It was between his second and third numbers that Oisin noticed the Girl with the Green Eyes. When he did, he was surprised it took that long – she was rough around the edges, but pretty, and he guessed that if she got dolled up that would be more like gorgeous. Young, but so was he. But those eyes! They were so bright and green it was like a song come to life, and Oisin knew a thing or two about those. Especially the way her dark hair framed her face, that made her eyes really stand out. A second later her gaze darted down and away. Ah, that would be why. Oisin didn't say anything, and noticed several other interesting people besides, and went on to his third piece.

His first two numbers had been rather pedestrian local ballads, with his own touches of course, one sweet and a little dramatic and the other funny and a little ribald. Ribald had gotten the best response from most of the crowd, so his third piece was The Ballad of Sash and Waistcoat – not one Oisin personally cared for, but one that always got a good response from the right sort of crowd. He could introduce them to some real artistry later. Of the members of the audience Oisin had singled out in his mind, the Boy in the Red Cap loved it, as did the Gap-Toothed Woman. The Pipe-Smoking Man seemed to be on the fence, and the Girl with the Green Eyes? She didn't care for it, if her face was anything to go by. Good taste.

After that he followed up with a few that were bawdy, perhaps, but at least had a little more value to them. He had the crowd's attention, so it was time to give them something that they'd really remember. Ease them in with The Selkie and the Prince, a particularly lusty faerie-lover tale he'd heard some time back but didn't really know the original plane of. From there, a couple more local offerings, and finish well with something funny, romantic, and dramatic – and one of his own invention besides. He called it The Rescue of Laios, and to put the crowd-pleaser together he'd mixed a Rabian tale of an abducted lover with some epic threads from The Theriad, both of which had always involved a marauding cyclops. The Rabian tale was complete in its own and more lyrical, but the Theriad had the better battle and Oisin liked that the hero was a girl for once. That pleased most of the crowd, though the Boy in the Red Cap wandered off as soon as it was clear that Laios, the kidnapped victim, was the man. It seemed to especially catch the attention of the Girl with the Green Eyes. She never met his gaze, but from the kidnapping on she didn't look away from the stage either.

After that, Oisin stepped down, collected tips, and declared he'd give an encore after dinner hour. By then, some of the rowdier (and worse paying) elements would have wandered home already drunk, and he could do a few favorites that were a little more artistic. During that time, he enjoyed watching people. The Boy in the Red Cap came back, then left again and didn't return. The Gap-Toothed Woman read a book from her bag, tiny bits at a time when she thought no one was looking and when any eyes were on her laughed and chattered and seemed nervous. The Pipe-Smoking man smoked his pipe and most people gave him a wide berth. The Girl with the Green Eyes made eyes at a rough man with an eye patch and a scar down one side of his face. Sort of. She caught his eye, at least, and seemed to mean to. He was the kind of man who looked like trouble, but Oisin knew that looks could be deceiving. Over his steak and kidney pie he imagined their story – a taciturn but caring soldier, a fair maiden, an objecting family, he knew plenty of ballads more or less like that. Perhaps he'd sing one in the second half, and see if it got a rise out of anybody.

The Gap-Toothed woman had left by the time Oisin took the stage again, but the others remained, and the Girl with the Green Eyes watched, but glanced often to Eyepatch Man. Eyepatch Man mostly watched the Girl with the Green Eyes. He'd tell a tale of forbidden love, to be sure.

But first, as the night had grown quiet, and the crowd was those more dedicated, something to set the tone. While playing to a broad audience it was best to start safe, but for the second time out, it was always best to start daring – with a warning, and a challenge, something both beautiful and hard to bear.

He lead with his arrangement of The Destitute Seeker.

No one left. That was good. Oisin Followed the piece up with his tale of star-crossed lovers, but neither the Girl with the Green Eyes nor Eyepatch Man seemed to react – well, any other way than you'd expect from anyone listening to something good. He went through a few other pieces – lesser in scope perhaps but beautiful. Otherworldly. Whispers of Glem the Lonebard's work, songs of minotaurs and histories elves told. At last he ended with another crowd-pleaser though one that was very different than most others, an epic of bloodshed and purpose, the legend of the Eighfold Lotus – as he had heard it and told it, “The Eight Trials of the Eightfold Lotus”. Oisin wondered if even one part in eight of that epic was real, but it didn't really matter because in the end it was a story, and that was more than true.

