"Battle of the Kites" Log Date: 10/2/99 Log Cast: Jihaad, Devi, Tahira, Ranjeet, Ambriel, Faanshi, Amar, Salmalin, Keiki, Shahar, Khidmah, Timin, Altair, Jana, Zuhayr, Mekhti, Zafir Log Intro: For the first time in some time, the Varati people of Haven have felt happy enough and free enough to give open rein to one of their most sacred celebrations: Holi, the time set aside to honor the birth of the God-King Himself, Khalid Atar, the Hawk of Heaven. With their God-King's own blessing to spur them on, the Children of Fire have thrown themselves headlong and heartily into this most passionate festival, where women unveil, where the lines between castes are dissolved, and when anything and everything might happen... Or so it seems to Faanshi, witnessing the wonders of Holi for the very first time. And feeling for once, as she joins a merry throng on the beaches of Haven to watch grand battles of kites, as if she truly belongs among her mother's people.... *===========================< In Character Time >==========================* Time of day: Night (Duskside) Date on Aether: Wednesday, May 7, 3905. Year on Earth: 1505 A.D. Phase of the Moon: Waxing Crescent Season: Spring Weather: Breeze Temperature: Comfortable *==========================================================================* Beach - Haven Soft sands from years of gentle ocean currents greet the feet of those who explore the expanse of beach that leads from the streets of Haven to the edges of ocean. The hushed roar of the waves can be heard, a lulling sound to the attentive ear. The sand stretches out for about a quarter of a mile and allows for plenty of space for pursuits of leisure. Depending upon the time, you may be graced by the awe-striking sunset, the peaceful glow of the moon, or the comforting rays of the midday sun. Several ocean birds fly overhead as if frolicking around and playing in the air, occasionally swooping down towards the ocean surface to retrieve a tasty morsel. The ocean itself seems to be calm and relaxing near the shore for several hundred feet before the sands slope harshly and drop. There, the water is safe only for experienced swimmers and boaters. There is a small path that leads towards the town that is paved with sand and lined on either side by flowers. Contents: Ambriel Lailah Jihaad Salmalin Weasel Devi Tahira Ranjeet(#2368PJcem) Amar Obvious exits: Path to the City Haven Bay Jihaad moves to a spot to watch the ensuing battle without block the view of others with his massive black clad bulk. His jade green eyes watch the twisting dive kites, remembering his kite duels as as a child. Varati women aren't just veil-less during Holi, they're apparently quite unladylike, too -- Devi watches Amar meander into the 'line of fire', as it were, and touches two fingers to her lips to whistle sharply at him. "Imphadi, mind the kite-teams!" she shouts at him. She doesn't push herself up from the sand to pull him back, however -- then there'd just be two people in the way. Devi All feral fluidity and lithe-limbed languor, Devi stands perhaps five and a half feet tall. Her body is a dusky-skinned study of sleek, whippet-lean curves and femininely-sculpted planes wraithed in wild scarlet and ebon silks -- blousy black silwar ride her hips, crimson coupled with gold in swirling patterns along the swaying, weighted sash; fringed and fiery-hued scarves drape 'round shoulders and bell-sleeved choli; midriff left bare save for a writhing starburst tattoo. Tawny amber eyes, unflinching and filled with an eerie-odd intensity, are limned with kohl, lids decorated with burnt umber. Onyx hair, smooth as its namesake, is gathered into tiny braids, the ivory finishing-beads clatterclicking like finger-bones. Short enough to brush cheekbones and chin in the front, the braids drape heavy and smooth to the shoulderblades in back. Nightblack nails tip slender, henna-patterned hands, their swift-smooth gestures sculpting additional nuance to words carried on a honeyed-harsh voice. Golden jewelry glimmers at ears and throat, chimes at her ankles. The scent of beeswax, sandalwood and smoke surrounds her, heady and distant at once. < +Views. > Well, they are not quite warriors yet, and it *is* the holi festival, so the young girls cannot hope to hide their giggles while looking upon the men. Wouldn't it be great if for once they could beat the boys, just once. The woman-child priestess winks down at the young girls on her team. Aye, the tiger is a predator by nature, but the hawk is blessed and favored by his grace. Though the young girls may pray for a silent victory over their tiger-boy challengers, it is the young priestess who remains focused upon the kite. Faith, simple and pure shall lead them to victory if victory is to be theirs. of course, a little talent in kite-flying always comes in handy too. Tahira and her girls begin to dance about barefoot in the sand, their kite swaying with the wind as it sweeps up and down in a tauunting manner. The girls are always cautious of the boundaries, not quite willing to allow the boys such an easy victory. Why, a few of the girls even begin to make good natured