"Two of a Kind"

Log Date:
	6/16/99

Log Cast:
	Milane, Faanshi

Log Intro:
	The first night of the journey of Murako's company to Avalon has
proven rather more eventful than anyone is entirely comfortable with,
after a small clash between the Mongrel leader and his Hand, Milane. Ever
since, as the night has worn on, Faanshi has striven fruitlessly to get
some rest. She has been able to soothe her ruffled nerves at least somewhat
by getting a bit better acquainted with the Sylvan StormBearer, but learning
that he possesses the same gift that her beloved old heart-mother had had
has reminded her uncomfortably that Ulima has passed on into her next life,
and it is a fretful Faanshi who has retired at last to the tent she has
been permitted to share with Milane. But the eventful night is not quite
yet over....
	(Note: This scene was never completed, but I include it in Faanshi's
log archive for posterity -- and because of what it reveals about the
connection between Faanshi and Milane.)

----------
Many hours have passed since Milane left the campfire to venture off on her 
  own. The heaviness of the Sylvan tale coupled with the visual scolding of 
  her mentor made Milane crave a fire of her own, two kilometers from the 
  center of camp. In those hours, peace was made and so returned the Hand to 
  her community. And now her tent. With quiet care, Milane slips back the 
  animal skin of the tent to enter her shared sleeping quarters. Every part of 
  her body moves with restraint to keep noise to a low. Faanshi must be asleep 
  at this hour and that poor young lady must be exhausted after such a 
  journey. The fire torch kept in her hand leads the way into the tent, met 
  soon by her face and body. The yellow creates an eye opening glow around the 
  enclosed dirt space and colorful blankets for sleeping. . .and then. . .the 
  unveiled face of the Varati clad maiden. In the crackling of the fire, 
  Milane's eyes go wide and her mouth goes agape as she sees the face of the 
  sleeping girl.

Faanshi lies curled up in her sari and the coarse woolen blanket that seems to 
  be her sole bedding material. And although the sari is still pulled up over 
  her head, her face is, indeed, bare. Paler than any Varati's usually is, her 
  skin glimmers more golden than brown in the torchlight; more delicate of 
  line than the face of a Child of Fire should be, her visage seems almost 
  more suitable for a maiden of the Sylvans. At Milane's soft tread into the 
  tent, however, she stirs softly, a frown of restless consternation creasing 
  her brow.

Kneeling with the slowest of movements, Milane finds a place by the stirring 
  Faanshi. Her hand finds a place of bare earth to plant her torch within the 
  tent space allowing fire and flames to continue their illumination in 
  haughty gold. Milane tilts her head to look over the features of the young 
  woman. Indeed, her features are more delicate than a Varati. More refined. 
  Those of a Sylvan and something else. Milane stares with intensity, 
  squinting from time to time as her mind etches every detail of Faanshi's 
  face into her mind. Unconsciously, the mongrel woman's hands trace her own 
  face as her eyes absorb the Varati clad maiden's one. Eyes. Cheekbones. 
  Lips. They are one of the same. Hair. With hesitation, Milane moves her hand 
  from her face towards Faanshi in a motion that is affectionate. She freezes 
  her fingers just moments from the girl's skin. . .uncertain.

Tendrils of black hair have escaped out from under Faanshi's sari, and as if 
  to push them out of her face, she reaches up blindly towards them. A small 
  sound escapes her, and her eyes crinkle a little more closed as the 
  torchlight flickers across her lids... then, her eyes come open. And go 
  wide. A little gasp follows the sleepful noise she'd just uttered, and 
  Faanshi Khalida falters for the blue silken veil she'd cautiously folded and 
  set aside. "Im... I mean... Milane...?"

"Please. . .don't put it on, Faanshi. . ." Milane whispers tenderly. "I. . ." 
  Milane's knees yield to a more comfortable sitting position on her sit bones 
  with legs neatly crossed together. "You do not need to hide your face from 
  me, Faanshi. . .I mean. . .do you know what you look like?" Milane's hands 
  go with maternal hesitation to persuade Faanshi's stray black curls into 
  place. Her eyes plead with the young woman to pause her veiling. "You are so 
  lovely, Faanshi."

