- Messages
- 613
Robin had no idea whether or not what he was planning to do today was legal, but as far as he knew the laws of the wizarding world were different from the muggle world. The problem was that wizards did not tend to appreciate these fine arts because magic was apparently more impressive. Robin laughed at such foolery. Physical strength was the foundation of true magic, and he couldn't abide seeing seeing older wizards growing fleshy and round while waving their wands lazily. His own father had taught him well, and he could only hope that the witches and wizards of Brightstone would see just how hard he worked. If the carved stomach muscles and torso were not enough to display, then the speed in which the shining metal spun through the air at his fingertips was everything he had to convince them.
Rob was going busking.
The great tent of La Grande Tour Circa was positively freezing in the New Zealand winter, but still Rob wore as little as possible even though he was headed out into the street. A long black-tailed vest was donned over bare shoulders and chest, falling onto loose arabian-style blue pants. His shoes were barely shoes at all, something that an acrobat might wear on the tight rope, but he placed a comically tilted top-hat on his head and grinned as he passed the long hall of mirrors leading out into the world. Robin looked good, and he knew it.
Even so, presentation was only half the show. By this time he stood at the cobble street corner with a little silver tin at his feet, and he began his performance. Robin was in his element, and it mattered not whether anyone came to see at this point when he balanced the tiny white balls on the tips of his fingers. Knives would come later, when all the kiddies had scampered away. For now, he rolled them across his arms and flicked them from finger to finger. They balanced on top of one another on the tip of his nose, and swirled around in the wind when he juggled them to and fro. Forget an audience. This was fun.
Rob was going busking.
The great tent of La Grande Tour Circa was positively freezing in the New Zealand winter, but still Rob wore as little as possible even though he was headed out into the street. A long black-tailed vest was donned over bare shoulders and chest, falling onto loose arabian-style blue pants. His shoes were barely shoes at all, something that an acrobat might wear on the tight rope, but he placed a comically tilted top-hat on his head and grinned as he passed the long hall of mirrors leading out into the world. Robin looked good, and he knew it.
Even so, presentation was only half the show. By this time he stood at the cobble street corner with a little silver tin at his feet, and he began his performance. Robin was in his element, and it mattered not whether anyone came to see at this point when he balanced the tiny white balls on the tips of his fingers. Knives would come later, when all the kiddies had scampered away. For now, he rolled them across his arms and flicked them from finger to finger. They balanced on top of one another on the tip of his nose, and swirled around in the wind when he juggled them to and fro. Forget an audience. This was fun.