Inside the tent Esmeralda pointed over to the second cot to the right. "You'll be sleeping there."
Nodding Damara took a seat and removed the bundle from her back. It clanged slightly due to it containing her fire instruments. Taking notice of a small package she picked it up. "What's this?"
Esme looked up and smiled. "A welcome gift from the two men who share your talents" Damara blinked in surprise, opening the box she smiled lightly. Inside were two black fans, there was no fabric on them. They were crafted with metal, and at the tips were bundles of clothe. Opening one of the fans, Damara twirled it in her fingertips. They had to be the most beautiful things she had ever seen. This had to be one of the most stunning things she had come to own. Carefully, Damara placed the fan back in the box with its companion.
Esmeralda took a seat on her cot. "So, where do you come from?"
Damara was lost in thought for a few seconds. She had not been asked that question for a while. "My mother hailed from Spain, and my father was born here." Damara beamed fondly at the thought of her parents. "My father use to tell me stories of this place. Though it seems it's grown more in size since he last saw it. He would have been so happy to be back in the place of his birth."
Esmeralda watched her; she seemed lost in a world of memories. "What happened to your parents?"
Pulling back from her thoughts Damara sighed. "They died when I was a child."
The other woman looked down. "I'm sorry."
Shaking her head, Damara replied. "Were you there?" Esmeralda blinked in confusion and shook her head, no. Shrugging Damara stated. "Then it wasn't your fault, you don't need to apologize." Esmeralda couldn't help but chuckle at the peculiarity of her new friend.
The days in the Court passed quickly for Damara. Though she would have preferred to be in the streets paying of her debt, she couldn't help but enjoy being among her new family. The only set back to being surrounded by gypsies that were not her brother, was the fact that she began to feel some shame for her looks. Clopin had been right about her being too skinny, though she would never admit it. And the large scar on her face did no justice to her. Not wanting to disgust the people around her with her misshapen hands, Damara had taken to wearing some old gloves that Esmeralda had been kind enough to loan her.
One of the best things about the Court was the fact that Damara could put some distance between herself and Gillie. Within two days the scratchy sound that accompanied her voice was gone. Her voice had built up its strength and she sounded healthy and not sick.
About a week after arriving in the Court, Damara was out behind her tent. She was testing out her fire fans. She was only wearing her slip at the moment, not wanting to run the risk of her only dress catching fire, especially when she was not completely familiar with her latest instruments. Damara had also gone through the trouble of braiding her hair and pulling it into a bun for a safety precaution, the last thing she needed was a burned head.
As Damara danced, her motions started slow, almost hypnotic. It was difficult to dance without any music to accompany her, but she managed. Closing her eyes, Damara let her imagination run wild with different bits of music. She started with a style of dance that originated from India, called belly dancing. It had been a long time since she had done it, but with the regaining of some meat on her bones. She could do it without the worry of disgusting anyone. For a few seconds her arms moved around her body like caressing water, she had not lit her fans yet. Soon she sped up her movements. Pulling a one handed cartwheel, she snatched her fans and waved them over the open flame of a nearby torch.
Spinning in a circle the fire blurred around her body. Damara kept a close eye on it, extending her arms more. Adjusting herself for when she was wearing her dress, which was bulkier that her slip. Becoming more adventurous, Damara closed the fans and tossed them into the air, and began juggling. Catching them in the right place each time, snatching them she snapped them open. Pulling a front flip, Damara landed on her knees and steadied her breathing. Closing the fans, she put both blazing tips into her mouth and quenched the flames. Spinning up from her knees, Damara curtsied to her imaginary audience. When she opened her eyes, and the daydream had left her mind, she could still hear clapping.
Eyes widening, Damara snatched up her dress and covered her body. Spinning around her eyes fell on none other than Clopin. "Hasn't your mother ever taught you that it's rude to spy?"
Standing up, Clopin shrugged. Watching as Damara put her dress on. When she was about to put her gloves on, he stepped forward, and took them away. Studying them he waved them before her. "Since when do you wear gloves?"
Making a grab for them, Damara huffed up at him. "Since when do you care?"
Clopin held his hand up high, not letting her have them back. "Since you became one of my subjects, now why do you wear these?"
Glaring, Damara jumped and tried again to get them. "Give them back, Clopin!"
He stepped away. "Not until you answer my question!"
Rolling her eyes, Damara snarled. "My hands aren't exactly smooth as baby's bottom. If you haven't noticed sire, my hands are ugly!"
Cocking his head to the side, lowering his hands, causing Damara to assume he was giving her back her gloves. But when she reached for them Clopin yanked them away. Seizing her hands before she could pull away, he brought them to eye level. "You say your hands are ugly, no?"
She had no idea what he was up too, but Damara nodded all the same. Holding her hands tightly in his, Clopin looked at her sincerely. "I must say little phoenix, I don't agree with you on that."
Bring her hands to his lips; Clopin brushed his lips along the marred flesh. Relinquishing her hands, he smiled down at Damara and then turned to take his leave. Pausing he called over his shoulder. "You will be going above with me tomorrow; I'll be playing the flute for you. Be ready and dressed."