"The Revels of Holi"

Log Date:
	10/1/99

Log Cast:
	Amar, Tahira, Faanshi, Zuhayr, Khalil, Jamil, Vayu, Khalid, Ranjeet,
Lailah, Cella, Rihana, Shahar, Rabi, Jaimizal (NPC emitted by Rabi), Zada,
Hepzibah, Niamh, Opal, Hassim (NPC emitted by Rihana), assorted young
maidens and children (NPCs emitted by assorted players)

Log Intro:
	For most of the year, the Children of Fire are a stern and stoic 
people, their passions kept in check, hidden behind menfolk's stony reserve
and the gauzy veils of their women. But there is one time during the year
where all their inhibitions are cast aside, when the rigid boundaries of
caste and station are temporarily suspended: the time of Holi, when the
Varati people unite as one to celebrate the birth of their God-King, the
Hawk of Heaven, Khalid Atar.
	It is a wondrous thing, too, for a shudra halfbreed who spent the
first seventeen years of her life barely aware that her God-King existed,
much less that His birthing is celebrated each year with such joy and 
freedom. And thus is Faanshi struck with awe when for the first time in her
life she is able to cast aside her veil and feel, for once, as if she is
truly one of the Children of Fire...

*===========================< In Character Time >==========================*
             Time of day:  Afternoon
          Date on Aether:  Tuesday, May 6, 3905.
           Year on Earth:  1505 A.D. 
       Phase of the Moon:  New
                  Season:  Spring
                 Weather:  Rain
             Temperature:  Cool
*==========================================================================*

You step through the great double doors and emerge into the courtyard.
Courtyard - Atesh-Gah - Haven(#430RJM)
     If indeed the Hebrew folk of lost Earth are correct in their legends, 
  then this must be the legendary garden from which mankind was expelled. The 
  flat expanse of the great courtyard of Atesh-Gah is covered in the most 
  luxurious grass of bright emerald green, broken only by a cobblestone path 
  for riding and walking to prevent wear upon the lawn. Rich copses of 
  carefully tended wood grow by the walls, lovingly groomed flower gardens 
  acting as a barrier of colour before the rising trees. 
     Perhaps even more relaxing than the sight of the yard are the sensations 
  of it. The lovely scents of flower and tree; honey-suckle, apple blossom, 
  peach, and jasmine; combine with the soft cushion of green grass to provide 
  a sense of peace and harmony that defies the looming sand-hued walls of 
  unbreakable stone. Not even the shadowed maw of the main gate, nor the 
  blocky, unimpressive presence of the impenetrable main keep can overshadow 
  the beauty of this place. Indeed, the stark contrast serves only to enhance 
  it. 
Contents:
Kosha
Holi Decorations and Setting (Please 'l holi')
Inanna
Khalil
Obvious exits:
Fountain <F>  Out <O>  Entrance Foyer <EF>  Stables <S>

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The lush greenery of Atesh-Gah has been outdone by the vibrant colours of the 
  Holi decorations. Flowered garlands are strung between buildings and from 
  tree-limb to tree-limb, petals drifting down upon the revelers. 
  Multicoloured scarves and ribbons flutter in the breeze, impishly tickling 
  the faces of those who pass too close. Here and there, small groups of 
  musicians play, mridanga and tambourine tangling together in 
  merry-mysterious tunes. Laughter and smiles are everywhere, the aura of 
  celebration seeming to permeate even the stoic stone walls.
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Amar passes between the heavy stone pillars that flank the entrance to 
  Atesh-Gah, and joins you in the courtyard.
Amar has arrived.

Voices, laughter, merriment. It may not be the magnificent revel one could 
  expect in Masada, but it is a splendid time nonetheless. The bonfire is not 
  yet lit, though a few of the fire-wielding Atarvani -- barely recognizeable 
  in their lighter, summery robes and smiling faces -- give the heap of wood 
  and kindling covetous looks. Now and again, the *whup* from a gulai-tube 
  can be heard, and coloured powder will arc into the air and drift down upon 
  those nearby.

Tahira steps out of the embassy and joins you in the courtyard.
Tahira has arrived.
Late as always she is for nearly everything including prayer, the young 
  priestess makes her way out of the keep -- nearly slipping in the process. 
  She does manage to catch herself however, taking special caution to slip 
  right into the gathering crowd. Nope, Tahira was here all along, it must 
  have been someone else that was late -- oh yes... that is it.

For once, Amar isn't carrying around his heavy little bag. Other than that 
  there is little difference. His white cotton shirt is loose, flowing along 
  his form as he walks. Heading from crowd to crowd, place to place, he seems 
  to wander aimlessly.. The rain that starts falling seems to bother him 
  little. In fact, it makes it a bit easier to keep his unkempt mass of hair 
  in order.

Practically _everything_ and everyone is unrecognizable, as far as a young 
  shudra of Clan Khalida is concerned. Even though she has been on hand for 
  the transformation of Atesh-Gah and the grounds within its walls, Faanshi 
  still cannot entirely believe it. With utmost hesitance, _certain_ any 
  minute now that someone is going to tell her that no, sorry, sanction to 
  bare one's face and hair to the eyes of men is allowed only for those of 
  _pure_ Varati blood, she slips out into the gathering throng of revellers. 
  Only the colors of her choli and silwar and the big hound at her side might 
  easily identify her as the healer shudra of the God-King's clan. Without 
  those cues to give a name to her face and form, she is only a strikingly 
  slender maiden trying to cant her head so that her unbound hair can hide her 
  face and do the duty of the veil she has timidly removed.

Zuhayr steps out of the embassy and joins you in the courtyard.
Zuhayr has arrived.

Grump, grump and more grump. Standing opposed to all the merriment and color 
  is Khalil. Clad now in all black he still carries his falcare dutifully.. 
  looking much the unhappy Agni-Haidar. Festival? As far as Khalil is 
  concerned his primary duty is to make sure the embassy is well guarded and 
  no harm befalls anyone within its walls. With that in mind he seeks to avoid 
  being sprayed by some obnoxious color and all other forms of merriment so 
  long as he can help it.

Is there anyone he knows here? Shrugging, Amar finds himself a bottle of 
  spiced wine.. Ahh. Aside from the women, the wine is probably the best thing 
  about these festivities.. Following one of the 'whup' sounds, is a much 
  smaller 'thup', as he pulls the cork off with his teeth.

Kosha, unlike his mistress, has absolutely no compunctions about throwing 
  himself wholeheartedly into the revelry. Look, look, a bright colored scarf 
  flowing in the breeze in defiance of the scattering of rain! And there, a 
  maiden whose trailing, tempting veil, carried in her hand rather than set 
  into place around her face, provides a tantalizing toy! With a joyous bark 
  the young hound leaps for it, only to wind up engaged in an impromptu 
  tug-of-war that results in a girlish peal of laughter and a cloud of gold 
  blown all over Kosha's forequarters and muzzle. He scampers back, sneezing: 
  achoo!

A sudden, staccato thrumming begins a small distance from the unlit bonfire, 
  as a quartet of mridanga players warm up their wrists and arms and start 
  their simpler mallet-throws. The music is cut short by a darting child, and 
  mallets scatter to the ground. One of the performers grins through his 
  muttering, and rights himself, reaching for his tankard.

Hiding, aye, hiding in the crowd is a good thing the young priestess decides. 
  This business about no veil and no thick robes, why it is enough to make any 
  maiden more than a bit self-conscious. Still, Tahira cannot deny her 
  curiousity at the vast colors and bearings of her people. perhaps if it were 
  not the first Holi she had ever attended, but alas, it is. Her bright eyes 
  light upon each individual before taking notice of the dog. Someone brought 
  their pet? Oh, how she wishes she had brought Juri -- for he would surely 
  love such a festival.

Everyone knows that the Agni-Haidar consider 'fun' a forbidden word. Not even 
  Holi can get them to smile, isn't that so? Zuhayr steps out of the embassy, 
  stops on the topmost step, and folds thick arms across his chest. No, no one 
  will be having fun while they wear silver and black. Not on his watch.

Quiet giggling can be heard near Khalil, behind and to his side. A bevy of 
  young girls, bashful-blushing without their veils, whispers amongst 
  themselves as they watch the Agni-Haidar try and remain stern throughout the 
  festivities. One of them twirls a full gulai-tube, and grins at her 
  conspirators.

Amar draws a long sip from the bottle of spiced wine.. Too bad the bottle is 
  so large and annoying to carry around.. Oh well.. May be worth it in the 
  end. He reaches up with his free hand to brush some wet hair back past his 
  ear. Yes, rain does has its advantages. It also makes the material of his 
  white shirt nearly transparent, something he barely seems to take notice of. 
  He notices a bright colored pair of eyes in the crowd for a moment.. 
  Recognition? He shrugs, and wanders on.

Conspirators? Do they not know what Agni-Haidar do to those that conspire 
  against Khalid Atar... err.. or at least his Lions of Fire? At the sound of 
  giggles, Khalil turns to look upon the girls with a no-nonsense look. Spray 
  him with gulai... he just dares them to, arms folding over his chest as 
  though to mimic Zuhayr and announce his protest openly.

Jamil steps out of the embassy and joins you in the courtyard.
Jamil has arrived.

Oh no! Faanshi gasps despite herself as Kosha gets his snoutful of gold, and 
  cannot help but giggle, very softly, at the sight. The maiden who'd joined 
  her dog in that impromptu game of tug-of-war giggles back before scampering 
  off again, stalking... who? Ah yes! A vaisya boy who'd look _much_ better 
  with a splash of gold to brighten up his raiment! And Faanshi, unarmed but 
  peeking tentatively through her hair at the mounting merriment that 
  surrounds her, does something else: she smiles.

Why oh why is it everytime she decides to visit the outdoors as of late does 
  it have to be raining? Tahira lets out a faint sigh. Well at least this time 
  she has no robes to worry about ringing out, yet throughout the crowd her 
  eyes light upon a semi-familiar face. Of course he does not have on an apron 
  or have a hammer. The young priestess stand a bit on her tiptoes, backing up 
  a bit to get a better view. Too bad she does not have eyes in back of her 
  head.

