"On Cracked Cups and Vexing Veils" Log Date: 8/8, 8/9/00 Log Cast: Faanshi, Tyler Log Intro: In the space of a single morning, Faanshi has had her existence greatly rattled two times: by a command from the Maharani to aid the Kaimakam of the Agni-Haidar in locating the Sylvans who violated the ritual of Invoking the Flame... and by inadvertantly being on hand to witness the shocking message brought to Atesh-Gah of what may well be the death of the God-King. Her royal mistress has thoroughly discounted the possibility that her divine husband might be truly dead, but even in the face of that small comfort Faanshi is still burdened with the knowledge that if she fails in her mission to help the Imphadi Kaimakam find the Sylvans the Maharani seeks, innocent ones may be harmed by Varati vengeance. Faanshi has already gone straight to her teacher in search of advice and aid, and somewhat to her relief, FallingStar has readily volunteered to escort her out to the lands of the Ettowealona tribe to begin searching for information on the strange dust that had been blown onto the Varati faithful who had attended the ritual... as well as, hopefully, the Sylvans who so adroitly used said dust. But she must also spread word to the few ears friendly to her in Haven that she must be going away for a time, and furthermore, the maiden hopes to find some of the city-dwelling Sylvans she knows, to ask for their help as well. Sylvans, however, are not what she's destined to find today, as morning creeps over the Rialto.... *===========================< In Character Time >===========================* Time of day: Night (Dawnside) Date on Aether: Thursday, November 28, 3906. Year on Earth: 1506 A.D. Phase of the Moon: Waxing Crescent Season: Fall Weather: Clear Skies Temperature: Warm *==========================================================================* The Rialto - Haven(#159RDJM$) Reigning over the Rialto is the very heart of Haven: the Delphic Citadel. It dwarfs the other buildings, which cluster around it like so many children seeking a parent's protection. Day or night, rain or shine, its walls seem to glimmer with a light of their own, as if, over the centuries, the magic within had slowly permeated the entire structure. The main tower soars higher than the tallest tree, and each side tapers inward so that it resembles a giant obelisk. Four smaller towers stand at the four points of the compass, representing the unification of each race under Delphi's government. And here is where they all gather. The Rialto is the famed marketplace of Haven, full of shops, stalls, and brightly colored tents. The shouts of merchants, the haggling of patrons, the music of entertainers, and the laughter of children create a nigh-constant cacophony that assaults the senses. But the Rialto is nothing if not exciting, and crowds often gather here for important events and public addresses. (Note: 'places' are enabled here.) Obvious Exits: Streets Delphic Citadel The Smithy Tyler is lured in from the north by the aroma of baked goods. Tyler has arrived. It's not too long now until dawn -- but Faanshi has already been up for hours, unable to sleep and unwilling to shut herself up within the protected suite of her mistress within Atesh-Gah. Not when she has received an order as explicit as it's possible to get, even in the wake of the news that has rocked the Varati people within Haven. Everyone else might be struggling to assimilate the wild rumors shooting through the city, but Faanshi has been given a task. And thus, exhausted though she is, the girl is out and about and looking for Sylvans. She trudges through the marketplace, rubbing a hand across her eyes and trying to adjust her vision to the lightening morning. The halfbreed maiden does not look to keep track of the loyal dog trotting at her side, but she does not need to, for Kosha is there as always. The warm, night air is soothing to bronze skin, countering the cool links of chain that also touch Tyler, armoring the upper half of his strong frame. He steps out from between two stalls that have been abandoned, their owners waiting for the sun to mount the azure sky so that they can begin a new day of commerce. The mongrel is tossing a ripe, green apple into the air as he saunters along, catching it each time on its descent, looking about the marketplace with a completely carefree air about himself. Lemon-colored eyebrows lift curiously when the sari-swathed figure and her hound are seen. A smile runs across his face and, on the apple's latest descent, he misses it in his distracted state. The fruit falls with a near-silent *thup* to the ground, assuredly far too silent for the distant maiden to hear, or for that matter her dog. And at any rate, Faanshi is occupied with stumbling to a kaffe vendor, for if she stays on her feet any longer she must have something to drink to clear her head. "A cup, I beg you, Imphadi," she might be heard to breathe plaintively as she approaches the Varati man's little booth, digging a sungolden hand somewhere beneath her sari in search of her meager coinage. A reproachful frown is