"Trouble in Bordertown" Log Date: 5/8, 5/9/99 Log Cast: Deianyra, Faanshi Log Intro: The day has, in general, proven to be a strange one for the young shudra Faanshi; she has been addressed by a raven, and a crow has dropped a silver coin into her hand, and a Sylvan has given her a surprising gift of bread. But her day is not at all over. Hoping to pursue more rumors of Kiera's whereabouts, and hoping too perhaps for a chance to safely exercise her power, Faanshi creeps off into Bordertown with the coming of night... not knowing that she is venturing into the most dangerous part of Haven. It does not take her long, either, to begin to learn the truth of her error... *===========================< In Character Time >==========================* Time of day: Night (Duskside) Date on Aether: Wednesday, August 11, 3904. Year on Earth: 1504 A.D. Phase of the Moon: Waning Gibbous Season: Summer Weather: Clouds Temperature: Comfortable *==========================================================================* Deianyra arrives from the north along Border. Deianyra has arrived. As night falls over Haven, one might think that the edge of Bordertown isn't exactly the sort of place where a maiden clad in the garments of a Varati might be creeping along. Yet, Faanshi is there, edging down the street through the darkness, furtively peering through intermittent pockets of light and shadow as she passes first a window... and then a torch sputtering in a bracket on a wall. With those bright garments of hers, though, she's easily discernible from a distance, and if her clothes weren't enough of a sign that she does not belong here, her tentative movements proclaim it even more loudly. Deianyra looks at you for a moment. Faanshi At first glance, some things about this individual are easy to discern. The garments worn are those oft seen on Varati females, yet while this figure stands tall at 5'9", the build is small for a woman of that race. But woman she clearly is, if the glimpses of slender hands and feet and of the shape beneath her flowing garb are to be believed. What portions of her skin are visible are a warm shade of gold; a hint of a braid of coal-black peeks out from beneath her sari. Shy or perhaps simply trained to submissive silence she must be, for she rarely raises her eyes to anyone unless specifically bidden, and she speaks so seldom and so softly that it is nigh impossible to determine the quality of her voice. Only the most astute of observers might notice that every so often -- perhaps when she thinks no one is watching -- this silent one peeks with furtive curiosity out from behind her veil at the world at large, with eyes set at a slight un-Varatish slant in her face, eyes the color of summer leaves. She is simply clad, her garments of humble make but excellent repair, perhaps the clothing of a servant whose household garbs even its servants well. Her choli is a bright shade of red; her silwar, bright blue. A darker blue sari with gold trim is wrapped about her slender frame, and a veil of translucent light blue silken stuff conceals the lower half of her face from easy view. On her feet are a penniless shudra's version of boots -- several rags of blue, red, and gold cloth tied there and there along her calves, ankles and feet, held in place by the long thongs of her sandals. If the movements and dress of the Varati-clad maid can scream her alienness to the streets she travels so covertly (or tries to), then the attire and careful steps of the cloaked figure making its way south from pool of shadow to the lee of leaning buildings proclaims this one as at home as a rat in a sewer. A faint flash of light comes from beneath the drawn hood, revealed as the figure turns her head carefully, observing her surroundings. That bright-clad maiden creeping along soon stops -- without planning to -- when she stumbles over a beggar huddled by the corner of a building. The figure slumped there lets out a hoarse curse of something that sounds like pain; then, for a few moments, the beggar and the girl seem to grapple. The voice that had uttered the pained cry, though, lets out another noise, this one sounding startled, before the maiden bolts away down the street. Deianyra pauses, still as those marble statues the Empyreans are so fond of. A stained hand reaches up to draw back the hood slightly, revealing a pale face and a flash of a tattoo on the woman's upper cheekbone. Violet eyes, black in the dimness of the street, swing towards the muffled sounds, narrowing. The cloaked figure presses back into the building, trying to not be