[Oh, this girl? This girl? She is like, really really blue, man. She is so blue, from the tip of her cute little nose to the tips of her cute little toes, probably. That one is hard to corroborate because she is wearing shoes and kneesocks and a cute little blue-green skirt and floofy pink lace petticoats, so you cannot even see her toes. But it is a good guess, that if the rest of her is so blue? So are her toes. And they are also probably pretty cute.

Here's why she is blue: she is a tiefling.

But people here probably think she's blue because she's double-fisting blueberry lemonades, taking great big sips from them as she strolls down the fairway. Everything gets her attention, a big ooooo when she sees something really cool, like a puppy pulling a wagon of lobster rolls--or a big awwww! when she sees something really cute, like a puppy dressed in a lobster costume.

At the crate race, Jester claims a crate for herself and immediately falls to decorating it. She's got a bunch of paints in her haversack, and, okay, so the paint brushes are a little bit sticky, from the blueberry pancakes she had put into it, but they're still good. Soon her crate is beautiful, painted silvery-pinkish-white, with snow-white wings detailed at its sides, and a big smiling dick painted front and center, like a 2D figurehead.

Satisfied with her progress, Jester turns to soliciting a teammate--which for her, means standing with her hands cupped around her mouth, shouting at anyone passing by.]

Step right up, step right up-- hey, you! Guy! Do you want to race with me! Because I have the best crate here, man! The Unicorn Dick! The Unicorn Dick is the champion, the Unicorn Dick is going to be the winner, the Unicorn Dick is going to kick ass-- your ass, and your ass, and oh my gosh, definitely your ass--

[Maybe a teesny bit overzealous, with the trash-talk. And is this race even meant for two person teams? Who cares.]

Ooof...

[Jester, with a huge sigh, flounces to sit on the ground. She's fanning herself with her free hand. The other hand is full of blueberry cobbler, pulled fresh (well, more or less) from her pink haversack. A half-full basket of freshly picked blueberries is tucked into the crook of her elbow.

After a second, she lays back entirely, with a groan. Fallen blueberries goosh under her weight. She's beyond caring. In the shadow of the nearest blueberry bush, her eyelids begin to droop closed.]

Just... a few more minutes of sleep... go-o-o-sh-- [A word all shaky with her mighty yawn.] --I'm tired...

[And then she's out, all at once, like a princess in a story. Her breathing gets all steady and even, but it's not long before she's begun to mumble--]

Eclairs... come down from there... you're flying too high, it's not fair... I want to eat you, cute flying eclairs.... pleeeeease....