Zeboim was never all that sure how her tank managed to find itself transported around the circus proper. Today, for example, she had been puttering about the small enclosure within the Freak tent only to find herself forced to participate in this little farce the masters had thought up when she had inexplicably found herself situated in a clear area at the back of the gathered circus staff. Her best explanation for it was a combination of muscle and SEP fields. Whatever the mechanism she had no choice but to be here. More or less resigned to her fate she had rolled her eyes and settled back as best a fish woman in a pool of water can.
Very few of the acts held her attention. She spent most of the time flicking droplets out onto those nearest her and eying up the restlessly shifting crowd of carnies. But she was quite partial to the clowns, she never did tire of a good fool and some of those that had gathered under the smirking brand were among the best. Zeboim hid the smallest curve of her lip behind a hand.
The tiny bubble of good will was soon tested until it popped when her name came up. Insistent looks her way were met with a stoney silence and steady narrowing of eyes. There was one encouraging urging too many and she silenced the goading, both polite and not, when her palm slammed into the side of the tank.
"You want an act you feckless sons of gutter whores?" Voice shrilling as it rose in volume.
Water boiled up and spilled over into the audience as she thrashed. The screaming rant became an unintelligible mass of sound that eddied and flowed from jaws thrown wide to bare sharp rows of teeth. At times the keening rose beyond the range of human hearing as she tore at them with a song that bled bile and rage.
A little tip of the hat to Douglas Adams and, of course, to the only other entry into this thing that I know of
. This is for an act/skill challenge for Cirque Devile since I feel I've been neglecting Zeboim and I've literally put off doing this until the final hour.
Pose Reference: [link]