seen, but the crystals in her hair throw back another lazy chime of light, ruining her chances for stealth. Curious eyes trace after the running figure, forgetting the need for stealth momentarily. Closer nearby, the beggar can be seen to scramble to his... or perhaps her... feet, fumbling all over her... or perhaps his... raggedly clad form in apparent amazement. The figure sways, and then steadies on its feet, crying out after the fleeing maiden, "Hey... hey, lass, come back...!" Deianyra glances down the street at the call of the man, woman, it? Um, the beggar. Yeah. The hood is drawn back into place with a flick of the wrist and Deia dares to step forward, reaching out a hand to perhaps slow the headlong flight of the brightly-attired girl. She's made it perhaps a block down the street in her flight, but when that new hand reaches out to stop her, Faanshi squeals in startlement and dismay. Her green eyes go wide over the top of her veil. Deianyra winces, hoping a collision is not imminent, but if so...she braces herself just in case. "Easy there..." Comes the quiet contralto voice from beneath the cowl. "Where's the fire, girl?" Deianyra Poised at 5'9", Deianyra radiates an aura of aloof calmness and quiet pride in every lithe movement of her subtly exotic form. Gentle cascades of loose, coppery hair frame her heart-shaped face, curling and tumbling down to her hip. A few small braids trickle through the slippery mass in arrays of hues - today sapphire and amethyst grace the plaits. They accentuate the vivid coloring of Deia's clear violet-blue eyes, shrouded by thin bangs. The mold of her facial features is a shade too strong to be beautiful, but the clean angles and laugh lines dancing about her mouth hold their own appeal. A light sprinkling of freckles dance across the bridge of her nose, and toned muscle slides beneath tanned skin. The tips of her fingers are stained rainbow hues . Three black spheres the size of a woman's smallest fingertip grace the right side of her face in a descending line, from lower temple to upper cheekbone. This odd tattoo is not alone - others appear at various points along the curvy, sari-clad length of her - a trailing vine down her left arm, a butterfly on her right ankle, and a rune-like knot like those found on locks on her right hand, only half there, suggesting half might be found on another's hand. Large white wings arch from the strong curve of her back, denoting her racial heritage as Empyrean. Myriad feathers have also been dyed or painted in the froth of white wings - currently royal and pastel blue and an intense lavender wink like jewels in the sands, from coverts to primaries. Her sari too, adds to this feast of color, being a rich malachite green, swirled with more blue hues. A small knife is secured to her side, as is a sizable pouch. Feet are clad in sturdy sandals, a bit tougher and more supportive than the simple zoris. If one can catch it, the slightly throaty quality of her contralto voice is rather pleasant to the ear, and the nose can pick up a slight perfume about Deia, a fresh wind and flower smell. "Please," whispers the girl in the sari and the veil, "pl-please, imphadi, do not let her see me..." A glance is tossed back down the way Faanshi came, towards the clearly startled beggar still inspecting -- ah, well then, her -- bedraggled frame. A strand of copper silk hair slithers from beneath the hood as Deia turns to look down the street again and then back to the girl before her. A Varati? Out alone? Hmm, odd indeed. "Surely she cannot hurt you, Imphada." She replies quietly, a gentle bewilderment underlying the tone. "Please... she musn't see me...!" Varati, aye, from the cadences of that soft voice sounding from somewhere behind the silken azure veil. "And... not imphada, not I, I am only F... I-I mean, I am no one, no one... please, let me go..." The beggar lets out what appears to be a peal of joy, of all things. And perhaps the problem seems to solve itself, for the woman abruptly hastens away, practically dancing as she goes, chortling delightedly. "Thankee, maiden!" comes a call down the street. "Whoever ye be!" Deianyra lets out a hiss of breath and draws back into the pool of shadow she'd occupied before, a gentle tug on the girl's arm offering the same sanctuary. "There now, she seems to be going away." She crooks one stained finger at the departing woman. "And she didn't seem mad about the little collision. Things like that happen all the time." She says soothingly, hoping to calm the girl. "Not like this," breathes the one who speaks as a Varati