Who could be a more tempting victim for pranks right now than Amar, with his 
  insolent appearance.. Slightly swaying walk, a small, distracted grin 
  lingering on his lips, and a generally insolent expression in his grey blue 
  eyes.. He doesn't notice the tip-toeing young priestess, as he takes another 
  swig of the bottle. He seems to be heading in that direction however. Who 
  will get him first?

Vayu steps out of the embassy and joins you in the courtyard.
Vayu has arrived.

One of the Atarvani stands near a small brazier, patiently feeding it fuel to 
  keep it from being extinguished by the rain. A woman drifts by, looking up 
  at the sky for a moment before she leans in to speak with him. Some sort of 
  question, seems -- the priest looks up at the sky as well, then to the unlit 
  bonfire, and smiles as he shakes his head and offers a brief reply. Whatever 
  she asked is no problem, apparently.

The walls of Atesh-Gah are alive today, written with flowers and heavenly 
  boughs that weigh heavy with fruit and blossoms; the drab walls seem forged 
  of a dream of Xanadu lost, a heavenly paradise having sprung fully formed 
  from what once was only stone and gravel. The trees of the gardens are 
  likewise adorned, their carefully-constructed disarray of color matched only 
  by the colors of those that stride the paths between the varied groves. 
  Kshatri, Shudra, Vaisya and Atarvani mingle without a second thought, all 
  sharing happy words and laughter that bubbles over and surrounds them in a 
  haze of good will. Vayu is among them, but is no more noticable than anyone 
  else - even his odd white robes are gone, as he now dressed in his clan 
  colors to show honor to his warlord. Birds swoop and twitter with as much 
  abandon as the Varati below, the play of cheerfulness rising even to the sky 
  itself.

There's a sudden shout from a small group of people as a man gives his friend 
  a shove back and waves his hand at him. "I'll make you trip during ZhaGui, 
  for that!" he laughs. The nearby women glance at eachother, a couple rubbing 
  discreetly at the corners of their mouths to hide their smile.

Continuing upon his rounds, Khalil is careful to stay around the edges of the 
  crowd and away from those that would seek to decorate him with a livelier 
  color. Orders.. he has orders, is all he can say to those that try to drag 
  him into the festivities. Surely one such as himself will not disobey 
  orders... ever. Especially on such a day as this. Who knows what dangers 
  could be lurking behind every bush or even outside the walls of the embassy. 
  Yep. Best that he stay alert and avoid such nonsense as fun.

Anticipation. Trepidation. Flashing eyes directed to the bonfire. The smell of 
  the courtyard - aside from the flowers and greenery - is decidedly one of 
  anxious, gleeful waiting, like that of a child on the night before 
  Christmas. That enormous pile of sticks and logs, just waiting to be lit 
  afire, to truly signal the beginning of Holi, draws all eyes at one point or 
  another. Vayu passes it, and tosses a pair of madrone logs onto it, smiling 
  and bowing his head toward the Atarvani who tend it. It is only proper, 
  after all. As he turns away, he very nearly bumps into a huge Agni-Haidar. 
  He peers momentarily, as the only thing one can discern are the eyes, and 
  suddenly laughs. "Why, Hassan!" he exclaims, "I had not thought you on 
  leave! Gracious me. Come, we shall have a drink together! No? Oh. Well, then 
  I'll have two. One for you, and one for me."

Amar seems to be well underway with drinking, for himself, and a couple of 
  others as well. He raises the bottle to his lips to take a swig, then 
  furrows his brow slightly in disappointment, holding it upside down, only a 
  single drop coming out of it.. He sets it down next to the path, and wanders 
  on. Of course, he'll find another one. He flashes an insolent grin at a 
  couple of young women who pass him..

More soft oh-aren't-we-sneaky giggling from the bevy of girls who had been 
  watching Khalil. The one holding the gulai-tube whispers to her 
  conspirators, and recieves a mixed response -- a couple shake their heads, 
  eyes wide, while another nods rapidly as she watches the Janizar stalk 
  around the perimeter of the merriment. The 'leader' grins impishly and takes 
  off after Khalil, weaving through the crowd; the remaining three look at 
  eachother, hesitating, then try to catch up. Four of them, only one of him. 
  That's fair odds, isn't it?

Not really watching where she is going, the young priestess manages to back 
  herself up into another person -- nearly falling in the process. "Aiyeee, 
  Forgive me.." Way to go Tahira, that's a way to make others take notice. her 
  cheeks flush brightly as she struggles to try and vanish back into the crowd.

Music reverberating from all corners of the plaza surrounds Vayu as he makes 
  his way through the amassed people present; he draws up next to Tahira, who 
  promptly decides to knock him over. Luckily for Vayu, she fails, and his 
  newly-aquired glass of wine is saved from being spilled all over the 
  cobblestones. "I say!" he exclaims, turning about to face the young 
  Atarvani. He isn't particularly peevish, just surprised - and there she 
  goes, wriggling away into the crowd. Oh well. There seems to be quite a bit 
  of wriggling in the crowd, and on the outskirts, small children chase 
  eachother with gulai-sticks, a haze of colored dust filling the air to 
  settle in ranbow-hued sheets on shoulders and necks.

Glancing at the woman as she walks into another person, Amar blinks slightly, 
  then can't help but to chuckle softly to himself.. It's that walking 
  disaster.. His lips curl upwards into a lop-sided grin.. She's pretty 
  though.. That man looks important though.. Better be careful.. Although it 
  is the festival after all?

The *whup* of gulai-tubes is quickly followed by the giggling shrieks of 
  women; a group of men, already well into their cups, have surrounded several 
  women and showered them with multicoloured powders. They rub vainly at their 
  cheeks, leaving rainbow smudges behind, while the men rumble-chuckle and 
  move on.

Four of them? Combined they would still be smaller than Khalil.. or so he 
  hopes. Grr. Killing would be too much and since it seems he is supposed to 
  keep the peace... the grumbling Agni-haidar just walks a little faster. No 
  where to hide and nothing to hurt. Why can't Holi be celebrated with quiet 
  prayer and meditation?

Closer. Closer. The girl with the gulai-tube darts behind a talking couple, 
  peeking around it at Khalil, then glances back for her conspirators. They're 
  still uncertain, visibly nervous about visiting Holi upon a gruff 
  Agni-Haidar. She sighs at them, waves her hand -- fine, she'll do this 
  herself -- and quickly moves forward. Once she's within six or eight feet, 
  she calls, "Janizar!" to try and get his attention and blows the contents of 
  the gulai-tube at him. Yellow powder sprays in a bright arc.

A walking disaster - ahh such a flattering description of the young priestess 
  to be certain. Tahira weaves her way through the crowd, ducking around the 
  various Agni-Haidar and gifting them with gentle smiles in passing. As the 
  colors rain from the skies, she holds back a giggle. Why, a little child in 
  a candy store could not be filled more with glee. As the time progresses, 
  she begins to grow more accustomed to her lack of restrictive clothing and 
  veils. Her bright eyes light once more upon the blacksmith, just how is his 
  thumb? Aye, well she may as well pay him a visit. Slowly she begins to 
  wander her way over to Amar, a bright smile upon her lips.

Vayu fades in and out, as much a part of the background noise as shouting and 
  mumbles blessings; he drifts and fades into the crowd, feeling the heartbeat 
  of it as though it was his own. The crowd is a strange entity - a singular 
  consciousness, made up of lots of individuals. God only knows how the crowd 
  will behave later today, when all the gulai-dust has settled at the base of 
  the spine as so much colorful narcotics, and everyone is feeling languid and 
  uninhibited. Near the gravel path of the Entrance Foyer, a small assortment 
  of Kshatri warriors drink and share war stories - Bezhad, Messala, Khalida, 
  it makes no difference. All are veterans who were wounded and killed 
  empyreans in the name of Atar.

It would seem that Agni-Haidar are trained soley to fight as Khalil, in awhat 
  must be consider a bad move, spins around as he hears the call. Yes.. he 
  falls into the poorly made trap like a cub just getting its footing. Smack 
  dab on the left side of his face Khalil catches the yellow gulai. What a 
  sight.. half black, half yellow... and growling. One angry bee starts toward 
  the gulai-tube weilding girl, a hand falling to the pommel of his sword as 
  though he were about to draw it.

Amar is suddenly assaulted with colors, from two little girls and a boy, who 
  giggle, running off for the next victim. Covered in powders of mostly green 
  and blue, he first curses after the children.. Then, he just chuckles 
  softly, starting to brush it off.. His white shirt is still wet from the 
  earlier rain though, so it gains a somewhat blue-green sheen... His easy and 
  insolent little stroll was apparently too tempting to be left alone. He runs 
  his fingers through his damp hair and blinks a little as he notices Tahira, 
  and her different clothing.. or lack thereof. And he was never the polite 
  type to check where his eyes were drifting either.. Is that.. No.. "Do I 
  know you from somewhere?", he asks, raising his voice a little to be heard 
  through the noise.

Darkness settles as a blanketed hush, a noticeable few adorned in elegant 
  robes befitting their Atarvani status taking four points around the gathered 
  wood. As giggles of laughter die to ripples of hushed whispers about these 
  men, collectively do each raise their arms. A drone begins, subtle and 
  murmured with reverence, and as the minutes pass, words take shape, gaining 
  audible clarification. "Blessed by thy Mother and thy Father, whose passions 
  and nature did bring to us your gloried presence, most Holy, Khalid Atar. 
  May your flames touch our hearts and souls always, that we may worship 
  forever, steadfast and obedient, within Your Blazing Flames."

Khalid steps out of the embassy and joins you in the courtyard.
Khalid has arrived.

Faanshi can scarcely credit what she sees. Everywhere she looks there is 
  laughter and merriment and fellowship such as she has never seen before -- 
  and the simple fact that she is _here_ to be allowed to participate in it 
  brings suc awe to her heart that she can barely manage to look directly at 
  anyone, much less speak or be brave enough to claim a gulai tube for her 
  own. Rather than try to join in the giggling throngs of maidens who are 
  scampering hither and yon, she lingers unsurely on the edge of the 
  courtyard, trying to keep her excited but ever-loyal hound under control, 
  but she is in an excellent position to hear the invocation of the Hawk of 
  Heaven gaining strength throughout the throng. She catches her breath, 
  feeling a flutter of wonderment within her, and strives to see everything at 
  once while looking as inconspicuous as possible. Surely _someone_ will tell 
  her _she_ should not be out here? Surely?

