then we apologize. My fellow tribe isn't far. I can inform them we need to move out. There is enough land for everyone; I see no reason to quarrel or risk offense." She added, evidently nervous and embarrassed. Nevertheless, a glimmer of theatrics still accompanied her every word and shift in posture.

Eldar had returned and voiced his "itch" to excuse himself from their party. The gypsy understood now that their time together was coming to an end. And while fleeting, she had thus far enjoyed their company. Surayyah would choose to let Lady Akna stew for now, given she wished to say her farewells to the mer. "May warm sands follow your stride." The Djinn declared, only to rise to her feet and offer Eldar a bow. The spreader of mirth promptly stood upright and turned to face the moth. Her brown eyes studied the woman before presenting the fluffy insectoid with a smile. "You wish to unravel little ol' me? My, my lady Akna, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were developing a crush. Perhaps you could accompany me to my cart? Possibly then behind closed doors, we can examine this enigma more thoroughly...Who knows, maybe the golden oasis will rise under the shadow of the lioness? Or it might dry out." A code phrase, one that would reveal much to Akna if she were aware. It was used to declare an emergency. "Shall we be on our way? Or would you rather not discover the truth?" She purred; Surayyah hoped Lady Akna understood her little verse.

Sir schwoopy basked within the compliments Akna had sent his way. The valiant hare wiggled his cotton tail and nodded as if to pat his own back. His little antics hadn't eluded Surayyah's sight, and it even inspired a chuckle from the bohemian. Unfortunately, such a jubilee wouldn't subsist forever. And the moment the moth had insinuated she was putting up a facade, the djinn knew she had to act. She'd raise her hand only to wag that finger while "tsking" several times. Her head shook with that painted finger while she prepared to address such baseless accusations. "I'm starting to think you're only befriending me to get close to Sir Schwoopy. I understand why you'd do so, if true. However, winning one of us over is the same as winning both. After all, I couldn't imagine traipsing across the desert by myself." The playful demeanor would reach its peak just as Surayyah smiled and winked. She paid little attention to Eldar while he wandered off to fetch them some more water. "While it is true, I don many masks during my performances. I assure you I refrain from doing so in private. Although..." The gypsy paused, tapping that pointer digit on her lips three times as she seemed to wander fleetingly into thought. Her meditative state would dissipate as quickly as it emerged. And it came in the form of a quick snap of those fingers. "I do like my secrets. What is an actress without an air of mystery? What enjoyment can be had in life without a pinch of the unknown? It makes you wonder why so many try in vain to uncover all that the world has to offer. They are either foolish or insane if you ask me. And if they succeeded, what then? Perhaps we can disclose some secrets when alone. I doubt poor Eldar would like to hear such girl talk." And just like that, almost on cue, the elf returned and offered to fill their cups. Surayyah would politely decline before finishing what remained in her glass. "I'm good, I'm watching my weight." She retorted in jest, even going as far as to chuckle. "Lady Akna, I do consider myself blessed. And while perhaps a rare sight, you have a heart of gold tucked behind that hard exterior. Don't worry; I'll be sure to add it to my basket of secrets. And yes, it's almost as if every person is a puzzle waiting to be solved." Surayyah smirked as those honey eyes peered through strands of raven hair. Sir Schwoopy looked about only to hop in front of his partner. "See, Sir Schwoopy the brave agrees. You really are a softie." She chuckled once more, genuinely enjoying their company.

Surayyah's voice had often been described as enchanting, mesmerizing, and a gift from the elders. However, she was often skeptical of such claims. The bohemian wasn't new to such cajolery. She learned early on in life that many would offer honeyed words to wheedle others. Nonetheless, Akna's slew of compliments appeared heartfelt in their delivery. And in truth, this brought a smile across her face. The fact she had managed to touch that moth's heart while leaving an imprint made the day worth pursuing. Yet, she wondered how many others had been hypnotized by her siren-like charm. And, if the effects of the plucking of those strings and crooning of her voice would somehow extend beyond this tavern's walls? Eldar himself also emerged as captivated by her performance. And this humbled the troubadour more than she'd care to admit. To have the breadth of your influence strike both the meat and potatoes sort of fellow and the academic dame simultaneously wasn't some meager feat. The gypsy would fidget about in her little roost from the excitement of her success. Sir schwoopy, on the other hand, mainly appeared untouched by their comments. That cotton tail would only look back at the mer as if studying him. Eventually, the white hare would move around the table and rest in front of Akna while his beady eyes dared to stare into the insect's own. Surayyah extended a cheery smile while she clapped and held her hands together. She'd chuckle in response to Eldar's concern regarding her partner in crime. "Mr.Eldar, you needn't agonize over Sir Schwoopy. He is used to performing and never falls off my shoulder. You could say he is both equally my muse and my support. Without him, I doubt I could muster enough courage to stand on such a stage." Sir schwoopy's fluffy chest puffed from pride while he wiggled his bum. Almost on cue, the valiant rabbit let out a squeak of endorsement. Surayyah would then slip her nail between her fangs as she clenched down on it. The wayfarer was deep in thought, deliberating over Akna's inquest. Belatedly she'd reply, although a bit razzled due to being caught off guard. "Lady Akna, your cute when you act so snobbish. You can keep up this little charade all you want. However, I sniffed through it some time ago. And the nose always knows." The performer enjoyed playing with the shepherd of Samara's flock. And while Surayyah didn't know everything about the moth. She had caught enough glimpses to understand that the woman was committed to her performance. And she doubted Akna would break character. She'd place her pointer digit onto her nose only to wiggle it while she presented a wink. "A wayward wanderer? You? Why yes, yes you are. But don't ruffle your fluff over such a thing. I too am a pilgrim of sorts. Perhaps this shared lifestyle has drawn all three of us together. A religious leader, a hunter, and a gypsy walk into a tavern..It does sound like the start of a lousy joke. But consider what we know. The nomadic hunter, the immigrant, and the rose without a pot to call her own. Three souls that, for a moment, become one. It sounds almost romantic. I might pen a ballad concerning this chanced meeting." She paused, smiling while moving her brown eyes over to Eldar. "See, she just said we both are exquisite company. Lady Akna does like us. But let's not dwell on it for too long; I'd hate to see her become flustered or blush." She concluded with a joke.