Guileless green eyes, startled by this reverent murmur, go a trifle wider -- 
  and Faanshi's mouth, revealed to eyes that have never before beheld it, 
  crinkles in bemusement as she bites at her lower lip. In the dim and 
  flickering light she cannot be easily seen to blush, but her face 
  nevertheless grows warm. "Y-you don't mind?" she babbles out in a whisper. 
  "My heart-mother said that it was all right... t-to sleep without it on, and 
  I thought, I just wanted a little bit of air on my face..."

Tears are not easy for Milane, but recent times have brought them on in 
  plenty. And now, one single streak of water escapes from the brown eye of 
  the mongrel woman and falls onto the illuminated golden skin of Faanshi. 
  "Mind?" Milane gasps in surprise. "_Mind_? Oh Faanshi!" Milane brings a 
  finger of her newly bandaged hand to wipe the stray salt water on the girl's 
  face away. "No. Not at all. Please. . .be free around me, Faanshi. . ." 
  Milane uses the back of her hand to deny the water from her own skin. She 
  repeats, "Do. . .do you know what you look like Faanshi?"

Still lying there curled up under her blanket, the halfbreed girl gazes 
  liquidly up at Murako's Hand. Her eyes are already expressive; without the 
  veil, her entire set of features becomes involved in relaying what 
  sentiments lie behind those leaf-colored orbs, consternation and shyness and 
  the nervous sleeplessness that has plagued her all night. Solemn, childlike, 
  she considers the question, not at all sure why it is being asked her. And 
  finally she plaintively murmurs, "I-I do not look enough like a Varati..."

Milane suspected that a veiled woman may not have had time with a looking 
  glass. By now, the mongrel woman's bandaged hand has gone into a comfortable 
  and maternal rhythm of fussing with Faanshi's curls, and stroking her skin. 
  "You. . .are beautiful, Faanshi. It is all right to not look like a Varati 
  if you are one in your heart, child." A gentle smile is offered from the 
  Hand to the maiden, as her eyes tilt toward "her" bag of things. "W. . 
  .would you like to see how pretty you are, Faanshi? I. . .have a small 
  looking glass." Milane's eyes plead with the maiden. She would say it. But, 
  the woman needs to experience the sameness for herself.

Those delicate youthful features crumple in dismay; the leaf-colored eyes, 
  made darker in the torchglow, grow liquid. "B-but I'm not," she whispers -- 
  less sadly than puzzledly, as though this were a state of affairs to which 
  she has long been resigned. "No one likes to see me without my veil... 
  b-because I'm a halfbreed..."

"And I am a mongrel, Faanshi. A mongrel woman. I do not go with a veil." 
  Milane strokes with more tenderness, wanting to give the maiden as much 
  maternal affection as she possibly can in this point. "We are not among the 
  Varati here, Faanshi. You do not need to hide from anyone, here. You are 
  beautiful here, Faanshi. You are beautiful everwhere. You wear veils with 
  the Varati. . .you need not wear them among the free nation. You. . ." Words 
  will not work in this case, and the point is pressing. Milane turns her body 
  to "her" bag of things, and retrieves a tiny looking glass. It is not big 
  enough to see one's entire face; but, with several levels, one can piece 
  together the entire image. Milane holds the glass before Faanshi's delicate 
  face and says quietly. "I think you are beautiful and. . ." she pauses, 
  moving the glass in circles to give Faanshi an entire view. "D. . .d. . .do 
  you see what I see, Faanshi?" Milane asks, breathlessly.

Mirrors are rare enough in the shudra girl's experience that her initial 
  reaction to the one that Milane proffers is to gaze wonderingly at _it_ 
  rather than what it shows her. But then something in her reflection catches 
  her attention. Torchlight reflects from her startled eyes, and at last, 
  slowly and marvellingly, she murmurs, "We are different colors... but my 
  face... is... shaped like yours..." And her gaze flashes back up to the 
  older woman. "How...?"

