#notelaihthreads

Notelaih touched fingers to his lips as the last of the fire died down around him, sweat beaded his naked chest and arms, but it soon dried up as the heat remained. He bowed and pointed eyes at the small tin can that had filled up with coins during his performance. He did not need the coin, he had plenty, but he would not take himself seriously if he didn't ask money for his entertainment.

The crowd moved on and he collected the tin before putting his shirt back on, it had tinged back to blue, but under the heat of his hands the colour shifted. It still surprised him, and his eyes turned to a shade of amber. He looked up to find a spectator still watching.

"Are you here to offer words in compliment?" he asked, in a joking tone.

Notelaih was not a creature who held certain beliefs towards others. He acted out of what he believed to be true, and did not let opinions of others sway him certain directions. He wished to make his mind up about people himself, and he was always kind in his opinion.

Though, knowing what he already knew of the man who'd brought both happiness and sorrow to Bella's life, he thought they'd most likely become vast friends. After all, their minds did sway a certain direction. Perhaps he could grant Bella more happiness if he too got along well with the man who was so important in her life.

Finding Valentin alone and outside of the large mansion, Notelaih did not waste any time to introduce himself properly. "Good day," he said with a smile. "We've not formally met though I think we know plenty about each other," he stated. "I'm Notelaih Saldores."

Notelaih thought for a moment, but the name did not ring a bell. So perhaps not yet, he did meet a lot of people, but not all of them left their names with him, not thinking perhaps he would treasure them as they should. "Not yet, I fear, but I am certain I will meet him," the Djinn stated. He accepted the cup with a smile. "We shall meet one who is a thousand and feel like youngsters again," he decided. Even if Notelaih lacked the knowledge to understand how old he truly was. His years in the desert were not in fact counted as years. In memories maybe. Or something else.

Notelaih felt like he'd made many a connection at the party, people he'd never seen before, but clearly could get along well with. His expectations had been to find mostly the rich, the well-off, the people who came to such a gathering to make new connections. And he'd figured he'd be there making a few too, not to find people who he might make a better connection with.

He followed word around town to the work place of the famed seamstress - even if she was not famed, he'd call her that. Knocking upon her door, dressed in clothing similar to what he was wearing at the gala, though with less patterns, but still showing off just as much skin. His eyes were shimmering opal, catching the sun.

As he heard noise behind the door, his smile grew.

Notelaih had never been a street artist, had never grazed people with his talents with smoke and fire. It had always been saver to keep it lowkey, to stop those around him from finding out that he was more than merely a servant. He would give shows, but they were small, they were within the bounds of imagination. Anyone within the power of fire would be able to do these.

Now he was free. And with freedom came the intention to show off, to create bigger and better shows, to set the world ablaze with creatures created from fire. All he needed was a tiny spark and he would be able to play around with the flames as if they were water. He send it up in the sky, formed dragons and wolves and lions. He barely had eye for his public anymore, as they left him coins in the cap he'd placed on the ground. His eyes were amber, shiny and vibrant.

He send the flames out, then accepted them back within. He could survive a lick of them, but his pants could not, so he only allowed it to run over his shoulders and arms. He shot out a few bolts of fire towards the public, forcing them back towards him, scaring whomever was at the front.

But instead, someone caught fire.

Someone who had simply been walking by, not knowing they'd become part of the act.

There were collective gasps from the audience and Notelaih forced the fire to be extinguished, but it was too late.

Notelaih was old, though he did not know how old exactly, what year he'd been born, nor what age he was supposed to be at. To anyone, he might look like he was end 20s, early 30s. When he'd been too static, he looked older, when he'd enjoyed freedom, he looked younger. But he'd been a kid once.

Young enough to stand on his own two legs yet still wobble as he walked.

Despite his age however, and how vague the details became with the years that passed, and how he could barely recall where it was he stayed in what order, he certainly didn't forget faces.

He hugged his cloak to his upper body and stared at the owner of the Tea House. It was easy to see the features of a young girl in the woman standing behind the counter. He grinned and walked up to her, placing an elbow on the wood and leaning his head on his hand. "Tajhana Saha," he said, the name coming to him from behind spiderwebs. "All grown up." As if that said much, not in his case anyway. "And in this town of all places." Perhaps it fitted, perhaps it didn't, the flames of his memory weren't giving him much information.

Notelaih did like to seek out those new to town, but with his increasingly demanding new position, his own dreamlike state about the friendship - or more - he had with Bella seemingly in bounds, he hadn’t had the time in some weeks now to see what fresh faces had made their way to the town he very heavily considered his home - perhaps outside of the desert his own home. His eyes roamed the streets with a fondness, amusement turning them amber, the seeking gaze of an extravert. He spotted a creature who couldn’t have so easily missed his gaze before then, with fiery red hair and a curiosity to her. 

He’d never been one for beating around the bush, his interest in those around him was one of the main reasons he hadn’t turned sour yet. As a semi-immortal, his final breath would be spend to send himself back to the desert he came from. But chaos kept him young and gave him boundless energy.

Moving off the stage with a final bow, Notelaih made his way to the bar. His show was well received, even if within the establishment of Blood, Sweat & Beers he had to keep his fires low. Not that he feared setting it aflame, he had far too much control over it, but merely that he considered someone accidentally walking into his beautiful creations.

"The holidays do have people in a jolly mood," he commented as he located Tannas. "I am rather surprised, I thought most of the celebrations were rather sober."