After an hour or so of sightseeing around Lisbon and considering my situation, I decide it's time to start actually dealing with some problems.  Julia's note seemed to suggest she didn't care one way or another if I went straight back to the Council, or got home in another way.  But the part of my dream that showed her execution made me want to go another way, learn some more first.  Maybe I'd end up deciding they were right.  But part of what I'd said in the dream was true enough, even on reflection...right now, for whatever reason, I'd rather she not get killed.

Of course, it was possible that not going to the Council is what would lead to her getting executed.  But I cut that train of thought short before I got back into another cycle of self-doubt.  I couldn't be sure either way, at least not without more information...so all other things being equal, I'd prefer knowing more than less.

Which leaves the issue of money.  I'm not as familiar with Conjuring contracts as Julia, so I don't feel comfortable making the terms more complex than they have to be - if I can get at least thirty dollars before I go, it can just be a straightforward payment.  Plus then I won't have to worry as much about the Council noticing I'm back by me going to my apartment, or accessing my bank account.  I don't actually know that they can do things like that, but I don't know they can't.

I did think of trying to make a withdrawal here, but I have no ATM card or way of proving my identity anyway.  While I seem to be able to quick-change an endless variety of bags and purses onto my shoulder, there's never anything in them.  So I'll need to pick up some local money and get it exchanged before I Vanish.  In my roaming, I'd passed a bank that had one of those exchange-rate things in the window, so I knew that euros were running fairly close to US dollars.  I'm not entirely sure what a euro looks like, but I'm sure I'll figure it out when I get some.

I do have all this imprinted magic now, and I'm supposed to be able to make money from it, but I don't have any contacts in the local mystic community other than the psychic surgeon, and he'd seemed anxious to be rid of me.  In the end, the best idea I can think of is busking.  Whatever I do will have to be pretty accessible though, since I don't speak the local language.

The question is, what?  I know I can squeeze myself into an arbitrarily small box, but though I'm decently flexible I don't have any other real contortionist skills, so it's not much of an "act", and where would I get one of those clear plastic boxes they use anyway?  On top of that, I'm still wary of pushing the boundary between performance and blatant impossibility.  But at the Invite, the wind-up doll effect came with pretty impressive ballet skills I definitely never learned.  Plus, it's a naturally attention-getting costume.  I decide to go with that, and I should be able to get everything I need via quick-change.

A bit more searching leads me to the Plaza del Comercio.  It's a large open square with a statue of a guy on horseback in the center, an impressive archway connecting a row of buildings on one end and the river on the other.  There are plenty of people walking around, many of them taking pictures, so I figure they're tourists and might have more expendable cash.

I duck behind a column at the edge of the square so I'm out of sight and wave my hands over myself.  My tee and jeans remain unchanged for the moment, but a long brown peasant skirt with a heavily-gathered waist now covers the latter, and an even larger red shawl drapes from my shoulders.  A tall, narrow top-hat is perched on my head, brown, with a couple of hand-lettered signs affixed.  I remove the hat and examine it to make sure the signs came out right...with the hat inverted, the signs are right-side-up.  One reads, "Trying to get home, tips appreciated!", and the other, "apenas ponta se eu fiz você sorrir" with a little smiley face next to it.  I've no idea what the second one means, but I saw it on another busker's sign during my earlier wandering, so I figure it can't hurt.  Both are hand-lettered, and I smile bemusedly as I notice they're seemingly in my own handwriting.  I put the hat back on my head, then stride boldly out into the square.

When I've picked out a spot between the statue and the river, I stop, then carefully put the hat down in front of me, inverted so tips can be tossed inside, and with the signs facing away from me.  I take a corner of the shawl in one hand and wave it briefly over my opposite wrist.  When I pull it back, a bright yellow scarf is tied around the wrist.  I tug at it and the loose knot unravels, wave the scarf, then toss it into the air.  I then repeat the process, alternating wrists, and changing the color of the scarf each time.

The movement and color are attracting attention as I'd hoped, and a small crowd begins to gather around me.  My heart begins to race a little.  I'm performing, by myself, in public, in a foreign country!  People are watching, and I'm barely even cheating with real magic yet.  A couple people have even dropped coins into the hat!  I can't keep a grin off my face.

