So, how are you doing that? [Yaksha]

"And so I said, 'that's not a hedgehog, that's my wife'!"

The laughter was a tangible presence, a solid wall of sound that surrounded Yaksha and uplifted him.  Each and every time it came to him quicker, and it seemed to go so much faster.  His first performances had been...so very stilted.  Perhaps the magic was there, -certainly- the magic was there.  He could do things no one else could, and there was always a place among men for those who specialized.  But there had been no time for anything but the magic, for anything but the...tricks.  And had he seen some scoffs and derision in the audience?  Yes, he did believe so.  Showmanship, then.

The second had worked quite a bit better, even if the few random hecklers had thrown him for a loop.  He was trying his best to shift into another manner of thinking entirely, to be like these humans, to blend in seamlessly.  And it had worked, up to a point.  He had managed to think up three or four proper retorts, and toss them out at just the right times.  And it was -so- rewarding, to see them pay off.  But now it was just so...simple.  And liberating; he didn't even have to lie, not truly!  He smiled and told them all that he wasn't one of them, and all he had to do was thumb his nose and give a suitably knowing look, and they all thought it was -part of the act-!  How beautiful the notion of a gimmick was.

And then Yaksha spotted it, amongst the sea of faces.  A familiar one, a girl he could've spotted out even if he hadn't remembered her.  There was something about that preternaturally pale skin, something about her appearance that seemed far too affected.  Whatever was going on, it was an act.  Perhaps one just as good as his.  He knew, at the very least, that she would be one of the few amicable to the notion that there was more at play than simple sleight of hand.  He swung around in a smooth, sharp motion, twirling to face her, and smirking.  That pale flesh, the outfit...it was almost Gothic.  But no.  No, that would be too simple.  Too restrictive a label.  Whatever this girl was, she was too unique to deserve such a mundane title.

"And I spot a repeat customer!  I -know- I recognize you.  Don't tell me, don't tell me!  Are you here to point out all of the hidden strings?  To point out how I could've just hidden the pieces in my sleeves?  Scoped out the crowd for a few days, and set up a few little tricks?  I'm sorry to disappoint, but...well, a certain fictional boy said it best."

He flung one hand behind himself, causing thick, almost visible strands of reaitsu to flow off from his hand, giving the impression he had somehow hidden an entire cobweb in his sleeve, for just the right moment.  They glimmered and just barely caught the gleams of light...until he winced, flexing and tensing a muscle that didn't quite exist, again.  This time, it came a bit slower, and the sense of...resistance wasn't quite as notable.  After all, the color already -existed- in the world, no?  It was simply...light.  Or something like that.  And everyone knew ghosts followed their own physics.  It was hardly any work at all to make his threads suck up the proper lights...and there it was.

The threads were now starkly visible, each one burning a scarlet, almost angry red.  If they didn't know better, the audience almost even would've said they were giving off their own pulsating light.  That these threads somehow contained...the essence of redness.

"There are no strings on me."

The girl was addicted.  Yaksha could tell in a heartbeat, even if she would've never used the word herself; his attempt to entice her, to get her involved in the show, was simply too much to resist.  Or perhaps it was just that his little trick had so surprised her.  In either case, she looked...not merely interested, but positively excited, now.  She looked in fact like a girl who was determined to do everything in her power to play her part.  And on that aspect, Yaksha couldn't be happier; was there any greater joy than seeing a human willingly agree to his machinations?  To have his own plans dovetail just perfectly with their desires?  There was no need for force, or subtlety.  Yaksha's power, soft though it may be, was undeniable.  And it was growing harder with each performance.

"Ah-ah-ah-ah!  Those are not for the uninitiated to touch!  I'd say something pretty-sounding about them being dangerous, but honestly I just don't want my trade secrets getting out.  So how about we just have you...sit quietly for a minute, alright dear?"

Yaksha's foot tapped down on the ground, his brow once more furrowing, sweat breaking out on his brow.  The theory was sound, Yaksha knew exactly what he wanted to do.  It was as clear in his mind as anything else, as clear as the very face of the girl he had wrapped up so thoroughly.  He even had some framework to go off of.  But this one, this one here was so very different, in so very many ways.  Turning his reaitsu into stone was one thing.  But to manipulate stone with his own will?  To place his soul into the ground beneath them and hope to control it?  The earth was an unfathomably large substance, something that moved and thought in millenia and eons, not years or minutes.  It was never meant to move so rapidly.