Milane shakes her head in shallow, quick twitches. "I. . .do not know, 
  Faanshi." Another disobedient tear falls down Milane's cheek through her 
  brown skin onto the Varati clad maiden's face. It is a symbol of what they 
  share. The pad of Milane's thumb quickly goes to smooth away the water, on 
  Faanshi's face. But, there is more water to flow soon and the torch is 
  growing dim. "I don't know, child." And then, in the moment, Milane's arms 
  go to bring the girl's body to hers as a mother would embrace a child waking 
  from nightmares.

Faanshi has not been clapsed this way to someone since the death of her 
  treasured great-aunt, the woman who had been as a mother to her -- and now, 
  embraced by this uncannily familiar stranger, the halfbreed maiden breathes 
  out an amazed, shaking breath. The newness, the bizarrity, the strangeness 
  that have comprised her last several hours -- indeed, much of the stress of 
  the last several weeks -- suddenly all come to a head within her, given 
  release by a pair of comforting arms. Softly, Faanshi too begins to weep, 
  her slight frame shuddering in the Hand's gentle embrace.

And so the two women have found comfort in one another. There is nothing that 
  can explain what has happened in this torchlit tent, en route to Avalon. 
  What has bound the women together is nothing less than a miracle. They 
  became friends immediately, for no reason. They found comfort in one 
  another's presence. Now, the looking glass has shown they are cut from the 
  same cloth. Milane chants a familiar prayer to the Varati goddess to bless 
  the newfound bond of two women.

"Shhh, dear child. . ." Milane murmurs while pressing her own face into the 
  luxurious black hair of the girl. "I am here. I will _always_ be here for 
  you, child." The mongrel woman's arms protectively shield the shudra Faanshi 
  from the cruel world that has burdened her all her life. How similar they 
  are, Faanshi and Milane. How similar they are. "I will protect you, child. I 
  am here." Milane reassures her newfound ward with affection. "Ushas has 
  brought us together."

Faanshi's sari has slipped off her head, and indeed, beneath the blue cloth is 
  a thick crown of wavy black curls, drawn back from her dainty face into a 
  single thick simple braid. But that is not all the sari's slipping reveals. 
  Her ears, too, are bared to the dim shine of the torch, and they are oddly 
  small, oddly misshapen. "D-do you... do you think so? I've been..." The 
  maiden's voice cracks softly, under a fresh wave of tears. "... so scared... 
  I... I touched death in Haven, a-and I couldn't make it go away, a-and now 
  I'm here, and I don't _want_ to fail, I can't..."

With ginger care, Milane places Faanshi back down on her blankets and pillows 
  so she may speak with sweet and reassuring words to her ward. Using the 
  bandage on her hand, Milane wipes away the water on the girl's face. "Yyy. . 
  .yes I think so. I will look after you, girl. And. . ." Milane leans and 
  places a chaste kiss on the girl's forehead. ". . .you could never fail if 
  you are doing your best effort from your heart. That is all Ushas ever asked 
  of us, Faanshi. We should always do our best try from our hearts and we 
  succeed." A small smile comes forward, and Milane's fingers go to touch the 
  disfigured ears of the Varati clad maiden. Her eyes roll over them with 
  concern, but she does not say anything for now. Continuing in her rant, "I. 
  . .will teach you to read and write if you would like?"

Submitting with the obedience of an exhausted child to Milane's ministrations 
  -- for really, Faanshi has not managed to get much in the way of sleep this 
  night, not yet -- the maiden lets herself be gently settled down once more. 
  The touch of the bandaged hand against her cheek makes her blink, though, 
  and she focuses teary eyes upon it, her black brows winging down over those 
  twin pools of green. "Y-your hand," she blurts.

[The scene was paused here, as Faanshi's player had to go to bed. End log.]