"A Concubine's Compassion" Log Date: 3/10/99 Log Cast: Cassius, Faanshi, Hepzibah, Amineh, Vayu Log Intro: Faanshi has heard -- it is impossible not to have done -- that there is an Empyrean who has been made a slave in Atesh-Gah. It is just as impossible to miss that many within the embassy, of high rank and low alike, are taking the opportunity to make life as miserable as possible for this particular newly made naraki. And it has even come to Faanshi's attention that this Empyrean man is even connected to her very own mistress... though she has yet to find out exactly how. But if there is anyone within Atesh-Gah who understands the suffering of one who is made to serve, it is Faanshi. And so when she has an opportunity she attempts in her own small way to reach out to the captive Empyrean, not yet knowing that someone of rather more exalted rank than she is about to have a similar idea.... ---------- You descend a long flight of stairs to the Foyer. Entrance Foyer - Atesh-Gah - Haven The entranceway to Atesh-Gah is a marvel of Varati architecture and art; a half-dome rising from the earth to the heavens, appearing as if solid stone and seemingly made without reinforcing supports. It is but a shell of smooth, solid rock, made unbreakable by a combination of shaping and ingenuity. A long flight of stairs leads up toward the double doors of the throne room, while a smaller door down below and to the right leads to the back hallway. The massive space is acoustically sound, carrying each gurgle of crystal water from the central fountain throughout the entire room. Four couches of rich royal blue upholstery surround the fountain, providing a resting place for any who would wish to sit and speak; though the edge of the fountain itself may function in a similar fashion. Flecks and veins of bright gold streak through the pale marble of the walls, leading the eye ever up... until a breath-taking sight catches the eye. Above all else in the room stands Ashur Masad, the Lord of the ever-rising Sun, and to Khalid Atar. Surrounding the glorious sun-lord is a vast mural of his son's accomplishments, a millenium and a half of legendary history. Obvious exits: Khalida Quarters Hallway Throne Room Out Cassius descends the flight of steps from the Khalida Quarters. Cassius has arrived. For nearly three weeks now, Cassius has been a slave to the Varati. It's surprising that he has lasted that long. A complete stranger to the concept of 'hard work,' the Empyrean was almost entirely useless at first. He had to be instructed in even the most basic of tasks. And, as an Empyrean, he was reviled even by the lowest castes of the Varati; the most benign of whom merely glared at him. Over time, he learned to stay out of the way and do his duties as quickly and quietly as possible, and the shoddy work eventually improved. Not that he will ever be an ideal servant -- he has too much pride. But at least he does as he is told. Today, he has been told to scrub the floor in the foyer, and so that is what he is doing. He's down on his hands and knees, even, putting a little elbow grease into a particularly stubborn scuff-mark, and the muted flutter of his bound wings and the *scrub scrub scrub* of the brush are all that invade the quiet. The massive entrance foyer, however, is not exactly a job that can be done very quickly by one person, even one person working extremely hard. Those who dictate the duties of the naraki and the shudra, today, have sought others to contribute to the cleaning of that immense room -- not only its floor, but its mural work, its walls, and every other surface within its expanse, for everything must be spotless, almost as rigorously so as the overpowering Throne Room where the Khalid sits in judgement and state. But for all that the foyer requires the work of many hands, indeed, several of the naraki and shudra within Atesh-Gah have shunned the place today, knowing that the Empyrean has been assigned his duties there. Several, however, does not include the shudra Faanshi. No stranger to the suspicions of shudra or naraki, the maiden has quietly opted to take on cleaning duties in the foyer again this day, and never mind that she's already done it at least once this week. She enters the place on softly padding sandaled feet, armed with implements of cleaning: a bucket of water, and a string bag slung off one dainty shoulder, bearing within it a stiff-handled brush, several rags, and the bottle of scented polish which she has been instructed is to be applied to the floor once it is suitably cleaned. Cassius A tall Empyrean with silver hair and wintry eyes, possessing a dignified bearing despite the plain clothing he wears and the bindings on his wings. Those wings, normally white as newfallen snow, are dingier now, and the feathers have lost some of their healthy shine. Empyreans, after all, are not used to captivity. The man has an aristocratic appearance, from the haughtiness in his pale eyes to the