Will of the One<br/><strong>Location</strong>: Guest Quarters, Civic Festhall, Sigil<br/><strong>Time</strong>: Mid-morning<br/><strong>Tagged</strong>: Closed for Ihaana & Bryseis<br/><br/>"Every story is important," that's what Ihaana said.  There was more -- she had more ideas, more thoughts on the matter, but she lost them in the haze.  They came and they went more quickly than she could seize them.  That was the way Ihaana liked it, if she were to be honest.  She didn't know exactly where all these people were, what they'd put into themselves to get there, but she appreciated the scene.  The setting.  A situation worth remembering, maybe.<br/><br/>She shrugged, though, first one shoulder and rolled into the other.  She wasn't any more dressed than any of the others here, and it left her on display like a mad gallery, the work of a hundred artists with a hundred different visions.  Some she'd gotten blind, stepped into an artist's workshop and laid herself down, presented her body as canvas and demanded real art.  Others were cruder, uglier, the work of aspiring artists or friends with ink and needles and no interest in the work.  The bleeding eyes on either of her palms were not the only marks of gods, live or imagined, on her body, but they were the only ones that had real meaning to her.<br/><br/>Finding space for another tattoo -- that might be difficult.  Not a challenge for Ihaana to worry about, though.  More thoughts came and went.  "If you can make it," she said at last, "then I'll wear it."  She glanced down at herself, looking over her own body; she knew each and everyone of them, where and when, but those memories didn't come easy to her right now.  Perhaps a new tattoo would swallow up old ones.  Wasn't that the idea?  The joy was in the needlework, the art, not the permanency.<br/><br/>Ihaana rose unsteadily from where she'd sat, cross-legged and bare save the iron bits that pierced her body here and there, glinting under lamplight.  She stepped closer to the genasi and the tiefling that hovered near, and as she closed, she reached a hand out, beckoning toward Rysse's pipe.  "And what have you got here?  Share?"