Ohdear. Maybe Lions really /can't/ smile. The gulai-wielder turns pale, eyes 
  gone saucer-round, and her conspirators gulp. She skitters back a couple 
  steps, and the incoherently fast apologies begin: 
  "Imphadi-brave-Janizar-I'm-sorry-it-was-just-in-fun-please-forgive-me-" And 
  so on. She clutches the empty gulai tube, white-knuckled, and looks towards 
  the bonfire for a second. Thank Atar, the priests have started. Maybe 
  they'll distract Khalil?

Pausing to stop before the merry blacksmith, Tahira bows her head 
  respectfully. "Aye Imphadi -- I trust your thumb is much better?" She teases 
  good naturedly. A one-woman-diaster she may be, but at least this time she 
  has no robes to contend with, although it doesn't appear as though her 
  attire leaves much of anything period to contend with. Her eyes dart once 
  more around the festivities before returing to light upon Amar, "It is truly 
  magnificent do you not agree?"

Ranjeet steps out of the embassy and joins you in the courtyard.
Ranjeet has arrived.

The voice of prayer lifted on the wind has been known, in ages past, to call 
  the divine - and once again, the mystic call brings the Flame of Heaven down 
  from the sky. High above the parapets and arabesque towers of Atesh-Gah, a 
  figure blocks the sunlight. Winged and perfect, he descends in a slow spiral 
  so that his shadow passes cold over all present. The sun is restored 
  momentarily, however, as Khalid Atar alights on the top of the bonfire, toes 
  locked on the topmost branch, his other foot pressed to the opposite ankle. 
  His coal-black wings remain outstretched, their dark matte hues eating the 
  light out of the air as much as a midnight shadow. The flames that lick at 
  his feet seem to burn brighter as they touch his skin, and slowly begin a 
  journey higher on his legs, soon engulfing his whole form in their raging 
  essence. Khalid spreads his arms, lifting his head back, and the pillar of 
  flame reaches higher still, cascading into the heavens.

A soft chuckle comes from Amar as Tahira speaks of the thumb.. Oh, he 
  remembers that one... Hey, what happened to the sun.. He opens his mouth as 
  if to respond to Tahira, when he notices the reason for the sudden lack of 
  light.. By the mother of Khalid! No, wait.. this /is/ Khalid.. Isn't that 
  what the woman announced..

Silence sweeps through much of the crowd, like flames eating up oil-soaked 
  fuel, quickly followed by ripples of movement -- people dropping to their 
  knees and pressing foreheads to hands to ground. A whisper of noise, prayers 
  and thanks to their God given form and blessing the start of the celebration.

A brief attack, and subsequent chase, has delayed Ranjeet in joining the 
  others in the courtyard. A quiet stroll had found him ambushed by a small 
  cluster of children, his only hint their giggles before the air filled with 
  gulai. His clothes bear the color of their attack, still damp from the dyes. 
  He gave them a good chase and was able to alter the color of their clothes 
  as much as his. It is thus that he arrives, his features broad with the grin 
  upon his lips, eyes sparkling brightly, his breath quick and short from his 
  recent battle. His gaze lifts to his God-King, at once reverent and 
  celebratory. His hands lift, palms kissing one another in respect and 
  prayer. He drops to the ground with the rest, kneeling with his head bent in 
  prayer and thanksgiving.

As the smith's attention is drawn away from her, Tahira follows the path of 
  whispers slowly. Her eyes light upon his emminence. Slowly she lowers 
  herself into a silent kneeling prayer of hommage to the hawk of heaven.

It is impossible to miss the sight of divinity descending. Many in the crowd 
  catch their breaths as the Amir-al makes his Entrance -- and reverent 
  hosannas of praise rise up from countless throats. Impossible, too, to hear 
  a single shudra's gasp of wonderment in the midst of it all, but Faanshi 
  does not mind this. To show all honor and devotion to Khalid Atar is 
  something familiar in the midst of the alien revelry that has swept over the 
  citadel of the Children of Fire, and willingly, the maiden presses herself 
  down to the cobblestones in a devout whish of her unbound wavy mass of 
  night-black hair.

All are bent, all supplicating the God-King for favor and blessing; Vayu is 
  among them, his forehead pressed to the gravel of his small hiding-place in 
  the corner of the courtyard. No matter how drunk or oblivious one is, it 
  would be impossible to miss that pillar of flame. When the God's in 
  residence, one had best be respectful!

Amar soon joins those next to him, kneeling on the ground, his forehead 
  pressed to the ground, although his mass of hair covers most of his head at 
  this point.. If anyone could see his features right now, they would be a mix 
  of amazement, joy, awe and a tingle of fear, all mixed up neatly together.

Impossibly alien and aloof from the cares of mankind, Khalid regards the 
  assembled worshippers with a gaze that mixes equal parts satisfaction and 
  thoughtfulness. He maintains his strange pose, lending credence to all the 
  ancient texts which bear illustrations of him - he does indeed appear just 
  as in the illuminations and tapestries. Silent still, he lifts a hand to his 
  forehead and closes his eyes momentarily. When they re-open, the fire at his 
  fingertips has turned unearthly blue; he stretches that hand to the sky, and 
  it runs down his arm like mercury, to engulf his entire body and slowly 
  spread down the bonfire and leave it a divine azure, crackling and heat 
  redoubled with the God-King's power. "Let it be known that I have heard you 
  call, and I carry your prayers in my heart!" he exclaims, the thunderclap of 
  his voice ringing strong through the Courtyard. "The festival of my birth 
  has begun! Let my blessing strengthen your hearts!"

Lailah has arrived.
Lailah passes between the massive pillars flanking the entrance to Atesh-Gah 
  and returns to the street.
Lailah has left.

Cella has arrived.
Cella passes between the massive pillars flanking the entrance to Atesh-Gah 
  and returns to the street.
Cella has left.

Homage and obeisances paid, those gathered rise to their knees, then their 
  feet, eyes fixed on the bonfire and its God-given flames. "Atar, Atar," is 
  whispered in overlapping voices, eyes alight with fear, joy, and awe. A few 
  whisper in hushed voices amongst themselves, though their attention quickly 
  returns to the bonfire.

With a display of holy fire like that which the Khalid calls down from the 
  heavens, who cannot help but cry out in glad, rapturous devotion? Well, 
  among the two-footed ones in the courtyard, at any rate. Kosha, at Faanshi's 
  side, whimpers in terror at the celestial flames wielded by the foreboding 
  winged figure that is bestowing his blessing upon the throng. The shudra 
  girl reaches up an arm as best she can to comfort the hound even as she 
  keeps kneeling. Her God-King commands her gaze, but Kosha is not forgotten, 
  and she cuddles her truest friend in Atesh-Gah close even as she chants the 
  name of her god, caught up in the fervor of those around her.

Raising up from the ground, Ranjeet's lips are still curled in a broad smile 
  as he studies the brilliant blue blaze, his voice raising up in exultation, 
  one voice amongst the many calling out both loud and soft, fervently and 
  reverently. His hand raises, touching brow, lips and heart before meeting 
  palms again and bowing over them. A final if unseen gesture of respect and 
  praise.

Rihana passes between the heavy stone pillars that flank the entrance to 
  Atesh-Gah, and joins you in the courtyard.
Rihana has arrived.

Slowly her eyes lift from their patronage to his grace, the bright irises 
  drifting over to study the blue flame as her own inner warmth sweels with 
  pride. Tahira rises from her knees once more, watching in thoughtful 
  silence. Several moments pass before her gaze drifts to fall upon the 
  various gathering of individuals in silence.

Rihana is just another figure at the fringes of the crowd of kshatri, right on 
  the edge as befits her gender and the minority of her clan. She's been there 
  all along, really, and is flanked by what family is here: one slave, four 
  brothers, and her father are ranked before her. They are properly on their 
  knees, and the men struggle to look both up at the fire and down at the 
  ground at the same time. Rihana and her slave, though, being women, are used 
  to that sort of thing, and are much more graceful at it. Tumdari's youngest 
  daughter realizes she isn't breathing, and draws in a breath slowly. She 
  tastes the smoke and thinks her senses have never been more alive than at 
  this moment here. Wings. Fire. The sun on the flagstones framed by that 
  lesser, chattering bonfire.

Pushing forward, Khalid steps off of the bonfire's tip so as to float slowly 
  to the ground in front of the flaming pile. He leaves his flaming aura 
  behind in ribbons of blue that fall and tiwst back into the bonfire. He 
  lifts his chin, face locked in a mask of regal patience, and surveys his 
  people. Turning slightly, he ascends the small stone platform in front of 
  the bonfire, settling himself down into the 'seat of honor' at the top of 
  the dias; he appears to sit in the center of the bonfire, surrounded by blue 
  death and consuming flames that rest on his skin.

Shahar steps out of the embassy and joins you in the courtyard.
Shahar has arrived.

Rabi steps out of the embassy and joins you in the courtyard.
Rabi has arrived.

The hurry of small, slippered feet from the steps of the Atesh-Gah signals the 
  arrival of the Pasha of Haven, although her guise does not immediately lead 
  one to recognition of this austere female. She pauses, gives a glance at the 
  guards trailing along, then hurries toward Ranjeet...though her eyes are 
  drawn, like the proverbial moth to flame, toward the fiery figure known as 
  the Varati God-King.

"Pretty!" Everyone ELSE might be quiet and respectful in front of the fire and 
  god, but Jaimizal is too young to know such things. His experience in the 
  wyvern pen has taught him wariness, which is what prevents him from rushing 
  headlong to gather up an armful of the lovely stuff for himself. But he 
  isn't afraid to make his opinion heard in a loud little-boy's voice. He 
  wraps his fist in his mother's skirts and ogles the flame, then Khalid's 
  wings, then the flames again. Rabi is likely one of the few women here who 
  is still draped head to toe in formal, heavy silks, with only that narrow 
  strip of face and her hands laid bare.

