(124-05-12) Egg Juggling
Egg Juggling
Summary: Sal, Cory, Camillo, and Tybalt go to see the Juggling.
Date: Fri May 12, 124
Related: One Good Day, Sharing is Caring, Sharing is Caring, and This For That

It is late afternoon and the Square is bustling with visitors, locals, food stalls, carts selling sundries, and a variety of entertainers bucking for coin. This is the scarred Northerner's first real experience of the Festival, as last year he ran of to the woods to avoid all the nose and crowds.

Camillo still has foods to introduce Tybalt to. So far, he has suggested roasted nuts rolled in sugar, of which he is now offering Tybalt a handful.

It's Sal and Cory's first experience of the Festival as well, being new to Oldtown. Sal isn't exactly a wide-eyed spectator, given that she was one of the entertainers vying for attention earlier in the day, but the general atmosphere in the Square brings a cheerful sparkle to her eye all the same — although the amount of visitors has her on edge every time distinct out-of-towners veer too close. She has a tight hold on the boy's hand, lest he get distracted by any number of sights and sounds and smells and disappears in the crowd. "What I don't get is," she says as though her opinion is the most important, appearing beside Tybalt and Camillo after investigating a cart of strangely shaped bread, "Is it the dolphin festival, or the lizard-lion festival? Everyone's on about dolphins but there ain't any, then they go 'n' name their tourney after the bloody lizards."

Tybalt is in the better of his hose and his tunic is almost clean, as is the rest of him. The little braids have been resently redone and spruced up with new green ribbons, along with the usual shells and beads. The loose hair was likely even combed at some point today. He eyes the nuts, "Not beetles or grasshoppers, but nuts? That's… clever. Do they do them in hot spices or just the sugar?" He plucks one from Camillo's had to try, chewing with the undamaged side of his mouth. "That is lovely." He smiles slowly, teasingly, "And very decadant.." He seems to like it, decadent or not. He has his axe at his belt and a sailor's knife, and will give an big, alarming grin to anyone who seems to be making Sal nervous. he is not a tall man, but broad shouldered and well muscled. "Bread tastes ine even if the sgaoe is lumpy in peculiar places."

"I think one of the booths has spice," Camillo says. Then he looks to Sal. "It is usually different," he says. "The dolphins usually come earlier and the lizards are not here." He leaves all the being-imposing to Tybalt.

"'Ave y'ever seen a lizard-lion?" Sal asks both men — whilst very obviously craning her neck to look at the sugared nuts. Cory's eyes go wide in anticipation of the answer. "I don't think I 'ave — yet — but maybe I passed one disguised as a log and narrowly avoided gettin' my leg chomped off, eh? I saw a critter called a crocodile once though, chained up on a boat that'd come from far south."

Tybalt says, "I'm glad it's nuts. Bugs'd be… too like across the sea." For al he uses his scarred face and manner to win them a little extra space, he is always gentle with the lad and his sister. He squats to ask the boy, "Want up on my shoulders to see the jugglers?" He nods, "They are good eating fried. Want me to bring you meat next I hunt? Been selling it around.""

"We ate some, but I've never seen one," Camillo admits. "Not living. But I think I will go and look at them today."

"Yeah," Sal agrees readily. "You've got the right idea, Tybalt," she commends with a big grin. "Cornering the market I bet." Meanwhile, the boy is looking from Tybalt to Sal, the most important juggler; he peers at the scarred man's shoulders as though he is as tall as the Hightower, even squatting. "It's all right, yeah?" Sal encourages him. "I know those jugglers can't be as good as me," she presses a palm to her chest and winks, "but think a' the view, best in the Square. Tybalt's big 'n' strong." A good thing, because the boy, while short, is not exactly slender.

Tybalt says, "They are nasty things, faster than they look, and'll pull you under if they can. Best to catch 'em sleeping." Tybalt makes some of his coin on the docks as a stevadore when the guard work is slow. He also has the sense to lift from the legs. he is gentle wit the lad, but careful to keep a good grip on his legs in case the boy lean and lose his balance in the ecitement. He makes his way closer to where four men juggle eggs and knives and a heavy hammer in a complex pattern. In a conversational tone so as not to alarm the boy he inquires, "Anyone I ought be keeping a weather eye out for besides sailors and pick pockets?""

Camillo looks over as Tybalt boosts the boy aloft. He smiles faintly. "We're blessed with the good weather," he remarks, maybe in part to cover the conversation about looking out for someone. "There'd not be much juggling in the rain."

Cory hangs on with all the fumbling confusion of a boy who has never been on someone's shoulders. Sal watches to make sure he's got his balance before standing on her tiptoes and catching a glimpse of the jugglers, grimacing blatantly at the act. She gives a taut one-shouldered shrug to Tybalt's query. "Nah," she hedges quickly. "It's just sailors." She scoffs loudly— at the jugglers, not her present company. "The one on the right's gonna crack his eggs if he doesn't relax his wrist," she observes — not without a dash of self-righteousness — and watches as her prediction comes true, a yolk spilling onto the ground. It's taking Sal considerable self-control not to heckle.

Tybalt nods, "Good for the plants and the lizard lions. Not so fun for jugglers and acrobats and musicians." He watches the performer she singled out and winces at the acident, "Waste of a good egg. I don't know anything about the craft of it." He says it in a tone that invites more commentary.

Camillo tries not to react too much to the egg-crushing. Poor juggler. "I'm only glad I don't have to do my work with a crowd watching me." Though he often does his work in front of dozens of nobles.

"The secret of the craft is to not drop your fucking eggs!" She couldn't help it: Sal's voice escalates probably loud enough to reach the jugglers' ears. Just like that, though, she's over it, smiling toothily at Camillo and Tybalt. She lifts her arms, crossing them casually up behind her head. "Yeah," she says, "Only way to get over the feelin've bein' watched is desperation. It was a bloody nightmare at first, especially when I was shit at it."

Tybalt says, "At least this crowd only wants one to smash a hand or foot with that hammer. It's worse when they all are chanting for blood." He gives a soft chuckle at Sal's outburst. He nods, "You just have to get on with it and focus on what you need to do and not on the distractions.""

Camillo's brow furrows a little at the idea of a crowd wanting blood from mere street entertainments. "It might not be so easily done as said."

"Exactly," Sal concurs with Tybalt, pleased — and watches him rather intently for a quick moment, wondering, before she gives the same pleased grin to Camillo, too. "It takes a long time throwin' things around on your own before you can do it in front've crowd. First you pretend they're not there but once ya get good — then you gotta keep on eye on the crowd, too. They're part of it," she explains, tapping above her eyebrow and out around her at this crowd. "Hey!" she interrupts herself to suggest, "Why don't we go look at the lizard-lions now?"

Tybalt is of course thinking of the arena, and being poked out in front of a blood thirsty crowd when he was a lad. He has been careful to keep his good side facing Sal, so as not to be too alarming. "I suppose it depends on the type o act one is doing." He bobs his head, careful not to dislodge the boy and heads in the direction of the river. "They like to be near water.

Camillo seems not to mind to be on the scarred side. He nods at Sal's suggestion. "I'd like to see them," he agrees.

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