"But there's no such thing as magic!" the man protested. "This ain't New Orleans... no voodoo here, just honest folk. So how...?"<br/><br/>Gabrielle leaned back in her seat, that ruby-lipped grin still gracing her smug features. She crossed her arms, lacing her fingers together over her stomach.<span style="color: #000080">"I suppose... zhat you vill just 'ave to come to ze show and see, non?"</span><br/><br/>"Oh, we'll see..." the man grumbled, shrugging hopelessly as he wandered off to inspect the rest of the gathering troupe.<br/><br/>Gabrielle Viviette herself rose up out of her seat the moment the man left, striding -- no, floating -- over to the breakfast table where Serina already was. The illusionist walked with an absurd grace. Her extreme flexibility, coupled with the strength, balance, and agility required for her acrobatic feats, seemed to have charmed her with almost unnatural perfection of movement. All in all, it was a lazy, swaying stride, almost like she was trying not to dance to an unheard tune.<br/><br/><span style="color: #000080">"You find anyzhing vorth eating in here?"</span>she asked the serpent-girl with a slightly crooked grin.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>