aimed at the green apple, now smudged with dust, as Tyler quickly swipes it up with an anxious hand, running it along his pant leg as if to sanitize it. But the frown is fleeting when lucent blue eyes hone back in on the shudra, the expression dispelled by the arrival of a wildcat smile. With a slinking stride, he tries to near Faanshi in a way that neither she or her dog will notice, but this very well could prove impossible with Kosha on alert guard. The Varati merchant grunts out his price -- over-high, for a cup of only half-warmed kaffe, but then again the girl is a shudra, a halfbreed, and, well, a girl. Any one of these might make the indifferent vaisya man overcharge her, but Faanshi debates none of them. She simply meekly surrenders her small handful of dinars for the cup she's brusquely given, and then turns away to give the merchant a clear shot at any further customers who might choose to come his way. Kosha turns with her -- and thus at least for the moment, neither of them have noticed the grinning Mongrel creeping up behind them. When the half-breed turns, Tyler veers to keep himself in the blind spot behind her and, hopefully, Kosha's back, steadily sneaking closer but not looking /too/ obvious in intent to any of the scattered patrons of the Rialto who happen to glance his way. He holds his tapping sword scabbard still with one hand, walking slowly to keep the sound of bouncing chain-mail to a bare minimum. And then he's right behind the delicate creature. "Hey, sweetheart," comes the, perhaps, familiar voice of the mongrel who reveals himself over her left shoulder, but playfully skips around to appear at her right, an adventurous grin fast on his rugged features as he tries to skirt around in front of Faanshi. "Ushas--" Faanshi is not exactly one for swearing, but sometimes if her nerves are on enough edge a small oath might escape even her. The drawled greeting very nearly makes her leap out of her sandals -- and her cup goes slipping out of her nerveless hands, landing to crack open upon the cobblestones beneath her feet in a litter of clay shards and spilled kaffe. Kosha yelps, more startled by the splash of hot liquid on one paw than he is by Tyler's sudden arrival, and even as Faanshi stumbles once in agitation, the dog applies himself to licking his foot. The mongrel's brow knits as the cup shatters into several pieces upon the cobbles. Striking eyes tilt down--a nearly soundless laugh escapes him--then they lift to the veiled visage of the shudra, trying and failing to pierce through the fabric. "Dropped your drink," he notes innocently, as though he had nothing to do with it whatsoever. Stepping over the mess and dodging the hound, he moves nearer to Faanshi, reaching out bronze-toned hands, laced with a variety of faint lines in the form of scars, to steady the stumbling maiden by the hips of all places, assuming she doesn't recoil, which he rather half-expects. "Careful there," he says, voice warm as he goes on to diagnose her undepending of her reaction, "you seem kinda ... tense." Faanshi is not accustomed to being touched, much less at her hips, and she does indeed recoil. And then for good measure she crumples to her knees by what's left of her drink, eyes beginning to turn liquid as she reaches to try to gather up the broken remnants of the clay cup. "I-I am sorry," she mumbles, voice sounding suspiciously on the edge of tears. "Y-you startled me, Imphadi... you w-w-were not splashed? Forgive me--" These babbled syllables fall forth from her in something like desperation, while Kosha, having licked off spots of kaffe from his paw, issues a short snort of bemusement at the taste of the stuff and then swivels his head up to peer levelly at the rather overly familiar Mongrel man. Actually, he was doused with some, but it's not as though the splashing kaffe could cut through the layers of dust, caked mud, and toughened leather of his shin-high boots to reach his skin. "A little," he offhandedly replies, his hands forced to slip away from her as she sinks to her knees so quickly. He, too, kneels down. And, while he speaks, he sets aside his apple to begin clumsily gathering the clay pieces, attention centered mostly on the shudra and not on the task at hand. "I didn't mean to scare you like that--hey, lemme get this, huh? Least I can do. Besides, it's hot ... and you'll cut your--/ow/!" Tyler's bright eyes sweep sharply down to his hand and stare in childlike wonder as a line of thick blood wells up along the soft palm, summoned by a vengeful, ceramic fragment. Kosha skitters around, sniffing uncertainly at the kaffe-flavored puddle of shards beside which the two humans now kneel; as far as the dog is concerned, he can't find anything particularly engrossing about it, and doggish confusion is his expression of the moment. Faanshi, on the other hand, lifts her head sharply as that little pain tugs at her attention. "Imphadi, you bleed--!" "It's kinda pretty," observes the mongrel of his own rich blood as it channels together, dipping between his middle and ring fingers to plummet into the puddle of kaffe below, not