Once the Amir-al is seated, voices gradually shift from prayers and homage to 
  jubilant conversation, and music springs up from the clusters of performers 
  scattered here and there. The children, carefully hushed by mindful parents, 
  return to mischief-making and running through the crowd with bright ribbons 
  and gulai-tubes.

Jaimizal tugs at his mother. "May I? May I?" He looks forlornly towards the 
  gaggle of children and their toys. Only a few years old and he runs like 
  someone twice his age. Rabi smiles gently and nods, touching his cheek in a 
  brief and silent farewell. And with that he dashes off, hesitating as he 
  passes along one side of the bonefire, his wide black eyes earnestly 
  drinking in the sight of his father's master. Then the clamor of his 
  playmates draws him in. He sees Zada. "Feathers! Feathers!" He says 
  excitedly, tugging gently on one of her wings and pointing towards the 
  forbidding, firey figure on its throne.

Throughout the lands of the Children of Fire many live who are never fortunate 
  enough to behold in the living flesh the figure of the dark-winged Son of 
  the Dawn, be they man or woman or child, kshatri or shudra or naraki. It is 
  times like these, when she can see with her own eyes the magnificence of He 
  who leads the people who raised her, that Faanshi fills full enough of a 
  terrible awe that she can scarcely breathe. It is almost a relief when the 
  cries of jubilation start up again, for this means that the nervous shudra 
  using her ebon hair to hide what is usually kept unviewed behind blue silk 
  can breathe once more... and turn more attention to comforting her poor 
  frightened dog, to assure him that there will be no more holy fire 
  descending from on high.... she hopes. This is her first Holi -- she cannot 
  say for sure!

Turning to face Shahar, Ranjeet holds out his hands to her, taking each one as 
  she draws close enough to him. He draws her close, his lips brushing against 
  each cheek, his smile welcoming. "It would seem that we both were a touch 
  fashionably late," he teases lightly, though his gaze drops to his own 
  color-stained clothes, adding, "you are, however, a little more stylish than 
  I at the moment. I do believe this mix of colors ranges more toward the 
  garish side of the spectrum, yes?" His dark eyes glitter with pleasure as 
  now that the intial praise and formalities of prayer have passed, the 
  celebration has begun in true Varati style. Music rises up, voices and 
  instruments blending melodiously in songs of praise for the Amir-al, groups 
  of people breaking up to feast and dance.

"Business," is all Shahar will say to explain her tardiness and breathless 
  arrival, but whatever kept her has dampened her spirits on what should be a 
  festive occasion.

The Amir-al is out and about! News absolutely positively guaranteed to bring 
  Zada running out of the Atesh Gah. She trips on the steps in her haste, but 
  luckily a quick flap brings her gently down rather than landing face-first 
  on the ground. She smiles at Jaimi, the boy probably is almost as big as she 
  is. She ushers him forward with her wing, moving closer to the fire and 
  looking up at Amir-al in absolute adoration and love, eyes shining. Her 
  smile shows in her eyes, hidden by her veil.

Her father and brothers move off into the crowd, but only after the crowd has 
  recovered from the shock of the sight. And that's some time. Who knows what 
  they're talking about, Rihana thinks. Making connections. She smiles and 
  thinks that her father must have been vaisya in his last life, a thought she 
  keeps hidden in the secret core of her heart--how angry he would be were she 
  ever to say it! She finds herself some quiet spot somehow and stays there 
  quietly with her slave, trading quiet words. Occassionally she has to duck 
  as someone runs by with that colored powder, and her clothing begins to take 
  on a garish, festive look. But for the most part she remains, unable to take 
  her eyes off of the fire or its heart. She's never seen the God-King. He 
  always seemed like some kind of legendary thing, to be believed in on faith 
  alone. But he's *there*. Right *there*. She's dreaming.

As the prayers and songs spring up from the assembled masses, Khalid cannot 
  help but favor his chosen people with a smile; they offer words that please 
  him and are proper in their respect. He rests on his throne and watches, the 
  rainbow chains of gulai spreading heavy in the air with each passing moment. 
  He favors all before him with a nod and a reserved perusal, the myriad faces 
  spreading out before him like a mirage of his endless history. The chosen 
  people are adorned in their finest, but it is their adoration that pleases 
  the God-King today. The show they put on for him is as much their gift to 
  him as his presence is for them.

Jaimizal's more than happy to go along with Zada. No, wait a minute, he's the 
  MAN, right? He should be LEADING. He grabs her hand and begins to drag her 
  forward.

Rabi quickly gets to her feet and gathers up her skirts and moves to intercept 
  the two children, her own and Zuhayr's.

The light in Ranjeet's gaze shifts, dimming fractionally as she who is to be his 
  wife clearly holds a weight upon her heart. He says nothing, but reaches up, 
  his hand catching at the back of her head, stroking over her dark hair 
  before he dips her head closer to his own, his lips brushing a soothing kiss 
  over her brow. Dipping his head to gaze into her eyes, he offers her a 
  private smile, asking in a voice almost shy, save for the cajoling tone, the 
  rekindled light of baiting, "Dance with me?"

That Shahar obeys, and without hesitation, speaks well of her acceptance of 
  Ranjeet as her husband, even though the nuptials are still nearly a week 
  away. Head dips, answer comes almost too softly to be heard. "If you wish."

Does Jaimi actually think he could beat Zada to the fire? /Not/ in this 
  instance. /Not/ with Amir-al right there in front of her, when she's been 
  waiting over a year to see him again. She moves closer, ducking here and 
  dodging there, until she is so close she can barely stand the heat.

Slipping a bit away from the crowd, the young unrobed priestess makes her ways 
  over a bit to stand near a few of the trees. The festivities please her 
  immenseley, but somehow as the crowd begins to grown large she begins to 
  feel more than a little ill at ease. Tahira keeps silent, occassionally 
  honoring a person or two with a gentle smile as she watches the festivities 
  from a more removed state. One might almost think the young woman were a 
  little afraid of soo many people, her fingers begining to wring a bit at her 
  sides.

His hand raises, knuckles stroking over Shahar's scarred cheek lightly before 
  his wrist flicks, fingers cupping it instead, raising her gaze to his. The 
  joyous light has shifted to something quieter, more sober, as he takes her 
  strange response, her cowed and lackluster demeanor. Ranjeet shifts a touch 
  closer, his head dipping once again to Shahar, lips brushing past her ear 
  this time as he murmurs something softly that is lost within the din of the 
  celebration.

Formal women's garb, in the Varati world, is meant to be confining, and this 
  comes true to the fore as Rabi valiantly attempts -- and utterly fails -- to 
  reach the children before they are right up against the bonfire's licking 
  flames. There's no fear in her heart at that particular sight -- after all, 
  they are at the feet of He who is the master of all fire -- but there is a 
  clutching in her chest at the thought that the little boy and girl might 
  disturb Him. She tells herself: /the adoration of a child is just as 
  valuable, is it not? These two have pleased Him.../ Perhaps it's a prayer.

This is all so... strange! So alien! Almost frightening! Where is Kiera when 
  Faanshi could use her mistress at her side, someone to whom she might 
  actually _speak_ in the midst of all this feasting and dancing and song? 
  Where is Milane, who paid homage to the Amir-al when the shudra maiden met 
  her in Avalon? Where is Lyre, who might help her make sense of the music 
  even as it begins to stir her blood? The halfbreed healer swallows hard 
  behind her curtain of concealing tresses, for thoughts of music turn her 
  towards another bard she knows... and what has befallen him. Biting her lip, 
  she steals a peek across the courtyard at the figure of Khalid in his place 
  of honor, a prayer in her eyes: perhaps, on this day, he will be merciful 
  and speed the spirit of her lost friend on to his next life?

Shahar shakes her head dismissively and presents a smile for Ranjeet, using 
  the hand still captured by his fingers to lure him toward the dancing. The 
  clouds still hover, but she is projecting the impression of celebration: an 
  actress again, of consummate skill.

That the staff of Atesh-Gah has been working overtime, quadrupling their 
  efforts to pleace master, mistress, and other folk alike is quite apparent. 
  Low tables have been brought out, and shuffling from within, arms laden with 
  raw shellfish and seafood, a banquet has begun to materialize. Raw, it all 
  begins, for the scorching flames and hollowed rocks nearby are supplied as 
  traditional devices in which others may select their fare and roast it 
  themselves. Butterclams, rockfish filets, a smattering of intestines and 
  eggs, lobster, crabs, shrimp, and more!

Zada and Jamizal push and shove just enough to pop out of the crowd just in 
  the right spot to arrive at Khalid's feet. A blink of surprise shows on his 
  face, and he leans forward with arching slowness. "Good afternoon," murmurs 
  the God-King quite politely, two fingers lifted to his cheek. "You should be 
  more careful; the flame that does not harm me could quite easily consume 
  you!" he notes, seeming rather amused with both Zada and Jamizal alike.

Jaimizal composes himself. Mommy and Father have taught him the proper 
  responses to these words. He looks up at Khalid's face with big, solemn, 
  earnest eyes -- there's still a human soul in these eyes he has inherited 
  from his father -- and says, "Good affernoon, Amir-al," with passable 
  inflection for a boy whose palate has barely closed up. "I protect Zada!" He 
  reassures the grim visage, puffing up his little chest.

She cannot lie to him, not with her lips, not with her eyes. Not even her body 
  swathed in silks can hide from him her troubled thoughts. It is only the 
  content of those thoughts that Ranjeet cannot translate. But has he had 
  wheedled her, so does he allow her to cajole him into the dance. His hands 
  catch at her waist, circling her about him as the horns wail in chorus, the 
  tabla calling out to the feet, demanding that they match their blinding 
  speed and rhythm. Taking up a silk cloth, Ranjeet holds one within his hand, 
  offering the other to Shahar. They must never let go, never release their 
  end ... no matter how fast the music might command them to dance, or how 
  they might become intertwined within the length of silk. Some say it is a 
  dance to prove the worth of a marriage - the longer the pair can dance 
  unbroken, the longer and happier their married life will be. He jerks on his 
  head, drawing her into a whirling spin toward him, circling her in turn to 
  release the silk from her torso, his lips curling up again in delight.