faces at the boys, just to further add to the mirth. Settling himself down to watch for awhile, Ranjeet studies the two groups as they take their positions upon either side of the bright red line of gulai that runs down the beach from shore to water. Neither group may cross that line in their attempt to beat their opponents, thus the kites may thrust and parry much like swords in a battle. There is a tap upon his shoulder, Ranjeet looking up gratefully to a young woman who offers him a plate of food and some water. It has already been a long day for the Varati, who has been working hard to organize the various kite groups, arranging the battle schedule. He uses his fingers, eating the couscous, cold beef, and pieces of vegetables and fruits gratefully, his eyes narrowing upon the field of battle with interest. Sizing up the competition with a sharp gaze. Lailah She could almost pass for Varati, this one. At least to the untrained eye; for seldom you see a Varati this small and thinboned, almost frail-looking. A fluid, almost feline grace marks her out, each liquid step accompanied by an air of casual ease and arrogance, yet executed with a razor sharp precision, as if the woman had spent months in advance planning for it. Her petite 5'4" frame is swathed in layers of midnight blue, the billowing linen covering every inch of her body from the neck and down, except for glimpses of slim deft hands and bare brown feet as she moves. Around her neck is a thick single-piece collar of iron, inscribed with the crime she has committed and bearing the Al'Samar crest, indicating her owner. Her smooth skin is tinted a rich dark chocolate and with a silken sheen to it, her hair raven black and standing in an unruly mass of lustrous curls around her head, cut off at ear-height. A semi-transparent veil, of the same blue as the sari and bordered a delicate thread-of-silver, allows hints of what seems to be a sensually sculpted face inunder, with full lips, well defined cheekbones and a straight nose. The veil leaves her eyes staring defiantly out from above it; large, round and framed by long black lashes, their irises are an icy pale green, which contrasts sharply with her dark skin and hair. Tahira Thick luxurious lashes as dark as soot, line a pair of exotically almond-shaped eyes. Shimmering in passionate sincerity, their amethyst depths weave an almost hypnotic spell while drinking in their various surroundings. Her nose is slim and utterly feminine, sloping upwards in a faintly noble bearing. Innocent lips, gentle and colored a warm ruby, curl into a soft smile. Like a caterpillar shedding its cocoon, long gone are the countless weights of silks and satins -- her atarvani robes thrown off in celebration of the festival. Dusky caramel flavored with the flawless aspect of cream illuminates her skin, leaving quite a bit exposed. It is no wonder the women of this fiery race have often found themselves the objects of mortal beauty -- this young priestess holding no exception to the rumors and lore. A thin halteresque top of white silk pulls snuggly across her breasts, a thin embroidered trim nipping just above her barren midriff. Twin straps of thin pearl hang limply from her shoulders, yielding only to a set of elegant gold bracers upon her upper arms. While her midriff is indeed left barren, a long skirt rests upon the curve of her feminine hips. The skirt itself appears to have elegantly tendered in a dual fashion with an underskirt of sheer ivory silk overlapped by an upside-down triangle of golden satin. The design, though elegant in its creations, appears more of a patron celebration to the femal form -- the sheer fabric doing little to shield the rather shapely comeliness of her legs. Cascading tresses of obsidian flame spill from her scalp like a waterfall in the wild spills to the pool below. The ending curls lick at her slender midriff, each lock teasing in its descent to rest against her caramelized complexion. Her jewelry is far from minimal. A slender chain of solid gold speckled with tiny pearlesque teardrops hangs from around her belly, drawing attention to her barren skin. Around her right wrist hangs a loose charmed bracelet with various golden birdlike charms upon the delicate links. The prize gem, within the entire collection though resides in the hawkish topaz medallion which dips to rest at the faint curve of her breasts. While nothing large or garish, the intricate detail upon the bird is one of impressive workmanship. The final completion to her ensemble resides in a pair of slender sandals of ivory and gold. Upon the sidelines and higher up upon the beach are more decorative kites, meant for beauty alone, not battle. Great long dragon kites, the tails spiralling for fifty feet and more praise the skies. Beneath the tents too are master kite makers, teaching any who are interested in the art of designing and building kites to both children and adults alike. A special area has been roped off for those newly made kites, to be tested and practiced with under the expert advice and assistance of the kite masters. The tiger boys, in keeping with the agressive and arrogant