sharp, defined features so commonly set in an impassive mask. His voice, when he finds cause to speak, holds a hint of command that could only come through many years of practice. Naraki slave he may be, but the past is not so easily forgotten. Dressed in the plain, serviceable clothing of a naraki, Cassius still maintains an almost obsessive neatness of appearance, and though he can often be found performing the lowest of menial tasks, his clothing remains as impeccable as possible. His tall figure is thinner and there are shadows beneath his eyes and hollows below his cheekbones, giving him a haunted appearance. Yet, although the noble-born Empyrean is an utter stranger to hard work, he perseveres with a stubborn, relentless determination, clutching the remains of his dignity around him like a shroud. Faanshi At first glance, some things about this individual are easy to discern. The garments worn are those oft seen on Varati females, yet while this figure stands tall at 5'9", the build is small for a woman of that race. But woman she clearly is, if the glimpses of slender hands and feet and of the shape beneath her flowing garb are to be believed. What portions of her skin are visible are a warm shade of gold; a hint of a braid of coal-black peeks out from beneath her sari. Shy or perhaps simply trained to submissive silence she must be, for she rarely raises her eyes to anyone unless specifically bidden, and she speaks so seldom and so softly that it is nigh impossible to determine the quality of her voice. Only the most astute of observers might notice that every so often -- perhaps when she thinks no one is watching -- this silent one peeks with furtive curiosity out from behind her veil at the world at large, with eyes set at a slight un-Varatish slant in her face, eyes the color of summer leaves. She is simply clad, her garments of humble make but excellent repair, perhaps the clothing of a servant whose household garbs even its servants well. Her choli is a bright shade of red; her silwar, bright blue. A darker blue sari with gold trim is wrapped about her slender frame, and a veil of translucent light blue silken stuff conceals the lower half of her face from easy view. On her feet are a penniless shudra's version of boots -- several rags of blue, red, and gold cloth tied there and there along her calves, ankles and feet, held in place by the long thongs of her sandals. Hearing the pad of soft feet, the Empyrean glances up -- his expression wears a haunted, wary look, and perhaps he expected one of the stony-faced Agni-Haidar who can never seem to resist plucking one of his feathers, or the giggling, whispering concubines who so loudly speculate on the endowments of Empyrean males as opposed to Varati ones. Or maybe -- lares forbid -- he expected one of his three 'masters,' all of whom he has been avoiding. Kiera has been avoiding him, in turn, so that has been working so far, and both the Seraskier and the Pasha have been too busy to pay much heed to their new charge. Seeing that the intruder is none of these, and appears, in fact, rather harmless, the Empyrean relaxes. Marginally. He lowers his head back to his scrubbing, feeling only the smallest twinge of satisfaction once the scuff-mark has been erased. Indeed, she seems rather harmless, this girl in Clan Khalida scarlet and azure and gold; what harm can she do, after all, bearing a bucket full of soapy water and a scrub-brush? One might suppose that she could splash it upon the Empyrean's head, but she does no such thing. In fact, once she comes within earshot, the girl pauses, her blue-saried head bowed slightly, and speaks up in shy tones, "Please excuse me, but I have been sent to assist with the washing of the floor; how much have you done, im--?" And she cuts off abruptly, swallowing down that last word before it is concluded. Again, his head lifts. A lock of silvery hair tumbles over his forehead and he stares up at you from beneath lowered brows, his eyes cool and suspicious. For a long moment, he says absolutely nothing. The frost in his gaze is palpable -- that insufferable pride of his is the only thing that has kept him going this long. But at long last, after seeing no obvious hints of malice in you, he flickers his gaze across the floor. His voice cracks at first, for it has been a while since he used it. "I have finished the part from where the mural starts up to here." He indicates the space beneath his scrub-brush. "I have not yet started on the walls." Hepzibah descends the flight of steps from the Khalida Quarters. Hepzibah has arrived. The eyes of the Empyrean might hold frost, but the eyes of the girl are demurely lowered, and accordingly, her gaze does not meet his, and the angle of her face makes of her eyes little more than crescents of feathery black lashes over the top of her blue silken veil. "Thank you," Faanshi says gravely to Cassius, her voice very soft, very low. "I shall begin with the walls, then, if