Zada hastily steps back, eyes wide. "But I have been waiting so long to see 
  you again," she says quietly. All her excitement seems to have quickly 
  drained away, as she had not expected a reprimand to be the first thing 
  heard. Her head dips low, blinking back tears. All she had wanted to do was 
  to see him. She really had no intention of getting too close to the fire, 
  especially with Jaimi at her side, despite his avowals to take care of her.

Hepzibah steps out of the embassy and joins you in the courtyard.
Hepzibah has arrived.

Shahar dances well. Exquisitely, one might even say. She has been tutored in 
  dance, has a natural grace that lends itself well to such sinewy movement, 
  but the delighted smile that Ranjeet projects is not mirrored in her eyes. 
  Her smile remains fixed, her hand firmly grasping the silken length in her 
  fingers: a death grip, near enough, because she is not going to release that 
  cloth.

Somewhere within the embassy, the family's Holi gift to the holy family rests 
  -- a magnificent set of armor, crafted with the skill of generations and 
  with the love of faith. Rihana tears her eyes away from the sight of the 
  Most High and surveys the crowd; what pride had given lift to her step flees 
  her now, making her feel much smaller than she is. There's just as much 
  finery on display here, just as fine as the work she helped her brothers and 
  sisters craft over the past year. Professionalism takes over: she studies 
  the armor of the Agni-Haidar, its superior crafting, its fine fit, the weave 
  and cut of the padding that she can see, looking for something visible that 
  will teach her how to improve her own efforts.

One of her hands idly drifts over to the nearby blossoming of trees, as her 
  delicate fingertips pluck a blossom from the vine. Lifting it slowly to 
  savor its scent, Tahira allows the music and laughter of the celebration to 
  meld into the backdrop of her thoughts. She may be out of robes and amid the 
  height of activity, but tranquility of the soul is something that does not 
  always choose proper timing. Her bright amethyst depths drift gently upon 
  those high upon the passion of the festival, her own thoughts peaceably 
  removed. Idly the blossom twirls within her grasp, a lock of obsidian 
  draping forward to shield an eye from view.

Hepzibah quietly emerges from the large double doors in a gentle flutter of 
  silks. She makes no large show of herself, merely slipping outward in all of 
  the celebration like a dusky little mouse. Some might note her, some might 
  not. After all, it has been a very long time since the concubine has left 
  the confines of the Harem.

Rabi steps up to stand along the fire, just a few steps away from the licking 
  flames, and feels herself roasting. She rests her hands on the shoulder of 
  either child and kneels down, guiding her son into the proper posture here 
  and giving the suggestion of same to Zada. She bows her head in greeting and 
  apology both, the sentiment written in the curve of her shoulders and back 
  and neck as clearly as were she able to speak it aloud.

And do you know, the strangest thing of all for Faanshi? Having no duties -- 
  though to be sure, she expects that her shudra hands will be put to work 
  readily enough helping to clean up the inevitable aftermath of such a joyous 
  occasion. For now, though, she is nothing more than a strikingly slender 
  maiden with a big dog at her side. And now that the fireworks have died 
  down, Kosha begins to get his bravery back. Two children venturing hopefully 
  near in search of an opportunity to pet such a fine large dog are met with 
  puppyish nuzzles from the creature... and when Faanshi turns an uncertain 
  gaze upon them, she finds herself profoundly moved when the pair of shudra 
  waifs greets her with open smiles. One of them presents her with a gulai 
  tube clutched in her chubby little fist.

"I know you have waited a long time, but so has everyone else, little one. 
  Patience is a fine virtue to cultivate." Khalid speaks softly to Zada, but 
  his words are robust enough to be heard over the crackling of the bonfire - 
  though perhaps not the rest of the crowd chanting and singing. He leans 
  back, wings tucking in behind his back to cushion him from the stone. 
  Folding his arms, he regards the entirety of the crowd once more. He doesn't 
  have to get up and greet people - if they wish to speak with him, let them 
  step forward to address him.

Those whose bellies lie empty from fasting this day approach the displayed 
  foods, their own plates weighing heavy as each steps away. Settling near the 
  cooking rocks, foods are intermixed and pressed towards the seething fires 
  with tempured sticks to set their selections into a slow bake.

Zada nods, bowing appropriately at Rabi's suggestion. How many times has she 
  heard that bit about patience being a virtue? At least as many times as she 
  has asked where Amir-al was. And now he is here, and she /still/ has to be 
  patient? Her little 5 year old mind just doesn't quite grasp why. 
  Nonetheless, she obeys. A tear slides down her cheek, dampening her veil. At 
  least she has her head bowed so that none can see how deep her 
  disappointment runs.

His grip is tight and assured, knowing already what others can only speculate 
  ... that their marriage will last ... will succeed in ways that none can 
  possibly imagine. To be wed at such a holy time as this, how could it 
  possibly be otherwise. Ranjeet is not trained in dancing, but it would seem 
  that his education has not forgotten such pleasantries. Coming from the 
  East, his body moves with a combination of grace and energy, a flair to each 
  step, each gesture, embuing it with not mere accuracy, but life. Joy. 
  Celebration. He whirls, flipping the silk so that it encircles Shahar's 
  waist, picking her up and spinning her about before releasing her again and 
  uncoiling the silk by dancing about her in a circle. His dark hair licks the 
  air like flames, as unbound and unfettered as his spirit. The voices of the 
  singers rise and fall, recalling though lyrics the love that brought about 
  the blessed birth of the Amir-al.

It occurs to Jaimizal that he'd like to give the Amir-al something. But what? 
  He eyes Zada's wings and thinks envious thoughts -- how lucky she is to have 
  two ready sources of wonderful presents riding around on her back all day 
  long. He does not notice Zada's disappointment when he throws his arms 
  around one of Khalid's legs and gives the God-King a tight, fierce hug. Rabi 
  gasps silently. Okay, that's it -- but he seems to know that, and releases 
  the Amir-al almost immediately. He allows Rabi to gather him up and lead him 
  away, looking back at Khalid all the time; Rabi slips her free arm around 
  Zada's shoulders and guides the girl, too -- perhaps the more sensitive 
  woman senses something, for there is something of an embrace in the gesture.

"Healer, healer," pipes the gulai-wielding waif, "you hafta do the colors, you 
  hafta help!" The little boy with her nods his head vociferously, waving his 
  own tube happily about, and both of the children cheer in delight as they 
  coax Faanshi up to her feet. The boy promptly sprays her with a flurry of 
  red and blue and gold to go with the choli and silwar she wears... and with 
  a startled but delighted cry, the shudra girl lets herself retaliate. If 
  nothing else, the shudra and naraki in Atesh-Gah seem to remember her... and 
  even as her hair swings away from her face for just a moment, in her 
  movement to try to catch the two children now dancing about her, Faanshi 
  smiles in a flash of white.

Shahar tries. Oh, how ardently she strives to show bliss in the nearness of the 
  man she loves, the man who will sweep away the dark vestiges of her first 
  marriage and carry her to her future. But for all her smiles and all her 
  sensuous matching of his movements and steps, she cannot master the 
  thunderhead that blotches the sunshine of her soul, what should normally 
  carol in joyous delight for being near Ranjeet, for having the eyes of the 
  Amir-al upon them all. Still, she tries.

Tantilizing aromas waft through the courtyard, sizzling meats and vegetables 
  humming an harmonious buzz with a counterpart of crackling flames. Holi, 
  along with the grand colours and obvious worship of Khalid Atar, also 
  includes sticky fingers, messy mouths, and broad grins.

More blinking posesses the Amir-Al as Jamizal throws himself about his leg, 
  and he sits up rather quickly. Perhaps the Flame of Heaven has little 
  experience with children, or little patience with them, but he does not 
  immediately lash out and reduce the boy to a dustmote. Instead, he leans 
  forward with a slow, articulate manner about him, and regards Faisal's boy. 
  And he laughs, just once, and shakes his head disbelievingly, a smile 
  touching him once again. He must be smiling more today than he has in the 
  past three hundred years, at least! Only a child would dare such a gesture, 
  and likely only a child would be forgiven. He nods sagely at Rabi, leaning 
  back once more. All about him dance joyous bodies, and it would be a shame 
  to ruin the festivities through a rash act.

Hepzibah slips through the throng, joining those wishing to pay homage to the 
  Amir-al through speech or obeisance. Her humble demeanour seems at odds with 
  the festivities in some ways, making her little more than a violet clad 
  ghost amidst the revelers. Not once have midnight lashes lifted high enough 
  to let amethyst eyes regard the Godking. Only those whose hearts feel worthy 
  have dared to look upon him. Not Hepzibah.

Zada follows meekly along with Rabi, leaving her head bowed deeply, and wings 
  drawn up tightly to her back. She does not watch where she is going, for 
  Rabi is leading the way and Zada knows that Rabi would not lead her into 
  harm. By the time they reach their destination Zada has managed to dry the 
  tears, though her damp veil tells the story. She mentally lectures herself, 
  on how disappointed Mama and Daddy would be in her.

Oh yes, indeed, the shudra and naraki of Atesh-Gah remember Faanshi, she who 
  has over the past several months crept silently through their midst and 
  healed bumps and bruises and fevers that many of the Mongrels who serve the 
  Varati have not felt they could bring to the healing hands of the 
  Atarvani... and tonight, at any rate, their children are bent on dragging 
  her into their celebration. Soon enough, Faanshi is in the midst of no less 
  than five children -- two pureblooded Varati and three Mongrel -- who squeal 
  and laugh and tug her this way and that. Soon enough, her face and its wide 
  green eyes are revealed for their delighted view, and her hair and dainty 
  form are covered in the multihued dust that seems to imbue the very air with 
  vibrant color. "Come help us, healer! Hep us blow the color, c'mon, c'mon!"

