A/N: Again, these scenes are not in chronological order.

no friends

Perfect spheres of salty water exploded; tiny disturbances on the dusty street and a waste on inhospitable terrain. Shadash stared at the dark traces of moisture that had fallen near his dust-clad feet. Mismatched eyes backtracked the path the drops had taken through the air. His maddening gaze slowly lifted up to the young woman he had agreed to meet. Under a layer of powder, her pale face was splotched with red patches; no amount of kohl could hide the red rims of her eyes, but her sweet, full lips continued to smile. Strangled emotions led the dark-skinned entertainer to draw a parallel between her tear-muddied facial powder and the tear-stained dirt next to his feet.

"I don't like it here," the boy said irritably, feigning absolute obliviousness to the wet tracks shining on her cheeks. "And it is much too early to be out."

'Too early' was not long after sunrise; time for most entertainers to finally rest their heads. 'Here' was the deplorable contrivance known as Avenue Paradise, an avenue Shadash had known since childhood when he was one of its wares to be pandered. It was populated with other unfortunates now. Only a few of the older prostitutes knew him and sneered at his passing: they knew the spiteful hatred that burned within the higher class entertainer for those he considered beneath him.

"Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?" the girl laughed, gold curls bouncing beneath the blue gauze shawl she wore over her head and wrapped around her body. Shadash noted the character of her laughter was happy, rather than nervous or forced. She pointed triumphantly at an elaborate jewel piercing her nose. "I've a husband."

The gold jewelry was the other detail Shadash had studiously ignored the moment he found her. "Even I could borrow the house mother's jewelry and pretend to be married, Aisha. The sky knows I've had stranger requests. Do you know what it costs me to meet you? To waste my precious street time like this; it's shameful."

"As if you know shame." She scoffed. The boy took a threatening backward step, but the girl continued smoothly before he turned away. "Why haven't you asked who would marry me?"

Exasperated, Shadash shrugged his elegant shoulders; a motion that caused his abundant jewelry to chime. No matter how degrading his life, he never lost his composure for long. "You must be proud if you want me to ask a question like that. I shall guess... hmm... one of the Caliph's many sons."

The sarcasm was ugly in the morning's golden light, but Aisha was as proficient as he at ignoring things that displeased her. "Shouldn't you at least be happy for me? We've suffered together and we've conspired together, but mostly we've learned that Hell is a better place than Calimport. My husband is taking me away from here."

It was only because she did not try to convince him of the truth of her words that Shadash began to believe her. Such a thing, if it was true, did not bring him happiness; it only inspired a fouler mood. "Then go. I hope he takes your pestering, too."

This time he twisted on the ball of his foot, leaving a hard impression in the dirt covering the old stone avenue. The energy of his swing, indication of his unreasonable anger and uncommon grace, swept his red sarong out wide. The tiny gold bells and glass baubles decorating the hem of the garment rang sharply in protest.

"Why aren't you happy for me? We both wanted to escape this place!" Aisha scolded him bitterly from behind. "We helped one another! I can still help you! If you remain a whore it is your own fault!"

Her words angry wasps which blindly assaulted his ears. For a moment he could feel himself verging on dangerous territory. He could feel the near break of tension within his heart that heralded violence. Rather than give in to the bubbling desire for primal action, he spun back, eyes closed tightly against the force of his coming outburst.

When his voice came, it was loud. Much louder than he had ever cried at the hands of pain or injustice, louder than he had ever sung. It came as a shock, but not a surprise, that his raging was purely incomprehensible but to him.

"You're still a whore! Nobody cares if you live or die! That husband of yours is going to keep you a slave to his charity! You deserve everything you get for being so stupid! I always hated you and your grey eyes! I don't have enough kindness to wish death on you; I hope you live forever so you can fully appreciate every one of your flaws and all your stupidity!"

Reaching up to his jewel-studded ears, he ripped forth a matching set of heavy pearl drops, and threw them at the girl's feet. In Calishite he stormed, "Your wedding gift!"

She stared in fading shock at his enraged tantrum. Avenue Paradise had grown quiet with the free show, many a dazed drunk and tired whore watched with interest; one never knew how things of this nature panned out or how valuable the scene might prove. There could be a fight amongst the bottom dwellers over the expensive jewelry thrown in the dirt if neither entertainer picked them up.

Nothing short of physical force could have kept Shadash there a moment longer. Angry and confused, he turned away again and began to run back toward Dancer's Gate. In his rush to leave the Avenue, he dashed past the thief that acted as chaperone for the teahouse. The hard-eyed woman was unconcerned, but followed at a safe distance. She would wait to see if the incident would be important to her superiors.

Next scene: the best medicine.