02-26-2012, 06:58 PM
One by one, her knives vanished. Caspa was caught so deeply in the difficult task of acting like she hadn't a clue what was going on, that she literally did not see Terra's hands whipping through the air above her head. Each knife that vanished, she had to shadow-catch at first to stop herself becoming confused. Then she transitioned into the lower-quantity patterns once more, a technique that looked unnoticeable and easy, but was in fact the result of hours of practice.
When she had two left, the juggling looked almost stupid, just throwing them from hand to hand. It was embarrassingly simple after the complexity of five blades at once. So Caspa compensated: pulling an aggrieved, distressed face as if lamenting the paltry number of props she was left with. Then there was only one knife left, and she gave it a desultory throw, knowing full well that it would not come down again.
She faked great surprise though, holding out her hand for a comically long time as if waiting for the knife to fall. Then she looked left, right and then to the audience, eyes narrowed suspiciously. But the stern look was spoiled by the sight of a blue-eyed white wolf, with a look of concern in her eyes and her tail low. Caspa couldn't know that Kiara had shared her recent troubles with a certain slave-trader, or the fact that knives frightened her. But she could see something was wrong, although the woman was visibly relaxing. Caspa made up her mind to find her after the show and see what had distressed her so much.
But for now, she had a job to do. She turned around fully, still pretending to seek the lost knives. Her gaze did not light upon Terra, the real culprit. Instead, and she made a great show of stepping back in alarm as she turned to face him, Caspa found herself eye-to-eye with the tiny pig statue. It was a small thing, only shin-high, but full of character, fedora-clad as it was and caught in some strange vaudeville dancing pose. Caspa drew herself up, for all the world as if the tiny pig was a perfectly believable thief. She lifted a stern finger, pointing it with grim accusation towards the figurine. Then, slowly with great drama, the woman took several highly threatening paces towards it. Her lips curled, her fangs bared. Her anger and blame was clear for all to see. The pig had taken the knives: or at least, knew where they were. The pig must die. She concentrated on this thought and let her body language flow accordingly as she advanced.
When she had two left, the juggling looked almost stupid, just throwing them from hand to hand. It was embarrassingly simple after the complexity of five blades at once. So Caspa compensated: pulling an aggrieved, distressed face as if lamenting the paltry number of props she was left with. Then there was only one knife left, and she gave it a desultory throw, knowing full well that it would not come down again.
She faked great surprise though, holding out her hand for a comically long time as if waiting for the knife to fall. Then she looked left, right and then to the audience, eyes narrowed suspiciously. But the stern look was spoiled by the sight of a blue-eyed white wolf, with a look of concern in her eyes and her tail low. Caspa couldn't know that Kiara had shared her recent troubles with a certain slave-trader, or the fact that knives frightened her. But she could see something was wrong, although the woman was visibly relaxing. Caspa made up her mind to find her after the show and see what had distressed her so much.
But for now, she had a job to do. She turned around fully, still pretending to seek the lost knives. Her gaze did not light upon Terra, the real culprit. Instead, and she made a great show of stepping back in alarm as she turned to face him, Caspa found herself eye-to-eye with the tiny pig statue. It was a small thing, only shin-high, but full of character, fedora-clad as it was and caught in some strange vaudeville dancing pose. Caspa drew herself up, for all the world as if the tiny pig was a perfectly believable thief. She lifted a stern finger, pointing it with grim accusation towards the figurine. Then, slowly with great drama, the woman took several highly threatening paces towards it. Her lips curled, her fangs bared. Her anger and blame was clear for all to see. The pig had taken the knives: or at least, knew where they were. The pig must die. She concentrated on this thought and let her body language flow accordingly as she advanced.