Let's see. There's enough here to put a young child into ferret shock here: 
  what first, the colors? The food? Candy? All that wonderful dancing stuff? 
  Jaimizal stands next to Zada: gee, Zada, what are we going to do first?

Rabi caresses the little girl's head; gently, glancingly, her fingers run up 
  the soft, white feathers of the upper part of her wings. But the Nayaka's 
  woman won't dwell on comforting the child too much; best let Zada recover on 
  her own, and with her own dignity. She pats both of them, releasing them to 
  their wild ways, and moves back towards the edge of the festive crowd. She's 
  got a fair dusting of gold and crimson on her shoulders by the time she 
  makes it there, and her silks shiver with the silent motion of her laughter.

Bodies shift and twine in a spiral pattern of chaotic color and lithe 
  movement; the crowd moves to its own pulse, a heavy, vivid thing that 
  burrows through hearts and minds to grab hold all who will listen to its 
  song. Khalid watches Rabi and her children go, expression as inscruitable as 
  ever. He and perhaps a handful of others are immune to the song of the 
  festival, his soul too powerful for any to control him. He nods gravely to 
  one of the worshippers who passes by, and looks to the next, finding 
  Hepzibah there. A look of surprise overcomes him, rapidly replaced by ... 
  something. It's impossible to say what, so fractalized and shifting it is. 
  "Good afternoon, Hepzibah," he greets, nodding his head to her.

The song builds to a dizzying speed, Ranjeet drawing Shahar within through a 
  set of spins and turns, the silk winding between them, around them, binding 
  them together flesh to flesh, and holding them together when their bodies 
  part. Neither, it would seem, will let go of their end, and when the song 
  comes to it's furious climax, voices wailing out in joy, the pair whirling 
  about one another madly, there is much applause from those who watch. 
  Tugging her to him again, spinning her within the clutches of the cloth, 
  Ranjeet kisses Shahar full on the lips before all the assembled. For they 
  have completed the dance without breaking the silken link between them. 
  Surely a most auspicious sign for their impending wedding day. And though 
  her face does not glow like the sun in pleasure, there would be few who 
  would look upon the couple and not be envious of the strong attachment 
  between them.

Niamh passes between the heavy stone pillars that flank the entrance to 
  Atesh-Gah, and joins you in the courtyard.
Niamh has arrived.

Rabi, by now watching the whirling dance of Ranjeet and Shahar, smiles softly 
  as she shakes powder from her veils.

Taking her idle blossom and gently moving to tuck it beneath her ear, Tahira 
  watches the celebration silently. A tender smile touches her lips as her 
  eyes light upon the various children. She pauses a bit in her thoughts as 
  she feels a faint touch at her elbow. The old woman sidles up to her. Though 
  the young priestess may be without her robes, she bends her ear gently to 
  listen to the elder woman's words. Offering a silent nod of acceptance, the 
  two begin to slip on out from the celebration. Yet even as she does so, the 
  younger of the two women pauses to withdraw the blossom from behind her ear. 
  So much for an evening of celebration. Trying hard not to let her 
  disappointment at being called away show, Tahira gently tosses the blossom 
  to the ground and slips on out in silence -- to follow the elder woman 
  onward.

Opal passes between the heavy stone pillars that flank the entrance to 
  Atesh-Gah, and joins you in the courtyard.
Opal has arrived.

Tahira ascends the stairs to Atesh-Gah's sturdy double doors, allowed past by 
  the ever-present Agni-Haidar.
Tahira has left.

"Good afternoon, great and holy Amir-al," replies the concubine's gentle and 
  melodious voice. It is almost lost in the noise of celebration. Hepzibah 
  drifts closer to Khalid Atar, her body folding gracefully down to kneel 
  before him. From the way that her head dips, it seems she will place her 
  forehead against the very earth to humble herself to him completely.

Wise woman, Rabi is. Zada is disappointed enough in herself, and yes, 
  definitely needs to recover her pride. She looks at Jaimi and shrugs. "I 
  don't care. You pick." She doesn't really seem interested in any of the fun 
  and games.

The dance concludes, the kiss transpires, and Shahar winds her unoccupied arm 
  about Ranjeet's neck and places her head on his shoulder after their lips 
  part. Her eyes close, her embrace tightens: here, it seems, is something 
  that she much desired. Testimony, strong and true to her link to the man 
  about to become her husband.

Okey dokey! "Dance!" Jaimizal once again has his playmate's hand in his and he 
  tugs her towards Ranjeet and Shahar's slowing dance. It's just about the 
  speed now that two little children could keep up, anyway...

"Well, Rihana?" Hassim steps to his sister's side and regards her 
  benevolently. He is bold and arrogant and a touch bit pompous too, Just Like 
  Dad. "How are you finding this--" he sneezes abruptly as a spray of cobalt 
  powder hits him in the face. Sputtering, he has lost all his majestic calm: 
  "*Yasmeen--*" But Rihana's slave has stepped into the protective lee of her 
  mistress. "*Rihana*, tell your slave--"

"Oh, Hassim, don't be so blue," Rihana smiles radiantly. She raises her fist 
  before his face, opens it, and before he can do a thing she puffs hard and 
  dusts him with pink -- *pink*, by the Amir-al who's sitting only 50 feet 
  away! Rihana grins hugely and says, "that's MUCH better!"

Wait, wait, who are you and where are you going with his mistress? As the 
  quintet of shudra children commandeer Faanshi into their midst, Kosha surges 
  up to his feet and scurries along right with them, beginning to bark a 
  deep-throated counterpoint to the music as he strives to uphold his sworn 
  duty to make sure his beloved mistress doesn't get into Danger. And all 
  these children, scurrying about! Kosha skids this way and that, doggish 
  instincts declaring that surely these small creatures must be herded 
  together in a suitable formation, but they _insist_ on running in all 
  directions. Bark! Bark bark bark bark! Still, though, no matter how much 
  noise he makes, Kosha is no more immune to the gulai than Faanshi is, and 
  soon, the poor dog is turned into a rainbow-furred hound.

His arm wraps about her waist in turn, his head shifting to rest against the 
  side of hers as Ranjeet breathes softly something into her ear yet again.

"I would speak with you, later," Khalid states, tone firm against the willowy 
  noises within Atesh-Gah. "My time for celebration here grows short, I fear," 
  he continues. He unfolds his arms, and rises from the portable dias erected 
  in his honor. It appears that he may be taking off - literally - to attend 
  to business. Any who have met the Amir-Al know that he has little spare 
  time. Though his definition of 'spare time' is different than most.

Zada nods to Jaimi, following him toward the dancers, though her manner is 
  definitely much less than gleeful, although his enthusiasm does improve her 
  mood to a small degree.

Finally, Niamh has been able to escape the gates of Delphi to return to 
  Atesh-Gah for the festivities. He very nearly bursts into the Courtyard, but 
  manages to collect himself just outside. Stepping fully into the Courtyard, 
  he takes in the scene...the faces he recognizes. His eyes widen as he 
  catches sight of the Amir-Al and he is about to approach and make his 
  obesience when a puff of yellow powder hits him fully in the face. 
  Sputtering, he pauses...actually grinning at the powder-blower and goes to 
  wipe some of the powder from his eyes. And now the Amir-Al is leaving.

And so Jaimizal dances with Zada. Those unused to the sight of an Empyrean 
  child in Varati clothing would likely be appalled, and whisper, and likely 
  many of them are. But the boy doesn't care. He adores Zada, and has had 
  black eyes for all of six hours to prove it, several times until the other 
  bullying children realized that they just couldn't hurt this kid. It took a 
  wyvern to do that. He's oblivious as he trapises around, grinning at Zada, 
  and stops abruptly as Khalid rises. "Look--" he points this out to her and 
  sighs. He tilts his head and asks her, "your wings ever be black?"

The response to Ranjeet's whisper is Shahar's tightening of the embrace, then, 
  in full view of all - for this -is- Holi - she captures Ranjeet's lips with 
  her own in a fierce, compelling kiss. As if it will disperse, for once and 
  for all, whatever shadow is casting ruination on what should be a most 
  blissful occasion.

Hepzibah absorbs that statement with both joy and dread. It has been so very 
  long since she has been given the honor of the Amir-al's presence that the 
  prospect of it fills her with equal delight and terror. She eases upward 
  from her display of humility with perfect grace. Now is not the time to make 
  a mistake... lest she find herself once again bereft of the approval of the 
  Most High.

Just part of the background of Food People(tm), Opal moves quietly about.. 
  Gotta make sure all the nice edible things are where they should be. Gazing 
  up from conversation with a tiny little almost as darkskinned shudra, her 
  eyes are on Khalid Atar as well.

Zada looks up and gulps. He's /leaving/?! But he only just got here! Zada 
  shakes her head, feeling more disappointed now than ever. "No," she says 
  softly. "My wings will always be white. I think." She sighs, turning now to 
  frown at her wings. Why couldn't they have been a pretty black like the 
  Amir-al's? This just does not seem to be Zada's day.

Jaimizal strokes Zada's wings clumsily, although he does not pull or tug at 
  them. "S'all right," he consoles her. "They pretty too."

The sun has cooled since people began gathering for Holi - it now rests heavy 
  and bloody on the horizon, sky shot through with golden shards. Khalid nods 
  to Hepzibah once, and turns his eyes out over the populace. Without a second 
  thought, he pushes off the ground, wings flapping, and sails into the 
  rapidly darkening sky - a few stars are already out, and the God-King is 
  quickly lost in the shadows of the rising night. And then, just as the Son 
  of Ashur Masad is gone, so is Ashur-Masad - dropped under the horizon, 
  allowing his wife to take control of the world.

Rabi, in her corner out of the way, sinks down to her knees and touches her 
  forehead to the ground as Khalid's shadow darkens her shoulders for the 
  moment, racing across her when He rises through the air and returns to His 
  home and work. She does not straighten until he has gone by, and when he has 
  gone by her eyes immediately seek out Jaimizal and Zada, ensuring that they 
  are safe.

Khalid has left.