Surayyah stood resolute on that stage once she had concluded her songs. The applause of the patrons did little to hush her drumming heart. The gypsy felt powerless due to her inability to whisk away their pain. And while this might have been a reprieve, the djinn would give anything to bear their misery for perpetuity. Instead, this pittance of empathy was all she could offer. An inadequate tribute that would wane come morning. And while she might return to that road. The people would be left to fester within the silt of their despondency. Some might be quick to highlight that her ballads were not buoyant. However, the bohemian felt that emphasizing another's grief did much to convalesce others. It endowed them with a sense of not being alone and a reminder that others mourned worse. In short, she surmised it encouraged the crowd to deliberate over not what was lost but what they managed to keep. A distinction, while conceivably murky, was nonetheless noteworthy. The starlet bowed once more, only to flutter off from her little perch. The songbird navigated through the patrons, tolerating a few who might have dared to touch her body inappropriately. She wouldn't permit it to ruffle her feathers. After all, one couldn't loll within the limelight without eliciting the occasional degenerate. Surayyah swooped back to the pair she had entered with before roosting back onto that chair. The caramel siren smiled, feeling a tad awkward given she hadn't an inkling what the others thought regarding her little performance. Sheepishly those painted fingers would scratch the back of her scalp as the troubadour let out a chuckle. Those copper pools would hop from Eldar back to Akna before she cleared her throat. The djinn wouldn't surrender now, not when she had yet to hear their opinions concerning her singing. Naturally, the tarot reader wouldn't fish for compliments. Such behavior was unladylike and could only reflect poorly on her character. Instead, she'd continue the conversation as if nothing had happened. "I'm elated to see you both are still here. I was afraid I would return to another quarrel." A quip, one she hoped would stir the duo. Sir schwoopy would scale down from the gypsy, only to hop toward the center of their table. The hare's beady eyes stared at the hunter just as Surayyah could feel the gravity of attention badgering her. And while none had yet to stroll off to their table, she half anticipated one too. Thankfully, thus far, such a fear emerged as paranoia. Regardless, the wish granter wiggled her nose before supping away at the water she left behind. "Refreshing and revitalizing. I often get pretty parched whenever I perform. I'd hate to drone off and burden you guys with such idle chitchat. Must be the nerves? Nonetheless, I digress. Enlighten and humor me. What have I missed?" The fortune teller arched her brows before combing that raven hair behind her pointed ears. Nervously she'd sit both still and silent while licking her lips. Unsure if the two would up and leave, given they had acquired what they wanted. Something Surayyah was used to given such was the life of an entertainer. The crowd was there one second and eerie absent the next. It seemed few appreciated true art, especially during such troubling times.

