You timidly offer the Tattooed Lady some money. The gleam in the Tattooed Lady's eye changes...

Jingling your coins in her left hand, the Tattooed Lady looks you over appraisingly. She apparently likes what she sees...the fury in her eyes has given way to a smoldering come-hither gaze, and she runs her tongue seductively over her lower lip (which, you notice, reads 'syb-a-rite: n. a person devoted to pleasure and luxury; voluptuary. [Lat. Sybaria, native of Sybaris (Gk. Subarites (Subaris, Sybaris, Italy (from the notorious luxury of the inhabitants of Sybaris).]'). She leans forward and begins to whisper huskily in your ear...at which point you decide that maybe you'd better just ignore her.

The inside of The House of Freaks holds true to the shabby promise of the exterior. It's spartan, but for the various freaks. You notice that the northwest corner of the tent is partitioned off by a silver curtain that hangs in grime-streaked shreds. An unpleasant blue light seeps through a rip in the canvas on the south wall. Peeling black paint marks out a doorway on the eastern wall; in better days, the scattering of faded pink and green sequins lushly decorated the door-flaps in glittering stripes, and the neon arrow calling attention to the entrance glowed with a violet luster. The lacings that hold the southwest corner of the tent have partially rotted away, and the canvas hangs open near the ground.