Hassim rolls his eyes and starts a pointed reply, one that is drowned entirely 
  out by the grand flapping of the God-King's wings. He spins and both he, his 
  sister, and her slave drop to their knees in farewell, pressing foreheads to 
  stones. He hisses, "I'll get you back for that," to his sister, and Rihana 
  laughs delightedly. Such memories of childhood this brings back.

Perhaps the powder is doing its job already, for the smile remains on his 
  face as he greets those he knows...and makes his way over to the food, after 
  offering a deep bow as the Amir-Al takes to the skies. He straightens with a 
  sigh and then starts to nibble at the food. Oh, he has missed this place!

Gracious, what an exhibition the Pasha and her husband to be are making of 
  themselves! Somebody should do something about it! And indeed, a the group 
  of children dragging along the shudra Faanshi and her oversized horse that 
  calls itself a dog, are going to do just that. They encircling the kissing 
  pair, who appear to be oblivious to everyone around them. In perfect 
  concert, the air is sprayed with a rainbow of colors, pink, gold, red, 
  purple, blue, green ... all raining down upon the pair in a wild burst. 
  Ranjeet yelps, simultaneously drawing back in surprise as well as enfolding 
  Shahar in his arms, burying her face against his chest in a protective 
  reaction. And laughing broadly the whole time. After all, they are 
  surrounded, what else can he do? Turning to Shahar he chuckles, querying, 
  "We're done for, shall we just surrender, or go down fighting my dear?"

Rihana grins again, eyes sparkling, and brings forth her other fist. "If you 
  hope to do that, my brother," she says, "you should do it while your years 
  are still--"

"Oh *no*, Rihana--"

"--*golden*--" Rihana's words dissolve in the peal of her own laughter and of 
  Yasmeens and they both sprint after Hassim. The proper, elegant, dignified 
  eldest son of Talim Tumdari *runs* from the two she-demons and they chase 
  him, cackling madly.

Forehead on ground, Opal rises slowly with the rest of the crowd, 
  multicoloured powders shimmering softly on her back and front. Ah, what a 
  night.. Loving couples, laughing children, happily cackling women, and the 
  food is looking just lovely. "Just lovely indeed." is the murmur that comes 
  from beneath her veils, before she, too, gets back to business.

Seeing that Zada and Jaimizal are safe, Rabi's gaze finds Shahar and Ranjeet 
  and she laughs and claps at the sight of them trapped within a falling 
  rainbow.

Opal passes between the massive pillars flanking the entrance to Atesh-Gah and 
  returns to the street.
Opal has left.

Zada looks at Jaimi and just shrugs. She glances around, spying Niamh. Her 
  feet begin to run in his direction but she suddenly skids to a halt. He 
  probably won't want to see her either.

Shahar remains nestled in Ranjeet's sheltering embrace, keeping her face 
  toward his body while her hair and sari become a rainbow array from 
  sparkles. She makes no answer to his query, instead enjoying the doting 
  cocoon of his arms. Once her head lifts, however, she shows in her eyes her 
  first smile of the night, overcast but there to be seen.

Just as silently as she arrived, Hepzibah departs. Slippered feet carry her 
  through the gathered people and the spray of colorful gulai. The powders 
  leave their mark upon her, too, before she reaches the safety of the 
  embassy. A glance is given to the assembly and then the woman is gone. So 
  much to be done. Her footsteps toward the Harem patter as fast as the 
  beating of her heart.

Hepzibah ascends the stairs to Atesh-Gah's sturdy double doors, allowed past 
  by the ever-present Agni-Haidar.
Hepzibah has left.

Oh, Ushas--! Faanshi, conscripted into the roving band of gulai-spraying 
  shudra, stumbles to a startled halt as her short captors gleefully engage in 
  making Shahar and Ranjeet significantly more of an exhibition than they were 
  just a few moments ago. Her hair loose and flowing, dusted in myriad colors, 
  half-veils her face -- but her eyes are wide and liquid and green and 
  mortified as she recognizes not only the Pasha but the man who has been 
  taken into the Clan Khalida to be her husband. Force of habit -- it is very 
  hard to overcome eighteen years' worth of hard training, after all -- makes 
  the halfbreed maiden drop a little curtsey and breathe, "Namaste'," even as 
  two of her comrades start trying to tug her off for yet another victim.

A string of longspouts are clasped by a trio of boys mid-center of the 
  gathered Varati crowd. Panpipes they seem, yet no holes are carved within 
  but the end and beginning of each strapped bamboo shoot. Ahh! But their 
  purpose is soon discovered as with a chesty heave and a mighty blow three 
  identical rainbows cascade into the night air, alit by torchlight. Gulai of 
  every colour bursts forth, covering those it may.

Niamh spies white wings moving towards him and the smile is still there. Why 
  wouldn't he want to see her? He hunches as colors are rained over the crowd 
  and chuckles. Well, if Zada is going to stay there, he'll just have to go to 
  her. "Namaste, little Imphada." he greets cordially. "Are you enjoying the 
  festivities?"

Jaimizal looks up at the priest with big black eyes, grinning broadly. He says 
  nothing, bouncing clumsily on his toes as if he were just bursting to say 
  something to Niamh. Suddenly he says, "Candy! Zada -- I get us some!" And 
  off he goes like a dart from an arbalist.

Laughing richly, Ranjeet peers over his shoulder at Faanshi, his smile good 
  natured as he greets her "Namaste' ..." But his grin is devilish as one hand 
  slips from Shahar's back to sneak into a pocket of his jacket. With a sudden 
  battle cry, Ranjeet pulls out a bottle of gulai, turning in a quick spin to 
  draw a perfect stripe across the ambushing children, who squeal is surprise 
  and delight at his crafty move, leaping away. He in the course of his 
  action, naturally sprays the innocent along with the guilty, including both 
  Faanshi and her dog. Grinning at her good naturedly, Ranjeet simply murmurs, 
  "Ooops."

Rihana laughs with wild delight as Hassim runs full into the falling spray of 
  one of the bamboo color-pipes. He sputters and comes out the other side in a 
  strange hopping, stumbling dance. Rihana cuts around behind the three 
  trumpeters and hits him with her fistful of gold, giving him corn-yellow 
  hair atop a truly dizzying array of colors. She raises up on her tiptoes and 
  gives him a sisterly kiss of affection on the cheek -- her lips come away 
  blue and green and gold and crimson -- and loops an arm through his both to 
  steady him and to allow him the honor of strolling with her. "Your 
  complexion is much improved," she giggles. "Were you able to make good 
  contacts with Father?" Deftly she turns from the topic of his humiliation to 
  the more dignified discussion of business. He composes himself and replies, 
  his discourse of new and hopeful professional alliances and her replies lost 
  in the echoing laughter and talking of the crowd.

Zada brightens as Niamh approaches and speaks with her. "Namaste, Imphadi 
  Niamh!" She watches Jaimi run off before she shakes her head in answer to 
  the question. "No, I do not like this party," she answers solemnly.

Shahar, as Ranjeet makes his pouncing asault, gathers her bespeckled sari 
  close and steps away from the merrimaking, studying her surroundings with a 
  detachment often seen from her in court.

Niamh crouches down so that he's closer to her level, "No? Why not?" He turns 
  to watch Jamizal fetch the candy before turning back to Zada, waiting for 
  the answer.

Is that an actual _giggle_ from Faanshi? It's hard to tell, in the midst of 
  the shrieks of delight and peals of laughter springing up from her little 
  band of color-flingers -- and not to mention the ruckus being put out by 
  that horse-er, uh, dog scampering at her side. At Ranjeet's attention to her 
  and the young ones, the halfbreed maiden flushes scarlet and swiftly ducks 
  her attention away, letting herself be safely bustled off by her 
  self-elected escorts. She could get to grow to appreciate Holi, she thinks 
  -- no one seems to recognize her, and those that do, well, they _like_ it!

Zada does not answer. At least not right away. First she throws her arms 
  around Niamh's neck and hugs him tightly, wings curling around his 
  shoulders. Carefully not to choke, Niamh. "I don't want to talk about it," 
  she says, still holding tight. "I am happy to see you again! Are you happy 
  to see me?"

Niamh isn't too sure how to return the hug...as he hasn't embraced many 
  Empyreans (despite the current Delphi rumor), nor has he embraced 
  Khalid-Atar...but he manages somehow. "It's all right then..." he murmurs, 
  hoping to remember to speak to her another time about it. But to answer the 
  other question, he smiles once more, "I am always happy to see you, Imphada. 
  Tell me, what have you been doing with yourself?"

Shaking his mane of hair, Ranjeet sends a scattering of gulai out about him, 
  like a dog shakes off water to spray all of those foolish enough to linger 
  within a close vicinity. His black mane is once again black. Sort of. His 
  gaze shifts to Shahar as she surveys the kingdom of merrymakers like a 
  disgrunted queen, a soft sigh escaping his lips. Eyes travel over the 
  crowds, and with a light touch to Shahar's arm, Ranjeet excuses himself, 
  slipping away to carve a path of red gulai toward Imphada Rabi. He cannot 
  help himself, grinning mightily as he sprays the hem of her gown. "You are 
  entirely too tidy Imphada ... here let me assist you in being colorized, 
  yes?" His gaze winks broadly at her, delight in the depths of those dark 
  eyes.

Zada giggles and smiles brightly, seemingly forgetting her disappointment, at 
  least for the time being. She stands with her arms and wings tight around 
  Niamh. "I have been learning to read! And helping with the babies," she adds 
  proudly. "And I am using your slate to help me learn to read."

Zuhayr steps out onto the topmost step of the staircase leading up to the 
  Atesh-Gah again. Miraculously, or perhaps shamefully, the kaimakam has still 
  managed to avoid being splattered with color, though there is a speck or two 
  of, perhaps green, on the toe of one boot.

Shahar finds a bench to settle upon, lifting one of the garlands from its 
  place between trees and cradling it in her long, expressive fingers. She 
  brushes the petals against her cheek and sighs, turning her nose toward a 
  large blossom to inhale the fragrance. Try as she might, she cannot further 
  involve herself in the evening's festive spirit and watches Ranjeet with 
  Rabi, a tiny, soft smile resting on her lips.