How tragic. Lady Akna was so entrenched within her conviction that she failed to glean the meaning behind her words. Or, better yet, she selected not to lest her faith was rattled. The starlet wiggled her nose, scrunching up that face to convey her disapproval. Fortunately for the moth, such an expression wasn't directed toward her but the mer who spoke of death. How dreary, and yet she supposed she couldn't fault the simpleton for his views. After all, most that call this desert home seemed fixated to chart a destructive course. Many might be quick to point out that things were on the up and up. Surayyah, however, wasn't so one to believe such optimistic projections. No, she had witnessed the cycle too many times to think disaster had been sidestepped. Within the djinn's eyes, the looming tragedy was only deferred, not perpetually shelved. A distinction that few shared that led the chivalrous spirit to wish for one thing, that she was wrong. Surayyah kept hushed as the simple man wrangled with the academic alien. And while she understood what ruffled his feathers, the fortune teller failed to see what infraction rated this contentious reaction. The looming tussle had to be circumvented by any cost lest their cordial atmosphere wane under the mounting pressure. And so, rather than watch the strain snap the twine tethering them. The tarot reader would swoop in and try to defuse it. "This derision needn't persist. The divide that separates us is purely superficial—a construct we've erected that justify concentrating on our difference instead of what we have in common. One's amount of coin or their unorthodox way of articulating in no way devalues or elevates their person. We are all one. And this needless desire to fixate on such inconsequential things has been the source of much suffering. I can't break the wheel. We all must work as one to defy the cycle that has chained us. So cast aside your demand to lock horns. And look beyond the vaneer to glimpse that immutable trait that binds us all." The gypsy smiled, letting out a soft exhale as she spun her ūd around and caught it. The neck of the stringed instrument was now securely in her grip. She'd offer the duo a nod while Sir Schwoopy scaled up to her shoulder. "I'm going to perform now." Gradually Surayyah rose, pushing the legs of her chair back across the floor. The din of their scratching was enough to possibly inspire goosebumps. Without delay, the djinn would turn around and sashay toward the stage. The once rackety tavern gently simmered down. The patrons were confused, given the arts had long since been abandoned by most for more essential functions. Their murmuring could still be heard, which did little to sway the warm smile across the bohemian's face. The gypsy extended them a courteous bow, only to instantly spring back up with that ūd still in hand. Surrayah's raven hair bounced, and her jewelry clinked against one another due to that sharp movement. Even her buxom form jiggled faultlessly with the jerking of her sculpture. Initially, only the sketching and moisturizing of those lips would greet the spectators. The audience was uneasy, ready to ridicule and jeer this radical dreamer. Nonetheless, despite their animus, the show must go on. With grace and dexterity, her fingers plucked those stringers. The manner in which her digits danced across the neck of that instrument was almost mesmerizing. The melodious crooning of her bewitching voice rode across the acoustics. One by one, those lost to the call of this rancours worlds cast off the yoke of their sorrow. Like a gentle shower, they relaxed and felt the begrime of their disheartenment slowly scoured off. Many a scribe strived to gain mastery over the arcane. And many great kings solicited after means to influence the hearts and minds of their people. Yet, before Lady Akna and Eldar stood a form of magic, few understood. And it needn't be an incantation to wow the populace. Nor did it require intimidation. "Wayward." "Our ancient world seemed Newborn in his eyes No place could keep him He yearned for the skies He abandoned the way That Elders foresaw He followed a path of his own And he strayed in the void As a Wayward Wanderer Despising the fate That was meant just for him Yet the dreams that he sought In the deep red afterglow Were as distant as ever before He did find a home In the city of gold Where life neither purpose Nor honor can hold The woman who loved him Held out her heart And her suffering tore it apart Cause he strayed in the void As a Wayward Wanderer Despising the Path That was meant just for him Yet the dreams that he sought In the deep red afterglow Were as distant as ever before Our ancient world seemed As old as his eyes He had lived his whole life under empty skies When a little boy asked him For the guiding Path He said, "Do not risk elders' wrath!" "ause you'll stray in the void As a Wayward Wanderer Despising the fate That is meant just for you Yet the dreams that you seek In the deep red afterglow Are as distant as they'll ever be." Surayyah would pause to gauge the audience's reaction, only to flow into another song immediately. "Damnation" "Eternally tormented In agony and pain They're suff'ring in despair An endless, wicked bane Their life was without Path No faith, belief, or creed Now punishment they suffer For ev'ry evil deed Their life was corrupted with depravity In death they are Lost Ones for eternity In shame they passed away And newly they were born Instead of feeling humbled They only laughed with scorn Their downfall started over Their lives became depraved And once their unburnt bodies Were thrown into a grave Their life was corrupted with depravity In death they are Lost Ones for eternity They lurk in ancient ruins Crouching in the dark Striving to lay waste To any living spark Their bodies are decaying Their minds are full of hate They're hoping for a righteous sword To end their awful fate Their life was corrupted with depravity In death they are Lost Ones for eternity Beware of corruption and depravity Or else you're a Lost One for eternity" Without hesitation, she'd roll onto the final song for the evening. "Eternal path" "The light fades away At the end of the day The sun slowly sinks In its nocturnal grave You're leaving our world Risin up high To the Paths Eternal To the stars in the sky And we stay behind Alone in the dark Our lives will be lacking The glow of your spark This is where your Path ends And where it begins In the golden twilight The release of all strings You're leaving our world Rising up high To the Paths Eternal To the stars in the sky Now blessed you'll be Till the end of all things No more toil of life No more weight on your wings The circle is closed Between birth and decay Infinite wonders Will embelish your way You're leaving our world Rising up high T o the Paths Eternal To the stars in the sky When death calls out We will hearken with grief And follow your Path To eternity"