But Yaksha thought in centuries and generations, and that wasn't so different when you got down to it.  Perhaps Yaksha wasn't as old as the earth itself...but he could make a nice attempt at it.  His eyes widened, his teeth baring, and to everyone present it likely appeared as if he were about to have a stroke...or were working his way past a very difficult gas bubble.  He slumped forward ever so slightly, his hand curling into a fist, his foot tapping against the ground again, again, a third time...and there it was.  The rhythm, the just-right rhythm.  He exhaled slowly, forcefully, and tapped down one last time...and this time the earth itself rose at his beckoning, clasping around Remi.  But it was remarkably soft earth, more akin to mud than stone.  It looked in fact as if Yaksha had -just- managed to find something he had been looking for, and a thick bubbling concoction arose at Remi's feet, spiralling up and engulfing her, up to her torso.  Yaksha turned back slowly, and began to rub his hands together, exhaling slowly.  Now he sounded...almost drunk.

That trick he'd been hoping to train at least another week, but...desperate times and such.

"I'm the one getting my hands dirty here, darling.  And that means -I'm- the one that gets to pass his hat around at the end, don't think I forgot about that good people.  I may consider this my true calling, but the grocery store only accepts one currency."

Ye gods, this was going too perfectly.  They said Murphy's Law was all about things going wrong, but Yaksha now had to wonder what it was that made everything around them go -right-.  She was actually playing along, and better yet she was actually talented!  That little trick was downright tricksy, and even he would've been hard-pressed to match it.  He almost seemed to forget the performance entirely, simply staring at her with wide, eager eyes.  Be still his beating heart, Yaksha had never in his wildest dreams thought that he would find an assistant like this!  He turned back to the crowd, the smile on his face nearly...goofy.  Was he just a little too excited?  A bit too wide-eyed and eager?  Perhaps so.  And when he spoke, there was just the smallest hint of a tremble.  Unnoticeable for most of the plebians.

"Have I committed a faux pas?  Oh, be still my beating heart!  I would never -dream- of performing something so crass.  You'll have to pardon me, I'm a bit of an outsider everyone.  I've even been told that I'm a little too...hollow.  To fit in here.  It's always made me quite sad, seeing these people look down on me because I'm so odd.  But you know...in my experience, odd and magic go hand-in-hand.  So here we are!  And just this once, I suppose I can see you all looking up to me.  Still...to hear I'm being such a boor!  I feel I owe it to you all to repent.  I believe the Japanese have something called...Yubitsume?"

His eyebrows rose, fell, rose once more, and a moment later he rose both hands into the air.  He held his hands out, his fingers moving in a slow, vibrant arc...before he finally held them out, moving into the familiar gesture of one of the most rudimentary of magic-tricks; the removed finger.  He performed it a few times, his mouth wide open and eager sounds escaping from his throat.  After about five seconds of groans and jeers, he rose his hands into the air, and nodded slowly, almost calmly.  He nodded, seeming oddly proud of the fact that they had caught onto his little trick.

"I know, I know.  That was a bit lame, even for me.  Give me some credit, it's been a long day.  I only prepared so many tricks."

He rose his hands once more, this time one of them seeming to shift and writhe ever so slightly.  He slid his hand into his sleeve, rummaging about...and a moment later a thick pair of black scissors reappeared, exactly where his hand should've been.  They were long and sinisterly sharp; the handles would've had to have been almost three feet long for the blades to poke out as they did.  He slid his other hand into the blades, opening them with a sinister sound.  There was a visible rime of rust around each blade, gently fluttering towards the ground...until Yaksha lopped off his entire hand, from the wrist upward, in a sharp motion.  Blood spurted out for a few long seconds, and he stared at everyone present, waiting for the look of shock and dismay when they realized it was actually a hand.  A real, organic, human hand.

Albeit a very shrivelled, wrinkled one.  Yaksha's real hand rested safely in the crook of flesh left, the wound already closing over to a faint nub, as if it had been removed weeks or years ago, rather than seconds.

"Whoooooops~!  Always go a little too far, I find.  Give me just...a..."

