"The Comfort of a Kindly Ear" Log Date: 10/6/99 Log Cast: Flora, Faanshi Log Intro: Faanshi's life is often full of upheavals and chaos, but thus far in her experience it has rarely involved chaos that is _wonderful_. The delights of the Festival of Holi are not the most tumultuous thing she has ever witnessed, but to be sure, they are the most unabashedly joyous. And as if it were not enough for her to be overwhelmed by Holi alone, there is also the attention of the Mongrel bard Lyre Talespinner -- a man who seems to think nothing of comforting her in her sorrow for friends she has lost, and who even seems to think her worthy of her very own _song_. And who, Faanshi has found to her consternation, seems to be crowding his way into her thoughts so intently that he is usurping the special, private place she had reserved for Thomas Murako of Avalon. Now, desperately confused and needing a respite from the noisy revels of Holi, the young shudra flees out into Haven... only to find a sympathetic ear in one whose appearance seems to have made her as scorned by her own folk as Faanshi _usually_ is by the Children of Fire.... *===========================< In Character Time >==========================* Time of day: Evening Date on Aether: Tuesday, May 13, 3905. Year on Earth: 1505 A.D. Phase of the Moon: First Quarter Season: Spring Weather: Breeze Temperature: Comfortable *==========================================================================* Old City Garden - Haven A strange thing, to some, to see such a thick, unbridled mass of forest within the city walls. Even during the brightest days, it is shady here; looming tree branches above filter out the sunlight, casting shadows that might be relieving during a warm summer day, or alternatively fearsome by night. The heart of the garden is most often alive with the chirps and chitters of the wildlife that makes its home here. Still, some civilization prevails, if only tentatively. A wide, roughly cobbled road stretches east to west, suitable for the usual traffic of a city street, if a bit precariously. Benches line the various man-made paths, reminding the visitor that this is indeed intended to be a respite from the bustle of the town, and is not merely some uncontrolled mass of trees within Haven. Obvious exits: Streets Garden Archway Flora is beckoned into the town garden from the intersection of Fairway and Border. Flora has arrived. It is quiet in the gardens. There aren't crowds of Varati who have turned their existence upside down during Holi, baffling her inexperienced eyes and dazzling her with the countless hues of the gulai dust. There isn't anyone else in the gardens either, not at the moment, not even the periodic Sylvans who flock to this spot of green within the sprawl that is Haven, seeking refuge from the stone and crowds and press of the city. There is only a single overwhelmed shudra girl and her loyal hound Kosha, keeping a stoic vigil over her in the growing darkness, while she sits and shivers and tries very hard not to think of the storm of reactions a wedding visitor's unwitting words set off within her in Atesh-Gah's courtyard. *thwapthwapthwap* Pause. *thwapthwapthwapthwap* A sharp and unusually rapid beating of wings heralds Flora's arrival, the obese seamstress thudding to the ground as her wings utterly fail her yet again. She stumbles down to one dimpled knee, scraping it viciously across the rough cobbles of the road. Grunting, she straightens to a standing position, examining her wounded kneecap. Owww - it is several long moments before she lifts her eyes to the gardens, shoving some askew hairs of flax back into their proper place. Her hair is unfortunately closer to flaxen straw than flaxen gold, but that pales in comparison to her other physical shortcomings. Gaze travelling across the idyllic setting, it comes to rest on Faanshi and her companion. What is this? Can she find solitude nowhere, no escape from mocking eyes full of laughter? Le sigh. Making her way into the garden, she offers a shy smile to the shudra, "Mm...hullo there." Kosha is on his feet even before Flora comes in for her ungraceful landing, and the dog lets off a stern bark of warning. There's no real hostility, not yet, but that's an awfully big dog -- not too shy of a hundred pounds, easily -- and he fixes a sharp gaze on the rotund Empyrean as if to inform her that any false moves will be swiftly noted and dealt with by his canine vigilance. In direct contrast to him, however, the maiden in her silks and veils on the bench behind him starts badly, green eyes flashing up and her head turning in one or two directions before she finally spots the newcomer. Shock at what she sees keeps the gaze that would normally dip timidly back down to her sandaled feet up and facing the woman, and in a blank, startled voice Faanshi blurts, "Namaste', domina..." Flora blinks myopically towards Kosha, instinctively recoiling at the