The sands of life often shifted within a moment's notice. And those caught unaware may discover themselves entombed by the crushing weight of the dunes. The gypsy had witnessed such descents from grace many times. Her life thus far was turbulent, capitulating under the capricious whims of the desert itself. However, she wasn't alone, and such experiences didn't separate her from the others. Quite the opposite rang as accurate. Those honeyed eyes glistened under the crackling of a fire while they surveyed the bar. The patrons were merry, but such a front was meant to mask their poor spirits. They were a gaggle of fowl assembling around a toxic body of water. Notwithstanding this commonality, Surayyah felt miles apart. They had family, friends, and roots. And being a liar, she could never know the temporal comforts of belonging to a tribe. A djinn was a menacing entity within their astigmatic eyes. Ignorance was plenty, and with it so did rear the unsightly consequences of its proximity. Eldar and Akna could never know the truth. And if they stumbled across it, such disclosure would at best sour the atmosphere or rouse mania. They would sooner stone Surayyah for unveiling the truth than accept her. Such wretched thoughts wouldn't last forever. Eldar's voice did much to reel the fortuneteller from that rut. Thankfully, her abilities as an actress kept her actual suffering a mystery. The mystifying aura of a sphinx would continue to ward off suspicion while allowing the gypsy to shoulder the heartache of others. Externally she appeared sunny, but she was the most depressed soul across the badlands. She was languishing under the poundage of a perpetually overcast welkin. A fate she wouldn't wish to push onto another. The hunter's words perforated beams of sunlight through the cloudy heavens. Vicariously the bohemian basked within but a ray of hope. She had aided the stranger, and such a development supplied the caramel enchantress with meaning. Even if she were to perish this day, Surayyah could extract a smile in knowing her transient existence benefited those left behind, even if it were on such a minor scale. But before she could relay her thoughts, the priestess had returned bearing water. And with it, she even managed to crack a joke. That quip caused the clairvoyant traveler to chortle. Surayyah blew little time before slaking that made-up thirst. One of the many disadvantages of being a djinn is that you never taste anything. In this regard, she envied those who were more mortally disadvantaged. Grant it; the tarot reader would refrain from stating such a thing aloud. Cooly, the troubadour would settle the goblet onto the table, only to sketch the rim of that container with her painted nail. Surayyah was unable to restrain herself and fell back into her tempting ways. She'd inch forward, pushing her perky mounds together before settling that chin onto her palm. Those eyes of brown, still reflecting the fire's light, ventured to meet the moth's gaze. That inviting simper additionally accentuated a temperate and welcoming spectacle. She didn't require enchantments to wheedle others, even if such a natural deportment often got her in trouble. "You're funny, Lady Akna. If I were the gambling type, I'd wager there is a candle burning within the chitinous shell. Don't hide it; let others inside from time to time. If there is anything I'd want you to take from this meeting, it would be that." Little did the wish granter know that a shared pain brought the two together. And while the scourge may differ in many areas, the effects were the same. Both lived a lie and maintained such ruses to keep others away. Clearing her throat, the gypsy would veer those eyes over at Eldar. Those amber gems were peeking through strands of raven hair, bestowing the mer with a nod of endorsement. "Lost but not forgotten. May we be the lodestar that brings the wayward back into the flock." She added before offering a toast. She was aware that the two would depart once this moment had passed and she finished the imminent crooning. Surayyah wondered if perhaps they'd remember her? She'd then concede the pointlessness of that thought. They would never honestly know her. They'd only become acquainted with the illusion. Nevertheless, the show must go on, she supposed.

Flattery was a timeless commodity, one that was often in abundance. Surayyah had spent many a day under the silvery tongue of bards. Men of poetry who aspired to engage their limericks to dazzle her. However, despite being enveloped by others. Few would ever honestly know the woman behind the mask. The ruse they loved wasn't a genuine glimpse into her spirit. And many who might slake after such a chance were more likely to rue the pursuit. It was here, upon an all too familiar stage, that the trio lolled. The clangor and aroma of a vivacious tavern carried much amelioration. It was easy to forget the precarious world outside while amongst such cordial spirits. Nonetheless, Surayyah could never forget the myriad of tribulations besetting her people. Grant it; the Djinn doubted that they would treat her with such kindness if they were aware of her unholy heritage. How quick Akna's pleasant crooning might shift into a harsh tune if the truth were revealed. And Eldar? Who knows what the fellow would think? It was for this reason alone that she propagated the performance. It had become so routine that even she had lost sight of where the fabrications ended and the truth began. And rather than fret her pretty little head over such trifling matters, the starlet would maintain her part in this little play. After all, who were they, if not actors within the production known as life? Surayyah smiled, those honeyed eyes reflecting gratitude to Akna as she rested her hand on her bosom. "I apologize. It seems I've been caught. Indeed, your tale wasn't riveting. However, I don't believe you wished to interweave a captivating narrative. Please, forgive me, especially since you do me this honor by responding to my insincerity with such kind words." She'd nod her head, only to veer her lanterns over at the elf who had also taken notice of her sentiments. How unexpected. Regardless, this development at least made things exhilarating, which in and of itself was a small consolation. "The life of a guard isn't glamorous, but it is a righteous pursuit. That said, I heard many women find a fellow strapping when he dons some livery." There was a candid aura slipping free from her tongue. And while she had hoped to foster positive changes, even she couldn't have fathomed to have inspired such a noble step. Undoubtedly those under Eldar's watch would discover their lives a bit safer. "Just because you're a guard doesn't mean you can't hunt, silly. I see no sin in taking a life to preserve many. It is a sad part of life that we must consume to exist. I suppose the world has a nasty sense of humor." The fortuneteller glanced over at the moth, nodding her head as if to accept the offer. A shame she didn't need to drink. But it was likely wise to feign thirst lest she arouses suspicions. "Water sounds lovely. I should wet my beak before I take to the stage." Surayyah chuckled while placing a finger on her nose. "Don't worry; I haven't forgotten that you two wish to be serenaded by my voice. It would be a crying shame if my singing left you wanting more. I can only pray the performance can live up to both your expectations. Worry not about Sir Schwoopy; we'll share." The hare let out a squeak as he shifted about on that table. Surayyah looked over at him before patting the brave guardian on the head as a sign of endorsement. "Of course, Sir Schwoopy, I could never forget about my partner!" She added, leaning back onto that chair and patting her lap. The bunny hopped off the table and took his rightful place on it. His beady eyes of obsidian studied the room before looking at Eldar while wiggling his nose. "Uhh, Mr. Eldar. Sir Schwoopy requests you don't mistake him for game. An easy way to identify him is by his cotton tail and pinchable cheeks. However, I urge against pinching them. And, if you do, I'm not legally liable for what happens. He is prone to explode from love and get over-excited. Then again, I suppose we all have our little quirks." The hare wiggled his nose, staring deep into the hunter's eyes adorably yet ominously. Not once wavering his focus while they waited for refreshments to arrive.