that is acceptable to you...?" Hepzibah slips quietly in from the Khalida Quarters, her slippers nearly noiseless upon the floor. She pauses in surprise, it seems, amethyst eyes widening a fraction over the edge of her equally purple veil. The curtain of her sable hair continues to stir along the length of her back when she stops, wafting in a lazy, pendulous motion near her knees. Cassius did not expect to be deferred to -- certainly not by one he assumes is a Varati. He has been here barely three weeks, and has not quite grasped the full intricacies of the caste system. Momentarily taken aback, he pauses in his scrubbing and drops the brush into a bucket of soapy water. It splashes a little, and he fastidiously wipes a few droplets from the newly-cleaned floor with his sleeve. "Ah... of course," he tells Faanshi. Again, his voice cracks, both with uncertainty and disuse. Then, as a new 'intruder' slips into the foyer, his frost-pale eyes go to her, lingering warily. He has been made naraki, but he will never grow accustomed to averting his eyes in subservience. Faanshi sets down her own bucket, freeing her hands to better swing her string-bag into place. She inclines her head solemnly to the Empyrean kneeling at his work, and then, seeing his attention divert, glances in that direction. Hepzibah is sighted; the girl in Clan Khalida colors then drops a curtsey and holds it for a long moment, by way of deferential acknowledgement. Hepzibah A quiet, oval face with both delicacy and strength in the dusky features. Vibrancy sparks her dark eyes that are illuminated with amethyst and surrounded by rich, thick lashes. Her mouth is lush and tempting, the lower lip sensually fuller to give her a somewhat petulant expression. Hepzibah's hair is a heavy, silken mass of sable that is parted in the middle and falls past her waist. A thick circlet of gold winds around her forehead to hold in place a long purple veil that appears to float over her dark hair and falls behind her like a violet-tinted shadow. A similar diaphanous veil shields the lower half of her face. She wears a violet silk robe, violet like her eyes, that is shot with gold threads and her high, gold-plated girdle is like a piece of armor encasing her narrow waist. Her breasts seem to swell visibly beneath the tight bodice of the embroidered cloth. The gold-encrusted hem of the robe falls to her jewelled slippers. Tiny bands of gold flash from her delicate fingers and a small sparkle of amethyst dots one nostril. The concubine studies the Empyrean with a curious regard, head tilting. She makes her way sedately toward him, inclining her head to Faanshi with a gentle look that acknowledges the woman's curtsey. Serenity seems to radiate from the violet-garbed female as her slippers draw closer to the damp, clean floor. Cassius had learned to avoid the residents of Atesh-Gah as much as possible during his 'stay,' though it seemed an impossible task. His shame had been so public, and his appearance -- an aristocratic, winged Empyrean in the hallowed halls of Atesh-Gah -- so unexpected, that its citizens had sought him out at first, merely through curiosity. But he had found that very few were tolerant, let alone friendly. Thus, when Hepzibah approaches, the former Aegian quickly bends his head to his task again. He snatches his brush out of the soapy bucket and resumes scrubbing -- nevermind that it's the same spot that he scrubbed before. Maybe if he ignores her, she'll go away. His bound wings shift a bit in agitation. Amineh passes through the grand double doors that lead out into the courtyard and joins you in the entrance foyer. Amineh has arrived. Cassius is on his hands and knees, busily scrubbing the floor and hoping to avoid the attentions of Hepzibah, who is approaching him. Faanshi stands nearby, having just set down her own bucket of sudsy water before curtseying to the concubine. Faanshi considers, and then silently swings the bag she bears off her shoulder, taking out of it a scrub-brush rather like the one currently wielded by the captive Cassius. She knows better than to get in the way if the concubine of the Amir-al wishes to converse with the naraki... but still, there is a brief flash of a green gaze as she discreetly peeks at the winged man. It is impossible for her not to have heard his name -- not when she has heard it from her own winged mistress. And thus, it is impossible for her not to be curious. But the shudra girl restrains her curiosity... and begins the task of scrubbing the wall before her. A storm of crimson silks enters on the rain-heavy wind -- the Nabi, flanked and followed by her four Akhund. Even within the God-King's halls, the honour-guard is alert and watchful; traitors and blasphemers are everywhere, as was proven by the cause of the Nabi's arrival. Wet footsteps are left in their wake, as are gritty particles of sand from the beach. The amethyst-adorned slippers of the concubine pause beside the