Tasha and Aaron arrive at the beginning of the winding street, where the shops are a bit more mundane, the fanciest place being a Xocholatl bar with a walled courtyard. There are no street lamps here, so the shops themselves provide light, competing to attract the most visitors. The glow at the far end of the street comes from Ahmed's Harem, a nightclub of sorts, and the upscale Spot of Elegance slave-rental emporium.

Aaron suggests, "If we stay towards the middle of the street, maybe people won't notice you as much." The Lapi gestures to the pools of light before each of the various shops and markets.

"Wa's wrong wit noticin' me," Tasha inquires defensively as she walks down the street. Curious, she leans into a patch of light to wave at some of the people in the Xocholatl bar.

A few of the Khattas choke on their drinks as Tasha leans in, and one's lower jaw seems to become unhinged. "You shouldn't do that," Aaron chides.

Tasha backs out of the light, then hrumps. "Oi, it's fun, it is. Ain't no harm in bein' looked at an' appreciated," she insists.

"Err, wouldn't that depend on what you were being appreciated for?" Aaron asks, and picks up his walking pace to try and draw the hybrid along faster.

"I look good, an' people like tha'. Maybe I do look like this demon o' yours, bu' the demon also looks li' me, an' I'm real," the hybrid woman insists in a rare display of insight.

"Yeah, you're real… maybe too real for the Street of Dreams," Aaron says, a bit sotto-voce. "Anyway, the… uh… fantasy art market is up near the club."

"Thin' I look li' someone's dream, is it? I li' the soun' of tha'. Ain't no one ever called me a dream before. Back in Rephidim I wasn' no demon-fantasy, no tha' I needed tha'," the woman says. She reaches over and slings an arm around Aaron's shoulder, leaning on him slightly. "You ough' an' relax, Aaron."

"I ought to what?" the Lapi asks, having been grabbed while he was looking back over his shoulder. A few people are treading in the pair's wake, and while not trying to hide they do keep some distance, often whispering to each other.

"Reeeelaaax," Tasha whispers slowly in to the Lapi's ear. With a laugh she pushes off him, then musses his hair up. "Abu Dhabi's more fun than I though' it woul' be."

"It's a city, what were you expecting?" Aaron asks, after trying to straighten out his fur. "A parade? Oh, I think that's the place." He points to an open-fronted tent set in what was once a private courtyard, where lots of paper seems to be on display.

"Well come on then, I 'ave to see this, I do," Tasha insists, then walks that way.

The tent is well lit to show off the artwork. There are hanging scrolls with inspiring platitudes (in Khattan, of course), framed paintings of important looking people and places, and all of the usual things one might find hanging in a well-to-do person's home. Deeper in, towards the back, the imagery gets a bit more risqué, with stylized figures engaged in intimate (and in some cases clearly impossible) activities, along with many books and manuals with suggestive looking covers. There are portraits of Khattas surrounded by women – probably commissioned pieces – and finally a triptych with stylized figures that resemble Tasha, including whips, doing things that at first seem cruel to someone but by the final panel prove to be heading in an entirely different direction.

Tasha seems fascinated by the images, especially the ones that resemble her. She doesn't say a word at first, instead looking over each painting with a critical eye. Her expression remains neutral as she stands with a hand on her hip, eyes darting back and forth. After half a minute or so she pauses on one, then declares in a very conversational tone, "Oi, don' thin' I can ben' like tha'." She points at it, in a very obvious manner, for Aaron to examine.

"We probably should have left the whip at Alexander's place," Aaron notes, then lowers his ears at the image in question. "Ah… well… it's fantasy art, after all," the buck says. "It isn't meant to be taken seriously."

"What's that?" demands a somewhat shrill voice from nearby. "I take my art very seriously, sir," explains the owner of the voice, a mixed black-and-white Poodle wearing a beret. "I pour my heart and soul into… into… " He seems to derail as he gets a good look at Tasha, then glances at the triptych.

