"Hello, mērē pi'ārē," a lilting voice calls as the half-Nagaru steps onto the stage. Every step has a slight bounce, every motion makes the bells at her waist and ankles jingle, every gesture swings her bangles to glint in the light of the footlamps. With a well practiced flick of her wrist, she extends the feathers along her arms, brilliant green standing out from the pinks and purples of her outfit. An ensemble of musical instruments appear from behind her and begin to play.

A hush falls over the dinner party crowd, broken by whispers here and there. "It's Sarinda!" "THE Sarinda? The famed dancer, here?" "... did YOU invite her?"

She smiles her most enigmatic stage smile and begins her routine. As a child, she was trained in many styles of music -- but her favorite instrument is the audience itself, plucking softly at their fickle emotions and drawing forth a crescendo of gasps, a fermata of bated breath, a long slow trill of sighs.

She sings as well, sweet melodies in a Pan'xave accent calculated to enthrall. How the aunties of her hometown would seethe, if they saw her using their language this way, playing the "beguiling exotic" for this crowd of foreign nobles! And they can go right ahead and pluck themselves bare, for all she cares. They never accepted her even when she tried.

For now, the crowd is eating out of her palm, and that is what matters. That, and a well-timed wink that signals Beni to sneak out of the ballroom and get the information they were after. Zeppy assigned her to make a distraction, and she's damn well going to deliver.