What serendipity! Not only would the gypsy have been blessed with one story, but two. Surayyah hoped that at least one of their recounting might present itself as inspirational. She had lately found herself unable to pen sonnets, a most unfortunate turn of events. Those eyes of honey glimmered like that of a child. At the same time, the artisan fidgetted in her seat to scoot to the edge. After all, one wasn't often endowed with the opportunity to hear of their mystifying neighbors. A nation that many were predisposed to appoint as barbarians. And in truth, the djinn wasn't so quick to accept such a viewpoint. One made quite understandable given how the residents of the sand often misaligned one of her unearthly heritage. Lady Akna squandered little time. She immediately jumped into the matter. Unfortunately, she wasn't much of a storyteller and more or less spouted things off in an apathetic manner. Surayyah was a tad disappointed as she questioned where the pizzaz was? Although she'd admit, she found the moth's capacity to take such a thrilling premise and water it down into swill analogous to the spirits bartered in this rundown establishment. Sir schwoopy, on the other hand, appeared indifferent. The coney was wiggling his bum only for the sunny nomad to lift him off her shoulder and place the rabbit onto the table. And rather than mope concerning the missed opportunity, the musician would cap her hands together and extend a smile. "I concur. Liquor leads dumb men to do even dumber things! Lady Akna, you seem to be very reticent. I bet underneath all that fluff and hardened exterior is a heart of gold. I have a nose for such things and sensed it when we embraced!" Surayyah lifted that pointer finger, placing the tip on her nose as it wiggled. She'd then follow it with a wink before shifting to face Eldar. The gypsy was a proper lady, so she'd remain hushed while placing her hands on her thigh. Much like lady Akna, the hunter's retelling left alot to be desired. Privately, she wrangled over which one was the worse narrator. It was clear to the wish granter that they both lacked a certain flair. All the while, she would present an affable enough smile. And if any of them redirected their focus to becoming a bard, they'd starve to death or foist the audience's minds with lethargy. To Surayyah, that was a fate far worse than death. By the end of the mer's tale, the purveyor of mirth found herself stupefied. There was a dichotomy in his story. The entire moral he was building up to rang hollow as a consequence. If Eldar desired to repay some self-imposed debt, how come he continued being a hunter? Perhaps the archer had a penchant for impoverishment, a sort of kink? For a moment, the olive-skinned beauty remained silent, dissecting the entirety of his alleged first hunt. Gradually, she'd nod as if readying to praise or agree with the marksman's point. "Uhh, so...why do you keep killing things? I mean, how high is your debt right now? Do you keep track?" She playfully added, giggling as she tilted her head. That jewelry stuck against itself, ringing out while strands of her raven hair obscured her brown eyes ever so subtly. "I have a confession to make. I don't drink. I find inebriation to be unladylike. As my former caravan master always said, drinking can make a moral woman into a wench if not careful. Although I think one's gospel is easier spread where there is despair. It's why I frequent these places. To croon and alleviate their restless hearts, if only for a moment. Call me a radical dreamer, but I like to suppose a smile is communicable and small changes can create tremendous effects. It is why I have always been drawn to the stage. Not for the coin nor the praise. But with the hopes of reaching one wayward soul and bringing him home..."