He shut his eyes, screwing his expression up into one of concentration.

Yaksha once more glanced towards Remi, his expression shading towards that look of pure enjoyment once more.  He barely even seemed aware of the fact that there was still a performance going on, that there were a few hundred eyes fixating on him.  It all seemed so distant, so far away, so...irrelevant.  Finally, Yaksha had gotten what he wanted.  Finally, there was a real participant, someone that knew how to test him and draw out the best of him.  It was so very -easy- to toy with all the rest, and yet this girl seemed to keep upping the ante before Yaksha even realized it...and Yaksha felt a beautiful electrical thrill from it all.  Why couldn't every performance be like this?  Why couldn't this girl just be there, every single time, ready to push the tricks to the next level...?

He sighed slightly, wiping moisture from his eyes, and then turning back to the audience.  He heard it, almost felt it in his bone...there was the powerful sussurrus of hundreds of people all holding their own conversations, a hundred voices all dripping together into something else entirely.  Yaksha sighed, clapped his hand to his chest, and cleared his throat, before speaking in a soft, almost pained voice.  It sounded, in fact, like the voice of a man who had just cut his hand off and was trying his best to sound calm.

"I'm sorry for the delay, ladies and gentlemen.  I'm just so overwhelmed by how good you've all been to me.  This marks my fifth performance, and each one feels so much more natural than the last.  Now, the little girl spoke quite aptly.  Don't take your eyes away, not even for a second.  It won't help, but it'll make this next part -way- cooler."  He reached out slowly, a foot sinking beneath his dismembered hand, and kicking it into the sky, in an incredibly high arc, soaring up and over everyone's heads.  A few reached up, hoping to grab it, but not a single one was actually able to.  And throughout it all, there was a single, painfully loud crack of static, and Yaksha was simply...gone.  A few people in the crowd had the faintest sensation of being nudged or shoved, as if a hard wind had passed by, but nearly everyone was still standing, following the arc of the hand's motion...

Directly into Yaksha's outstretched hand.  He leered like a madman as he stood on the very edge of the sidewalk, placing the hand against his stump and whirling around in a swift, theatrical motion...and jerking his newly rejuvinated hand's thumb back over his shoulder, shouting in a booming umpire's voice that brought a smile unbidden to the starry-eyed people's faces, all at once.

"Yeeeeee'r out!"

He bowed one last time, letting the clapping and commentary wash over him, and smiling that nearly drugged smile.  The performance was done...and now Yaksha had something to while away at least the new couple hours with.

The heavy mutters and rumor mills struck Yaksha almost forcefully, leaving his nostrils flaring and his eyes dilating.  He wasn't quite so buoyed by the positive emotions to actually try laying his hands on Remi, but it wouldn't be too much longer; at this point, he was reasonably certain she was interested enough to tolerate nearly any level of oddity from Yaksha.  And that was the dream, wasn't it?  To be so useful, to be so damned -effective- that literally nothing could take away his accomplishments.  To ensure that no one else could ever break the pedestal he was resting on.  He smirked slightly, reaching up to his face and wiping away at his eyes; after a second or two of careful rubbing, a pair of blueish lenses were resting on his long, spindly fingers, and Yaksha rose his brows in an almost conspiratory manner.

"Everyone's looking for the big things, no one seems to notice my eyes change color for each performance.  One day, perhaps."

He continued to walk along, his movements slow and languid, yet still possessed of a speed that was impressive; he seemed as if he could've beaten a seasoned sprinter simply bounding on the tips of his toes, at the rate he was moving right now.  He effortlessly spun and twisted through the mobs, barely even losing momentum as he did...and pausing every block or two, never -actually- bothering to look back over his shoulder, yet somehow possessed of the utmost certainty that Remi was still following, and when she had managed to bridge the gap well enough.  Finally, after they had travelled for a good ten minutes, he turned to her, and clapped his hands sharply.  A heavy, almost painfully final sound in the circumstances.

"So!  You made that performance a resounding success.  I had suspected they lacked a certain je ne sais quoi, and now I think I've found it.  I need...an assistant.  Someone that can properly play off of my specialties, with a few of her own.  So, let us start off simply."

