Now listen here. Dyssia has a [i]goal.[/i] Her spiritual development [i]depends[/i] on this. This is [i]important.[/i]

Oh, and something about the planet dying, but really who has time to think about that? 

Focus on what's real, which is that Dyssia is unstoppable. She's a force of nature, she will obtain her goal, and nothing can stand in her way.

Ignore the storyteller. If you stop here, it'll be hours before you realize it. He's too good at his craft. He'll be here on the way back, and you can listen to the romances he spins afterwards. You can do this, Dyssia. Ignore that maybe you're gonna miss an important detail in the ongoing saga, you can do this.

But consider also, holy crap, that glassblower is incredible?   Look at the way she pulls at it, pinching and tugging as if it's taffy, instead of molten sand. She's got a row of horses cooling in front of her, each one unique, each one somehow more truly a horse than the one before it. 

Which is absolutely incredible, in that none of them actually look like a horse? Dyssia's tried to draw horses before, and somehow none of them come out right--a leg too long, or an ear that refuses to be the wrong shape. She's never thought that it could be so much more effective to draw what a horse [i]is,[/i] instead of just what it looks like.

And here she is, doing that in glass. Smooth, flowing, moving while not moving. 

No! Remember. Force of nature. Enlightenment. Progress, dammit!

(Carefully, she takes one of the sky-blue-cooling-to-orange horses and passes it to a servitor. Take care of her, please.)

And holy shit, Amycix. You know, the blacksmith? The one that has a pavilion on the corner, all silks and cloth and warm and dark?  

Amycix is so cool. Like, unbelievably cool. You know the old saying about having multiple irons in the fire? Amycix actually [i]does[/i] that.  Multiple forges roar, sleeping dragons breathing fire across the ingots, all in various stages of yellow-orange-red.

She can tell the difference, did you know that? Dyssia's never picked up the secret, but Amycix assures her that you [i]need[/i] to be able to do that, if you want to be a good blacksmith. That's why she has the pavilion, that's why it's so dark, is so she can better see the color of the metal. Try to forge steel too cool when it's [i]this[/i] shade of red, and it fucks with the crystalline structure of the metal. But get it too hot, when it's glowing white like [i]this,[/i] and all the carbon gets burnt out of the steel, leaves it charred and ugly and weak. You want it a nice glowing yellow, that's when to strike.

And holy crap, Amycix can strike. 

Don't tell her she thought that, please. Please please please don't tell Amycix about the fantasies about those arms, and what they could do to her any time. Mmmf.

But it's not [i]fair,[/i] the absolute precision Amycix manages. It's like, she never stops moving, right? But the way she moves is like she's already seen the future of how she'll move, and now she's just carrying it out. Out of the forge, onto the anvil, three precise strikes, bang-bang-bang, and back in, and onto the next forge. There's an economy of motion that makes the blows almost meditative, and--

Okay, that's enough of that. If she stays and watches any longer, she'll be in more danger of not arriving than if she'd stopped to listen to the storyteller. Damnright hypnotizing, is what she is.

But Amycix is super cool, as established before, pay attention. Doesn't say a word about thirteen people ducking into her workshop to strategize, doesn't say a word when they aren't paying attention, only smirks a little when--oh fuck--she notices maybe a little too much about where they're paying attention, [i]bail--[/i]

Aaaand that just leaves the minor hurdle of the Guardian.

She saw the blue on the bridge all the way from the top of the hill, and had groaned then, and is groaning now.

What is it about some people that makes them think they have the right to just clog up traffic like that? To just declare that this is [i]their[/i] bridge, and none may pass without their say so? Why even design a city where rivers and chasms allow idiots to insert themselves as roadblocks?

It's like, she gets the appeal. It feels good, probably, to declare to the world that you are invincible. To tell any and all who look at you that, come on then, if you think yer'ard enough. What's the point of being invincible if you don't have anyone to test yourself against? It's about sitting there, and making eye contact, and daring people to prove you wrong, and seeing them wilt before you.

(She's considered what it must be like, and has come to the conclusion that standing in one place, glaring menacingly, for eight hours, seems like a pretty pointless and boring use of time. What a waste of a perfectly good day.)

Normally, she'd indulge them. Detouring means they get their high of successfully deterring someone with their presence, and she gets to avoid dealing with assholes. Or maybe, if she's feeling perverse, she'll just talk at them and see who breaks first.

Oh, it's not anything deceptive. You don't need to fool someone into letting you past when you know the right way to chatter. Make it so intolerable to listen that they either strike first or let you past just to get rid of you.

But not today. Not when she has a goal, not when she's unstoppable, not when destiny is on the line. Today, she has no time for them. Today, it's time to hitch the servitors to the grav belt, and hope like hell she's better at dodging than the Guardian is at shooting.