Captain Jenno — Roleplayer Guild

Well, never wager a shiny rupee you aren’t willing to lose, he supposed.

He’d only been spectating for, at best, a few minutes- Which was admittedly somewhat improper of him, because even given the context, turning around to find somebody staring at you could be somewhat unnerving- when she’d wrapped up her business and was preparing to move to another vendor…
And only a few moments more after that, before she’d quite suddenly homed in on him from the distance, like a hawk linked on a thrush.

For a painful few seconds, they made mute eye contact: And the entirety of Anemos’ body was suddenly filled with a static sensation, a physical manifestation of anxiety.
Part of his fight or flight response wanted him to quite literally select the ‘flight’ option, and blast himself high up into the empyrean with the sum of his magical power, regardless of whether or not he ever came back down: But the rest of him insisted he remain stalwart and motionless, if not for the sake of courage, then because all of the blood rushing to his burning face would have most certainly never made it back to his legs in time for him to run.
”Damn,” was all he could manifest in terms of thought, his entire mental process having frozen at the shock of the situation.

After those few long moments had passed, however, she looked away to consort with her companion.
Anemos recognised him just as he did Lorelei: A sword swallower by trade, and no doubt handy with a blade if the situation called for it.
He breathed a sigh of relief, sharp and short-lived, and for a split second entertained the idea of disappearing suddenly into the crowds: But at that moment, The Siren (seemingly) pointed him out across the gap between himself and them, and for whatever reason, that action alone almost obliged him to stay put.
He wondered what they were talking about, as they exchanged muted words: Perhaps whether or not it was really him, and how they should resolve his presence if it was.
Whatever it was, he was certain it wasn't good: Grout had made it perfectly clear that, if ever Anemos found himself in the company of Black Marsh’s performers, they’d be immediately hostile…
That said, Grout did have a tendency to “over-exaggerate” when he was angry.
And by that, what Anemos meant was lie profusely.
He was, after all, a veteran of show business.

Suddenly, they began to advance on him.

It was around this time, he realized that he was still staring at them, and he immediately resolved this by turning his gaze suddenly to the left.
He even considered whistling unsuspiciously, but ironically knew no act to be more suspicious.
Perhaps if he pretended he didn’t speak the language, then? Or even-
He found his thoughts cut off again as the Sword Swallower passed him by, totally without acknowledgement, and carrying flyers.

Almost instantly, a wave of relief crashed down onto him, dispelling that tingling sensation and drawing a second relieved breath from his lungs.
They were just handing our flyers! What had he been worried about?
However, upon breathing said breath, Lorelei appeared- for Anemos, seemingly out of nowhere- before him, flyer outstretched.
His heart almost leapt up into his throat, followed very closely by every other major organ from his thorax to his abdomen: But that shock seemed almost abruptly intercepted by another sensation, as he saw her surprisingly personable smile slowly deteriorate into a nervous grin.
”My God, is she… nervous?”, he asked himself, his shocked expression softening into a more affable one: His concern overtaken by empathy.

She hadn't a single clue who he was, had she? Perhaps that was for the better.
Still, that brief moment had defused most of Grout’s nonsense almost immediately: Although whether Anemos would pick that particular bone with him or keep his “socialising with the enemy” a secret was a decision he’d have to make later.

Slowly, he looked down at her hand, reached out, and gently took hold of the flyer she’d offered him.
He had an identical one in his bag, of course, but he’d never be so impolite as to deny a free one.
Then, he gave it a gentle tug, and…
It stayed in her hand.
A second tug, once again came with no response.

He glanced up at her, inquisitive in his expression, only to find her staring at him.
He’d have felt uneasy, he was sure, had it been anyone else: But in this situation, to disapprove of staring would've been akin to the pot calling the cauldron black.
He smiled nervously at her, hoping the mild gesture would gain her attention.
“Uhm,” she’d gasped, upon snapping out of her daze.
“Hello there,” he greeted, warmly, in the hopes of putting her at some relative ease.
After all, if she hadn't recognised him yet, what was there to be uneasy about?
“Oh—sorry!”
“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckled softly, taking the flyer as she released it, and imitating the act of preparing to read it.

“Oh, I-”he’d begun, intending to maintain cover by feigning ignorance of either circus’ existence.
This, as it seemed, was not to be.
“Aren’t you…”
His heart sank into his stomach.
”…Gales Tempesta?”

He had to fight the urge to physically wince.
He’d misjudged the situation for a second time: Somehow, some way, she’d recognised him, unmasked.
Had she seen him before, or had he simply gotten careless? Had he bet his rupees too soon?
After that, a seconds silence passed, in which Anemos expected hellfire to begin raining down upon them.
But none came.
To the contrary, she seemed almost… excited, to meet him.
Surely she wasn't… surely she wasn't a fan?

He hesitated before replying, but smiled all the same as he spoke. Rival or not, she seemed far nicer than he’d ever anticipated her to be.
To think, the leading lady of The Black Marsh Circus had recognised him: To think she might be a fan!
“Haha, I’m not that old, am I?”, he asked, genially, as he lowered the poster, and with it, his act.
“Well, you’ve caught me, I suppose,” he admitted, with a nod, “But… how did you recognise me?”

As he spoke, he noted her frequent glances elsewhere, as if she thought at any moment they might be dragged away on counts of heresy. Perhaps Black Marsh really was as rough as he’d heard, although, he imagined being so close to Spectacle Rock territory did little to soothe her fears.
“Nevermind, it isn’t important,” he assured her, in hopes of mitigating her anxiety, "But... you can't tell anybody else, alright? It's a secret to everybody."
Then, he glanced down at the poster again, before looking back up to her, “And you’re… Lorelei the Siren, aren’t you?”
His smile grew a little more warm, and sincere: The flyer was like a direct invite, it assuaged his fears that he was doing something overtly wrong by attending.
Grout would still gut him like a fish if he knew, though.
“Thanks for the flyer… I think I might just catch one of your shows.”
He paused, and rubbed his neck awkwardly, “You know… provided nobody else there recognises me.”

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