Shango Shango was not so caught up in his broiling emotions that he did not noticed Evan and Mex rolling their eyes. He turned to face them, his glowing red staff gripped in both his hands horizontally, the block position. He was not frowning and his face was not contorted into a scowl; his features were smooth set like stone. The only thing that showed his anger was his trembling hands, the glowing staff and the dark pits of his eyes. "If there is a problem with me telling Caleb not to encourage the Bard to sing," Shango said slowly, "then I would rather my comrades speak on it, instead of being passive aggressive. I simply do not want the girl's singing to blow our chances of getting out of here. Saorla already started her crying; the mutineers could hear her and foil our escape. And, horror of horrors, imagine if she threw up on us again?" Shango's voice had started slow and steady, but as he progressed it got tenser, more passionate. At the end, he just cut off and turned stiffly back to the cage door. He shook his head slightly, his braids swinging exuberantly. "Why do I even bother?" he grumbled to himself. "I'm just an attraction to these people, a side show. Of course they would not take me seriously. Of course the one concern I voice, ever, is just silliness and unimportant and not worthy of verbalization..." He took another deep breath and stared ahead, brooding darkly.