warning bark, hands coming up to cradle her substantial girth protectively. What the near-sighted woman perceived as a big bundle of clothing at the girl's feet has suddenly transformed into a snarling (to her imagination, at least) beast. Cerebus himself could not have invoked more shock, as unexpected as it was. "Aiii...call him off. I swear I mean no harm." Not cowering precisely, but not coming any closer, certainly. Usually animals adore the portly Empyrean. Faanshi realizes, with no little bemusement, that this personage before her is arguaably the most... spherical individual she has ever seen before. And although the shudra girl often feels like a babe who's barely left her mother's arms while she is within the streets of Haven, it seems to her that surely this person cannot be bringing her much harm. She pulls in a breath, trying to regain her composure, and she sits up to beckon to the alert young hound. "Kosha, peace," she murmurs. The animal swivels his head around and promptly lopes back to sit down before her, still watching Flora, but now in a more distinctly relaxed position. And his mistress, stroking his head, glances up to say softly, "Forgive me, domina... he is my guard. He watches over me when I come outside at night..." Flora breaks out into a fit of giggles, incongruous with her already off-beat appearance, the merry, tinkling sound synchronized with the rippling of her belly beneath the flapping chiton. Apparently she has already gotten over her fright, forgiven and forgotten. This is not a woman of resentful temper, to be sure. "That is very sweet of him to look out for you like that, though gods forbid that I be doing you any harm. You are very lucky to have such a friend." Warmth suffuses her tone, genuinely friendly, "I hope I am not disturbing you, my dear." Waving trunk-like arms, she gestures to the gardens, "I too like to come here at night. So peaceful, no?" Keeping a somewhat wary eye on Kosha, she takes a step towards Faanshi, brushing off her flourescent garment. "He is my best friend," the veiled maiden explains earnestly. Her voice is soft and sweet and clear, the hands with which she scritches the dog's head slim and sungolden, but if Faanshi is aware of the marked contrast between herself and this Empyrean woman she is giving no sign of it save the wide leaf-green eyes above her gauzy veil. "And... yes, domina," she adds shyly, "it is very peaceful, v-very quiet... you are not disturbing, no... I mean, I mean, I do not mind that you are..." And, chagrined, she trails off. One might think she's never seen an Empyrean before. Or at least, an obese one. Rather accustomed to the wide variety of reactions that her less than aesthetic appearance inspires, from shock to extreme hilarity, Flora is always one to fill in the silence with chatter, "May I sit down, then? I'm a bit out of breath from that flight." That would be an understatement, for she is sweating profusely, badly out of breath. The perspiration trickles down her forehead, leaving little wet trails down a pimpled cheek. Pulling out a bright orange kerchief from somewhere on her sizeable person, she dabs away at the moisture futilely, "Oh, you don't have to call me 'Domina', by the by...no one does, really. Except maybe a Praetorian or two..." Most Empyreans would consider that a bit too much respect for the poor seamstress, "Most just call me Flora." A pause, "Probably because that's my name." Recalling her scraped knee, as it begins to sting, she stoops to mop up the shredded skin there with the pumpkin-hued cloth. Oh dear. Faanshi blows out a breath, that green gaze of hers flitting to the skinned knee, and immediately she sits up and scoots over, gesturing to the space she's clearing. "Sit, be welcome," she murmurs. "I-I will not call you domina, if you wish... but... your knee. I... I can help that. If you will permit me..." Flora lifts the top chin of her face - well, one of three. "You can?", she asks some stupidly, surprised at this. Are healers just cultivated in orchards around here? "Thank you.", she accepts the bench offer gratefully, though taking up more than her fair share of space. Scrutinizing her knee, she tells Faanshi blithely, "Not so bad, no? Just a bad scrape. I get a lot of those, really, thanks to the extreme grace of my departures and landings." Self-deprecating is she. "So if you will be calling me Flora, what should I call you?" Faanshi shifts position swiftly where she sits, drawing a hand over to the Empyrean woman's battered knee. Her touch, as light and fleeting as the touch of a butterfly alighting upon a leaf, brushes across the damaged flesh... and as soon as it does, there comes a rippling in the aether. And with it, a closing of the maiden's eyes. For a moment she remains thus, and as she does, the scraped skin begins to shift... to mend... to heal. After a few moments she breathes, sounding ever so slightly dazed, "My... name is