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/>Ihaana's eyes had that far-off glaze; she didn't take as easily to the drugs, maybe, as her companion, or maybe she'd taken something else?  She didn't remember.  Tried, but couldn't.  She laughed when she felt a tongue on her ear, but awkwardly slipped an arm around Rysse, resting her hand alternately on the tiefling's waist, back, wherever as she moved.  Each of Ihaana's fingertips was scarred save her index fingers, tiny little lines that had been cut, scarred, and cut again until they stood out fractionally above the rest of skin.  Like so much of Ihaana, even her touch demanded to be remembered, to be unique.<br/><br/>"The center of the multiverse," Ihaana echoed, staring off toward the pouring water, the genasi that had disappeared within it.  Another memory shifted through her mind, an echo of a philosopher she'd met when she'd first stepped foot into Sigil, when she was still one of the Clueless, an aimless prime crushed by the wonder of the city in the center of everything.  He'd told her,<em>Wherever we stand, that is the center of all things.</em>Was he one of these, a Signer?  Or maybe just a cartographer.<br/><br/>Under Rysse's tongue, Ihaana's pulse was languid, drugged.<em>Thump...  Thump...</em>She tried to speak, but lost the thought.<br/><br/>Instead, she considered: "Are we the vulgar show?"  She laughed at that, and pulled Rysse closer, or maybe just leaned toward her.  It seemed the same to her.  More quietly, so Rysse might hear but not Prisine, her drug-addled brain left her to mutter, "Or maybe we're the Center."