does, even as she stumbles unthinkingly in the direction she is tugged. Of a height with the figure in the cloak, she nevertheless doesn't seem to have much substance to her; she's easily pulled. Deianyra notes the height, and the insubstantial weight of the girl. Or perhaps 'tis only a lack of resistance. Never having been so close to what one might term a 'proper' Varati girl, by the look of her anyway, Deia is silent a moment in open appraisal. Of course, how proper could she be, wandering around out here? Perhaps she was lost. "Are you lost?" She asks gently, unsure of what else to say. The blue-saried head dips down, the Varati-ish maiden's gaze travelling towards her feet. "N-no, imphada," she breathes. "I... I don't think so..." Deianyra reaches up and dislodges the hood of her cloak completely this time, revealing face, hair and eyes, the normally vibrant color muted by shadow. But even the dark could not displace the reflections of torchlight on the crystals in her braids. A concerned whisper crosses the pale face, tugging at violet-black eyes. "You are sure you are all right?" A peek, from those eyes over the top of the veil; the crystalline glints are noted, a safer place to rest the gaze than the eyes of the one who studies Faanshi. "I am not hurt, imphada," comes her whispered reply. Deianyra cants her head, causing the lazy swing of said crystals. "That is good." Another pause. "Please forgive me, but...why did you run from that beggar? Did she try to hurt you?" She persists. The other female shakes her head, quickly. "No... no, no harm... I am not harmed..." Deianyra lets her gaze sweep over the girl once more and then nods, stepping back, albeit reluctantly. After all, did the cat ever willingly leave the puzzle before its curiosity was assuaged? "I am sorry to detain you then, Imphada. I was merely concerned. These streets can be a dangerous place for women alone." She smiles wryly, offering the companionship of their shared gender. "I... I know, you are very kind to ask, thank you..." Slender golden hands clasp for a moment at the Varati's breast, and she gives a little bow, her hed dipping forward over her joined fingers. Deianyra actually chuckles. "Kind, hmm? Haven't been called that in a while." She pauses again, as if some sort of internal debate were going on and something wins, because the next words out of her mouth are quite telling. "Um, what exactly are you doing out here, Imphada? No offense, but you sort of stick out. And I've not seen you about before..." "I... am... mostly within Atesh-Gah," the girl in blue and red murmurs, her head ducking down again, and the rest of the crystal-wearing woman's commentary uneasily avoided. Deianyra hmms, raising a red-stained finger to rub the bridge of her nose idly. "You seem the sort. I didn't think they let the women out without escorts though." "I am... only a shudra, imphadi," whispers the one in red and blue. Deianyra quirks a copper brow at this. "I am unfamiliar with the term; what does it mean?" The maiden goes very still, and even now does not look up. It takes her a moment before she murmurs in reply, "I am... one who serves, imphada, and... not worthy of guards." The quirked eyebrow knits with its twin into a faint frown. "Not worthy, hmm? I'm getting sick and tired of people deciding who's worthy and who's not..." She mutters under her breath and goes on for a moment about something, glancing up at the sky. Apparently this is an old sore. And a deep one, yet to heal. As suddenly as lightning, her mood alters and she smiles at Faanshi. "Well, would you like my services as guard? At least until you get where you're going? Shudra or not, this place can be dangerous." She stumbles slightly over the accenting of the Varati word and nods towards the shadows slipping by, too large to be less than human. And none too friendly either. Deianyra blinks, shaking her head minutely, before refocusing her eyes on Faanshi. Clamped wings shiver beneath her cloak, a rather odd effect. "I... I cannot pay you for such services, imphada," whispers the girl in Varati garb, her soft voice going even more soft with her apparent unease. Unconsciously, she tries to pull back from the cloaked woman who has intercepted her, tension now palpable in her frame if not her veiled face. Deianyra chuckles outright at that. "Ah, payment. Yes, such a trivial thing. I'll consider your name enough." She says quietly, amusement fading. "Or can't a person do something because they *want* to?" This seems to take the Varati maiden by surprise. "Faanshi," is all she manages to breathe