Chapter Text
Officially, this was a cultural experience, not a sign of weakness. Learning about an American touchstone, Sara insisted. Their plane left at 200… tomorrow. The drive was only an hour to the pickup. This fair closed at 2200. No, Nyssa accepted this weakness for Sara’s laugh. The Heir only vetoed rides for security. Strength and weakness balancing out.
Her Beloved diligently wandered around the landscape of rigged games, fried or sugary food, and merchants. Nyssa would rebuke under torture fair fries were excellent. The blue raspberry fibrous sugar overly sweet for more than a polite sample. Sara devoured the rest. Now casual echoes of Staircase to Heaven sounded from a distance stage over the thudding of a strength machine or din of bells.
“Dad won us a giant teddy bear at Skee ball.” Her Beloved detailed, pointing where people rolled balls to numbered cylinders. “Cost fifteen dollars and almost blew out his shoulder, but he set the record.” Nyssa smirked, sidestepping three 8 years old dueling with plastic tanto. “Bigger than Ollie’s.” Her Beloved smiled. “Laurel and I body tackled him and Tommy when they tried parading around with it.”
Nyssa draped her arm around Sara’s shoulders on the bittersweet note. The Blonde leaned into her. They strolled around vendors selling mystery bags for a dollar to passable mass-produced necklaces. “This reminds me of Temple Week.” The Heir mused. Free and fair games of skill for children next to food stands. No music though. The best Indian food next to the Bell Pick Pocket stands. Mexican next to the throwing knifes and dunk tank where initiates and apprentices tested their aim by dropping their instructors into water if their ball hit the target. Fire blazers every fifteen paces in the frigid mountain winters. Food vendors chosen by lottery, not coin. If her position allowed, she would have manned the throwing knifes games.
“That distraction your brother complains about?” Sara asked. They were completing Sara’s initiation marathon last celebration; her Beloved recovering from a fever her first week in Nanda Parbat the year previous.
The Heir smiled. Dusan ranted for hours on this proud six-century tradition, barely shortening when Ann and Mara discovered the joy. The market should stay outside of the First City. 600-year ancestral tradition or not. “To use your phase, his head would explode here.”
Sara bent over laughing. A true vulnerability turned strength. “You learn fast, young grass hopper.”
“My teacher is determined.” Nyssa replied.
“And student motivated.” Her Beloved stated.
The Heir glanced around at the commercialized scene. “Your next lesson?”
“Try one of the rigged games.” Sara suggested. “Darts, Skee ball, water guns, hammer test. Any game. I am going to get us fried dough.”
Nyssa sighed. “Darts should be painless enough.” Her Beloved had an ulterior motive for this. She humored her still.
5 Dollars got her five hopeless dull, unbalanced “darts”. Each dart with its own personality. One bottom loaded, another top heavy. Only one decently balanced with cracked fletching. An unskilled thrower would spend 30 dollars for a large prize. The prize is worth the effort, she reminded herself. A shark stuffed animal, hopefully closer enough to “Sharkie” of old. If she had decent projectiles, this would only be 10 dollars.
Nyssa delicately loaded the decent dart. She adjusted her grip, then flicked it. A pink half inflated balloon popped. She smiled. The worker drifted to the nearest client. Two more until a medium. Two mediums secured a new Sharkie. Another dart struck true but bounced off. The cracked fletching avenged its brethren. However, the fourth betrayed her. She weighted the final projectile. Its center further down more than expected. That crimson balloon flanked by three other barely filled balloons. The worker occupied by giving a five years old boy the same quantity of darts.
The assassin adjusted her thumb, fletched her wrist releasing the dart. Crimson shards fell to the ground. “Well done! What toy do you want or another round?” He prayed another round.
A wall of comets, stylized faces called emojis, and patterned bears mocked her. The Starling Rockets had comets in their historical logo. Nyssa pointed to the comets, then placed another five dollars down.
