Eppie smelled the small crowd before she saw them; her eyes were busy scanning the street, trying to pick out a bargain from any of the haphazard signs nailed to stands or tied to food carts up and down the docks. The smell of a crowd made her wrinkle her nose, the exited burble of conversation made her turn her head. Her eyes followed the gaze of the crowd to the boy, and she smiled. Sod the massage, and sod the mehndi - she could get henna from a shop and well, a few kinks wouldn't kill her. Amusement was of higher value, and so was the chance to perhaps lighten a few pockets. She pushed herself into the crowd with liberal use of her sharp elbows, and watched the boy above. She'd been told a few of the tricks, of course, having spent more time that was likely healthy with players and carnival types. She knew, somewhere in her mind, that this was as much smoke and mirrors as her very own trade.
Didn't mean it wasn't still a grand sort of spectacle, though.