#ayza:threads

Performing on a karaoke stage was not, in any universe, the dream gig of an up-and-coming band. The people who would be watching were generally drunk out of their minds, accustomed to very bad music, and willing to applaud absolutely anything. But Ayza liked to be entertained--whether that was by good music or a good, public failure--so either way, inviting "The Hex Pistols" to perform was a win-win for the siren. Today's performance, however, was merely meant to be an "audition."

It was still early in the day--long before On Pitch actually opened--and Ayza was sitting in one of the booths, going through the business' finances, when the door opened and Kamran walked inside. "You must be the talent," Ayza greeted with a smile that might have seemed comforting and encouraging if you didn't know her better. "Please, go ahead and set up." She gestured toward the main stage.

Ayza thought she should be rewarded for what a good town citizen she'd turned out to be. Surely it was worth the medal of freedom--or perhaps the key to the city--that she'd seen a man looking as sad and lonely as Tripp--stuck at his company's table, left to witness the joyous parade from a pitiful distance--and generously decided to bring the excitement to him, front in center. The "excitement" in question happened to be a gray storm cloud: floating above his head, pouring rain on him and only him until he was drenched to the bone. Evoking a cheerful, helpful tone, the siren cooed, "There you go. Now the weather matches your mood. And, from the looks of it, your table might actually get some attention now. You're welcome." She gestured at a few gawking, giggling passersby who were staring at the wet, objectively attractive man with obvious interest.

Tourists came and went in Lunar Cove like the tides to the shore: a steady enough flow of newbies and the overly curious, that Ayza and the other business owners were able to maintain a relatively healthy income. That humans lost their memories of all supernatural occurrences the moment they left the border was particularly helpful for Ayza, whose best nights depended on poor saps with black cards deciding to leave their tab open while beautiful sirens lured them into another round and another song on her old karaoke machine. By the time they saw the credit card bill the next week, they'd have already forgotten why they'd chosen to tip such an unreasonable sum.

But tonight, business was slow, and so Ayza had fallen upon the tried and true strategy of standing by the entrance to reel in customers herself. When she saw a man she didn't recognize--one with a nice enough watch on his wrist to be worth her time--she began to hum. It was soft at first, a simple little melody. Not that it mattered much what she sang. Once the song began, the effects were always the same: an irresistible and hypnotic sound that lured any who heard it, compelling them to follow the source of the music.

"And you need this to breathe?" Ayza tapped the oxygen tank with one finger while with her other hand, she subconsciously touched the place her gills would appear after transformation. Given her nature, the siren had never had to use any of the equipment humans did to swim properly: the tanks and the masks and the flippers and all the rest of it. It was all quite amusing to her--though she had put on a wet suit because she liked the idea of the skin tight outfit, even if she'd rip it to shreds the moment she actually got wet. She had invited (ordered) Song to meet her at the beach that morning but hadn't yet told him what she wanted to do, just dragged him to the diving supply shop where she'd proceeded to excitedly wander around, giggling about very necessary, life-saving equipment.

She now plucked a pair of goggles off a shelf and put them on. "What do you think?"

"Don't worry, it's perfectly harmless." Ayza spoke without turning around, but she needn't look behind her to know that it was Nyra approaching. She had known the woman long enough to recognize her footsteps--that, and Ayza was intrinsically paranoid, always a bit too aware of her surroundings. She finished placing within the tree a pocket knife--one of her older ones, a treasure she could bare to part with--in exchange for the far more valuable jewelry she'd taken out of the hole. Because the knife was closed, and because Ayza considered it little more than a 'starter' knife, her words were technically not a lie: there would be no harm if it was not opened.

Like a crow or a magpie--or, more accurately, like a dragon--Ayza had always been attracted to shiny things: jewels and watches, broaches and piles of coins. Even more importantly, she enjoyed a challenge, especially when that challenge included breaking into something that was made to be locked away: namely, banks, security deposit boxes, treasure chests, and Old West wagons, brought down by a well-timed ambush. The Fairy Trees were not exactly Fort Knox, nor did Ayza really expect to find anything worthwhile, but she couldn't resist the temptation--or the twitching in her fingers that had her reaching for a lockpick the moment she sensed something she could pilfer.