"An Exchange of Ministrations"

Log Date:
	1/29/01

Log Cast:
	Salmalin, Faanshi

Log Intro:
	Suffering yet another loss of someone close to her -- Delilah of
Clan Messala -- has thrown Faanshi's ability to carry out her duties askew
yet again. But this doesn't mean that her duties have ceased. And to be
sure, the man who has been made her responsibility by none other than Thalia
herself has his own ideas about how to carry out the position into which
he has been thrust. Even if his ideas, carried out under the influence of
wine, are a little less than wise.
	But Faanshi's and Salmalin's encountering one another is inevitable
now that the perennially intoxicated Voice is living in his Clan's suite
in Atesh-Gah. And grief-stricken though she may be, Faanshi is not about to
turn away from the man when he is in obvious need of help....

*===========================< In Character Time >===========================* 
             Time of day:  Morning 
          Date on Aether:  Tuesday, October 11, 3907. 
           Year on Earth:  1507 A.D. 
       Phase of the Moon:  First Quarter 
                  Season:  Fall 
                 Weather:  Clear Skies 
             Temperature:  Warm 
*==========================================================================*

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. 
     (OOC note: +view here/ring)
Contents:
Salmalin
Obvious exits:
Atesh-Serai <AS>  Gladiator Barracks <GB>  Temple <T>  Fountain <F>  Out <O>  
  Entrance Foyer <EF>  Stables <S>

For any who have actually cared or pay attention to the recently appointed 
  Ambassador to the Sylvans, they might have noticed that he has been... 
  incognito of late. Perhaps there is good reason considering his... habits. 
  And it does not help any as he comes hobbling into the gates of Atesh-Gah. 
  Missing everythin save for his pants, and even they are torn, he glances 
  about with a wary eye. Bruises cover his chest and back along with those 
  upon his face. Minor cuts criss cross here and there as he starts toward the 
  stares of the embassy. Maybe no one will notice is written across his 
  features as he keeps an eye out for people.

There is a measure of comfort to be derived from the knowledge that even 
  though the young Imphada Delilah has been so violently sent on into her next 
  life, the Amir-al and His Maharani will mete out divine justice. And there 
  is even the hope that the young Imphada will be born into a better position 
  in her next life. Between these two things, Faanshi has almost slept well 
  for once, though there is still a bit of a bruised look around her eyes as 
  she slips out into the autumn morning. Her prayers have been said, though 
  she has not been near the shrine of Ushas ever since its violation. And thus 
  she is as ready as she is likely to get to face the day, lacking only 
  Kosha's loyal presence at her side... but even though she does not notice 
  Salmalin immediately by sight, her magic surges into life once he draws near 
  enough to her black-garbed figure. Inexorably, her gaze is hauled sharply 
  about in his direction, attracted by the crackling sense of even the 
  comparatively minor pains of his bruises charging through her nerves. "Holy 
  Mother," she breathes, prompted to quicken her pace and approach the man she 
  has been ordered to aide.

From the corner of his eye he spots the black mass coming toward him. It is 
  not as though he were not looking. His shoulders hunch and he looks much 
  like a guilty child caught stealing cookies. Stopping suddenly he turns to 
  face the approaching Faanshi. He even smiles, though there is dried blood 
  upon his lips. "Would you believe that I fell?" He starts quietly. Perhaps 
  not. Looking down at himself he winces and tries to seem as though nothing 
  were wrong. "Namaste, Imphada Faanshi. Always a pleasure to see my dutiful 
  aide. I hope things are... well.. I hope you are feeling better. You would 
  not have happened to have seen my shirt around, would you?" Is he drunk 
  still? Usually he does not ramble on and on when he is sober.

Under any other circumstances Faanshi might bother to take the time to correct 
  the young kshatri man, reminding him that she has no business being called 
  Imphada, but even so gentle a creature as this shudra can have her 
  priorities. And Faanshi's involve immediate attention to any creature in 
  pain. Almost involuntarily, one of her slender hands arises as if to reach 
  out to soothe away the little aches and pains, but she stops herself just 
  shy of making actual contact. "I have not," she answers anxiously, "but I 
  will accompany you to your suite... do you wish healing, Im--" She catches 
  herself, though she swallows behind her veil, and the awkwardness of her 
  pause can possibly be detected. "--Salmalin?"