"I don' know 'bou' tha', everyone's been takin' me serious, they 'ave," Tasha replies, trying to sound logical. "An' me whip?" The hybrid looks down at her driving whip, the especially long (the length being needed for both force and range when driving airship pteras) implement coiled at her side. "Well I mi' ne- … " The woman pauses when the poodle begins to interrupt, then turns towards him to raise a brow at his sudden derailment.

In silence, the poodle goes over to the triptych and folds it up, then breaks it over his knee. "Garbage!" he pronounces, and throws the pieces under a table. He then turns to Tasha and grabs her right hand with both of his, saying, "You must model for me, o' scarlet-furred vision!"

Aaron rolls his eyes and rubs the top of his head.

Tasha, at first looking like she's about to snarl at the broken triptych, looks taken off guard when the poodle takes her hand and requests her as a model. Her ears perk, and her tail flickers as she watches the man, blinking. "Model? You mean li' … 'ave pictures made o' me? Li' these – them," she asks after a pause, pointing at the torn triptych.

"No, nothing like those scrawls!" the poodle claims. "A hundred… a thousand times better, for having been drawn from life!" he insists, and makes a slight gesture towards some of the portraits in the area. They do look pretty good, frankly.

"Oi, well, if you insist," Tasha agrees after inspecting the indicated portraits. "Do I ge' to keep one, or ge' paid?"

"Hold on here just a moment," Aaron interrupts. "Just what sort of portraits are you talking about?" he asks. The tent has grown a bit more crowded, as various curious people look in, having followed Tasha along the way.

"'E prolly wants one li' tha'," Tasha remarks, pointing to an image that includes a few different Lapi.

"The kind that capture her inner flame and spirit!" the poodle says, looking insulted. "Oh my, my other models have all retired for the evening though, if you want to do a group… " Before he can even finish, several Khattas and a Zerda scoot forward from the fan club. "I would like to commission a portrait with the demo… damsel," says the lead feline, a someone portly Khatta with a snaggled fang.

Tasha gives the snaggle-fanged Khatta a once over, then laughs. "'E ain't much 'o a looker, is 'e. Who else we go' 'ere." She doesn't exactly stand on her toes, since she doesn't have any, but she does balance on the edges of her hooves to look.

The Zerda is, well, short, naturally, and sandy-colored, looking like most other Zerda. "I would like a portrait with me and my wife with… what is your name, exotic creature of dreams?" he says.

Tasha, having never really met a Zerda, peers at the fox before reaching over and testing the tops of his ears by rubbing them with her thumb. "Tasha, I am. I guess you ain't so ba', right bi' skinny an' … full 'o ear. No beef-types, I guess?" She looks around again.

Alas, most of the people who have followed are quite ordinary looking. This is where they come to feel better-than-ordinary, after all. "You actually want to pose with some stranger," Aaron whispers to Tasha, sounding shocked. "Just so you can have a picture to keep yourself? What would you do with it?"

The poodle artist's facial expression rises hopefully whenever someone mentions a portrait, then collapses again as Tasha passes them over.

"I'd show me crew, be' they'd be jealous, they woul'! No 'o them ever go' in so much as a wante' poster," the hybrid woman explains to Aaron. "Woul' mine some shekels, either," she adds. Then she turns from Aaron and mulls over the gathered people, before shrugging. "An', I ain't never don' it before. Maybe it'll b' li' … an omen, people can remember me, like." She then points to the Zerda. "'Ight, you'll do."

The small man hops up as he is pointed too, whether in delight or fear is uncertain. "I will fetch my wife, may she be understanding!" he says, and skitters off through the crowd.

"Well then!" the poodle says. "Now that that is arranged, what did you have in mind for yourself?" he asks Tasha. "One of you and your companion here? I have many costumes… "

"Don't know 'bout tha'," Tasha remarks as the man runs off. Aside to Aaron she whispers, "Some times you ge' married types in the tavern, an' their 'ives come an' drag 'em away!" She laughs merrily before answering the poodle. "Ain't never 'ad much clothin' 'sides this. Mi' wan' an' keep a costume or two. You wan' a picture, Aarod?"

"What?" Aaron asks. "A picture of me and you? Err… I think you're better off just getting a regular portrait," the buck says, his ears drooping down.

