Quena watched as the people of Inam did their nightly deeds. Her favorite perch, right behind the tree line, hiding her from sight. If people knew she was watching, then she would lose exactly what made this all so interesting. She watched the people talk to each other, the joy twinkling in each of their eyes. As late as it was, there were plenty of people out and about. The place only seemed to sleep when she walked their streets. Though, when she walks the streets, all she wants to hear is the sound of her feet on the road, and the slamming of doors and windows ahead of her. Quena glanced up at the moon. It was almost time for her rehearsal. She watched as more and more people glanced at the tree line. Peoples conversations started to become shorter. Most people lost the twinkle of joy, with the tourists glancing around, wondering why the mood had suddenly dimmed. Once the streets had slowed with motion, and the crowds had thinned a bit, Quena started her final rehearsal. She leapt down from her tree, grabbed the bo staff she kept at its base, and walked into the street. The moment anyone saw her, any joy that was in their eyes turned into brilliant stars of fear, more beautiful then any joy that once occupied them. And then, she began to dance. She used everything she could in her audition for the city of Offtopic. She spun around lampposts, and grinned when she heard the doors slamming ahead of her. She hoped that one poor, stupid tourist wouldn’t take a hint, and she’d finally be able to end with her glorious finale. When there were no lampposts around, she planted her staff into a crack in the earth, and spun on that. In all the windows, she saw the beautiful stars that made up her dreams. Her audience was captivated. She changed things up from normal, spinning her bo staff as if it was a conductors rod, and she was leading a great band, playing music only ears like hers could hear. And finally, she saw them. A poor, poor tourist who was still in the street ahead of her, clueless to the rising music in her ears. She sped up her act, and with it the music continued to rise, until finally she took her leap, the jump, the final step in her long overdue act.... And as she fell, she brought her staff down upon his head. It was her favorite things about staffs, really. They weren’t messy. For the most part, nothing would be wasted upon impact. She rolled the tourist over, and cut open his gut with a special knife. She placed the tip of her staff in for a moment, and then started to paint. The great big circle of an everlasting man. The burning flames she felt inside of herself at the thought of this man, and the shock of anger, at all this man had done. She painted with the staff, like it was an extension of herself. Filled with all the emotion she could, from sorrowful grand sweeps, and anger filled jabs onto the canvas that was the ground. Once she was done, she licked the bo staff clean. None of this should go to waste. And so, she walked on through the streets, her rehearsal complete. And in her wake, she left the sign they would leave at opera houses and museums in her name, once her true act was finished. In her wake, she left the symbol of fire being struck by lightning. [spoiler]Eheh...I hope you enjoyed that. It was a lot of fun to write.[/spoiler]