Salmalin frowns and looks closer at Faanshi. He has grown used to the pain by 
  now and so he is able to focus... well.. think about other things. When he 
  leans forward it is clear that he has been drinking, even this early in the 
  morning. "A pity.. a pity. We will have to talk about that sometime. Very 
  unhealthy." He smiles sympathetically as he starts back toward the embassy 
  steps once more. His steps are a little more sure of themselves than they 
  have been and he has no problem climbing to the double doorway. "If you have 
  the energy to heal, then please.. if not.. I can always sleep it off. I 
  would not wish to cause you any problems."

She'd meant to specify that she has not seen the Voice's missing garment, but 
  something tells Faanshi that that disturbingly intuitive-sounding commentary 
  of his is addressed towards her avoidance of the topic of her own health. 
  Blushing behind her veil, shoving any thought of her own welfare sternly to 
  the back of her thoughts, the shudra girl stoically proclaims, turning back 
  the way she'd come in order to keep pace with Salmalin, "It will not be a 
  problem. Of course I will heal you." Granted, based on Faanshi's general 
  behavior patterns, she'd proclaim healing no problem even if she happened to 
  be half dead and with an Agni-Haidar's falcare through her gut... but at 
  least, her soft voice sounds almost firm as she utters her assurance.

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

[And shortly...]

As he ambles down the hallway, Salmalin must use the walk to keep himself from 
  falling. The limp does not help him appear any less drunk and it seems it is 
  just taking all his energy to keep from falling. As they approach his suite 
  he pauses a moment to catch his breath. "I could do with some food," he 
  whispers to himself before shoving the door open so he can stumble into the 
  room. It is dark as usual and lacking in any decoration. As he regains some 
  of his balance he sits on the floor. "My dear Faanshi... It is not too bold 
  to ask if you could find out if the kitchens are still open? Send someone if 
  you--" Even as the words leave his lips, lids begin to fall heavily and soon 
  his head is slumped forward as though he slept.

Oh dear. Faanshi lets out a little cry of dismay as Salmalin goes down, and 
  swiftly she kneels beside him to try to ascertain in the comparative dimness 
  of the suite whether the man's actually passed out -- and to get some idea 
  of well as to how badly he might be hurt. Stark of decor is the al'Sar 
  suite, aye, though the shudra has taken it upon herself to try to at least 
  make it vaguely comfortable. There is a rug upon the floor, so the Voice 
  need not collapse upon bare stone. "Salmalin?" she asks in worry. "Do you 
  wish healing first... or food? I will go and fetch something at once, if you 
  desire it--"

"Yes?" comes the quiet voice of Salmalin. His head lifts slowly and he looks 
  at Faanshi through the darkness. With his energy mostly gone he does not 
  seem so jovial as he did out in the courtyard. "I think it best I do not eat 
  just yet, actually. If you could help me to a chair i would be most 
  appreciative." He gives a weak smile as he starts an attempt at standing up. 
  His limbs shake with the effort and his face contorts somewhat. It is not so 
  bad until he moves. "I wonder if this is what it feels like to be trampled 
  by a wyvern."

"Were you?" the shudra asks. Her help has been requested, and thus she is 
  instantly there, hands gently reaching to take an arm and drape them about 
  her shoulders. Odd. Here and now, responding to need, Faanshi is somehow 
  steadier and surer, no quaver in her voice, no hesitation in her demeanor. 
  "Trampled by a wyvern, I mean?" Having grown well familiar with the location 
  of each piece of furniture within the suite, she can easily lead the 
  unsteady Voice to the nearest chair.