"But… but she has her own whip!" the poodle says. "It would be so much more dynamic with a second person!"

Tasha laughs at that, too. She gooses Aaron before saying, "Nervous, is it? You were righ' friendly earlier, you were." She nods agreeably to the poodle's point.

"Come then, into my studio," the poodle says, holding aside a curtain. "I am Gastone le Pero, soon to be known throughout the world! Hopefully not posthumously, either."

The art talk, being like a foreign language to Tasha, is summarily forgotten as she herds Aaron with her. "It'll be fun, Aarog," she insists, then tussles his hair some more.

"Ah, famous last words," Aaron mutters as he's ushered along. A few curious heads try to poke through the curtain, but Gastone pokes their noses until they get the point. He then lights the extra lamps in the studio, illuminating the bare room to nearly daylight levels. There are ropes and pulleys along one wall, with various hanging curtains and tapestries that can be used for backdrops, and next to them is a long rack of various styles of clothing. In the very center, where the light falls best, is a long lounge-style couch, which was seen in the other portraits. Gastone's easel and other supplies sit in front of this, along with a simple stool.

"Never been in somethin' li' this before. Wai', no', there's tha' ol' Palace of Faaron's, i' was a bi' li' this," Tasha remarks. After her comment she immediately takes to looking around, giving the clothes – and especially sequins – an especially close inspection.

Nose twitching, Aaron asks, "Do you even have anything that would fit her?"

Gastone finishes mounting a fresh canvas, then pauses to consider the question. "Ah, forgive me! I assumed Lady Tasha would be au natural for this, save for her whip. But I'm sure something could be done with a few gauzy scarves… "

"I'm more of a … spon-ta-ne-ous personage, I am. I don' usually need fancy clothes an' the li', though these are righ' shiny." The hybrid gestures vaguely at what she's looking at, not bothering to turn around when she's speaking. "Righ' shiny, indeed." She runs a finger across a sequin dress far too small for her.

"Ah, perhaps we could have your friend dress in something shiny?" Gastone suggests, which stuns Aaron into silence.

"Oi, tha's a righ' idea, tha' is," Tasha agrees. She grabs a few sequined outfits – many of which wouldn't fit a male, let alone a Lapi – and throws them over her shoulder. As she gathers outfits she adds, "'E needs a bi' o' shine. Rather scrawny, 'e is, no' like 'is female friends – wish they were 'ere."

While Aaron opens and closes his mouth, Gastone holds up his hands before him in a framing gesture, and says, "I am getting an inspiration! Yes, this could work!" He goes over to the rack, and pulls out a pair of sequined harem pants, and several shiny scarves.

Tasha pauses when the poodle walks up to the rack, taking a moment to examine his inspiration. "Oi! Tha's righ' better than my idea," she admits, sounding excited. Despite preferring the poodle's choices, she remains holding the sequined outfits, patting them idly.

"What are -" Aaron starts to say, but the poodle hustles him over to the end of the lounger. "Yes… right here," he says. "You will play the lady's faithful eunuch, serving her figs, while she lounges here, her whip snaking about the floor as she casually holds it, with her wings and arms draped in shiny scarves… ah, it will be beautiful!"

As she pets her shinies, Tasha considers her soon-to-be-shiny. "Faithful you … nick. I li' the soun' of tha'. Feedin' me figs, an' … rubbin' me shoulders. Oi, maybe fannin' me too, li' in tha' picture out there."

Gastone thrusts the pants on Aaron, and holding onto the scarves by wrapping them around his neck while he runs behind the hanging backdrops. A moment later he returns carrying a basket full of 'props' and dragging an empty one along with his foot. "A palm fan would be excellent!" he says, kicking the empty basket to the middle of the room. "You can leave your clothes in this basket," he notes, setting the other one down near his easel. He then opens a wooden box full of paint pots, and goes about selecting the colors he'll need.

"Never don' this for no' picture before," Tasha remarks. The woman considers the basket, then shrugs. Certainly, men have wanted her clothes off in the past – but she's never had an entire city of men stunned by her body. If she were very honest, which she's not, she would confess to feeling rather uncomfortable about the way she looks, so this is a heavy balm to self-image and a boon to her ego. A very petty and racy boon, but a boon none-the-less. "Righ', then." She shrugs, letting the motion carry the straps of her tunic down around her arms. Then the hybrid woman lets her tunic drop, before stepping out of it.