I tuck both wrists under the shawl for a moment, then withdraw them to reveal a pair of bracelets, each with a small shiny question-mark charm dangling below.  Scanning the crowd, I spot a couple with a young curly-haired girl in front of them, watching avidly.  I step over to them, then crouch and begin pantomiming to the girl.  I point at my temples with both hands and make a concentrating face, then tap each of the charms and puff out my cheeks, blowing on them.  Finally, I put my wrists together and hold them out towards her.

The girl looks up at her parents, uncertain.  The father says something to her, in French, I think.  She turns back to me, then leans forward and hesitantly blows on the charms, barely making them swing.  I lurch back as if bowled over, and actually overdo it, losing my balance and bouncing my rear off the pavement.  Everyone laughs, and the girl looks surprised, then shyly pleased.  I stand back up and elaborately brush myself off, then stop to stare at my wrists in mock-surprise.

The charms, which had been momentarily hidden while I brushed myself off, had changed.  Each was now a larger and clearly recognizable ballet slipper.  I wave them around so everyone can see and there's scattered applause.  I raise a finger, as if getting an idea, then begin the real preparations.

I kick the scattered scarves I'd tossed out earlier into a rough circle, then remove my shawl and lay it down inside them, stepping into the center of it.  I untie the drawstring that was holding my skirt in place and shake it out until the waist is a good foot wider than I am, then carefully lower it around me until it makes a bunched ring of cloth around my feet.  Finally, I remove the bracelet, setting one onto the toes of each of my sneakers.  The crowd watches, rapt, and there's quiet speculation.

I take one last look around, then nod and point at each of my eyes, twisting in place to face most of the crowd.  I reach down and pick up the waistband of the skirt then slowly lift it, covering my legs, until the hem raises off the ground six inches or so.  The crowd makes surprised noises as they see my sneakers and the charms are nowhere to be seen, my feet instead covered by green pointe shoes, matching ribbons wrapped up to my ankles over orange tights.

I continue raising the skirt, gathering it in my hands, until the hem has risen to my thighs, then drop it.  I'm still wearing the t-shirt, and my jeans have become cut-offs, stopping just short of where the orange tights had already been revealed.  I take a moment and mime admiring my legs, with a wondering expression.  My audience applauds.  The little girl looks transfixed.

I pick up the skirt and raise it again, faster this time.  As it obscures my hips, a visible bulge pushes it further outward.  After raising the waistband high enough to reach my neck, I drop it once more.  Now the jeans and tee are entirely gone, leaving an orange leotard and green tutu in their place.  Again, I take a turn admiring myself, and there's more applause and exclamations of surprise.

Now the tricky part.  It occurs to me I ought to have practiced this with a spotter, but it's a little late now.  I use both hands to point over my shoulders down towards my back, then hold out a hand and mime turning a key into the palm.  I think better of it and mime turning a large key with both hands.  It's hard to tell if they're getting it, most people look confused, but then there aren't any visual cues for them yet...  I pick up the skirt one last time and hope for the best, then toss it up so it rises above my head before falling.

When it drops, there are more gasps, and laughter.  I can feel the curled pigtails against my cheeks, and the thick doll-makeup, as well as the odd pressure in my spine from the large key that's now sticking out of my back.  My arms are half-raised and my expression is neutral, and as I'd feared, I can't move at all.

There's brief applause, a couple more people toss coins into the hat.  But the seconds stretch on and the muttering in the crowd grows louder as I stand there, feet in first position, motionless.  Come on...figure it out!

It's the little girl that saves me...she tugs on her mother's pant leg and points to my back, whispering in excited high-pitched French.  The mother looks embarrassed, but her husband urges her on, grinning.  She steps onto the shawl behind me and gives the key a tentative twist.  For a moment, a music box tune fills the air and I manage to nod twice, but then freeze again.  The crowd laughs and a couple people call out to her, including her daughter and husband.  I feel the peculiar tension in my chest as she resumes turning the key, more forcefully, until it can't turn any further, then steps back to her family, to light applause.