Rabi laughs silently and does her best to get up and avoid this crimson 
  assault, but once again the heavy restrictive clothing proves her downfall. 
  Not literally, thankfully, but he does catch her and color her with a nice, 
  broad, red stripe. She laughs and wipes some of it off in her hands and 
  comes after him, then stops. She points at him -- at the red spot, the blue 
  hearts, the yellow stars, the green clovers -- and pantomimes her dismayed 
  confusion: where could she hope to get color on him where there is no color 
  already?

This is not the time to be concerned that Zada is being taught to read. 
  Besides, it's none of Niamh's business, right? "Good...good." he nods, 
  hoping he sounds sincere. He tries to brush some of the yellow powder off of 
  one of Zada's wings...and off of his shoulder as well.

Jaimizal comes back with two fists full of a veritable cornucopia of candy. He 
  offers one to Zada and then, not knowing what else to do, shoves a fist 
  towards Niamh. "Candy, 'phadi?" He still has a trace of his baby's lisp, 
  which is a very good accounting of himself, as any other child his age would 
  still be on 'ma-ma' and 'pa-pa'.

Zada smiles happily. "My Daddy said I could learn and it is fun!" She takes 
  the candy from Jaimi. "Thank you, Jaimi," she says before popping a piece in 
  her mouth.

He did? Well then. At Jaimizal's reappearance, he smiles at the boy and accept 
  the candy, "Thank you, Imphadi. I hope -you- are enjoying the festivities..."

His voice is loud and joyous as he laughs. For indeed, Ranjeet wears his 
  colors like a badge of honor upon a field of white linen. Not a single color 
  is hidden, and at this rate they are all starting to mingle, creating new 
  subcolors between them. Though she does not use words, her meaning is more 
  than clear, and clearly what amuses Ranjeet so incredibly. "Ah, you are 
  quite right Rabi, there is not an inch of me uncovered, is there?" He draws 
  closer, and though it might be dangerous to do so, he does not care. This is 
  Holi, and he will show his genuine, if purely platonic, affection for this woman. 
  His hands rest for a moment upon her arms as he leans close, placing a kiss 
  upon each of her veiled cheeks. They are quick brushes by his lips, so as to 
  not rouse any suspicion. "It is good to see you Rabi," he murmurs, "though 
  it would seem that a mother never gets a moment to herself ... even when you 
  do not need to work, you are working."

Jaimizal nods enthusiastically, but earnestly. He notes, wistfully, "Zada not 
  having much fun."

Zada wrinkles up her nose at Jaimi, having the effect of making her veil 
  wrinkle in a funny way as well. She frowns a bit, but doesn't scold. "I'm 
  better now." At least, for the present. Later, at bedtime, she will probably 
  cry herself to sleep.

One heavy eyebrow inches upward as Jaimizal shares his gift with Zada, but 
  then it settles back into place. Of course the children will indulge 
  themselves during Holi. It is what children are meant to do, isn't it? A 
  brief smile tugs at one corner of his mouth, then fades again.

Rabi goes rigid in Ranjeet's arms -- she can't help it, it's instinctive. But 
  she does her best to fight the reflex, relaxing after a few terrified 
  thumpings of her heart. She squeezes Ranjeet's arms and gestures at the 
  larger gathering, bouncing on her toes and stretching out her hands to 
  indicate her pleasure at it all. Her eyes are wide: truly, she's seen 
  nothing like it. She pats Ranjeet's arms once more, her own affection 
  towards him plain to see in her eyes, and then withdraws to take a seat 
  beside her dusty akraba. She laughs again, rippling her veils, and reaches 
  up to draw a line through the gold on Shahar's cheek with her fingertip.

Niamh takes a bite of some of the candy, his eyes widening as he looks to it. 
  "This is -good-!" Has he never had candy before? Possibly. After the 
  surprise of the candy he gives Jaimizal a 'wise' look, "Perhaps the other 
  days will be better. But I am glad you enjoy it."

The Pasha does not break her silence at Rabi's approach but does take the 
  other woman's hand, delicately, as it touches her cheek. No words are 
  spoken, none needed. Not between friends of this nature.

There's no fooling Jaimizal, Zada. He may be dense, but he's not stupid. Or 
  something like that. He spontaneously hugs Zada, careful not to pinch her 
  wings, and nods very sagely in response to Niamh's glance. "It's special," 
  he explains importantly.

Zada furrows her brow, not following Jaimi's thoughts, though returns the 
  gentle hug. "What's special, Jaimi?"

Rihana nods in response to something Hassim has said as they continue their 
  strolling. Faanshi's canine friend runs past her and she grins down. "What a 
  darling dog. Look, Hassim, isn't he darling?"

Hassim nods with the patience of an older brother. "Yes, Rihana," he says. 
  He'll make the perfect husband someday.

"You are!" Jaimizal grins raffishly. "And candy, too."

Following in Rabi's wake, Ranjeet draws close to the two women now before him. 
  One will be his wife, and the other he already claims in his heart as the 
  sister he never could have. But he holds back, turning fractionally in case 
  Shahar would share with Rabi that which she keep from him. His gaze flickers 
  over the crowds with an amused light, the antics of the evening growing more 
  wild with the passing hours rather than less.

Niamh laughs aloud, "Yes...I think you're both right." His eyes scan the 
  crowd, noticing as some others try to sneak up behind the two children with 
  those tell-tale pipes...He's not going to say a word.

Rabi drops her fingers from Shahar's face and turns her hand around to give 
  the Pasha's hand a gentle squeeze. She turns so that she faces Shahar and 
  touches the bench between them, lowering her gaze.

Shahar relinquishes her garland and holds her now-empty hand toward Ranjeet 
  that he might be included. Then Rabi's magical inscription catches her eye, 
  and her surprise registers immediately. "Of what?'

The motion catches his eye, and turning, Ranjeet extends his hand to Shahar in 
  return, his fingers hooking about hers, curling them into his palm. He draws 
  closer, his gaze flickering down to the stone, his gaze wondering and 
  curious, for Shahar's brief question offers no illumination to what or why 
  it asks.

Rabi shifts slightly; the magical inscription is invisible to all, and by the 
  time Ranjeet has arrived there is nothing but cool, smooth stone between her 
  and the Pasha.

A girl, perhaps fifteen, and for the first time bold enough to dare to 
  celebrate without her veils, creeps out of the Atesh-Gah behind the 
  motionless kaimakam. She will be hard to see around the big man's girth, but 
  she is unconcerned with audiences. Her name is Halima, and she is one of the 
  Ushasti hopefuls. Perhaps, then, it is fate that coats her hand in dripping 
  white as she creeps forward. It is certainly boldness that enables her to 
  splat said hand squarely into the middle of Zuhayr's back, leaving a 
  handprint, bright against his haik, before she spins, and darts down the 
  embassy stairs.

Zada giggles at Jaimi. "I'm not an -it-, silly." Still, she does seem pleased. 
  She reaches up to take Niamh's hand, and takes the time to look about. Eek! 
  Just then she and Jaimi and Niamh are all suddenly color-coated.

Jaimizal leaps at the sudden blast of colors! Who? What? He must defend the 
  helpless maiden! Neveryoumind that Zada is not quite helpless, nor yet a 
  maiden either. He turns around and races after the purpetrators, swirls of 
  dust curling back away from him to trace his path as he runs.

Few can touch Shahar's heart the way that Rabi may, and her eyes have misted 
  with an emotion rarely demonstrated in public...before she espies the 
  incident with Halima and Zuhayr, the well-loved kaimakam. A smile blusters 
  forth, erasing her melancholy, then she actually laughs, from her soul, for 
  several heartbeats.

Brave Halima, who turns back to see her target. Rather, to see whether the 
  Lion of Fire does, indeed, breathe fire, and might incinerate her for her 
  daring. In the face of his unchanging, well, face, her own smile falters, 
  and she takes a step forward and then back, suddenly uncertain. She takes a 
  breath, as if she might speak, then bites her bottom lip, folds her hands, 
  and bows her head. Maybe that was too bold.

With her head thus bowed, she will not see the Kaimakam first attempt to see 
  exactly what was done. Nor will she see him uncurl his arms, take a breath, 
  and start down the stairs himself.

Rabi starts and turns to see what this commotion is about. She has missed the 
  actual event, sorrowfully enough. But she sees its aftermath: the running 
  girl, and the big white print in the middle of Zuhayr's back. Her hands fly 
  to that place on her veils that covers her lips, stifling a peal of laughter 
  to which no sound can ever be given. Eyes are wide above the curve of silk. 
  Oh, how brave! She watches raptly to see what Zuhayr will do next.

The stone meets his gaze, smooth and unblemished. It isn't until he hears the 
  soft cries of delight and the laughter that he sees what others have 
  witnessed. He chuckles softly, watching the girl dart away just as fast as 
  she can, then nods approvingly as she stops to face he whom she has 
  attacked. Any other day he might feel a knot form within his throat for the 
  girls fate. But today is Holi, and any retribution, other than with gulai, 
  would be frowned upon seriously. Still, his gaze remains riveted to the 
  events that are now unfolding ... for clearly the kaimakam has -something- 
  up his sleeve. Perhaps literally.

Zada watches Jaimi run away and giggles. Though she is /not/ happy about 
  getting that gunk in her feathers! Her eyes catch sight of Zuhayr. "Daddy!" 
  she calls out, rushing away from Niamh and toward her father, having no idea 
  what this is all about, though it is beginning to look like a game of 
  follow-the-leader, perhaps.

The campaign of making sure everyone is doused in color continues... and in 
  the midst of it all, a shudra girl and her loyal dog are at last overwhelmed 
  by the sheer boisterousness of the honoring of the birthing of the Divine 
  Flame that leads them all. When, Faanshi marvels, has she ever seen the 
  stoic people of Atesh-Gah display such open passion? Has she ever? Dizzied 
  and dazzled, she must at last beg her five small escorts' permission to 
  withdraw from their battle plans to spray rainbow powder upon a pair of 
  unsuspecting merchants... and at last, awestruck, the halfbreed healer girl 
  takes a moment to quietly withdraw in the first direction that presents 
  itself.

[End log.]