Aaron turns away, holding the balloony pants, then with a sigh heads for the back of the room to change behind the backdrops.

Gastone rushes up once Tasha has disrobed, and starts to apply the scarves. He goes about it with all the detachment of a tailor measuring an inseam, wrapping sparkly bits of gauze (not Zolk) around Tasha's hips, one arm and one leg, then urging her lay on the lounger before doing the rest.

Proving Tasha does have modesty, or at least a practical nature, the woman does wear small clothes. At least she did until she took them off and tossed them in the basket. Once the poodle re-dresses her, she saunters over to the lounger and flops down on it lengthwise. "I feel li' a princess, I do," she remarks, perhaps causing wonder as to what sort of fairy tales she read.

"Hmmm," Gastone says, standing back and running an appraising eye. He apparently finds something still lacking, and begins to pull things out of the other basket. Glittery faux tiaras become bracelets, arm and leg-bands. Sequined gauze drapes down from an upraised wing. Shiny rings are woven into Tasha's tail, and her whip is placed in her left hand, which Gastone lays against the woman's hip. He then takes a few moments just to arrange the way the coil drapes down and spills across the floor.

Tasha seems interested in what the poodle's doing until he bedecks her with a few shiny pieces of jewelry, then she's completely lost in staring at her own dazzling self. She hasn't looked this shiny since, well, ever.

The final bits of jewelry are similar to the type Aisha wears on her ears, made of clips and chains. "Ahem," Gastone says, "This may pinch a bit, but the effect will be worth it, if you don't mind?"

"Wha?" The woman stares at herself with a focus Narcissus might envy. Judging from her absent staring, if she won't answer the poodle could probably sneak it by her anyway.

"Ah, well, at least they won't be cold," Gastone promises, and clips the chains to Tasha's chest in two sensitive spots, which at least results in a bit more modesty.

Tasha's ears and tail flick, and she blinks, but otherwise she doesn't seem to notice. In all probability, adding more shiny bits to her frame is simply adding to her distraction at this point.

"First Ones," Aaron comments as he returns. "You remind me of a Landing Day Parade float," the buck says, as he takes his place next to Tasha's head, holding a palm-frond fan and wearing the gauzy harem pants. At least the many scars on his chest look like they might have been inflicted by a whip.

Aaron's return does draw Tasha out of her reverie, though probably just because he's shiny, too. "Oi, Aaron, is it?" She eyes him as if remembering him again, still bedazzled by far too many distracting bits of glitter. "I never knew you 'ad so many scars," she breathes distractedly, absently reaching her non-whip hand over to run a finger across one if she can.

The Lapi shivers at the touch, then asks, "Err, how do I hold the fan?" The poodle gets him into the proper position, slightly behind the lounge (and out of reach) while still being unobstructed.

"Alright, now, just hold that pose," The poodle says, taking his seat and rapidly sketching with a bit of charcoal.

Tasha's hand slides off Aaron when he moves away, causing her to frown. She resumes looking herself over shortly after. Conveniently, the means she isn't moving much.

Gastone works fast, at least in the beginning. By the time the Zerda and his wife arrive, the key details of the portrait are done, and can be refined into a final painting later.

"Can the Lapi slave stay for our turn too?" the Zerda's wife asks, which causes Aaron to swallow a sigh.

Before he changes easels, Gastone has another inspiration, and moves one of the large mirrors he uses to redirect the lamplight over to the base of the easel, so Tasha can actually see her own reflection.

Eventually being every-so-shiny wears on Tasha, because she ceases starring at herself and merely glances at herself now and then as she looks at the couple. "Can' 'ave me picture withou' me slave," she remarks, grinning only absently. Her distraction makes her voice a bit husky, too, adding to her already deep (as far as species go) voice. "Why-" Her insights, teasing, or whatever she was about to say are then lost as she's struck with herself in the mirror, causing her to lapse back in to staring at herself. Leering, almost.