in reply, "F-Faanshi... I serve Clan Khalida..." Across the street, another of those aforementioned shadows detaches itself from the building and slips along, but a little too close to the pair for Deia's comfort. Her hand slips through the folds of her cloak to her dagger, letting it rest there. Her eyes never seem to leave Faanshi however. "Khalida? The Khalid's own clan?" She murmurs, then rolls the syllables of the new name around on ehr tongue. "Faanshi. Interesting name. Does it mean anything?" She inquires, glancing finally at the shadow slinking their way. "Th-the Amir-al permitted me to serve in his clan," Faanshi whispers, and then the last question startles her anew. "I... yes... it does..." If she sees that slinking shadow coming nearer, she gives no sign of it. Chances are she has no idea it is headed in her direction. The shadow stops for a moment and Deia's attention is divided between it and her young puzzle of a Varati shudra. "What does it mean?" She persists, although by the flicker of her eyes, one could wonder how much her attention really is on Faanshi. "It... it means 'refuge'," Faanshi whispers at last, in timorous tones. They seem to be habitual with her. Once more she tries to move, to slip away, unnerved by this odd personage that has crossed her path. Deianyra snakes out a gentle but firm hand towards Faanshi's wrist, and murmurs words sure to make the girl think her that much odder. "I wouldn't go that way if I were you. I think this alleyway has less rats." She says helpfully, eyes still on the shifting shade nearby. A glint can be seen for a moment and Deia stiffens noticeably. Faanshi freezes, a blue and red clad shadow, and she lets out what can only be taken as a barely detectable little squeak of fear. Deianyra shivers again and swallows convulsively. "Control yourself, girl. Slide to your left and get behind me. It may not be what I think it is, but let me be certain..." She mutters, eyes flickering shut and open again as she focuses on the shadow. The amorphous form straightens and slips towards the two, letting the glint come again, like the beacons warning the ships away from the reef. _Oh, Bright Mother of the Khalid, what is happening...?!_ But after seventeen years of being made to follow orders, if there's one thing Faanshi swiftly responds to, it is a tone of command. She scoots unsteadily in the direction bidden, a hand flailing out to try to find a wall to put at her back. The shadow stalks closer, and becomes a hulking figure of a man, his face as yet indiscernable. The glinting takes on shape as well, into a knife, although one could wonder how it can shine through so many layers of grime. Deianyra curses inventively under her breath and reaches up to unsnap the brooch holding the folds of her cloak together. It ripples away into a puddle at her feet, and large wings, gossamer white with individual feathers dyed blue and purple, unfurl like sails on a ship, flaring to half their length and giving some much needed stature to the small winged woman. It seems to help a little, for the shadow pauses. From behind the now winged figure, Faanshi gasps, albeit tinily. She hadn't expected wings, to be sure... but then, neither had she looked for a menacing figure with a knife to be advancing upon her in the middle of the night. Should she have done? she wonders wildly, as she struggles to bite back a whimper of fright. Deianyra bites down on her lip hard, assailed by the fright of the girl behind her as well as her own tension. True, she had been trained for this, but how many times had she actually been in this situation? She could count them on her first hand with room to spare. Still, you have to give her marks for bluffing it, smiling as she is, with challenge in her eyes at the shadow-turned-man-with-knife. Her own hand still rests on the hilt of her knife. "Evening." She says calmly to the stranger. The shadow steps forward into the light, revealing a swarthy mongrel man with a patch over one eye and several weeks of stubble trying to become a beard around the scars on his cheeks. "Ye're the one, ain'tcha? The-" Deia narrows her eyes. "Quiet, fool. What's the meaning of the knife, anyhow? I thought I said no weapons." If there is another thing Faanshi knows how to do, it is to go as quiet as a mouse trying to avoid a stalking cat. Her golden hands drawn up unconsciously tight against her breast, green eyes wide and disconcerted over the concealing veil across the lower half of her face, the girl shies back from the knife-wielding newcomer... or at any rate what she can see