Faanshi..." And as she speaks, Kosha lifts up his head a bit, ears pricking. Perhaps he recognizes, somehow, what it means when his mistress touches someone in that particular way? Bemused, Flora watches in fascination as her knee is knitted up almost as quickly as it was ravaged. Touching the newly healed skin in wonderment, she grins cheerily at the shudra, "My, that's quite a talent you have there, my dear. If I were as good at stitching cloth up with a needle as you seem to be at stitching flesh with your finger...let's just say I would make a much better living at it." Not necessarily true - the Empyrean is just no businesswoman, giving away more than she can afford. "Faanshi?", she echoes, rolling the exotic syllables over her tongue as she does with all new names, "How lovely. It suits you." Patting the girl lightly on the arm, she adds, "Thank you." When she has done the task at hand, the silk-clad maiden straightens up again, risking another marvelling glance at the seamstress. "I... well... it means 'refuge'," she murmurs in decidedly embarrassed tones. Veiled, her face is not easily read, but it is still easy to tell that this lass in red and blue and gold is distinctly flustered. "I suppose that that suits me..." At her feet, the dog swivels his head around, sniffing curiously at Flora, but holding his more or less relaxed crouch. Chuckling at the clear embarrassment of the lass in red and blue and gold, the benevolent behemoth in banana beams brightly, "I see...'refuge'? A pleasant connotation. I am named after the flower goddess. As you can see, my parents had high hopes that were not precisely...er, realized. " Her laughter is good-natured, diverted by Faanshi's reactions, well-aware of how odd she must look to those unaccustomed to imperfect Empyreans. "And what is this handsome hound's name?", she asks curiously, her attention switching to Kosha as she slowly extends a fat hand for him to sniff. "Kosha," comes the earnest identification, while the dog takes his measure of the plump fingers submitted for his inspection. Faanshi considers, and then goes on uncertainly, "I did not know that there was a flower goddess... I mean... I do not know much about the gods of your people." Flora waves a chubby paw dismissively at her patron goddess, who must have felt the insult at such a saggy creature bearing her name, "Oh, I do not know if anyone pays her deference any more...she is definitely a minor deity." No punishing lightning bolts descend from the sky to fry the fat Empyrean, so she continues, "That is alright. After all, I only have the most basic grasp of Atarism." At least she knows the right term for it. Intent on submitting the other hand to the dog for acceptance, "Kosha...", she coos, "Such a good boy, taking care of your mistress." Oh, well, all right. She might be spherical, but she appears to appreciate how to commune with a dog, and so Kosha nudges his nose at her fingers in increasing approval. Faanshi's eyes lighten, and she settles back into a somewhat more comfortable position on the bench. "If it is any consolation," she murmurs sheepishly, "sometimes... so do I...." Though dense of gut, there is nothing the matter with Flora's brains, to the surprise of any who bother to have an actual conversation with her. Faanshi's words earn her a scrutinizing, though not unkind, look. More speculative than anything else, "Indeed?", she murmurs. Stroking Kosha's nose lightly, then moving to scritch behind his ears, the rotund woman continues her line of thought, mistaking Faanshi's race, "I suppose it is inaccurate for me to assume that all Varati are born with perfect understanding of their religion...just as I am not always entirely clear on all the details of mine. I make the sacrifices, true enough, but incorporeal deities are perhaps harder to believe in than a god-king who resides among you, no?" Faanshi blows out a soft sigh, drawing her hands together to clasp them tightly at her breast. "I... have always believed in the Holy Mother of the Amir-al," she timidly confides. "But... _he_... is... _here_." The thought seems to unnerve her, for her hands wring at one another, and her voice reflects a palpable measure of disconcertedness. Flora watches the girl openly, absorbing all of this. Odd. "So you believe in the mother and the son...it is just a little overwhelming when you have a god in your midst, hm?", she ventures lightly, taking care to choose her words wisely. Diplomatic to a fault, she is loathe to injure anyone's feelings, probably because her own have been smushed so often. Changing the subject, for her new acquaintance's sake, she remarks, "By the by, I have a stall over in the Rialto...you should come by some time. I could give you fabric at a reduced price...after all, you saved me some minor pain.", she gestures to her knee, "And I am not one to forget a favour." The offer appears to touch the girl, and her voice warms