"Ah, hold that expression," Gastone says, although probably isn't heard, as he quickly gets the Zerdas into costume and placed into the picture. Aaron tries not to pay too close attention, certainly not while wearing these pants. Time flies, thanks to the mirror, and after an hour or so the artist is promising to have the paintings finished by lunchtime, and says something about making a copy and other things which Tasha really doesn't listen to.

Tasha seems content to lay about in shininess and gauze all day, in fact. She seems to miss that they may need to leave some day.

Eventually, the hybrid's view is obstructed by an upside-down Lapi head. "Snap out of it, Tasha. If you leave those clips on much longer you'll be too sore to wear a shirt."

"Oi, you're in me wa'- … Hrr, I see wha' you mean, Aaron," Tasha admits, snapping to full attention mid-sentence. She sits up, notes her outfit again, and then grins. "They are a bi' sore, they are." Carefully, she reaches down and removes them before handing them off to Aaron. "I li' your outfit, you ough' an' wear tha' more."

The buck holds the jewelry and is momentarily mesmerized on his own, then blinks and says, "Err, I'd catch a cold. And if a certain someone saw me in these, I'd never hear the end of it."

"I've seen you in 'em, an' I'd show you a good time, I would," Tasha says matter-of-factly as she puzzles how to undress. It takes her a bit of picking and pulling before she untangles the bangles, an act that leaves her mostly naked, again. "Ought an' show off those scars more often." Perhaps unexpectedly, Tasha seems to "forget" to remove her bangles as she steps off towards her clothes.

"Whoopsie," Gastone says, catching Tasha's lapse. "Still have few baubles in your tail, dear, let me get those… "

Aaron twitches a bit. "The scars aren't from fighting, you know. They're mostly from falling and ticking off large nasty animals. Anyway, are you satisfied with your image issue and ready to go back to the estate and get some sleep?"

"I rather like 'em," Tasha insists, adding a little threat to her words. It's not quite a growl, simply a heaviness to her words that hints at possible danger. She flicks her tail away, then raises a brow as she stares at the poodle as if daring him to make the next move. For the moment she doesn't answer Aaron.

"Ah," Gastone says, noting Tasha's body language as he's reaching for a ring. "Really, they are just painted ceramic and wood mostly, I can easily get more from the shop down the street," he adds, smiling and backing away.

Tasha then grins, reaching over and patting the poodle's head. "You're a righ' fine artist, you are. Mayhap I'll be 'round these parts again," she tells him. Then she collects her clothes and begins dressing, addressing Aaron as she goes. "Sleep? S'jus' unner sundown, it is," she insists at the Lapi, "we 'avn't even gone to tha' Harem Club we saw comin' in 'ere."

"Oh, right," Aaron says, realizing as he watches Tasha dress that she probably didn't bring much money, if any. "We can pop in for a bit, sure."

Once up to the point of struggling to get her chest in order, Tasha pauses a moment to lean over and pat Aaron, too. "You're all righ', Aaron," she tells him, giving him a ravishing, if toothy, smile.

The spontaneous entourage that followed Tasha into the art gallery has largely dispersed, and Aaron leads the Vartan out to the street without any interruptions. The new focus of the crowd is just outside the Spot of Elegance slave rental, where two Nagas are arguing and trying to outbid each other for the service of a somewhat plain, older looking Savanite woman who appears to be better dressed than most of the people watching the commotion.

"No more followers, I suppose," the hybrid woman remarks somewhat disappointedly as she stands on the tip of her hooves to see what the fuss is about. "Think anyone'll buy me pictures?"

"Oh, I'm sure they'll do well," Aaron says, turning an ear towards the commotion while heading past it to Ahmed's Harem. "The slave there is a chef, apparently," he tells Tasha. "A good one, and both of the Nagas need to impress some guest on the same night. Nagas don't cook, after all."

Tasha cocks her head left, then right, before dropping off her hooves and nodding. "Don' talk with Nagas much, bu' I can see you're poin'. I guess slavery is righ' popular this way, don' see i' much in Rephidim – course you know tha'."

