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___Hazina was quiet, hiding behind a large rock on the beach from the tall pale man that had just walked so arrogantly down the planks. She had seen him, the knife-bearer, who had unknowingly touched her mentor's heart. Hazina considered his looks, shrugging a little. The heart wants what it wants, she figured. He wasn't bad looking, but perhaps the fact that her beloved teacher enjoyed him kept a libido at bay. She continued to crouch, where Hazina had just before been enjoying the luxury of the sea on her toes, she now felt apprehensive at the sight of someone else. Already someone had accused her of being a pirate, and it was lucky for her a Cirque hand was around to straighten out the mess. Her broken English and sometimes surly or bewildered attitude might've earned her a hanging. She was curious though ...

___She edged out, sneaking behind rocks and eventually beneath the dock. Hazina paused for a moment, holding her breath and listening to his footsteps above. He was going to the edge, and she followed him movement for movement. The sand beneath the dock came to an end, and she contemplated what to do. Finally, after much deliberation, she began to walk into the water, quietly sinking herself until only her nose was above it. Hazina swam to where the pier's shadow met the bright aqua of the sea, and floated there, wondering what he was doing.

___Hazina furrowed her eyebrows, looking at him in a speculating manner. What was this, "Ah-lo"? Was it an English word? Had he just insulted her? What did he call her? Bubbles began to froth and pop out of her nose around her floating face. The nerve! She had only been stalking him. That was no cause for name calling. Hazina felt her eyes narrow dangerously as she began to take long strides through the water towards him, until of course, her waterlogged arm ruined the assertive moment. She balked, suddenly struggling with the weight of sinking metal and gradually began to lift her arm, gravity relieving it of its load. As the many compartments slowly emptied, she almost completely forgot about the man on the beach.

___She looked at him. Maybe it had just been a greeting, he really didn't look like the type of person who would outright start a fight. Not like her, but she had her reasons, or at least that's what she justified to herself. She always had to fight, especially against men. He had sniffed the water, which struck her as insanely odd, and she gave him a bemused look. He was comical, she decided, and his hat was a little interesting as well. As she surveyed him, she reached up and squeezed the water out of her now soaked afro-puff, which now hung in a bizarre red ponytail having had the life sucked out of it by the sea. For her mentor's sake, she would not judge this man before she spoke to him. Moving towards him and crouching down so their eyes were level, she inspected his face.
___"You are Sharl-ot." Hazina struggled with the "r" sound slightly. She held a hand out to him. "Ah-lo." She mimicked.

___Hazina's face filled with absolute confusion. She had almost no idea what he had said. As she struggled to pick through the words, she shook his hand firmly, the traditional greeting of the north.
___"Tha-toi-am." She said slowly, looking at him. Hazina had managed to decipher a few words, you, me, fish. Was he asking her to go fishing? Her tongue rolled clumsily in her poor imitation of his words. It was hard enough trying to master English, what was this mess? She felt she must start from the basics and educate him. Hazina brought her hands to her chest.
___"Ha-zi-na. Hazina." She said pointedly, and then brought her fingers to his chest. "Sharl-ot." The Masai figured he knew his own name, but perhaps by identifying herself and then him, he could get the picture.

___Her eyes wandered back to his cap, it was small, but wide. Interesting. Almost absentmindedly she reached up and touched it, while keeping eye contact with him. She was curious, and she was going to satisfy it. It was just cloth, nothing special, but still fun-looking.
___"You are the knife-bearer." She gestured at his hands.

___Hazina shied slightly at his sudden movement, her confidence briefly shattered as he handed her the hat. She held it delicately, inspecting the inner rim and sniffing it gently. Sweat, dust ... Man. Gingerly she bit her lip as she lowered it onto her head. A little big, but the way he wore it she figured it wasn't supposed to be as picture perfect as the intimidating top hats other northerners wore. This pleased her. Her face broke out into a wide wry smile, and she searched for something on her to gift him. She had noticed him staring at her arm beforehand, and gently offered it to him. In this odd greeting rite, they exchanged what fascinations they had for better knowledge. Hazina was enjoying herself.

