The 52nd of Vhalar 717
There really wasn’t much that someone with his level of skill could achieve. It was a sad thing really, as he had been a delight to behold back in the trial. Even before he had been an actual performer he’d felt more nimble than now. Those ten arcs in jail had not done him well, and even after one season of freedom he did not feel much better. Instead, he had been made aware of just how much his skills had degraded, of how much of a chump he’d become. Rotting in a dungeon was a perfect description of how he’d spent those arcs, and he felt it in every bone of his body. If only he’d been able to move freely then… or move around a little, he’d have been able to keep himself somewhat in shape. With those heavy chains shackling every limb though, all he’d been able to practice was patience.
Still, he needed money, and as long as he couldn’t get a decent living out of petty thievery, well, this would have to do. That, and he actually enjoyed standing on a stage –even though there was no real stage here out on the streets. Oberan had to make do with a spot near a wall. He had enough space to move around a little, and the location near the marketplace assured he was seen by lots of people passing by. Still, it did not change the fact that there was very little he could do to entertain his impromptu audience. Musicians could play a little jig, and though the mortalborn was not one to demean those kinds of buskers –they needed to think which songs to play on the fly and all too, and making music was no easy job—he felt the true performers of the street had a harder time. Maybe if he’d been able to he’d have juggled a little, but for now that was out of the question.
Maybe I should paint myself bronze and pretend to be a statue, he considered, looking at one that very moment. Even though his vision was upside down, he could see it clearly. Oberan could also see the audience, mostly curious children with their parents, wanting to see what he was up to. Or they were just staring at his costume. Well, it did stand out, for sure, that was the point.
Quickly he began to put one hand in front of the other, moving about with his feet dangling above his head as if he were some oversized scorpion. It might look funny, maybe even entertaining, but in truth the mortalborn was losing his balance, slowly falling forwards—or was it backwards? He wasn’t so sure anymore. His arms were getting tired too, but he still scurried around in a desperate attempt to remain upright, which did succeed. Still, his arms were beat, and he fell anyway, just about preventing himself from falling on his ass by placing his feet on the ground. On a whim he decided to walk a couple meters like that as well, to pretend it was all planned. That was the beauty of wearing a jester’s outfit; people never knew for sure what was intended to go wrong, and what wasn’t.
At last, he bent his elbows as far as they would go, and pushed himself up as hard as he could muster, rising back to his feet without having to go through the indignation of doing it the mundane way. An acrobat never should have to get back to their feet the mundane way on stage, the jester felt. He took a shallow bow then, and some people applauded his efforts. A few tossed a couple coins in the hat he’d placed on the stones. They didn’t clink as they fell into it, as there wasn’t much in there already.
With a sigh he strolled over as the crowd dispersed, no longer interested now the show was over –if it could even be called a show. Inside the hat wasn’t a whole lot of coin indeed. He sighed again, he really wouldn’t make a lot of money as long as he wasn’t at least decent. If he could play music… no, he had never done anything like it, as opposed to acrobatics and juggling had his body did not have any experience in that field. It would take even longer to pick it up. Though maybe if he could do some improvised dance, he could move to the tunes of others and profit that way.
Maybe.