"I'm glad it's gone up topside," the Lapi says, then busies himself paying the bouncer for the two of them to enter. "More customers for me, and they don't scare me so much as free citizens," he continues, as they enter the large, lavish tent.

"Why's tha'," Tasha asks as they step inside.

Inside the club there are the ubiquitous cushions and small tables, hookah water pipes, and some partitioned off private areas. A group of musicians play a fast-paced rhythm that matches the movements of the tigress belly dancer in the center of the room. All around, men lounge and talk, smoke and laugh with each other, many of them with female hostesses that are far too pretty for them to attract normally.

"I don't feel like they're plotting something," Aaron explains, finding a low table that's unoccupied. "I was hunted by a tribe of them in the wilds of Xenea when I was younger, and it stuck with me for a long time."

"See, you 'ave some scars from adventures in you," Tasha points out as she settles. Or, rather, puzzles how to arrange herself at a low table. Without a chair to drop in to, she's left with mimicking her earlier pose sans whip and indecent outfit. "Know wha' you mean abou' slaves bein' untrus'worthy, though. I think Cap'n Eyeshine 'ad one tha' jumped ship once."

"Can't blame them," Aaron says. A female Khatta in a green top and harem pants approaches them then, and kneels down at the table. Tassels hanging from the bottom of her halter swish against her belly as she says something in Khattan. Aaron replies with a garbled phrase, and the woman switches to standard. "I am Medea, your hostess. What would you like to drink this evening, master and mistress?"

Tasha eyes the tassels a moment, then smiles and looks up. "I'll 'ave somethin' nice an' strong, to end the day wit'. Wha'ever tha' is 'round 'ere, that is." Her tail swishes idly.

"Just spiced mateh for me," Aaron requests. "In case I have to carry this one back home."

The hostess nods and slips off, while the dancing tigress makes her way around the circular dance floor.

"Maybe I'll carry you 'ome, I migh'," the hybrid woman tells Aaron. She then smiles at the tigress, too. "Or maybe I'll take 'er."

"I don't have enough cash on me for that, sorry," Aaron says, smirking and lying back on the cushions. The drinks arrive quickly, Tasha being handed a tall glass of something like rum and Xocholatl, with a slice of unfamiliar fruit in it and a tiny paper umbrella.

Tasha peers at her drink, finding it disconcertingly festive. "Odd place, Abu Dhabi. Odd, bu' fun." She takes a sip, mulls over it a moment, then seems satisfied since she smiles drowsily. "'Aving a good time, Aaron?"

"I don't get out much when I visit, usually," Aaron admits, sipping his mateh. Then he smiles, and says, "Although staring at you for an hour was something I won't soon forget."

The Vartan winks, reaching over to toast his glass with hers. "Tha's somethin' I li' to 'ear from men who've seen me naked," she tells him. "I 'ad righ' fine time in there, 'course those pants were somethin' too. Do like a man with a good shine, I do."

"Heh," Aaron says. "I've got the ear jewelry like my brother, too, just can't wear it because my left ear is loppy. Not sure I'd want to be chased after for being shiny though."

Medea silently moves behind Aaron and starts to give him a backrub, making both of his ears droop down.

Tasha makes a disappointed face, frowning but briefly. "I jus' can' unnerstan' people who don' unnerstan' a good shine. S'like not noticin' the sun or your own arm," laments Tasha. When the woman walks up behind Aaron and massages him, Tasha grins, saying, "Looks li' you 'ave a frien'. There's a tavern bennie tha' I ought an' tell mother."

"What, that you'll give backrubs to the patrons?" Aaron asks. "I've seen those patrons. You'd need a good pair of gloves."

The Vartan laughs at that, nodding. "Righ', maybe it's no' such a good idea after all. I'll leave taverns to my mother, an' sailin' to me. Never did much li' workin' as a tavern wench, an' it ain't no fun anymore now that Calli scare all the lookers away for a bi'," she says.

"Yeah, but didn't one of them end up on your ship anyway?" Aaron asks, looking more and more spaced out from the backrub.

The tigress swishes past, all chiming shiny bangles and orange fur. She even has bells on her tail.