quite diluting in the shallow, sepia liquid. He, at first, does not seem too worried about it. Perhaps he has seen worse trauma done to his body and has been desensitized to superficial wounds, seeing as how only within the past month he was lashed in punishment by the Imperator's barbed whip. Doubtless that he was not as calm then. Tyler does hiss, though, as the somewhat deep wound throbs, the taut flesh of his palm parted open with the slack that it has been given by the clay shard. "Stings," he growls, suddenly clenching the hand tightly to stem the flow of blood. It begins to seep out from between his fingers not a moment later. Yrf? Kosha lifts his head back up, sniffing now at the coppery tang of the blood welling up along Tyler's hand -- and as for Faanshi, she leans forward involuntarily, one sungolden hand of her own lifting up as she croaks tinily, "I am a healer -- w-will you permit me, Imphadi...?" "Yeah, sure," murmurs Tyler, opening the hand and holding it out to the shudra. "I like the way magic feels," he adds, a sort of dreamy look crawling over his features. But it is shook away with another painful thrum of the bleeding wound, one slender tendril of blood sluggishly running down the length of his bronze forearm. Kosha sniffs at the now bloodstained shard that's fallen from Tyler's palm, and as he does, Faanshi murmurs at him, "No, Kosha, be at peace--" With that, she lifts up her other hand as well, tentatively reaching for the Mongrel man's wounded one and cradling it between both of her own. Aether ripples, imperceptibly for one whose senses cannot pierce the veil of magic any more than eyes can pierce the thick silk that hides the girl's features. But the results can certainly be felt, as torn flesh abruptly grows warmer and smooths in on itself, as the sharp line of pain begins to melt away. The mongrel's alluring blue eyes hood as that familiar hum of magic surges through his injured hand, warming and soothing his pain away as skin weaves together as it should be, the blood still dripping carelessly from the edges of his large hand. A rather pleased murmur escapes him, as well, as Tyler recalls the last time he felt the odd sensations, and the context they were placed in. And with that, as soon as she stretches forth her power, both it and Faanshi's hands are retreating again. The maiden peers down with liquid-eyed dismay at the mix of droplets of blood, kaffe, and the clay shards, and realizes that this is a hopeless cause; thus, she begins to rise to her feet and tries not to think too much over her lost kaffe and the diminished store of coins with which she's left. "I-I am sorry you were cut because of me, Imphadi," she whispers hoarsely. Eyes open abruptly and gaze up at the shudra when she ceases her attention on him. "Is that /it/?" he asks, looking down at his hand. It's healed, but--"Nevermind," he corrects, wiping the excess blood off on his pant leg as he retrieves his apple with his free hand. Rising to his feet, he smiles softly. "My fault. Look, lemme buy you some more." Tyler starts walking over to the vendor, reaching for the pouch--hey, isn't that his homesick uncle's money?--as he nears the Varati vendor. "Another one of those, huh?" Yes, that's it, effortless, painless. Either the wound was trivial -- or this girl is a very _good_ healer. Or both. Whatever the case, Faanshi blurts, "You need not--" It dies in her throat, though, because her system is still crying out for sleep, or at the very least kaffe. Sleep is not possible in the Rialto, but there is at least the kaffe. The Varati vendor, having scowlingly noted the inadvertant destruction of one of his cups, names a higher price for the Mongrel than he had for the shudra. "If you plan to go damaging more of my cups," he rumbles disdainfully, "you will compensate me for them." "Just gimme the drink, pal," Tyler interrupts heedlessly, leaking the named price out of the heavy-looking pouch and into the freshly-healed palm of his hand, then spilling the coins onto the counter of the stall. The mongrel casts a reassuring smile back over his shoulder at Faanshi as he waits. "I owe you, sweetheart, don't worry." "Your kaffe," replies the Varati, with a thinly veiled sneer, and without the 'imphadi' that seems to creep into every third sentence Faanshi utters. The merchant's expression could probably be well translated as 'take your kaffe and remove yourself from my sight, candala infidel' -- but at least the man has enough manners to avoid saying it aloud. Bad for business, don't you know. A second clay cup is presented, though the kaffe in it isn't particularly warmer than the first cup had been. Seeing this, Faanshi shrinks down a little where she stands. "You do not need to trouble yourself, imphadi--" she blurts tinily. Aye, there's that title again. A snorted and ingrateful, "Thanks," is issued as Tyler turns from the vendor to make his way back over to the slender shudra. "Don't /worry/ about it, sweetheart, it's no trouble," the mongrel reminds with a cool smile, offering the clay cup of warm kaffe to Faanshi. When she takes it, he uses the