Empyrean naraki's bucket and the gold-encrusted hem of her robe sways in echo of her earlier motions. She stands... and waits, looking down upon his work and his bound wings with curiousity. "Imphadi," she addresses him, referring to him with respect. Her voice is as gentle and serene as her demeanour and there is no trace of cruel anticipation in it. That 'storm' of crimson silk momentarily diverts Cassius' attention from Hepzibah -- or at least distracts him from studiously *not* looking at her. He tilts his head to the side just in time to see the Nabi and her four Akhund come stalking in, trailing water, sand, and grit in their wake. All over the part of the floor he just finished scrubbing. His captive wings shift again, this time in dismay. Just then, Hepzibah's soft address demands some sort of response and, veiling his displeasure, the former Aegian slowly glances up. "Yes?" his normally-rich voice croaks out. No one had addressed him as 'imphadi' before this. Hepzibah has gained his interest, though it is still wary. Amineh Holy presence. Undeniable presence. Though slight of form and frame, there is a power to this woman. A /strength/. That power of devotion and divine duty drives Amineh -- the sort of devotion and unswerving determination that prompts even candala to wonder at what manner of being, what manner of /God/ could inspire her so. The eyes. They are the first thing noticed, and often the only remembered. The seamed mapwork of a lifetime's emotions decorate the edges of her eyes, but the marks of age end there; the eyes themselves are black iris 'gainst blacker pupil, shinier than oil-polished onyx, sharper than an obsidian blade. The Divine Flame fuels that uncanny, unnerving gleam and illuminates her God's capacity for both infinite compassion and unstoppable fury. The crimson robes of the Atarvani drape her, reaching to wrists and floor, their motion a silken sussurus. Unlike some of her brethren, her gnarled hands are bare, stylized henna-flames marked upon dusky, paper-thin skin. Her veils obscure the rest of her features, save for glimpses of silvering hair collected in an elaborate braid. A heavy, teardrop-cut fire opal, blindingly alive with reds, greens, blues and golds, hangs from a gold chain -- the Nabi badge of office. Green eyes then flicker in the direction of the approaching Nabi... and a tiny gasp escapes Faanshi. She pauses there where she has crouched down to begin her own share of the scrubbing, and then remembers to breathe once she realizes that aye, indeed, she has begun to recognize a Nabi's robes. Then, hastily, she resumes her work... but with a cautious portion of her attention diverted to the woman and her entourage, should _their_ far loftier attention swing her way. Cleanliness is next to godliness, and the Nabi is not as clean as she would wish to be, currently. This makes her an unhappy Nabi. Imagine Judge Wopner with access to thumbscrews and iron maidens. The warmth of her quarters await -- however, there is something that intrigues her, even in her damp, sand-'tween-toes state. The winged kafir. No. Not a kafir. This one is a munafiqun. Bead-black eyes focus on Cassius, and remain there. Considering. One gnarled hand absently runs over the heavy fire-opal she always wears, her badge of office. Hepzibah's gaze follows Amineh and the concubine lowers her head in respect, folding her hands at her waist. She allows Cassius to wait for a time before looking back down upon him. "Imphadi, this one wishes to know if there is a time when your duties cease?" she asks of him, that curious light returning to her eyes. Vayu enters the foyer from the hallway stairs. Vayu has arrived. Hepzibah stands beside a bucket of soapy water that rests near the Empyrean naraki. She looks down at him curiously as he scrubs the floor. For three weeks, he had been treated with a mix of contempt, curiosity, animosity, or else ignored altogether. And yet, on this particular afternoon, *twice* he has been addressed with something almost like respect, and so Cassius is not prepared for the tone of Hepzibah's question. His gaze flickers from her, to Amineh, to Faanshi... and then to the *latest* newcomer to step into the entrance hall, Vayu. The Empyrean is on his hands and knees, previously busy with scrubbing the floor, but his hand slows its movements, and he risks another glance up at the concubine. His throat dry, he answers, "When I sleep. And when I eat." Cassius is, indeed, the center of attention... and as far as the halfbreed shudra is concerned, this is well enough. Nervously conscious of the important personages in the massive foyer, Faanshi keeps her head bowed and her slender golden hands occupied with the business at hand: making an ever-increasing portion of the wall beneath the immense mural gleam all the more brightly. The clear skies of a Botticelli dream are painted over Atesh-Gah's walls of impermeable secrecy, the sun playing down in a fresco of colors