Tasha nods. "'E's all ma' because I didn' stan' up for 'im much. Well, wha' was 'e expectin'? Calli beats 'im up, an' I don' know Calli much from any other Lapi, then he up an' falls short wit 'is crew, an' acts like we're set to be wearin' rings. I like 'im alrigh', mine, bu' I don' like 'im li' th-" In what seems to be a sure way to distract Tasha mid-conversation, shinies catch her eye. She twists her head around to watch the tigress, especially her tail. "Oi – you," she manages, "wan' an' sit wit me?"

The belly-dancer turns to face Tasha, dancing backwards and moving her arms like two libidinous Nagas, as if inviting the Vartan to get up and dance with her instead.

Tasha shrugs, then stands. "Don' know 'ow to do this," she admits before taking a swig of her drink and setting it down hard, "-bu' I'll try!" And with that, Tasha joins the belly dancer for dancing.

"Just try not to embarrass your… try not to embarrass me okay?" Aaron requests. The tigress keeps moving, spiraling in towards the center of the dance floor while fishing Tasha along.

Tasha simply stalks forward after the Khatta, intent on her various bangles, switching as they jostle about. If she hears Aaron's protest she doesn't respond to it.

This new level of audience participation – along with Tasha's obvious resemblance to a mythical seductress – catches the attention of the other patrons, who all turn to watch the new show. Once the dancer reaches the center of the tent, she raises up her arm and shakes her hips and shoulder in a way that no Jupani or Vartan was built to do, causing a flurry of sparkly flashes.

Apparently unaware of her inadequacy compared to the tigress, Tasha stares at the bangles with unshakable interest. She has a sort of dazed disoriented dazed expression, like a snake before a snake charmer. Of course, it likely helps that the bangles are attached to quite an attractive figure, too.

Distracted as she is, Tasha doesn't notice the trapeze bar that is lowered from the large tent's rafters until the tigress grabs onto it and begins to rise up into the air.

Of course, Tasha simply looks up. The hybrid woman spreads her wings for balance, making her somewhat more demonically intimidating. The apparent mesmerization by an attractive figure probably isn't helping the comparison to a succubus, either.

Looking up, Tasha finally notices more figures, which dangle upside down on trapeze bars of their own. Six Kavi girls, with golden headbands and golden harem pants (but nothing else) look down at the Vartan, each one holding a chitin scimitar in her teeth.

Thinking it's all part of the act, or else that swords are also very shiny, Tasha stands transfixed. More gold, more attractive bodies and more shininess make for a very disorienting sort of day for the hybrid.

As the tigress is lifted past, her belled tail flicks against Tasha's nose just as the Kavi let go and drop, tumbling and twisting in the air to land in a circle around the Vartan. Transferring the swords to their hands, they raise them in seeming salute, then begin to toss them up in the air. They move clockwise while doing so, so that each one catches the previous girl's sword as it falls… and then tosses it up again.

Standing transfixed by sword-wielding, half-dressed, besparkled women while also with her wings up to full-flare certainly makes Tasha a spectacle. She rather resembles part of the theater performance, the seductress demon challenged by several mortal women.

The circle of Kavi expands outward, at least in part due to the obstacle Tasha's wings represent. They then seem to split; one group of three in front of the wings and the second behind them. Sword tossing moves seamlessly into juggling, the blades flying back and forth before and behind the Vartan.

If she wasn't dazed, Tasha might find this whole affair somewhat disconcerting. As it is, all this shiny, dangerous, half-nakedness is more than enough to entertain her beyond thoughts of accidental dismemberment. To try and watch them all, Tasha slowly turns in place, providing a bit of a challenge for the jugglers.

The girls circle with the Vartan, keeping the blades moving. Something touches momentarily against the base of Tasha's tail, and she suddenly has a Kavi sitting on her shoulders, her gold-clad legs crossing around the taller woman's neck. The group in front change their juggling to include the fourth riding atop the hybrid now, so that blades are flashing right past Tasha's nose.

Tasha snorts when the first blade passes her nose, but then she seems to become numbed to it. That, or oblivious, much like she is to the danger or her own obliviousness. After a moment of standing with Kavi on top, Tasha notices a gold-encircled leg and noses it.