significantly for all that she seems to never speak with much in the way of volume. "You are most kind," she murmurs in fervent tones, sitting mostly facing the older woman now, "but I do... not have much money... and the Clan provides me with clothing when I need something new to wear..." She trails off, then, and pauses for several breaths before she sheepishly breathes, "The Amir-al is beautiful and terrible, even when seen from afar..." And again she pauses, sounding embarrassed by her own words. Leaning forward, belly bulging out further as its compressed into a smaller space, Flora gestures that Faanshi should join her in stooping over. As soon as the halfbreed's ear has come close, the seamstress whispers in a pseudo-conspiratorial tone, "I'll tell you what...you come by my stall and have a cup of tea with me or something. In return, I'll make you a new dre-...sari, or something. I'll write it off as a business luncheon. No one'll ever have to know." Clear grey eyes twinkle with smothered merriment, "Deal?" Raising her voice again, she adds jovially, "Besides, who says you have to need it? It's good to get pretty new clothes sometimes..." Green eyes blink rapidly over the top of the blue veil, even as Faanshi does willingly lean closer. Apparently, or at least if the look in her eyes is any judge, she feels no revulsion for Flora's size; if anything, the maiden seems almost guilelessly fascinated. But her brow also furrows, and she blurts, "New... clothes? For me?" Bemused, she casts a glance down at herself, and then adds hastily, "I... I am to wear the colors of Clan Khalida..." Flora pats Faanshi's hand, pleased to have a new project, "Yes, new clothes for you." Rubbery brow furrows as she considers difference of culture, "Um, unless you're not allowed to accept gifts." Surely not! "Well, of course you must, my dear. I wouldn't think of making you an outfit in anything but..", she adds lamely, "Clan Khalida colors." "It has never been forbidden," Faanshi confesses, though her brow remains crinkled. "It... has... never come up." Then she cants her sari-covered head and adds earnestly, perhaps sensing that hint of confusion in the other's tone, "The colors of the Clan are red and blue and gold." With a dainty sungolden hand, she gestures at her blue sari with its gold trim, at her blue veil. The expression on Flora's round face indicates that she is deep in thought, mouth working consideringly, "Red and blue and gold? Those are nice colours." Sizing Faanshi up, she comments drily, ever hard on herself, "And I'm sure that you will look far better in my creations than I will, my dear. Perhaps I should hire you as a model." She's joking, right? Is she? Not at all certain, Faanshi flushes pink behind her veil, grateful for its concealment of the heat that tinges her skin. "A... model? You mean... someone... that people look at? For w-wearing clothing?" Flora has to laugh at the girl's discomfort, though not unkindly, "That's right. Someone who wears clothing for people to see." Giving the girl another reassuring pat, she clarifies, "Fear not. I would never put you in a situation where you would suffer embarrassment or discomfort." A little giggle, "Though if you ever change your mind, let me know." Fat chance. Faanshi mumbles, "I don't think... anyone would want to much look at me..." Kosha, apparently oblivious to his mistress's self-deprecation, shifts around to nudge at her with his snout, hoping for scritches. Almost relieved by the distraction, the maiden reaches to stroke his furry head once again. "I am only a shudra, dom... er... Flora... and my clothes are not fine..." Flora covers her mouth with one chubby hand, in an effort to stifle the giggles that are slipping out. Fearing that her newfound friend will take offense, she hastily tells her, "My dear, you are most lovely. I may have the worst eyesight around here, but I'm not -that- blind. Besides, I would supply the clothes. That's why you would be my model." "But... but, now... I just don't _understand_ that," Faanshi protests in deep consternation. "H-how can someone tell if... if you are..." And she seems to have enormous difficulty with the use of the word 'lovely' in a sentence, for she does not actually utter it; rather, she goes on, "... I mean... if you... wear sari and veil?" Her gaze shoots down to her hands, fluttering over her dog's head like nervous little birds. And her words pick up nervous speed, suggesting that there is worry behind them only just now given an opportunity to be expressed. "My clothes... are not fine... and my eyes do not look right and, and I am... too small and too thin and I-I-I do not know why he--" And quite abruptly, she cuts herself off. Throwing her head back, Flora lets out a short bark of laughter, unable to help it. Wiping at the mirthful tears streaming from her eyes, she chuckles and chuckles and chuckles, "Faanshi...", she starts, "dear girl...I realize that