and chirping birds; the thermals lift with hawks awing, Da Vinci rising upon them in geometric dream. Would that such men lived in these walls, and Vayu the scholar would sleep content. His hands, inkstained, clasp tightly 'round a leather book that reads "Geometries of the Heavens" in silver inlay, bearing the author's mark - a stylized 'H' - below. His head is aright, shoulders squared with spry energy as he seems to take strength from the very air and presence of day. The hollow footfalls he lays with leather sole on marble follow in an eddying swirl of noise, caught in the slightly billowing folds of his plain robes. An Amineh, Hepzibah, and a Shudra. Oh, that that Cassius fellow - the one so often used to exemplify the face that evil wears among men, in Vayu's discourse at the Scriptorium. He draws up, halting with a square-footed austerity, just beyond the knot of bodies. Observe, dear fellow, and learn. Amineh stands off to the side, her honour-guard surrounding her. Her attention is riveted upon the winged munafiqun scrubbing the marble tiles; a few of those recently-cleaned were redirtied by the passage of herself and the Akhund. One hand absently runs over the glittering fire-opal she wears, as she considers Cassius. There is...something similiar to contempt in her eyes, but only similar. Contempt requires a lot of effort and devotion, and for this one, she has none. Her attention moves to the newcomer, and a flicker of recognition passes through her. "Deputy Foreign Minister," she calls to him, unafraid to raise her voice so it may be heard. "I would speak with you in our Lord's name, Imphadi." Hepzibah clears her throat, a slight nervousness entering her bearing. The gentleness of her voice lifts to call toward Faanshi, "Shudra? Fetch a carafe of fresh water for this one, if you please?" She turns her attention to the woman scrubbing the wall as she speaks the words, still standing before Cassius with an attitude of waiting. The bottoms of her purple slippers become slightly damp from the floor. 'Shudra': that would be her cue. Faanshi's head comes up, startled, turning in the direction from which Hepzibah's lilting tones had come to her. But she immediately bobs her head in acknowledgement, setting down her brush and making sure that her bucket is safely out of the way before she moves off to obey the concubine's bidding. "At once, imphada," she pipes softly. "I will go to the kitchens." She pauses to drop a curtsey to Amineh and Vayu, before she is gone in a flutter of blue. Eyes grey and marblesque with the thoughts of Cassius ther penetrate the thin membranes from thought to thought, it takes Vayu a moment to break his eyes from the Empyrean slave. So high, yet fallen so low - was it Cassius, that ascended as Da Vinci, only to learn the lessons of Icarus? Or Atropos' hand that clipped the cable that suspended him too high? As the whiterobed one looks up, however, he speaks with a harshness of voice that could only be inner berating; the thick, clipped resonances feed on the Empyrean's presence - give him some torn skin to wrap them around. "Any who would speak to me in his name have my full attention," he deadpans, stepping closer the Nabi without any wariness whatsoever; his head bows, two fingers pressed to forehead and then throat so that the hand may extend palm-up in the eastlander salute. "As you will, Imphada Amineh." Make no mistake, the 'imphada' is undoubtedly capitalized in her case. Cassius is vaguely skittish with so many Varati around, and particularly one standing right in front of him. A feather loosens itself from his bound wings and flutters down to the marble floor to rest against one of Hepzibah's purple slippers. Striving to hide the anxiety so clearly evidenced by that shed feather, Cassius glances up again to fix the concubine with one of his frosty stares. "Pardon, ah... imphada," he starts, forcing a conciliatory note into his voice, "I cannot continue with you standing... in my way." He clears his throat afterward, and gestures with his scrub-brush to the patch of the floor where Hepzibah is standing. Slender, dusky fingers drift away from Hepzibah's waist to lift up the edge of her hem as she deftly and gracefully sidesteps to be out of Cassius' way. The feather stubbornly clings to the jewels decorating her slipper, its white length waving slowly like a teeter-totter with her foot as its base. Her silken garments rustle and there is a change to the set of her eyes... as if she might be faintly smiling beneath her violet veil. But Cassius does not witness the smile, nor even the suggestion of it, for he has immediately bent his head to his task again. He has tasted the sting of a whip once already, for failing to complete the duties assigned him, and he has vowed never to suffer that indignity again. Soaking his scrub-brush again in the sudsy bucket, the Empyrean energetically begins cleaning the patch of floor where Hepzibah had been standing. He appears to pay little attention to the conversation of the others in the room, but, as has been evidenced before, appearances can be deceiving. "Naraki." Sharp and quick as a lick from the Divine Flame, the Nabi's voice comes, eyes again upon the munafiqun. "There is sand and mud left upon the steps. Outside," she clarifies. Let it never be said the Nabi doesn't wish her words to be understood. "When your work within is finished, they should be taken care of." Another clarification: "By you. It may assist you in understanding your place in the Divine Flame's light." 