Salmalin laughs weakly and it turns into a cough. He closes his eyes a moment. 
  "No. I do not think so. It was.. well.." Shaking his head he sinks down into 
  the chair and sighs softly. Scratching his neck with a blood dried hand he 
  looks at Faanshi, then motions for her to take a seat. "I was trying to 
  speak with one of the Sylvans I met at the beach. Appearantly I said 
  something wrong.." It did not help that he was drunk, but he will leave that 
  point out.

The bloodied hand is noted, and Faanshi's brow crinkles in concern. Before she 
  can permit herself to sit, she must do at least a little something to attend 
  to the poor man's comfort... she is, after all, a shudra. It is her duty to 
  serve. But more importantly, she is a healer, and there is still need here. 
  Thus does she step quietly away to light one of the oil lamps that have been 
  brought in to give the suite at least basic furnishings and amenities. The 
  light is muted, though, for the lamp bears an bell of opaque frosted glass 
  around its flame, through which the glow is diffused. Once there is light, 
  she hastens to fetch clean water and soft cloths -- both water which the 
  Voice may drink, and a bowl of water with which he might wash himself. She 
  does not move out of earshot, however, and as she hears Salmalin speak of 
  the Sylvan on the beach, she pauses for a moment in another kind of dismay. 
  But she pauses for but a moment, and as she comes back to rejoin him, the 
  maiden offers forth the items she has brought. As she dips one of the cloths 
  into the bowl, green eyes lifted for once and providing one of the few 
  glimpses of color about her person, she asks, "The Sylvan... you fought?"

Salmalin's eyes are closed when she returns and they only open after she 
  speaks. He looks down into those green eyes for but a second until he turns 
  away slowly. Clearing his throat he reaches out to take the cloth from her 
  hand. In the dim of the oil lamp it is clear that he struggles to stay awake 
  and his eyes blink ever so slowly. "It was not exactly a fight, really. I 
  had.. there was an incident before, but when I met the Sylvan. She was very 
  strong and very skilled. I had no time to ascertain her tribe, but..." He 
  shakes his head slightly. "I am not a warrior. My talents lay elsewhere and 
  it did not take long before I was left to my wounded pride."

Force of habit almost makes Faanshi kneel before Salmalin's chair rather than 
  take a seat of her own -- but the force of her magic still prickling through 
  her system, disgruntled by the dull pains it can sense within the man, keeps 
  her on her feet and one hand hovering for a moment as she tries to decide 
  where she should touch him to heal him. Finally settling for his brow and 
  temple, she touches slender fingertips there. It is the barest feather's 
  touch of contact -- but it's enough. Aether begins to flow, making pains 
  melt back into the haze of Salmalin's senses. "I should apologize," she 
  murmurs, troubledly. "I... have been remiss these past days. I should be 
  aiding you, if you are beginning to speak to the Sylvans...!"

Salmalin's hand pauses in its task to wipe some of the blood from his body. He 
  was not expecting her touch or the Aether that flows. His body shivers, then 
  tenses slightly and he swallows as the pain eases. Slowly he forces himself 
  to continue the cleaning as best he can while not moving too much. "I would 
  not apologize, Faanshi. It is of no consequence and you have had much on 
  your mind." As he leans over to rinse the cloth some he seems to be more in 
  control than before. Perhaps he was not as drunk as previously thought. "And 
  it was quite by accident that I met this particular Sylvan. So please.. do 
  not worry. I would rather that you spoke to me of yourself. I am not here so 
  often, but what I hear does not make me think you are in any condition to be 
  doing much of anything."

The small pains of bumps and bruises vanish quickly, in little more than a 
  minute or so at most. If it costs Faanshi any effort, such cannot be easily 
  gleaned; certainly she seems unhampered by the magical effort she puts 
  forth, and her hand withdraws as discreetly as it had made contact. What 
  _can_ be gleaned is that she goes visibly still at Salmalin's last few 
  words, her gaze going a trifle haunted before she uneasily glances away. "My 
  health is unhampered," she murmurs, and it's truth enough, stoically 
  delivered.