you are having difficulty coming to terms with the idea of your own beauty, but really now.." Hoisting her considerable bulk to her feet, she gestures drily to herself, "Too small and too thin? I only wish I had such 'problems'. In comparison to me, gentle soul, you are the jewel of Haven." Yep, just a little bitter there. She is well-aware that she will never be beautiful. Almost forty, it is a little late for her to bloom. Faanshi's consternation grows deeper as she peeks up again, in time to see the rotund Empyrean stand up. Something that can only be an honest, unmistakable bafflement crosses her eyes at Flora's indication of her own body, and that same bafflement registers in her voice as she blurts, "Is there... something wrong with your shape, dom... F-Flora? I have never seen a-anyone shaped like you, but... but I do not get to meet many Empyreans." Something wrong with it? Depends on your point of view. Flinching slightly, Flora steels herself to explain, thankful that Faanshi will not mock her, at least, "I don't know that there's anything wrong with it, per se." Her mouth twitches, "Though it certainly offends enough people's sense of aesthetics. There are those that think I should be...um, removed, because I tarnish the purity of the Empyrean race." That hurts, yes. "I cannot help how I look.", she ventures onward bravely, "but no, most do not look like me." "Oh," says Faanshi then, in tones of childlike contemplation. Then, after pondering a few moments more, she solemnly and hesitantly goes on, "I... met an Empyrean with black wings, and... he seemed to think that... I should be acting as though there was... something wrong with his appearance, too. That... seems to happen a great deal in Haven." Another pause. And then she concludes in a smaller voice, "I think it goes against the holy surahs, but I don't think that many people would listen to me if I said that. The Varati do not seem to like to look at me very much either, and I am only a shudra so they do not listen much to me." There is no bitterness in her soft explanation; rather, the words are simple, straightforward, and stoic. She might well be commenting upon the color of the sky, or the way her dog wags his tail. Suddenly, Flora is abashed about her rancor. How easily she is put to shame by the gentle resignation of this young one. Shoulders sagging slightly, she only nods, "I agree. I do not know anything about your surahs, but it can't be right to hate people because of the way they look." She would know, if anyone. Sitting back down on the bench beside Faanshi, she offers quietly, "If they do not listen to you, it is their loss." "The seventh surah is Respect," Faanshi murmurs, blowing out a breath and closing her eyes for a moment. When she opens them again, the green orbs reflect bemusement still, though somewhat lessened now. Her head turns back to face her companion once again, as she gains a measure of bravery. "The Amir-al teaches that we should be respectful and honorable to all peoples above us and below us in caste... but..." And again she trails off, looking lost and bewildered and quite overwhelmed. "B-but someone did something that... I-I-I think is even beyond that surah and... I-I-I am very confused and Holi confused me too, and... and... I am very grateful you want to talk to me." Another childlike look touches the eyes above the veil, this one almost wistful. Touched, Flora regards the young healer in vague surprise. Very few people ever seem to be glad to talk to Flora, though gods know why. She's the perfect listener, able to empathize with a great spectrum of pain. "Why are you confused, Faanshi?", she murmurs, "What did this someone do?" As for Holi, that is a ceremony probably even more beyond her than the shudra. Her mouth is hidden by both her veil and the cover of darkness, but from the sound of her, it's fairly likely that somewhere in the midst of her words the maiden bites her lip: "He... sang to me..." Those four simple syllables creep out of Faanshi in a nervousness that puts a tremor into her voice, reflecting an immense dismay... but also, perhaps, a wonder. Smile warming, certain as to what will come next, Flora prompts her friend with barely suppressed glee, "Who? Who sang to you? And what did he sing?" Though she is blessed with the wisdom that age brings, the obese seamstress can hardly claim to share such romantic experiences. Thus, she must revel in them vicariously, "Oh, do tell, please." There is a rather sad note of longing in her voice, but it is well-concealed. Oh, Ushas, at last... Faanshi has felt that if she couldn't speak of this to _someone_, her heart would surely burst. "He i-is a Mongrel, you see... a bard... his name is Lyre! And I was going to ask him if he would make some songs... b-because two friends of mine have... died, and..." Slowly, as she speaks, the lass's face tilts up till her gaze has gone skyward. "And when he came to