And when he had done, he again collected his tips, and drank a little, and lost track of the people he had watched. It didn't take long, though, before he packed his things, his small harp in its case and his lute on his back, feathered cap on his brow. He departed into the night.

It was a lovely night, the stars above dim and the lamp light bright – not a good place for a story which was always brighter with rivers of stardust wheeling overhead, but in its own way it was lovely.

Oisin's ears were always sharp though, and so he caught a sound from a darkened alley, a thud, a muffled squeak. Not a pleasant one. He weighed his first impulse against his better judgment and sauntered into the alley.

And there they were, Eyepatch Man and the Girl with the Green Eyes. Eyepatch man had her pinned against a wall with one hand at her throat, and a big, rusty, knife in his other hand to menace her with. Did he want sex? Money? Mayhem? It didn't matter

Eyepatch Man noticed him.

“Eh, the singer?” he grunted. “Turn around, this is none of your business.”

Oisin Shrugged, sliding his lute from his shoulder and into his hand and flashed his best winning smile

“You're right,” he said, “none of my business but you look like you could use a few pointers. I'm something of a professional expert in blaggards, villains, and antagonists, as you heard enough of tonight, and you're not doing a great job.”

“I said GET OUT.” Eyepatch man growled

“Fine,” Oisin replied, “But it's your fault if you play the fool.”

Oisin Didn't budge. If anything he took a half step closer

“... What?”

“Well,” he said, “For one your legs are way too far apart; she could kick you in the crotch at basically any time. Basic slapstick.”

Eyepatch Man brought his legs together.

“And another thing,” Oisin said, now flitting around the scene. He peered close at the knife. Sharp, to be sure. “Is that a carving knife? Seriously? You get your weapon from a kitchen?”

“Hey-!”

“That's a weapon for jilted wives and cannibals.” Oisin scoffed, “Get yourself a real dagger. And polish it, so it gleams – no, glitters – in the moonlight. Or you could go the other way and have it made of black wrought iron and covered in cruel barbs, your choice really.”

Oisin darted about, and Eyepatch man strained to follow his movements

“Lose the stubble!” Oisin called, “Goatees are always in style, the longer the better. Something you can stroke while you contemplate your premeditated misdeeds, it's important.” Oisin stroked his bare chin, “You look like a common thug, the kind of person who doesn't even get a name, and is that what you want to be?”

Eyepatch man opened his mouth.

“Of course not!” Oisin interrupted, “You want to be the kind of villain with a castle and an army and a name, who doesn't need to pointlessly assault a defenseless little girl in a back alley like some lowlife cretin! Dress in all black, that's a start. Silk is good, and try to get yourself a cape, maybe with a crimson inside and fur lining. That's classy!”

And as he said this, Oisin kept moving, and here and there tugged at Eyepatch Man's clothes, and kept dancing out of Eyepatch Man's view, until he was over Eyepatch Man's shoulder on his blind side.

“But the most important thing is that you don't let me brain you with my lute.”

“Wha-”

And Oisin's lute collided with Eyepatch Man's skull with a loud WHAM, and Eyepatch Man crumpled to the ground, groaning in pain. As he fell, Oisin wrenched the knife from Eyepatch Man's hand and threw it away, somewhere off into the shadows. Eyepatch Man began to situate himself on his hands and knees, but Oisin kicked him in the gut and he went back down.

“Sorry, that took so long, ma'am.” he said, with a smile and a slight bow to the Girl with the Green eyes. She looked up, then quickly away, down to Eyepatch man. He started to crawl, so Oisin introduced Eyepatch Man's face to his boot. Shy one, the Girl with the Green Eyes.

“What's your name?” he asked. She closed her eyes, and shook her head a tiny bit.

“Aww,” Oisin said with a smile, “It's not important, is it? I'm sure you'd like a more dashing rescuer too. Don't worry, if I ever tell the story it'll be a handsome knight not little ol' me.”

“Thank you.” the Girl with the Green Eyes whispered. It sounded more dumbfounded than like a thanks but Oisin supposed that dumbfounded was what she probably was.

“You have a good night!” he said with a broad smile, and delivered another good kick to Eyepatch Man as he left, quite assured that the Girl with the Green Eyes could get away without a lick of trouble, waving to her as he went.

A moment later, in the alley, as the bard's footsteps vanished into the distance, Blink looked down at her prey. Only seconds later and the kid would have seen a very different scene, wouldn't he?

“Well,” she thought, “I'm not going to object when someone makes my job easier.” And she knelt down over the cyclops, and went to work.