'Twould be a pity, truly, if labouring in the rain sickened the winged one. Truly. She looks then to Vayu, and bows to him, eyes closed on the down-motion, opened on the up-motion. "If you will accompany me to my quarters, Imphadi?" she inquires. "I wish your account on the matter of the...accused." So delicately she says that, as if she was handling a poisoned dagger. Cassius is still getting used to being called 'naraki,' and so it takes a moment for the Nabi's words to register. When they do, he frowns, but he is careful to conceal that frown by ducking his head in a nod. His powerful orator's tones are muted to a respectful murmur. "As you wish. Imphada." He mentally adds that task to his list for the day, and his bound wings droop a little at the prospect. But gamely, he keeps on with his scrubbing. At least Faanshi, it seems, will help him get the entrance foyer spic and span before too long. The only response Vayu gives is a sharply inclined head - a russian style salute-bow. One could imagine, by the steel-plated expression his features bear, that he wished nothing more to get away from Cassius. However, when he gifts the Empyrean a look later, it is anything but disgusted. A curious interest flickers through him, markedly different from the way others may have looked at Deus Augustin - it seems more curious for the story behind the slave, rather than shock at the wings upon his back. In a moment, though, it is gone - left to twist in the minds of those around - as he waits patiently for the ancient Nabi to move first. Soon, Faanshi returns, cradling ever so carefully in her slender hands a fine carafe of clear, clean water. Moving as swiftly as she dares while carrying this burden back to the concubine who requested it, the shudra girl makes her way back into the foyer, padding towards Hepzibah, her head lifted only enough to mark her path and ensure that she'll avoid bumping into anyone. When she comes within range of Hepzibah, she drops gracefully to her knees, bearing up the carafe for her claiming as she desires. Amineh watches the munafiqun for several seconds longer, then turns and ascends the staircase to the Khalida quarters within Atesh-Gah. She is careful, however, to clean her muddy, sandy slippers off on the first step before continuing onward. Amineh leaves the foyer, ascending a brief flight of stairs to the Khalida quarters beyond. Amineh has left. Vayu leaves the foyer, ascending a brief flight of stairs to the Khalida quarters beyond. Vayu has left. Hepzibah seems somewhat relieved at the prospect that the foyer will soon contain less people, but she most certainly can't be more pleased about it than Cassius. One small foot lifts a few inches from the floor as she gazes upon the feather that rests there and the amethysts upon her slipper sparkle as she rocks her foot very gently to watch the feather move. That foot returns very slowly to the floor, however, when Faanshi kneels, keeping the feather in place. "Thank you, shudra," she genuinely says to Faanshi. "Forgive this one for not knowing your name." Dusky hands that are so soft as to have never seen work reach to grasp the carafe. "It is Faanshi, Imphada," comes the soft murmur from the girl in scarlet and blue and gold. "Is there further service I can provide?" Cassius edges a bit to one side as Faanshi kneels, putting her closer to him than he'd like. His wings make another subtle rustling noise, and a look of discomfort crosses his face which he cannot quite conceal. Still trying his best to simply ignore the two women, Cassius returns to his floor-scrubbing. That one particular patch he's been working on the for the last fifteen minutes is going to be absolutely spotless. "No, no," quickly assures the concubine. "Please return to your duties. This one would not wish to delay you from what you have been assigned. Thank you again." Jewel-like eyes rimmed by thick, black lashes gaze kindly upon Faanshi as, again, the concubine gives a small inclination of her head. As she does so, strands of dark hair slither forward over her shoulder to dangle no more than a foot from the floor. "Imphadi?" she asks again, hesitantly, it seems. The brush stills. White wings quiver. A silvery head lifts, and once again, Cassius allows his gaze to travel upward to find Hepzibah's amethyst eyes. "Yes?" he asks again, the single word ending in sibilance. His nerves are