Yaksha plunged a hand into a pocket, rummaging inside, and then withdrawing...bills.  A fistful spilling over with bills, with familiar faces and colors and the sheerest...essence of worth.  His hand nearly reeked of richness as he held it out towards her, his smile somewhat sheepish.

"My ill-gotten gains have been growing a bit unmanageable of late...but God help me I just can't stop.  So I'm thinking it's only proper I spread the wealth a little bit.  And while you introduce me to this...King of the Street.  We can discuss your brilliant future in the entertainment industry."

He paused for just a second, brows furrowing as if he were mentally running the words he had just spoken through his mind, before tilting his head to the side ever so slightly.

"You -are- of age to work, yes?  No, no.  Don't tell me.  If it ever becomes an issue, I'll just show you how I earned the name 'Forktongue'."

His brows rose once more, his expression one of wicked delight, one that told he knew -exactly- what he was saying and implying.  And yet there wasn't a single hint of actual...wickedness about him.  He had painted himself in broad strokes, had slipped into that familiar routine so quickly it was hard to imagine it was even an act.  But anyone that was even a moderate judge of character could tell in a moment that he had no more intention of harming Remi than he did of sprouting wings and flying.

Which, given his act, was a coin toss at best.

They had finally arrived at their location, and now Yaksha seemed to grow almost...placid.  Gone were the histrionics and the ridiculous attempts to gather the public attention.  Gone were the gaudy theatrical moves, and gone was most of his sense of preternatural grace.  He moved towards the counter slowly, pausing for only a moment to touch his brow as he smiled at the father settled in at his table.  For just a moment, the food seemed to taste a bit sweeter...or perhaps it was just the ever-so-faint miasma of reaitsu Yaksha was letting off, bouncing around the room and seeming to build up a sort of negative charge.  Within moments, he seemed to scatter even the faintest of ill feelings.

He glanced around the place, his expression almost worn, now.  There was something about this smaller setting that seemed to be leaving Yaksha...off his game of sorts.  Or perhaps he was just playing a new game.  Was it ever possible to tell, with a man who built his entire reputation around sleight of hand and trickery?  He settled into a chair, something oddly organic about his smile, now.  For the crowds it was all wide smirks and booming laughs and the rapid-fire patter.  It was almost expected, and most importantly it didn't give them time to let their higher thought processes kick in.  But now, Yaksha could count the others present on one hand.  He almost preferred it this way, when it came time to talk business.

He reached for his glass, taking a slow, ruminative sip...and his fingers seemed to loosen ever so slightly, the glass clinging to his flesh by luck more than anything else.  His eyes closed completely, his face going absolutely slack.  He didn't speak or reanimate for three or four seconds, and when he did the smile was back.  But now it was muted, like a statue that had been underwater for some time.  It was smooth and rounded, less...angular.  It looked, in fact, like a person who was genuinely happy, rather than someone who had spent years practicing in front of a mirror to get the perfect grin.

"This stuff is dangerous.  I could make an entire meal of just this.  It may surprise you to hear this, but I'm actually a bit of a foodie.  In my...old line of work, food was scarce.  And most of it, you had to kill yourself.  I wasn't -bad- at making a fair meal from what I could scrounge, but I've never really had a fully stocked kitchen to work in.  I wonder, sometimes...what I'd be able to make if I just had a bit of spare time.  But busy busy bee that I be, it's sadly not for me."

He turned his attention back towards Remi, and that smile warmed up ever so slightly once more, as he leaned forward just a bit.  He spoke slowly, in a voice that seemed to lack any humor or drama at all.  It was a soft, soothing voice...a voice that on the surface seemed to have no emotion whatsoever.  But as it slid out from his throat, the voice seemed to bounce around the walls, resonating, creating an odd echoing effect.  He didn't seem to have much emotion at all, but the voice was...insidious all the same.  If his old voice had been sewage, pond scum, this new one was something else entirely: The greasy, unpleasant-looking rainbow atop an oil spill.  Something brilliant in its ugliness.  Something that, even though -every rational fiber of your being- told you was dangerous...still somehow seemed worth getting a closer look at.

The words were whisper-soft, yet still seemed to react Remi without any trouble at all.

"Your talent.  Can it be used to change your face?  Your hair?  I've seen it's...impressive versatility.  It would be a shame if I memorized a false face.  Everyone deserves a place where they can be genuine."