"It is not of your health that I speak," Salmalin says rather pointedly. His 
  voice grows heavy as though his good nature might vanish along with the 
  pain. But there is no anger. He continues to wipe the blood from his body as 
  best he can without making a mess. His back remains untouched, though by now 
  there is little blood to be seen. "Thank you," he finally says once he has 
  leaned back and taken some water to drink.

Intellectually, Faanshi is quite aware of what Salmalin means, or at least 
  fairly sure she can make a decent guess. "You are welcome," is her immediate 
  and quite honest reply, though her stance still speaks of discomfort. For a 
  long moment she is silent... and then in a tiny voice, she goes on, "I... 
  have... lost a friend, and... a man has come to Haven, from... the Clan of 
  my birth. He says he is my kinsman." Force of habit is powerful here, too. 
  Her tone grows strained... but nevertheless, she speaks, perhaps finally 
  convinced to make some kind of overture to the man with whom she has been 
  thrown together, by fate and the order of the Maharani.

Salmalin frowns and forces himself to stand, setting aside the water he had 
  been drinking. With a look that says he will not accept anything but 
  obedience in this one instant he motions for her to sit. If she will stand 
  than so will he. "So I have heard," he murmurs quietly. He is troubled by it 
  as well, though it seems more so by the arrival of her kinsman. "I did not 
  like the manner in which he had spoken about you, but I was hoping it was 
  only show. He did not appear that type who would accept anything but.. his 
  own kind. I tried not to reveal your presence too soon in case he meant you 
  harm."

After twenty years as a shudra, Faanshi knows a gesture of command when she 
  sees it -- and without protest, she sinks gingerly into another chair 
  nearby. But perhaps because the Voice does not in fact put words to his 
  order, and perhaps because she at least unconsciously reacts to the concern 
  he's expressing, she peeks up timidly over her veil. Those big green eyes of 
  hers hold intermingled surprise and hesitation, as though she cannot quite 
  believe that a kshatri man is concerned for _her_. "You have met him?" she 
  blurts.

Salmalin sinks thankfully back down into the chair, having not really wanted 
  to stand for so long. His legs shake as he releases control over them and he 
  hopes she does not notice. With his tired gaze moving to watch her he lets 
  an arm reach up over his head to rest atop it. Looking as leisurely as he 
  can manage he nods slowly. "I seem to be meeting a lot of people these days. 
  Yes. I met him. Kander or something. I was not overly impressed as he is 
  much like everyone else. Did he mention to you what his intentions were?"

"The Imphadi said... his name is Kadin," Faanshi answers. Lacking anything 
  else to do with her hands, she wraps her arms loosely about herself. And 
  while it might be force of habit that pulls her gaze to a spot somewhere on 
  the floor, at the moment her gaze does not have the shielded neutrality so 
  many servants can pull into their expressions in less than a moment's 
  notice. There is profound uneasiness there, and perhaps even a little actual 
  fear. Only with great effort does Faanshi keep herself from stammering, but 
  still, her soft voice remains hoarse. "He said that he is my cousin... and 
  asked me how... my heart-mother died... he wishes... to speak with me more."

Relaxing some at the answer, Salmalin looks away from Faanshi, noting where 
  her gaze rests. His eyes even close as he lets his head rest against his 
  arm. "So long as he does not intend you any harm," he whispers. Fading in 
  and out he remains aware enough to speak and to listen, even if he cannot 
  see her. "And of your friend? If there is anything I can do... ask it of me. 
  I am not much in the way of company I know, but I know what it is to lose 
  someone close. If ever you need someone to listen..." His words trail off 
  slowly and he opens his eyes for a moment to watch her reaction.

"I just... I do not understand why my..." Faanshi cannot quite make herself 
  voice the word 'family' in connection to herself, and she falters over that 
  word now. "Why the... someone from the Clan wishes to speak with me, I--" 
  And then she cuts herself off at Salmalin's words. Her reaction? One of 
  further surprise, as her gaze comes up to look at the groggy kshatri. The 
  light may be dim, but there is enough of it to gleam against wetness in her 
  summer-hued gaze. Is that a hint of gratitude there, too? Still, she can 
  sense the weariness tugging at him, even from where she sits. Even without 
  her magic, it's visually obvious that Salmalin is exhausted. Gentleness has 
  never left her voice in this conversation, but been merely overshadowed by 
  evident grief; now, however, it comes back to the fore. "You need to rest," 
  she points out. "I will... perservere."