Elders forbid should their dispute come to blows. That would be most uncivilized for one of her refined status. Nevertheless, the clenching of those fists wasn't the sort of gesture one could effortlessly so overlook. Fortunately, it appeared the ruffled moth had regained her composure. The winds of such tranquility quelled that potential squall, and rather than draw focus to the circumvented altercation, she'd instead loll within the rays of serenity. With the atmosphere vastly more agreeable, the gypsy wouldn't tolerate her joviality to abate. Instead, she'd beam brightly, hoping upbeat vibes would allow the two to move past this kerfuffle. The leader of the troupe had heard Eldar's remark. The simple man was ever so kind, an acceptable benchmark of what the people of the sands could become under the right conditions. The hunter needn't trouble his welcoming heart. Sir Schwoopy was himself regardless of the form he donned. And truth be told, they both had come to lark within the finer pasturages of life. This vitality kept the musician pressing onward, overcoming the myriad of hurdles fate felt inclined to sprinkle across their path. It didn't matter. The hardships that lay ahead were no match for the extraordinarily sunny duo. Surayyah bowed her head, extending a courtesy as she was visibly moved from his words. That intrepid bunbun veering his beady eyes at the man as he would let loose an adorable squeak of endorsement. "So considerate of you! Even if we cannot undo this bewitchery, Sir schwoopy and I have discovered acceptance in the cards dealt to us. Sometimes, the maledictions imposed on us can carry with them a blessing." The caramel temptress added, her companion showing no sign of disagreement as the party was now on their way. Silently, as they moved toward that establishment, Surayyah kept her ears open, hearkening to the tempo of these streets. Akna took the wheels, navigating their convey of mirth. Despite the sights of misfortune, the fortuneteller did her best to see the good that survived the scythe. And there, amidst the headless flowers, her eyes would happen across a single flower the reaper had spared. Somehow, underneath all that ruination, the people still clung to hope. And this sentiment repelled any pessimism from taking root over the djinn. Cooly, she strutted alongside them, only to amble beyond the threshold and into that lair of carnality. The redolence of shoddy liquor, down spirits, and unrecognizable odors inundated her nose. However, the warmth inside did usher with it succor, the sort of cradlesong that might soothe a crying tot. At this juncture, Akna spoke, extending an olive branch. How funny. Did the moth think Surayyah was the type to cling to hatred? Perish the thought! Sliding close, the djinn would bring her in for a warm embrace, only to plant a kiss on each cheek. "Chafe, not Lady Akna. The butting of heads is sometimes necessary if we are to understand one another's song." She purred, only to take a few steps back and twirl to face Eldar, who had procured them a table. Skipping with merriment, the fortuneteller roosted her bum and reclined. Those painted nails now drummed against the worn table while she waited for the others to perch themselves. "Mr.Eldar, why diminish the mystery? In due time all will be revealed. That being said, perhaps you can share us a story of one such hunt? Who knows, it might just be the muse I'm seeking?" She playfully retorted, only to swerve her honey eyes at the foreigner. Eldar raised a reasonable question, how did their swill compare to the libations of the dynasty? In truth, Surayyah was beyond exhilarated. To hear about that world from a wanderer could only give her more material to pen into song. "Please, I'm admittedly curious about your home. I won't pry if you wish to bypass the topic. But you have to understand our nosiness." She relayed, hoping to encourage the insect to disclose something.

With their apology accepted, the spreader of mirth saw little reason to press the issue further. Whether by happenstance or some grand scheme, the trio had stumbled across one another. And within the gypsy's ever-optimistic eyes, she couldn't help but feel the impact would be most fortuitous for all involved. With that minor squall passed, she looked forward to the clear skies that would invariably follow. Surayyah smiled, presenting the two with a reassuring nod to corroborate her acceptance. That hospitable spirit housed within radiated outward, casting its lustrous rays against the pair. Sir schwoopy let out a squeak, almost as if to verbally remove the wedge planted between them. "It's quite fine; you couldn't have known. As far as what sordid wizardry is behind this bane, I can not say. Nevertheless, I'm a woman of my word and will uphold my pledge no matter the likelihood of triumph." Those words were laced with conviction, perhaps enough to further sell Eldar and Akna on that ruse. The mothkela's sermon quickly followed, rating her focus as the bohemian struggled to understand her point. Was this zealot proclaiming that helping alms were crippling? Bizarre, given her current standing, was likely handed to her. Whatever the case, Surayyah couldn't bring herself to accept such rubbish. A smile, no matter how brief, was quite the spell. Its presence could illuminate a room and, at times, verify itself as infectious. The gypsy discovered herself at an impasse. If she said nothing, then that might further misalign the insect. However, if she braved the arena of debate, then this could sour the atmosphere. That once bright simper had dissolved, Surayyah's face scrunched up while she wiggled her nose from disapproval. Cooly, the djinn wagged her finger while her valiant protector shook his own head as if agreeing with the fortuneteller. "Lady Akna, how rude! The charity for which you chide me wasn't done to some beggar but a merchant down on his luck. These are trying times, and a single coin in the right hands can go a long way. And funny you should speak of our fair queen. While she might not be flinging out her wealth, she isn't close-fisted. Unless you care to say that every inhabitant of the desert is deserving of her protection? And just because you speak as if it isn't aimed at me doesn't change the fact that it was." Thankfully, Eldar swooped in to the rescue, disbanding an otherwise volatile scene. Once more, rather ecstatically, the troubadour couldn't help but hop up and down while clapping her hands only to then twirl. Sir schwoopy clung onto dear life while her movements jerked him about. "A brilliant idea! Why not mingle our differing chords to form quite the song? You know what, Mr. Eldar, you're pretty clever!" She declared, leaning forward only to try to flick his nose while tilting her head and winking. "Lady Akna can pick the venue. After all, what better way to connect with the people than to throw in a little chaos during such turbulent times? Alright, full speed ahead, our devout leader! Where shall we sprinkle forth our mirth today?" She stomped her foot, only to extend her arm and pointer finger out, aiming it in no specific direction. Sir schwoopy mimicked her movements as they both held this celebratory pose. Or at least would until such a time as the Debby Downer of a moth decided on something.