I extend a leg and give her a long bow over it, then surrender to the music box tune and begin to dance.  It's incredibly pleasant, twirling and leaping with magical grace.  It feels almost like flying, and I block just a touch of my gravity to enhance that, letting me make my Brisés a bit higher.  After a couple minutes, the music winds down and I wind down with it.  There's a burst of enthusiastic applause, and more additions to the hat.

A few people leave, but after more uncertain muttering, someone else winds me back up again, and I launch into another dance, the music box tune faster this time.  I lose myself in it, and I'm not sure how long I spend there, or how many times I've been wound up.  But the crowd gradually thins, and I can see a couple bills sticking out of the top of the hat, I'm certain I have enough to cover Julia's recommended amount for a travel-by-Conjure contract.  When the music winds down again, I bend over to pull the skirt back over me and Quick Change back.  But I've only gotten as far as grabbing the fabric when I find myself unable to move again.

The couple people left chuckle and applaud, deciding this is the end of the act, and wander off.  I try to wiggle, gesture, move my eyes even...anything to get them to turn my key, but I can't, and they're gone.  Just like my strait-jacket misadventure, I'm trapped by the fact that I have to do some flourish to quick change, even if I'm alone.

Again.  I am such a freaking idiot.  I should've quit while I was ahead...shit, shit, shit.  I can't believe I've made the same mistake twice, but it just felt so good to perform this way, I wasn't paying attention, or thinking at all really.  Now I've got to just wait and hope some passer-by is curious and impulsive enough to turn my key...and that no one just runs off with all my tips.

More time goes by, and a few people examine me, some trying to get me to "break character", or putting money into the hat expectantly, but I can't respond, and no one thinks to wind me up.  I could almost forgive them...it's not as if street performers would normally want people touching them uninvited...if it weren't so damn frustrating.

Eventually, a thin, greasy-looking guy in a black leather jacket approaches.  He peers into the hat, then up at me, bending over awkwardly so he can see my face in my own awkward bent-over position.  He says something in Portuguese I don't understand, and waits.  When I fail to respond, the man slowly reaches into the hat and withdraws a bill, then puts it into a jacket pocket, watching me for a reaction the whole time.  I try to yell at him, or even to offer half the money if he'll just turn my key, but I can't move a bit.  I'm not even sure I'm breathing at this point, which makes me alarmed but doesn't seem to raise my heart rate...and realizing I'm not sure I have one of those either doesn't help.

He approaches me and pats my elevated rear lightly, then matter-of-factly gropes my chest.  I'm repulsed, I want to hit him, to throw up, to scream, but I can't do a thing.  Though he stops, looking surprised, and I realize to my own surprise it's because my breast didn't compress when he squeezed it, it was...hard.  I don't remember this happening during the Invite, but then I hadn't stayed this way for more than a couple minutes...

The man looks around for a moment, then turns back to me, examining one of my arms.  He seems to be paying closer attention to the wrist, for some reason.  Before I can figure out why, he's twisting and pulling at my hand, which obediently comes off, a little post sticking out of the smooth stump on my forearm.  In a blind terror at this creep disassembling me, I panic.  If I could move, I'd have thrashed violently in every direction possible, but nothing happens.  I try to Vanish, and of course it doesn't work, because I'm in full view.  I can feel myself beginning to cry hysterically in my head, but my expression remains fixed, my cheeks dry.

But the guy puts the hand back on, and I'm pathetically grateful.  I don't even really care when he scoops up all the bills and coins from the hat, then walks briskly away.  The money is so not important compared to that guy not touching me anymore...not being completely at his mercy.

After ten minutes or so I've nearly managed to calm down again, and begin wondering how I'm ever going to get out of this.  I try Vanishing a couple more times, but there still must be people somewhere in the square who can see me.  I resign myself to standing here frozen with my ass in the air, all my money stolen, until it gets late enough that there's no one here at all, and I'll just Vanish with Julia's original suggested terms.  If whoever Conjures me out says one word about the condition I arrive in, I swear...

I start, mentally, as a good-sized duffel bag lands on the ground next to me.  The greasy man has returned.

Even before he begins pulling me apart, I begin screaming my throat raw, but of course it's all in my head, there's no real sound but his industrious humming.