taut, ready to snap. What new torment can this soft-spoken concubine have in mind? Faanshi's blue-saried head bobs once, and with that she steps silently back out of the way of the concubine and the naraki. In a few more soft strides she's returned to her abandoned bucket and brush, and down she goes again, kneeling to resume her attentions to the partly-scrubbed wall. Hepzibah takes a step forward in her graceful bend, careful not to tread where he has already washed. "Do you thirst?" is the woman's gentle inquiry. "This one offers fresh water, if you desire it." The length of her veil dangles and wafts with the breath of her words and more strands of hair cascade forward over her shoulder to sway. Hesitation, suspicion, and uncertainty filter across the Empyrean's expression. He had learned to keep his true thoughts concealed after years of moving in political circles, but now that life has been denied him, and he is struggling to fit into a new life to which he is patently unsuited. He is also struggling to learn the complexities of a culture that he has never bothered to learn before, and he is distinctly out of his element. Experience warns him not to trust this woman -- that her seemingly kindhearted offer is a trick. But instinct... that speaks to him with a different voice. A tiny, uncertain, too-long-ignored voice. Cassius stares up at Hepzibah for a suspended moment, then, without speaking, he settles back on his heels and lifts one hand for the vessel of water. He has not yet removed his gaze from hers, disrespectful though it may be. Water, proferred; water, accepted. The exchanged gestures are not missed by the silent shudra girl, and for a moment, Faanshi's eyes turn warm over her veil before she ducks her head once more. From her place by the wall come no sounds save those of her industry: the soft splashings of water, the strokings of her brush against the ornate wall. There is kindness in the warm amethyst gaze that meets the cool blue ice of the Empyrean's. She inclines her head to him in silent encouragement, releasing the carafe into his care when he has grasped it. As she slowly straightens, her eyes move to look upon his hands as they hold the carafe and the tiniest of furrows mars the space between her dark and delicate brows. Those hands, so long accustomed to nothing more strenuous than the rigors of a pen, are now blistered and raw from hours of toil. Cassius does not notice the direction of Hepzibah's gaze, for he tilts the carafe to his lips and sips, trying not to appear too eager. His meal times have been strictly scheduled, and were always rather sparse. The taste of fresh, clear water is, in that moment, sweeter than the finest ambrosia. He takes a deeper draught before lowering the vessel and shooting another glance at Hepzibah. This time, there is less suspicion, and more curiosity. Hepzibah takes a step back and very nearly loses the feather from atop her slipper. "Faanshi, this one would disturb you again for clean cloths and ointment for the Imphadi's hands?" She turns after she speaks and her graceful steps take her to the fountain where she lowers herself to sit upon its edge. Dark hair and violet silk swirls as she turns and the concubine gathers the long length of her hair forward so that it will not drag in the dancing waters of the fountain. Cassius' gaze darts to his own hands, but since he is still holding the carafe, he cannot lower them or attempt to conceal them. "That, ah, will not be necessary," he cuts in hastily, adding, "imphada," as an afterthought. His wings shift and strain at their bonds, and the former Aegian looks at the floor, and all the spots left to clean. "There is work I must do." "This one shall wait," announces Hepzibah. Serenity once more settles upon her as she crosses one leg over the other and shifts her weight slightly until she is comfortable. Again, Faanshi starts as Hepzibah calls for her, and immediately rises. Green eyes flicker to Cassius, then, and in particular his hands; a shadow of concern might be seen to flash across that leaf-hued regard, but there is not too much that she can see of the naraki's hands from a distance, and at any rate, before she has the chance to look closer, she's already moving off to obey the concubine's request, calling softly as she goes, "Yes, imphada." Cassius blinks a couple of times. "Wait...?" he repeats, looking a little dumbfounded. His pale blue eyes skim over the floor again. He only had about a third of it done when Faanshi entered, and since then, the Nabi and her Akhund companions tracked dirt and grime over part of it. There is much left to do. "Are you sure, ah, imphada?" he asks, not realizing that it is not a naraki's place to ever question his betters. "This will take some time..." Faanshi's departure draws his gaze, and he protests again, "Really, it is not necessary." Hepzibah tilts her head and considers him for a moment or three, finally saying, "You are allowed to speak