The disseminator of mirth was anything but overjoyed with the prospect of disclosing aspects of herself. Being an artist, Surayyah wasn't fond of having the performance becoming overshadowed by her personal life. This concoction, while harmless on the surface, could cheapen the mystification surrounding her. An aura, while a lie, was the mask many preferred to view. Her true self, however, was anything but so beautiful. She was scarred, marked by the stings of her childhood, and battered by the burden on her shoulders. And while Akna's curiousness wasn't unusual, it would fail to coerce the enchantress from revealing her true self. Sir schwoopy was upset, the coney puffing its fur as it shook from objection. Eldar and Akna bother viewed him as a prop, which wounded the duo of entertainers. Surayyah would smile, petting the hare's head as those eyes of honey bounced from each accuser. Those groomed brows unfurled, exhibiting an expression of puzzlement. How bizarre. Why had these two suddenly taken an interest in her personal life? Could it be her meek performance had inspired this most unwelcomed development? It was plausible; nonetheless, such thoughts were brushed away lest it further sours the atmosphere. "Fallible? What a queer choice of words. My convictions are absolute. It is yours that is standing on shaky ground. I was merely echoing the doubt that comes naturally to you, Lady Akna." She countered, not fond of having her beliefs tested without merit. Yet, the starlet would abstain from moving further down this divisive path. And, if the mothkela should strive to keep the dialogue fixated down such a route, she'd be sorely disappointed by the outcome. The silence was, after all, the most jarring of opposition. Surayyah would move her focus to Eldar. The mer elaborated concerning Akna's cult's need to only gather at night. How odd, given it must be hard to recruit when you're closed throughout the day. "A nice touch? A little critter? No, Sir schwoopy is my right hand man. He is suffering from a malediction that has turned this once proud Varenkun into a simple hare. He is on a course of repentance, filling others with rapture where he once inflicted them with despair. Whatever he was in his former life mean's nothing to me. I prefer to accept the man that is versus the soul that inhabited the vessel yesteryear. He is no prop, nor is my valiant brother some animal." The djinn chided them, wagging her finger with disapproval. The gypsy sighed, stilling her nerves before preparing to continue her rambling. "I'm just a simple traveler and entertainer—a gypsy. The advantage of not being rooted is that you save all kinds of coin on amenities. I know it's hard to imagine a lady saving her wealth to afford luxuries that bolster her profession. But I assure you both, notwithstanding some assertions, not all women spend all their capital on frivolous pursuits. I don't know what you expected? Some sort of world-shattering revelation concerning who I am? And elders forbid that I should share my earnings with those in a more impoverished position than myself. I'm disheartened that one of the church would be so callous as to avoid handing out alms." Surayyah was uncomfortable. She felt as if se had become more than a sojourner soliciting after a muse. And instead, the fortune teller had become the center of engagement within the company. An unfortunate turn of events, given what motivated this little venture, to begin with. "Mr. Eldar, there are many wounded here. And while I might not be a doctor, I can provide a service they cannot. To sacrifice this whole day on two seems selfish. Look around; do you not see the anguish on their faces? Or are their plights invisible to you both? I see it, and I'll tire away to make as many morph into a smile as possible. Joviality is in high demand and in short supply. So, I'll stick around for a bit. However, I make no guarantees for how long. After all, a lady should never make a promise if she can't keep it." It ended as it began, with a smile.

