Alyas traced his finger along the slightly rough surface of the foldable table, out of boredom. To do something was his wish, to have every moment devoted to something meaningful. Sitting and waiting was not one of his favourite activities. The table, as if sensing his train of thought, lashed out, stinging him with a small sliver of wood. Alyas let out a silent affirmation of pain, cupping his hand in the other and gazing at the speck of imperfection imbedded in his skin. A reminder that the simplest of actions can cause pain. He focused his attentions on the wound, furrowing his thin brows in concentration as he carefully applied pressure to the skin surrounding the sliver. Pain grew as he pinched the skin, enough so that he conceded forfeit. In these times, even something small like a sliver could cause death, but Alyas felt no alarm for a little bit of treated wood that would remain in his body for only a short time.<br/><br/>A voice called to him, as preoccupied as he was, sitting crouched on his chair like a gremlin. He looked up to see Victoria, who had been in his thoughts just minutes previously.<span style="font-style: italic">Maybe she does have some kind of real magic,</span>he mused, more for humour's benefit than actual considered fact. Every member of the Kings had some sort of cheat or scheme, save a few of the mild-mannered actors. If on of their performances was 'free', one of the younger children would weave through the crowd, taking from the wealthier-looking patrons. Card tricks and games were an easy way to make cash, simple switches and sleight of hand that Alyas was very fond of. In a small way, the look of surprise or defeat on men and women's faces was part of his payment. He liked the attention, a small scrap of glory. Despite this, he always played fair with the children, still winning through his cunning most of the time, but losses were no sore blow on his coin purse. Let them play, he would muse, until hardship comes.<br/><br/>The woman greeted him with a term he didn't understand, likely to him a barbed insult, hidden behind a language barrier. Alyas hadn't been very well educated, knowing only his birth language, Italian. He perhaps knew it too well, hidden rules and catches laid out under his silver tongue.<br/><br/>"Is it a good morning,<span style="font-style: italic">zigaro?</span>I haven't had the time to notice." Alyas was not one to use insults, finding it a rather rude way of going about things. If he had an issue with a man, he would state his complaint, and only if it were reasonable. There was no sense in creating distrust and anger inside the Group, or they would surely fall apart before too long. He always found a way to let out a friendly jab or two, however, a little humour that usually fell lightly on both parties.<br/><br/>Even in a chair, Alyas sat almost the same height as the diminutive lady. While she was on the shorter end of the scale, Victoria seemed to have a large presence, simply in the way she stood and presented herself. A shroud of mystery laid there also, perhaps hidden deep within her voluminous hair or her deep blue eyes. When they had first met, he knew she would be a welcome addition to the band. He even indulged a little in a fortune telling, a made up ploy or not, though the details of it were strictly between him and her. He remembered it vividly, and while its words were vague, hardly worth any coins, it still chilled him, the question of 'what if?'<br/><br/>Alyas shaded his eyes with a cupped hand over his brow, once again gazing over to the hills in a choreographed action, a further play to what he had said to Victoria. "Indeed a good morning..." he mumbled to himself before turning back to Victoria.<br/><br/>"I see Nicholas has already accosted you," he grinned, indicating the pastry in her hand, "the boy seems quite lively this morning. As is everyone when we intend to move camp." Alyas took another bite of his pastry, savouring the sweet taste. A small about of red juice dribbled down his chin which he, like a perfect gentleman, wiped away with his arm. He felt no need to charm Victoria, unlike many, many other women that were successfully entrapped by his wiles.<br/><br/>Remembering the event of the night before, Alyas drew up from his chair, frowning comically. "You lost me out on some quite wealthy customers, m'lady," he complained, taking a leisurely bite of the pastry in his loose hand, "I expect you to repay me by helping me take down my tent." He knew, naturally, that in her helping him take down his tent, he would help take down hers. It was an unspoken rule among the Group, that favours, particularly in helping set up and take down camp, were to be paid in full. Yet he jested nontheless, a little merriment in a manual task.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">I still need to find my mother,</span>Alyas thought, awaiting Victoria's response with merry eyes,<span style="font-style: italic">if I don't talk to her about this matter my life might change for the worse. I am my own king.</span><br/><span style="font-style: italic">I am my own king,</span>Alyas' most fondly-said phrase. It eloquently expressed his character and ideas on the monarchy. It was usually an inner mantra of sorts, but occasionally, when he was feeling particularly haughty, as some might describe, it would tumble from his lips in a somewhat rude way. In the heart of the Renaissance, some ideals still were not accepted.