Five new personalities greeted her. 2 well balanced, but blunter than Mara if possible. One balanced. The last two hopelessly top heavy. The boy’s third dart glided to the ground. “Can I hold your dart for a moment?” She asked, glancing up at the patient father. Defeated, the boy handed her the fourth dart. The assassin weighed the blunt projectile with cracked fletching. This one could fly at least. “It should rest like this in your hand.” Nyssa modeled with one of the equally hopeless unbalanced ones. The boy copied it perfectly.
The assassin smiled as she returned to her plotting. Maybe she could will two of these to pop the mocking balloons.
“Thank you, miss.” The boy squeaked in glee as a by a miracle, one balloon popped.
Her smile grew. The knife throwing had been Mom’s favorite too. “Happy to assist…”
“Theo.”
Nyssa nodded, returning to her own situation. With a bit of luck, she could maybe pop two balloons. Two blunts popped a singular left green balloon. Theo’s final dart landed into the wall at least. He and his father wondered over to pick a small prize. The sole balanced one would get it victory. Except it bounced off. The other darts barely made it to the board. “Theo can get a medium.” She declared, refusing to acknowledge this round occurred. His dad nodded grateful.
Theo danced, leaping and pointing to a cat stuffed animal. “Mr. Tux will love his twin.” He cried. His father whispered into his ear. “Thank you.”
Again, she surrendered over five dollars. Three decent darts settled in her hand. One top heavy but hopeful. The other manageable even dull. She weighed it in her finger for ten seconds. Sara’s chuckle shattering the spell. “Taking your assignment seriously, I see.” Her beloved joked. Fried bread coated in powdered sugar, cinnamon, and jam in hand. Nyssa ignored her, then Sara laughed. “You got it, Jaws.”
“You want the shark toy?” Theo chuckled, spinning with the new toy.
“That is the plan, Beloved.” The Heir stated as she settled on the best grip. Clearly Jaws had some American popular reference lost to her. The quirky dart glided and popped the right green balloon. The next dull one bounded off the back. One avenging dart later, Nyssa scanned the new map.. The left more direct but sparely populated; the right trickier but a city of half-filled balloons.
With these ‘darts’ of this quality, quantity alone mattered. A pen was more fatal than these. Sara smiled as she tore the sugared fried bread. The Heir glided to toward the pack of ten, bouncing off a blue balloon. Her Beloved personally weighted the hopeless dart. A plan forming in her head and choosing the right words. It was a miracle it flew in a straight line in the wall with a mocking echo.
“Tim, give the valiant knight one more chance to prove herself to her lady.” Sara leaned against her, offering the bread. “Not that she has not already or needs to.” Her Beloved glanced at the kid’s ballroom dancing and jumping.
Nyssa did not fight the warm smile. Rules were strict in Temple Week, but the games were fair preparing them for the League if they wished. However, he handed Nyssa an aqua blue dart. She weighed the top-heavy projectile. This dart was a stretch.
She released it in a popping black balloon.
The vendor traded the overpriced comet for “Jaws”. Sara’s laugh worth the price and humiliation. They wandered away from the scam. Fried bread coated in cinnamon sugar and jam pleasantly if thoroughly American.
“What is this ‘Jaws’?” Nyssa asked by the classic rock cover band, concealed in a discreet corner. 1900. Only hours of this calm remained.
Sara paused. “The movie with the dunnn dunnn theme we almost worked in.” They agreed to never mention that incident again. “Two songs, then Skee ball, Hawaiian ice, then to return the music for the rest of the night?” The blonde offered.
“If that is what the lady wishes.”
“First, the Lady’s favor.” Her Beloved revealed an obsidian arrowhead with a tree engraved on it. “Not a handkerchief but…”
Nyssa leaned in, kissing her. The Heir tasted the strawberry jam. They could break a rule or two here undercover. “Still a good standard.”
They stayed in the over commercialized and sugared fair until they couldn’t.