Just as the gypsy thought this insectoid would have lowered her guard, she immediately returned to pursuing shelter behind those mental barricades. Whatever it was that inspired this pain, its sting ran deep. The marring of the flesh was easy to diagnose, but the bruising of one's soul wasn't so evident. And while the purveyor of mirth could have attempted to extrapolate the source. She'd refrain from doing so lest she risks additional harm to Akna. Surayyah would nod, accepting her answer for what it was. A simple deflection to avoid delving further into a sore topic. Upon that surrendering, the fortuneteller would sough—those once glimmering eyes now concealed by the shutting of her eyelids. Misery ran deep here, not an affliction of the body but of the heart. These shared experiences could be beheld throughout the ocean of faces. Names and identities few would ever know. And yet, they were all tethered by a universal rot. This epiphany, while unnerving, unveiled the futility of her campaign against despondency. That try as she may, her tiny hands lacked the power to scour off the begrime that is anguish. What foolishness for Surayyah to assume she could revert the damage. How could she, when she couldn't even mend the bleeding heart of her sibling, Tahira? Those eyes of cooper were gifted to the mothkela, along with a smile more temperate than the duo sols. They'd break contact, swerving over to that of Eldar, who had returned from his little shopping spree. The caramel enchantress nodded, extending an equally pleasant simper to the hunter. If nothing else, at least he had achieved the goals that spurred on his journey to this city. And, while admittedly inconsequential, she'd infer some consolation in knowing someone had tasted triumph. Once more, she'd exhale, clapping her hands together while the deck dematerialized before their very sights—the reader of the tarots now slapped her hands together as if to simulate dusting them off. And try as she may to delay that inescapable exchange, the rover long since reasoned that silence wouldn't have been a permissible reaction. "Ah, a good question Lady Akna. Wherein do we glorify the instrument vs. those that wield it? At what point do they merge or diverge? Regarding the soundness of my craft, there is no answer that I can supply that will alleviate doubts. I suppose in due time, you will know whether or not the truth was revealed this day or a fiction." She matter of factly added, nodding to affirm her staunch position. The djinn didn't expect her answer to please the skeptical soul. No, she had long since concluded that such minds were only appeased by one thing, proof. And while evidence had its place, she often pitied them for not considering their reality's less tangible and more splendid aspects. Furthermore, only a lousy performer would disclose their secrets. So Surayyah would leave her to mull over that ambiguous morsel. A sentiment Eldar appeared to have shared. "Ah, life is hardly a checklist. Sometimes, it is best to surrender oneself to the current and see where it might take them. Complete order is as much as a prison as unfettered chaos. I like to reckon to be truly happy; we require a bit of both. And I feel the melodies of life are strumming loudly this day. It would be a shame to walk away before the concert could begin. Lady Akna, as a woman of both faith and evidence, I'm curious to see how you balance both. If it isn't too much of a bore, would you mind guiding us to your flock?" She requested with a salaam, showing the due reverence expected from one of her low station. A lie, given she was the mistress of secrets. But this little fact didn't appear relevant. And, after all, the gypsy believed people were their most sincere when they presumed you're no one of note. Hence, her preferred moniker, Surayyah of no one...

While the two chitchatted, the gypsy began to feel more like a third wheel. And rather than be offended, she'd instead use this as an opportunity to monitor the duo. Nevertheless, her recommendation concerning a particular dagger had gone, for the most part, overlooked, barring a lone nod from Eldar. Surayyah kept to herself. The spirited rover would resume shuffling her deck while entertaining that quip pertaining to simplicity. And despite not being fond of the verbiage, the djinn discovered herself unable to rebut that descriptor. So, with a heavy heart, she'd learn to accept it. Curiously she gazed at the mer, inquisitive about that self-proclaimed plight. Had the elf's parents forsaken him as well? Could they both share a similar pain? Surayyah never enjoyed a traditional lifestyle. Ever since her conception, she spent her days meandering through this world. And while the djinn might wish to press the hunter further on that topic matter, she'd inevitably choose against it. After all, prying too hard might cause Eldar to erect some walls to shut her out. Surayyah swerved her copper eyes back to the moth with a smile. Interesting, this bug was quite the perceptive one, wasn't she? The starlet would have to be careful around those keen eyes lest the zealot uncovers more than she wished to be made known. And while the entertainer might have wanted to fib, she extrapolated this insect would see through such a fabrication. And to the olive beauty, there was no harm in being just a tad bit forward. Who knows? It might foster a better affinity with this pair? "I glimpsed the pain behind those brown eyes. Like many, he mourns. And so, I decided to offer some tenderheartedness. I'd like to believe that such an act of empathy might be communicable and start quite the chain reaction. I am as I said a radical dreamer through and through." She declared without shame, shrugging those shoulders while the dexterous fingers continued to manipulate the cards. "Ah, yes, the selecting of the perfect fragrance is no easy feat. However, I advise picking out something that best represents your personality. While it might be nice to present a false image from time to time, I feel truthfulness is the best policy. So, I fancy the aroma of jasmine and honey. Honey, because it is welcoming and soothing. And jasmine because it hints at a smidge of classiness. I might be a wandering gypsy, but I must advertise and perform even when off the stage. Consider it the dilemma surrounding all traveling performers." Surayyah bowed gracefully, a gesture she had mastered from her time in theatre. "Speaking of pain, try not to bottle it up too long. It is an acid, one that will inevitably destroy the container housing it. Don't act shocked; you have continually alluded to your frustrations. And, if you ask me, that meanie still seems to have ruffled your fluffiness." The bohemian would draw her first card with her eyes closed, only to turn it to face the outlander. "The tower, it seems you have been lost for some time and recently found fulfillment to your purpose. But the question remains, will it last?" Turning the back of the card towards Akna she'd flick her wrist only to reveal a different card. "The high priestess, the time for that delayed reflection is upon you. The answer you seek, grave or beneficial, will soon be made known. Quite the fork on the road that is your melody." Once more, she turned the card around, only to lift her free hand and snap those fingers. Surayyah turned it back around to reveal a final card. "Three of Swords. Separation is on the horizon. Though, I feel the cards telling me this divorce will be bitter-sweet. It isn't the divergence of lovers, but rather something else. Something equally as immaterial. Maybe your past? People? An idea? Who knows. I look forward to discovering that answer should we meet in the future. Lady Akna, your life will make quite the ballad. It would be a shame not to share that verse with others" She complimented.