The juggler riding on Tasha nearly loses her balance from the unexpected nosing, but recovers quickly. Still, it's enough to cause the troupe to switch from juggling swords. Now they start dancing with them, even hopping over them and tumbling with them. The one atop Tasha just holds hers in her teeth, and starts weaving the Vartan's blond hair into a sort of bikini top for herself. Out in the audience, Aaron finally lets out a breath he'd been holding since the blades started flying.

The cessation of the sword tossing allows Tasha to regain some of her focus, which in turn allows her to reach up and pinch her shoulder Kavi's bottom.

The girl lets out a squeak, loud enough for the audience to hear and laugh over, and grabs onto Tasha's ears. One of the other Kavi unclips the whip from the Vartan's belt, and starts to unwind it.

Tasha blinks when her ears are grabbed, clearly not expecting that turn of events. It causes her to stagger and, thus, not be able to respond when her whip is taken. When she looks around for who snatched it and finds them, she eyes the performer with a mix of interest and wariness. Her ears would perk, if not for their being grabbed.

The whip-filcher flashes Tasha a quick smile, then starts to run around, wrapping the whip around the hybrid's legs!

"Oi, you," Tasha calls out, then laughs in amusement. She can't exactly give chase, since that would only result in her falling on either her face or her butt. Instead she twists around to watch the whip holder, occasionally pinching at her shoulder Kavi so that she at least has some control.

While Tasha is reaching up to pinch, the whip-wielder loops a bit around her free hand, and tries to pull it down to the hybrid's waist.

"I'm no' usually into this," Tasha admits, likely causing some laughter. "Bu' I'll make an exception." She doesn't fight being bound too much – not that she could. At least, not gracefully.

Both hands and feet are eventually wrapped up in the whip, and the ground-bound Kavis swarm Tasha and lift her up on her back. The one on her shoulders transfers to her stomach, swinging her sword around over her head in victory as the captive demon is paraded about, amid much applause.

"This is the bes' figh' I've ever lost," remarks Tasha as she's hauled about like a trophy.

The troupe eventually carries Tasha back to her table, and sets her down on the cushions. The one that was riding her gives her a quick kiss on the nose before bounding off with the others, leaving Tasha still wrapped up with her own whip. "At least they didn't take your clothes," Aaron comments from across the table, where his head is resting in Medea's lap while she cleans his ear with some sort of long tool.

"I'd 'ave 'ad theirs," insists Tasha as she squirms to get free. "She 'ad a nice rump, she did. No' so nice wit' my ears, though."

"Good grief, she barely came up to your chest," Aaron comments, trying not to move his head.

"She was on me chest, jus' abou'." Finally Tasha unwinds herself, then works to recoil her whip. "An' 'er own wasn' covered. Even I cover me ches'."

"Took me a minute to notice that," Aaron admits. "Hard to tell with Kavis sometimes." Medea finishes her cleaning, so that the Lapi can sit upright again. "Have you had enough excitement for one night yet?" he asks.

"No," Tasha answers without hesitation. "Bu', we're leavin' in the mornin' an' I'll 'ave duty, so I best be off, or else Cap'n Eyeshine'll haul me back an' then it's cleanin' duty for the fligh'. Still wish I'd 'ave 'ad someone to bring 'ome. Calli, Aisha, an' tha' Layth, an' this an' tha', it's all a bit frustratin'."

"Well, I can walk you back to the ship then, if you're going to sleep there," Aaron says. "Easier than trying to sneak you past my brother's family."

"I better stick wit' Calli, the Cap'n thinks I'm helpin' 'is deal wit' 'er or somethin', an' I 'ave to watch out for 'er. No' like she needs i'," the hybrid woman says before standing up.

"Okay, we'll go back to the house then," Aaron says, getting up and handing Medea quick a number of shekels. "Just try to be quiet. Lapi are light sleepers with good hearing, after all."

"I'm as quiet as a wee mouse," Tasha insist. She pauses, waves to the crowd and to the Kavi dancers, then heads out with Aaron.