of him past the wings of the woman between them. That they seem to know one another does not provide her with much comfort, and a sudden burst of uneasy desire to turn and run roils up within her thoughts. Deianyra might've projected a soothing calm towards the girl if the circumstances were different, but at the moment, she'll settle for saving both their skins. The mongrel man slides his knife away, although reluctantly. "Yeah, well I said no tag-alongs. Who's the girl anyway?" He sneers, peering over the feathered expanses of Deia's wings. Deia removes her hand from her own knife, wings unfurling the rest of the way to obscure Faanshi from view. "Don't mind her. Do you have it, or not?" She asks, holding out a hand. Bidden to be silent, Faanshi strives to be just that, her arms curling tightly around herself in an unconscious effort to make herself smaller. _I am no one,_ she thinks wildly, and wonders if she thinks it loud enough, if the stranger with the knife will be able to hear her. Deianyra might, if she were a bit stronger, but at the moment, all her attention is focused on the mongrel before her. He crosses his arms, rubbing sooty fingers together. "Maybe. Do you have the money?" Deia narrows her eyes. "I do. Ten Zechin. As agreed." The mongrel barks a scratchy, guttural laugh. "No. I don't think so. Twenty zechin." She had not expected this -- she had never expected this, this... illicit whispering over a drawn knife. _I should have run,_ Faanshi thinks miserably, _I should not have let her stop me, oh, please, Ushas, do not let him hurt her with the knife...!_ Gossamer wings mantle angrily, although Deia keeps her expression neutral as she gazes warily at the scarred mongrel before her. "Twenty zechin is outrageous. No fool would carry so much into Bordertown. How do you expect me to pay?" She demands icily. She _needs_ that item, but twenty zechin?! The mongrel man hmphs again, fingering the hilt of his dagger. "Surely the illustrious Cahr'Dhaki can find some way...perhaps...the girl?" He motions at Faanshi with a smirk, although barely a glimpse can be seen of the cowering maid between Deia's unfurled wings. "I've always wondered if what they say about Varati women is true..." "N-no," Faanshi blurts, a bare little squeak of a noise. The heavily garbed maiden shakes her head in vehement denial, not able to muster an argument that she is of the Khalid's own clan... and that the Amir-al would wreak a heavy vengeance upon any man who dared to harm her. Truth be told, if she had the ability to consider the matter, Faanshi would not be so certain that Khalid Atar would bother to defend her. "N-no, please, imphadi, I-I am no one..." Deianyra straightens, wings half-furling as she glances over her shoulder at Faanshi. A measuring look comes to pass on her face as violet eyes appraise the maiden. She couldn't be seriously considering, could she? The mongrel waits, the smirk still in place, a slimy expression of lust and greed and perhaps even a tendril of hate. She _couldn't_...? Faanshi, innocent maiden that she is, has no real concept of what this winged woman might be intending, much less of the intentions of the man with the knife. All that she knows is that, to the marrow of her bones, she wants no other master like the Warlord Hashim had been. "No-o-oo," she wails tinily, skittering away a few steps, looking about frantically for an escape route. Deianyra projects a calming emotion at Faanshi, a weak sending, but it is the best she can do. One of her lids closes over her violet eye in a wink. She swivels back around to regard the man. "I think not. 'Twould look bad, you see, if I lost our new clanmember on her first outing. She is not some coin for barter; she is Cahr'Dhaki." She says, her husky contralto firm. The man's eye narrows, the patch shifting slightly over the other. "Cahr'Dhaki, huh? Then where's her tattoo?" At Deia's hesitation, he grins. "I thought as much. No matter. Clan or not, she's still a pretty little thing." The man reaches out a hand, the other drawing his knife. "Willing or not, she'll warm my bed the same." Innocent she may be, but even an innocent maiden can get something of an idea when a man utters the words "warm my bed". Faanshi registers Deianyra's wink, but that tiny flicker of motion in the dimly torchlit darkness is wiped out in the surge of fright and terror that grips her at the stranger's blunt statement. A wordless creel of denial trickles out of her, and she tries to bolt. Never mind the direction; her only desire now is to get away. Another shadow detaches itself from