___"Fakir arts." She responded. "Fire eating, snakes, swords." With her free arm she gestured largely, "Illusions. Strength." Hazina involuntarily flexed her only biceps. The young girl opened her flesh hand to him and showed him her scars and burn marks. As she let him have his fill of her metal arm she eyed his facial hair. It was so funny, he looked like a lion with a trimmed mane. Without even thinking, or caring, she touched his cheek and felt the hairs. This was a fantastic custom they had inadvertently developed. Simply fantastic.

___She was catching on to his lingo, and she smiled as she touched her own face. Playfully she pointed to the circular white blemishes on her face,
___"Neither will you." He was funny, amusing, she wasn't sure if he was worthy of her mentor's affections, but he surely wasn't worthy of the hatred she usually stored for the opposite sex. She also had a wonderful fascination for his odd beard. "Li-on." Fond memories of a childhood centuries past erupted in her mind. She gently touched his face again and looked at him.
___"Sharl-ot. Lion." She pressed her fingers gently on his facial hair. "Sharl-ot, ɔl-ŋátúnỳ, lion. Sharl-ot, Natun, lion. Natun, lion." Hazina smiled fondly at being able to use her home language. She decided to herself that in her head she would see him as that name, probably never say it out loud because she'd be thought of as insane, but it was fitting for him.

___"You staying with Ankita?" She questioned, trying very hard to keep her English right.

___"Natun." She nodded and said with him in confirmation. It was a shortened version of the actual word, but she wasn't going to try and give him a full-blown linguist course on Masai. Having had her fun with his face, she leaned back on her toes and smiled. Drawing herself up and swelling her chest with bright purpose she placed her hand upon her chest proudly.
___"Ankita my guide." Hazina proclaimed with quiet dignity, displaying prominently her intense pride in having the seer as her mentor. Hazina was slightly envious of this man, being able to live in such close quarters as the woman she currently had a following with. He must be able to learn so much. Hazina herself had yet to find some sort of housing, procrastinating in being a room-mate because of the concept of confinement. She frowned playfully, feeling very facially expressive with her current humour.

___"I sleep in cloth-sling ..." She searched for a word that had been tossed at her during her Cirque residence. "Ha-ha-mok." The Masai girl said slowly, but proudly. It was a new word, and not so badly butchered. "Hang anywhere, but they like near worker tray-lur." Hazina snorted with displeasure. "Too many people. Need air." She inhaled and then exhaled gently. "Live so close with other, not good for me." The red-head smiled wryly. It had been pushing it for her to even allow lovers to stay with her before Cirque, maximum three days, but then once they got to know her they left anyway.
___Hazina was enjoying this, greatly, far more than other encounters. With other people she tended to be nervous, dramatic, psychotic, or overly seeped in servitude. Her first impressions at the Cirque thus far had been less than impressive, leaving her feeling remorsefully sheepish afterwards. She was curious about his knives though, she knew several very well and had never actually seen him practice or perform.
___"I can see?" Hazina questioned, pointing at his hands. "Knife." She clarified as an afterthought.

___She smiled, amused at his small antic in handing her the knives with great flourish. Gently taking them from him she weighed them in her hands. Light, but dedicated. She flipped them in her hands and tested the points with her thumbs. Interesting style, more ... evolved than the knives she usually had dealt with. Spinning them around her fingers playfully she gave him a grin and raised her eyebrows, these were very nice.
___"Good." She praised, playing with them like a child did with a rattle. It wasn't normal for her to show off so much, but she figured she was feeling so good right now there wasn't much harm in being a tad vain. He had impressed her, why should she not impress him?

___Hazina flipped the one in her flesh hand and began to balance the tip of the blade on her palm, wiggling it slightly to keep it somewhat steady. Balancing acts were more of an introduction to her real performances, and almost to affirm that to herself she tossed the knife up and caught it in her mouth. She felt the sharp edge touch her uvula, but it wasn't really a big deal. Years ago she would have gagged or slit her throat from the inside but by now she was used to objects down her throat ... Fakir work of course. Gently sliding her tongue up the blade she gave a quick push and almost spat the knife out into the air before catching it. The Masai smiled at Charlot, cleaning it of her spittle, realizing how possibly disgusting her act had been. On top of that, now he had to touch something that had been down her throat?
___"Can put more, but ... maybe later." She sighed as she cleaned and shined his knife on her top. They were smaller than swords, but still as hazardous. She watched a bead of sweat trickle down his neck and pointed the other knife at it carelessly, forgetting it was in her hand.
___"Hot?"