Salmalin shakes his head slowly. "I sleep enough and do little work," he says 
  with a sad smile. His hand clifts up as if to motion her to continue. "You 
  are brave, Faanshi, but useless if you keep this bottled up. You must be 
  aware and that is not possible if you are weighted down with such thoughts." 
  By now he is whispering, but his focus is clear. He watches her and he 
  wonders quietly behind the lid veiled eyes of his. "But.. I am yet a 
  stranger? Some man you are unsure of... I can understand. If not me than 
  another, please. One's soul should be free from the burdens of grief in 
  order for them to do what is necessary."

Oh no, the wisdom of Salmalin's words cannot be denied. Faanshi has learned 
  that her strength is not inexhaustible -- days spent in fever when she grew 
  too weak for her magic to keep illness out of her body taught her _that_ 
  lesson. But another lesson she has learned is one of starker, bleaker 
  nature, and the shadow of it haunts her eyes as she answers, "_This_ loss... 
  will have justice. Mehul... promised to hunt the one who did it, though 
  I told him he should speak with the Warlord Sumai... D-Delilah was of his 
  Clan, the justice for her death is his to claim. And the death was brought 
  before the Amir-al a-and the Maharani in the court..." Very softly, just a 
  trifle raggedly, she trails off.
And then she concludes earnestly, "I am taking comfort in that."

That she does not leave in a rush from his presence is a comfort to Salmalin 
  and he nods at her words. His head lulls some as he tries to keep his eyes 
  open to feign a somewhat normal conversation. But he must look away at her 
  gaze, the look that is there as she speaks of retribution. When he speaks 
  again it is still with concern, "I have no doubt that Mehul will be able to 
  find this person. He seems very capable of such an act." He probably means 
  the hunting of course. "I hope then, that the death of the murderer will 
  bring you the peace that is needed." He smiles a bit and then his eyes 
  finally close completely.

"I will be comforted... for the young Imphada," is Faanshi's murmured reply. 
  There is truth in her voice, and even a measure of truth within her 
  expressive eyes, but even as Salmalin's drift shut her own do not lose their 
  haunted shadow. It's a tainted peace at best, almost more of a heavy 
  resignation than any true serenity of heart. Nevertheless... she is a 
  healer. Comfort and succor are as natural to her as breathing and her 
  evidently perennial angst. She rises again, to fetch a light blanket and 
  bring it back to the Voice, treading softly to keep from rousing him again 
  if he is falling asleep at last.

Though his eyes are closed he seems awake enough to speak as she brings back 
  the blanket. Salmalin whispers quietly to Faanshi in his half asleep state, 
  "And who will be comforted for you? I am not a wise man, Faanshi, but I know 
  what I have experienced and I see it here in you. Secrets are difficult to 
  hide from those who know what to look for... even if they do not have the 
  true facts." He curls up in the chair as though he were more comfortable 
  here than in any bed, a soft sigh escaping his lips. When he stops moving he 
  smiles lightly, "But I talk as though I were drunk.. it seems to be a habit. 
  Thank you again, Faanshi and my apologies for being such a burden."

Force of habit, yet again. It tells Faanshi her pains are inconsequential, 
  that she is best served by pulling them within and stoically hiding them -- 
  because most around her will not care. And those that do will leave her -- 
  or be taken from her, by death or misfortune. Distance, therefore, is 
  obviously safest. But this strange, so very un-kshatri kshatri man seems 
  bent on bridging the distance between them; shy and reserved though Faanshi 
  may be, she can grasp that. And she can appreciate the gesture even as she 
  doubts its wisdom, much less its propriety. "I will perservere," she says 
  again, and sounds as if she means it, as she tucks the blanket about her 
  charge. "And you are welcome... and _not_ a burden." That, too, sounds as if 
  she means it.

[End log.]