the wall, another knife glints in the torchlight, and another smirk leers down at Faanshi as the slighter mongrel reaches out to grasp her, trying to halt her head-long flight at him. Deia meanwhile has brought up a wing and smacked the other mongrel in the head with it, causing him to cry out and lurch into the wall, dropping his knife. Ever felt a swan hit you with its wing? About the same effect. Deia whirls away from the man, right after Faanshi. "L-let me go... no, no, let me go!" Faanshi moans, easily seized by the second mongrel, but immediately writhing in his grasp. Her slender golden hands shove wildly at her captor, trying to push him away from her, though there is not much strength or force in her limbs. Shudra are not trained for such things, after all. The mongrel grasps Faanshi's wrists easily, his strength notably more than the young shudra's. The knife is shifted towards her throat as Deia nears and he barks a warning. Behind Deia, the other is still coughing. The wing caught him in the throat apparently. Horror and fright combine in Faanshi to set her innards churning in nausea. And something else begins to churn up within her, as well, a ripple in her blood that rapidly builds to disturb the aether around her. Her hands connect with her captor, one on his shoulder and one at his side... ... and the aether flares. Magic blazes out through her fingers to sear against the mongrel man's flesh. The man cries out in agony as the magic burns into him, the knife clattering discordantly to the ground. He staggers back, trying to escape the heat and pain keening into him, even as Deia reaches forward to grasp Faanshi's shoulders. Hands hover though, not touching, as if she senses the danger. "By Tyche!" A choking comes from her throat and her contralto grows hoarse. "Let him go, girl! We've got to get out of here!" Wings unfurl again, tensing. She had reacted without thinking; her senses had already been reeling from the flare of magic that had swept out of her to heal the ailing beggar. Dazed, shaken, she staggers as the winged woman's voice cuts into her awareness, and her head comes unsteadily up. Horror of a different kind flashes across what's visible of her face. Deianyra glances over her shoulder at the mongrel regaining his senses and beginning an angry lurch toward them...and then back at the mongrel in front of them, eyes wide in horror to equal Faanshi's as he tried to stagger back. Muttering something incomprehensible, he stumbled as he tried to put distance between them. "Demon-touched!" Is one of those inventive curses muttered. "Turn it off, girl. And hang on, I'll get us out of here if I can." Comes the harsh mutter. Deia bites her lip and dares the searing fire to settle her arms around Faanshi and link them together, wings moving back for the first downsweep. Grabbing Faanshi does not cause the winged woman pain -- but only because the shudra girl in red and blue and gold desperately seizes hold of her own power. It's something akin to swallowing down a thunderstorm, and the girl sags in Deianyra's grasp, her body beginning to tremble violently in reaction to her efforts to dampen her talent. Deianyra bites her lip even harder, the girl's trembling not making what she's about to attempt any easier. Now's not the time to mention she's never done this before. But Allyriane did...surely if her twin could manage it, Deia could? Oi. Powerful wings arch and flex, brought down again with sudden force, stirring up a small dustdevil. And lo and behold, the pair do rise. Praise Tyche. A tiny moan escapes the girl in Varati garb, as it begins to register with her that the ground is falling away from beneath her feet. Reflexively, desperately, she tightens her grasp around the frame of the winged woman lifting them both into the air; now, there is almost no hint of disturbance in the aether that surrounds her, only a breath of disquiet that speaks of magic not quite fully settled into slumber. Deianyra grunts in Faanshi's ear with the strain of lifting the younger woman. Lighter she may be, but not /that/ light. An iron grasp she retains about Faanshi's waist as beating wings lift them higher. A strong breeze teases a veils and Deia's copper hair as she slowly wings down again, alighting upon a roof a few streets over. A sigh of relief whispers from her throat as her feet touch down again and she releases Faanshi carefully. Every bone, every muscle in Faanshi's body cries out to be allowed to go limp. Still shivering violently, the shudra girl very nearly collapses the moment her feet touch earth. A little