hand to rake through his sunny locks, watching the half-breed rather unabashedly, hoping perhaps that she'll lift the veil to take a sip. "Why so tense?" he wonders, slowly reaching out that same hand as if to touch her nearest shoulder. When the cup is offered her, even then, Faanshi does not look up into the blue gaze of its offerer; instead, she merely stares bemusedly at the second cup of kaffe for a moment or two, as if not entirely believing that it's for _her_. But then she murmurs, "Thank you, Imphadi, you are most kind..." And ah yes, her veil. She doesn't lift it. Nor does she drink immediately, not standing here in the middle of the food-sellers' booths where other marketgoers may well jostle against her. Instead she turns her gaze shyly away, looking for a place to sit, and skittish about the man's proximity besides. "I... it... is difficult... I..." Is she trembling, this nervous girl in sari and veil? At her side, the dog gives a few hopeful wags of his tail; he might be wanting to console her, or simply waiting for scritches. Or biscuits. Difficult to tell, but at least Kosha's liquid brown gaze is as steady as the walls of Delphi itself. His hand rests gently upon her delicate shoulder if she'll allow it. Then perhaps he can feel for sure whether she trembles or not. "What're you so afraid of?" he whispers, both inquisitive and persistent, tilting his head to follow her own as she shyly turns her gaze elsewhere. There's a smile on his face that could very well come off as seeming slightly precarious as he fights to find her green eyes with his own radiant blue ones. "Come on," is his coaxing urge, his smile only widening. "It's /me/. Am I /that/ ugly ... that I scare you?" Success -- but fleeting. The bronzed hand reaches her shoulder, long enough to catch a sense of the quivering that's gripped Faanshi's frame, but almost immediately thereafter the maiden shies away as best she can with a full hot cup of kaffe cradled in her hands. "I-I-I should sit down," she croaks in that tiny voice of hers. "The kaffe... it is hot... I should sit!" And she backs off, hastening across the way towards the nearest edge of the market, looking for somewhere she can sit in relative assurance that the second cup of kaffe won't go the way of the first. Tyler does not make it difficult for her to slip away from his touch, letting his hand drift back down to his side as she moves away. But he isn't far behind, sauntering along carelessly in her wake, the biggest grin splicing his rugged features. "There's a place," observes the mongrel cheerfully, pointing toward a low bench worked of stone that lies just ahead in the trajectory of the timid shudra, out of the way of the commotion that will doubtlessly accompany the morning's arrival in the Rialto. Perhaps she saw it already. Picking up the pace, he skips ahead to walk alongside her, his shoulder brushing hers often enough that it could be no accident. No doubt about it. She's a shy one, and it even shows in the way Faanshi sinks down on the very far edge of the bench, occupying not one inch of space more than necessary. The maiden huddles in on herself with an almost painful hunching of those dainty shoulders, and only now that she is sitting down does she start to try to do anything about the cup of kaffe. What she does, however, doesn't leave much room for glimpses of the features beneath her veil. She lowers her head till it is bent almost horizontally, holding the thick blue silk out with one hand while slipping the cup underneath with her other. The sips she takes of the hot liquid are tiny at best, as a result. As she begins this -- avoiding, it might be added, the lazily cheery question the Mongrel levies her about his appearance -- the dog flops himself down at her feet. The audacious mongrel, however, mirrors Kosha with his unceremonious flop, landing on the stone surface with a rattle of chain. /Right/ next to Faanshi he positions himself, straddling the bench, his gaze all but blazing into her. Far too close, really, considering all the extra bench that extends out behind him. Then he takes a tremendous bite out of his green apple--*chomp*. Tyler chews noisily, his mouth half-full as he asks, audibly amused at the lengths the healer goes to, "Kaffe good, sweetheart?" Good? Well, not really. The merchant from which it was bought is reputed to sell kaffe that's little better than flavored water, and anyone who's spent any length of time in the Rialto -- like, for example, certain audacious Mongrels -- may well know that. Faanshi does not say this, however. What she does say, as she lifts up her head enough to drop her veil back into place, is a small and hoarse, "It will keep me awake, Imphadi..." As she does, Kosha nudges peremptorily against Tyler's nearest leg. Hey. You. Back off. You're awfully close to my person! "Look, I think he's starting to like me," remarks the mongrel of the hound, happily reaching down a bronze-toned hand to scratch at the crown of Kosha's head. His hand shifts to pat-pat his muscular neck before retreating to his own knee, which is right next to Faanshi's