me... he... was... _singing_, and... I have... never heard anything like it... and... and I cannot... imagine why he sang what he sang b-because I had only seen him... just one time before, but, oh...." No doubt about it; that's thunderstruck wonder in Faanshi's voice now. "Then... then Holi started and I was able to take off my veil but I didn't much because... because none of the Varati really want to see me, I think... and I couldn't... stop thinking about him, but then the Imphadi Woodchuck came to the wedding and he asked me... at least, I think he meant to ask me i-if Thomas was... courting me, but _that_ is impossible and... and..." Her head tilts downward again and she concludes miserably, "I am very confused now!" Flora tries to follow this fragmented story as best she can, gently reiterating, "So Lyre came to you and sang a...love song?", queries she, trying to probe exactly how serious this is, "And do you think it is possible that this..Thomas is interested in you? Do you know him well?" She asks just enough questions to keep the girl talking, trying her best to help her. The young maiden's arms wrap about herself, leaving Kosha trying to slide his head into her lap as best he can. "He sang... he... called me his... lady of the dawn, even though the Lady of the Dawn is Ushas, and... I do not... know if it was... a love song, but I have never heard a man sing like him before and he... held me..." _Those_ last two words are the forerunners of a long intake of breath, and it seems to require much effort before Faanshi is able to continue, shaking her head swiftly, "Thomas is my friend, but he would not court me as I-Imphadi Woodchuck seemed to think. That is... that is impossible. He is making a nation and I am just a servant." This sounds firm enough, in the midst of the palpable uncertainty that colors every word she's uttering. "And... I-I do not know why Lyre sang... such beautiful things... o-or... what I should do... I..." Irrepressible, the smile tugs at the corners of Flora's lips, her generous mouth widening good-naturedly, "Faanshi..there are worse problems than having a man hold you." Trust her. Like having a man be willing to do anything as long as he doesn't -have- to do anything of the sort. "But I can understand your confusion. If he called you his Lady of the Dawn, that certainly seems fairly..." She lacks the word, supplementing with the inadequate, "charming." She asks wistfully, "Must you do anything? You could wait and see what happened...if Thomas really would come and court you and if anything will develop with Lyre." "I just..." Faanshi, too, sounds wistful, condensing that sentiment into those two small soft words and heightening the flavor of it in her speech. "It... was not _bad_ at all! He... I..." Her hands flutter again, gesturing unthinkingly, punctuating her words. "I have... never been held by a man before, and... he... he let me _cry_, and nobody ever lets me cry, and..." At last, though, the shudra girl seems to catch herself, to shake herself. And she turns to Flora to touch a slender hand to the nearer of the Empyrean's massive shoulders. A gratitude as full and warm as sunshine wells into her voice, then. "I must pray about it," she decides, "but... I know that I do not speak these things well, but thank you... thank you for letting me speak a bit! I have to go back to Atesh-Gah, but... great is the mercy of Ushas, that she has sent you to me with your kind ear!" Flora blushes herself now, not the delicately rosy blush of youth, but a robust apple-red, "You are welcome, my dear.", she beams, patting at Faanshi's hand that touches her shoulder, "You go pray about it and I am certain that you will get an answer." Her smile is a touch lopsided. Perhaps Faanshi's story has affected her more than she will admit - she never got such experiences at that age. Or ever, for that matter. But wallowing in pity is for the weak and though Flora's flesh is, her spirit is not. Smiling earnest, she sends the healer off with a pat, "Home with you, now. Take care...oh, and come to my stall sometime, if you can!" Softly, lightly, the lass rises -- and this makes Kosha move, in a burst if canine grace, to reposition himself to give her room to stand. "I will! I will look for you," she promises, the most certain and lighthearted thing she has uttered. "Blessings to you, Flora... I must go back now, to help with cleaning up... the wedding must be done by now... namaste'!" Faanshi, now on her feet, clasps her hands at her breast and bows most respectfully, before turning to beckon to her alertly watching hound. "Come, Kosha... come!" One last glance is given then to the Empyrean woman, and one last shyly breathed thanks... before the maiden turns and hastens off into the gathering night. Faanshi has come into the gardens with a profoundly unsettled heart... but now, after meeting the kindly Empyrean, she is leaving with a lighter one. [End log.]