keening sound might be heard escaping her, as she clenches her hands up tight and crosses them along her breast, one of them even fumbling under her sari, as though she is frantic to hide them. Deianyra winces as she tastes blood on her lip, where her teeth gripped too tightly. But they were damned lucky to have gotten away as easily as they did, unhurt...or were they? Kneeling beside Faanshi, her wings arch overhead, shadows in the moonlight. "Are you all right?" She whispers, placing a hesitant hand on the girl's shoulder. "I'm so sorry about this...I never expected it to turn out that way, or for you to get involved..." "I... I... will be all right, soon..." breathes Faanshi in a hoarse and breathless whisper. Her shoulder, touched, can be felt to shake as violently as a leaf buffeted in a high wind. Deianyra feels the shudders and almost withdraws her hand, remembering the agony of the man's cries when she touched him. "What happened back there? What did you do to him, Varati?" She asks uncertainly, violet eyes near black in the dimness of the rooftop. The breeze curls down from above, tugging at clothing and secrets kept close to the heart. Feathers shimmer overhead in the moonlight. "M... my magic, I-I didn't mean, I didn't mean to hurt him, but, but..." The words are as shaky as the Varati maiden's frame, blurted out in rasping little gasps. Deianyra had begun to withdraw, but at the shuddering words of reply, some instinct makes her lean forward and place a bevined arm about the girl's shoulders, awkward comfort. "Shh, it's all right. You saved us both, you know. Your magic saved our lives. Shh, it's ok." She murmurs. Her next murmur is equally soft. "It was more effective than mine, at any rate." The Varati girl's head comes up once more, eyes frightened. But the frantic, nervous tension begins to seem to drain out of Faanshi, even as she blurts, "Y-you won't... please don't tell anyone.... please..." Deianyra chuckles, although there is no mirth in it. "Not on your life, Varati. You think I want someone knowing what I was doing in Bordertown at this time of night? I have my own secrets to keep." She says quietly, a trace of bitterness seeping into her brittle tone. "I promise I won't tell, if you promise /you/ won't tell." Her eyes narrow, trying to see through the veils to the girl's face, as if to determine the truth of whatever she vows. "I promise," comes the immediate response. Faanshi's voice is still soft, still hoarse, but these words escape her with no trace of hesitation. It is very difficult to see beneath her veils, especially in the gloom of night, but at least she's looked up. Deianyra closes her eyes, no more than a flicker, to mind-sense the winds fluttering by, tugging at hair and clothes and feathers shivering overhead. A sigh escapes her. "I'm sorry for what happened tonight. I never meant any harm to come to you. Tyche knows what a little Varati girl was doing wandering about Bordertown at night, but it can't be any worse than what /I/ was doing. But you saved my life; I may have indeed lost it if not for you. I know it is a little thing, but if there is anything I can do to repay you, anything at all...you have only to ask." She says quietly, her violet-dark eyes earnest. Wings curls down around her where she kneels on the roof. Faanshi swallows hard, not at all accustomed to a stranger with wings proferring her such things; in fact, the only precedent she has for this oddity of oddities is a winged halfbreed lass she has not seen in weeks. The thought summons up a few tears to her eyes, and all that the girl can manage to say in reply is, "If... you could... perhaps show me how to get back to Atesh-Gah...?" Deianyra studies the odd puzzle before her intently. Perhaps it is a trait of winged halfbreed lasses then, to offer such things, but Deia looks merely Empyrean kneeling there. "I can. I shall take you myself even. But I hope you don't mind if we walk." She says gently, a grin curling her lips. Timidly, softly, Faanshi bobs her sari-covered head. "I can walk," she whispers. Deianyra nods and rises, stepping forward to hesitantly slip her arms about Faanshi again. Wings spread behind them and soften the downward fall as Deia steps off the ledge before them. Landing upon the street, Deia immediately releases the girl and takes off north, beckoning Faanshi to follow her. "This way. 'Tis not far. And remember what I said. If you ever need anything, ask me. You can find me in the Rialto or the Gem Inn in the evenings. Ask for Deianyra." Come the soft words as she leads the way. [End log.]