The tavern was loud, crowded, and choking on the smell of sweat and ale, until the door slammed open with a dramatic bang.

In skipped, Bella, her tri-tipped hat jingling, a wide grin plastered across her face. With a juggling pin in one hand and a half-empty wine bottle in the other, she twirled her way through the smoky room as though she owned it. Every movement was sharp, exaggerated, a practiced performance to ensure no eye could look away.

She vaulted onto a table, scattering dice and tankards, and offered a sweeping bow. "Ladies, lords, and likely losers!" she declared, bells chiming as she straightened. "Your night just improved by approximately... me."

A laugh rippled from some of the patrons, but others only groaned.

In Bella's inner thoughts: "Oh, they're groaning? Excellent. A groan is just applause with deeper honesty."

Spinning her juggling pin between her fingers, she balanced it on her nose for a beat before letting it tumble into her waiting palm. "Now, now, don't look so grim. What's a little chaos among friends, hmm? Or strangers, better yet!"

She plucked an apple from a nearby man's plate, flipped it in the air, and caught it deftly.

"You won't be eating this anyway, sir. Too sour. Trust me, I can smell regret from a mile away."

The man sputtered a protest, but Bella only winked and bit into the fruit. Juice dribbled down her chin, which she wiped with the back of her sleeve as though it were part of the act.

In Bella's inner thoughts: "Another night, another stage. They see a fool, a clown, a pretty distraction. Good. The more they laugh, the less they notice what's hidden in my sleeves."

Leaping down gracefully, she leaned against the bar, batting her lashes at the person who had been quietly watching from the corner.

"And you..." she purred, tapping her dagger-turned-juggling knife against her lips. "You look like the type who thinks too much. Dangerous habit. Tell me, do you brood for free, or is that a service I can pay for?"

Her smile widened into something between flirt and threat, bells jingling with each tilt of her head.

"Come now, don't look so shocked. A jester's job is to make you laugh—" she flourished the knife with impossible dexterity, the blade flashing in the candlelight "—or bleed. Dealer's choice."

The tavern roared with unease and laughter, unable to tell if she was joking. That was the beauty of Bella: nobody ever really knew.