own. And then it actually seems to be crawling /closer/ to her! "I can't /believe/ you think I'm ugly," Tyler relates sulkily, turning his gaze away from the healer, directing it off into the darkened marketplace. Then he lies down on all the extra room that the stone bench provies with his broad back, heaving a truly helpless-sounding, forlorn sigh. Faanshi's brow crinkles, and she lifts her head just a trifle more, trying to figure out exactly how this fellow got this idea into his head. "But... I did not say that, Imphadi," she protests. Kosha, for his part, swivels his attention in doggish startlement at that hand. Wait a minute. Was that supposed to happen? Not entirely certain of whether the stranger was _supposed_ to scritch his head, the dog lets out a bemused little yurf. "Well, am I or aren't I?" Tyler wants to know, tones suddenly laced with amusement as the feigned hopelessness is summarily abandoned. He sits up briskly, straightening from the waist up, scooting ever closer as he does so, all but putting himself in her lap. "Am I an ugly mongrel?" Highly interested, he gazes at her, his smile impulsive but warm, a couple of longer strands of shaggy, lemon-hued hair falling down in front of excited blue eyes. Kosha's perturbed growl is a little bit louder than it otherwise might be, for the dog attempts to thrust his muzzle in between the forward young man and the maiden who shrinks back from his increased proximity -- even if she doesn't shrink, necessarily, from his words. Sounding decidedly confused, Faanshi blurts, "Y-you are not ugly, Imphadi...!" The mongrel scoots back somewhat as Kosha wedges himself between the two, the hound earning an unfriendly glare from bright blue eyes. "I'm /not/?" he all but gasps, sounding relieved, astonished even. "What am I, then?" An adventurous smile that seems all-too-common for Tyler is adopted as he tilts his head to the side curiously, trying to see into those strange, elusive eyes. "Handsome?" he prompts. Kosha glares right back at Tyler, apparently far more comfortable with direct stares than his young mistress is. The big dog's normally amenable to regular scritching, to be sure, but for whatever reason at the moment Kosha has not yet been won over by the armored Mongrel's charm. Perhaps because that charm is being fully focused upon Faanshi? As for the maiden, she blushes hotly behind her veil and fastens her gaze solidly upon her lap and the cup she's now clutching tightly in her nervous hands. "Y-yes, Imphadi," she mumbles. The grinning mongrel tries to dismiss Kosha, but he can still feel those sentinel eyes boring into him from below. "Yes?" he echoes with a small measure of quiet laughter, brightening. "I think I should be able to see you back, then, don't /you/?" Tyler leans closer as he raises the next emphatic question, trying to ignore the hound, lifting a hand so that one finger brushes at the bottom hem of the blue silken veil that shrounds the shudra's mysterious features, flicking at it as he makes a 'come hither' gesture with one curving finger, but not attempting to displace the fabric enough to see her ... not unless she wants him to. "That sounds fair, doesn't it?" "Imphadi, _please_--" Provoking a disgruntled little whurf out of the dog, Faanshi pivots away from that questing hand. No indeed, she doesn't seem inclined to let him lift the dark blue silk up or pull down the delicate chain that keeps it secured about her face. Fright now begins to well in to join the shyness in her voice as she cries, "Th-that would not be proper..." And with that, all at once, she shoots to her feet off the edge of the bench. That's all to the better as far as Kosha is concerned; the dog pants hopefully, anticipating getting into motion again. Perhaps even running! "Thank you... thank you for the kaffe, Imphadi, but I cannot stay, I must go!" Disappointment smolders in the depths of vibrant blue eyes as Tyler regards the half-breed, now standing independently from him and the stone-worked bench. He tries to mask it, but it's there. The mongrel spins his green apple around casually on the seat Faanshi once occupied, half-watching the single bite mark spin 'round and 'round. "Welcome, sweetheart," he offers, swiping his apple into his hand as he unstraddles the bench and straightens his posture. With another loud bite removed from the piece of fruit, he manages a smile before chewing and saying, "Maybe we'll run into each other again, huh?" Skittish though she might be (and what _is_ the girl's problem? The brash young Mongrel? Is her sari too tight? Maybe it makes her itch?), nevertheless Faanshi somehow retains a grasp of manners. "Perhaps," she whispers, then she clasps her hands palm to palm at her breast... and bows. "Namaste', Imphadi... you have h-helped me..." And let us simply avoid mentioning disturbing topics like handsomeness, shall we? "I-I am grateful... lives may be saved, because of it... namaste'! Kosha, come..." With that, still clinging to the cup and what's left of its contents, the girl beckons to the dog and turns, to hasten off across the marketplace. [End log.]