in this way to this one, but she does not recommend such behavior with the Pasha." After that statement, which was gently said and in no way seeming to be chastising, the woman's soothing voice adds, "When do you take your next meal?" Cassius' eyes lower to the still half-full carafe of water after the concubine's gentle reminder, and somehow he finds that more demeaning than the harshest rebuke. It was easier to take contempt from the Varati, for he could allow his own hatred to burn inside his breast and fuel his determination to survive. To spite them. But gentleness and kindness... he had not expected that. And he has no weapons with which to fight it. His mouth works as he clears his throat and at last, without looking at Hepzibah, he answers, "At sundown." There is a pause from the woman at the fountain as she considers and a small sigh escapes her that puffs out her veil for an instant. "If those who feed you will allow such, this one wishes to meet with you near the fountain in the courtyard at that time. Please tell them that Hepzibah Behzad Khalida, the Amir-al's concubine, wishes to make inquiries of you during your meal." This time, Faanshi does not go back to the kitchens; this time, Faanshi scurries off towards the quarters she shares with her mistress... and her heart-mother, Ulima. There are herbal ointments aplenty to be gleaned from the wise-woman; now that they are within Atesh-Gah and the markets of Haven are within their reach, Ulima's stock of herbs has been readily replenished. And thus, Faanshi has no fear of borrowing just a small vial of ointment and a few soft white cloths. These she brings back down to the entrance foyer, readily enough. But as she draws once more near to Hepzibah and Cassius, as she drops to a kneel nearby, as her head bows, there momentarily flashes across her eyes a new expressin: decided unease. Faanshi whispers, holding out the vial and the cloths, "As you have requested, Imphada... a salve, made of healing herbs..." Before Cassius can reply to her, Hepzibah's attention goes to Faanshi and her eyes shine in gratitude and pleasure at the speed with which her request was granted. "You serve well, Faanshi. This one thanks you again for your quickness. Forgive her for interrupting your true task." Dusky fingers extend to accept the vial and cloths and her hand lightly caresses Faanshi's as if in thanks. Cassius allows a soft sigh to escape his lips, and his wings droop yet further, the white pinions trailing in the last of the water that's still drying on the floor. "Imphada," he begins, glancing fleetingly at Faanshi although his words are clearly addressed to Hepzibah, "I have much to do, and should I fail to complete my task, the least of my punishments will be a missed meal." His wings give a silky tremble, remembering the sting of that whip. "I... thank you," he manages, hesitating at the unfamiliar words, "for your kindness. But I do not wish to earn the wrath of those... able to punish me." He will not say 'masters.' Not yet. Perhaps not ever. Shooting another quizzical glance at Faanshi, as if to see what she will do with that salve after he has so stubbornly refused it, he takes up his scrub-brush again and starts on another section of the floor. A dusky hand, touching a golden one; for a moment, the two hands make contact, the hues of skin setting off one another, that of the concubine shades darker than that of the shudra. Compare and contrast, too, the soft grace of the hand of Hepzibah against the fluttering of Faanshi's hand, like a restless golden bird. Both the shudra's hands flutter away, then, as though she fears to make contact with the concubine of the Amir-al. "I... only hope that the salve will be of aid," she blurts. She cannot resist another look at Cassius, this time, and now, her eyes reflect a keen distress before she hastily looks away. Workworn, near-fleshless golden hands begin to skittishly wring at one another as she bobs her head to Hepzibah and begins to withdraw, to return to her twice-interrupted task. "Then this one will speak to those whom you serve and request it of them. She hopes that you will not mind her doing so, Imphadi, but it is important to her," says Hepzibah. She very carefully rests the vial and the cloths upon the edge of the fountain before she leans to take up the feather from her shoe. Twirling it curiously in her fingers, she rises with a sensuous grace and straightens her robe by smoothing her palm against it. With a nod of her head to both Cassius and Faanshi, the concubine begins to drift toward the Khalida quarters. Faanshi marks Hepzibah's passage, and again curtseys to her, not yet having crouched back down on the floor. Cassius' pale, blue-eyed gaze trails after Hepzibah and suspicion creeps back into his expression. Despite the concubine's kindness, he is wary. His mouth purses and then, with renewed vigor, he resumes his task of cleaning the floor. His thoughts are his own. [End log.]