nature of thier actions so far, let thier kite fly towards the hawk-kite. They go against the winds, however, and so don't even have a chance at completing thier maneuver successfully. So thier kite flies past the hawk futily. The boys, suprised that they have not already won, seem a bit miffed, but hold thier places, manipulating the strings the bring the tiger back to bear again. Ambriel keeps her perch on the rock, the weather agreeable, she has no complaints really, save that it might be nice if she had someone to talk to, but well, that's not happening to the 'poor' Empyrean woman, not here at least, so she remains content to watch from her rock. Many Varati women may have been brave enough to shed their veils for Holi once they've passed the gates of Atesh-Gah to come out for the kite festival, but Faanshi is not one of them. With her loyal dog Kosha at her side, both of them significantly less colorful than they'd been after being drenched in gulai during the bonfire celebration, the shudra maiden is one among many of the throng gathered to watch the kite practices -- and the first of the duels getting underway. Still, for all that she and a number of the other shyest young women of the crowd have chosen to retain their veils, this is not stopping them from emitting cries of laughter and interest at the colorful aerial displays to which they are now witness. Certainly, the few girls amongst shudra youngsters fretfully waiting for the chance to put their sea skate kite back into the air are not letting things like veils get in the way of their practice. All three of the girls in this group are Mongrels -- and all three of them have shed any sign of veils and saris to better aid their compatriots in the practice. Now, the girls are cheering just as loudly as the Mongrel and Varati boys helping them keep watch over the enormous multihued sea skate kite until it is their turn to go aloft and do battle. Devi laughs and claps her hands as the Hawks taunt the Tigers into attacking -- and missing. "Ha-hah!" she calls in encouragement. "Keep taunting, you'll show them!" She leans back in the sand, propped on her elbows, squint-grinning up at the sunshine and the weaving kites. What was that? Was she talking to him? But look at that! It's so.. blue! Amar's lips curl upwards into a lop-sided, rather distracter smile.. His dark, unkempt curls are blown backwards by the fresh wind.. He raises his head to the sun.. He suddenly blinks out of his daydream.. The kite contest! Looking to his left, he blinks grey blue eyes. Once, then once more.. That horde of children will trample him in about... seconds? With a startled yelp, he quickly jumps back, just in time to not ruin the contest, or get trampled. His unsteady attempts of regaining his balance however, take him on a very risky course backwards towards Devi instead, who was the one who got his attention in first place. A loud resounding cheer squeals out from the young Imphadas as the tiger kite bypasses their own hawk one. The bird continues to soar in a tantalizing dance upon the clouds, once more in taunt of the tiger. Almost as if the hawk itself seems to be shireking: Pounce me if you can! Tahira lets out a bright smile as the tactic appears to be working. Holding the kite firmly in her grasp, along with the aid of her girls, they countinue to dance about in the sand, the granuals squishing beneath their toes. While some may not be at ease with the texture of the ground beneath them, such is not the case with the little gathering of girls. In fact they all seem to welcome the sinking feel beneath each step. Maybe here is where being a lightweight has its advantages. The silver hawk continues to glide through the air, swooping in a taunting manner near the tiger, yet withdrawing once more: Come out, come out and play little kitty.... Slipping down from the rocky perch he had claimed.. Salmalin moves even closer as the battle ensues. Even a misguided reject of the Varati race can take a certain joy in the contest of kite and wills going on. Before he realizes it the young man has wandered into the noisy group of people watching. The smll of Varati cooking makes him smile a bit until he remembers he is supposed to dislike all of this. And as if a chance for escape he starts moving toward the only winged-one within the crowds. Gods above, she just started shedding her hangover, and now she's about to be squooshed? Devi sits up in a hurry, pulling her legs back to try and keep from tripping Amar and guaranteeing her squished-ness. "Careful! Careful!" she laughs, trying to pull herself up and out of the way in time. She's hungover, and he's stumbling -- what a combination. Keiki has arrived. Ambriel keeps her eyes in the sky, just like an empyrean with her head up in the clouds! Bah! At least, she's not alone, not today at least, musing to herself some old song or story, while she watches the fight, not noticing the approaching Salmalin. This 'kitty' is not so little. It's a large, fierce, menacing, kitty, which just happens to have the aim of a blind mongrel who's just spent a full day drinking in the Song. So it swoops again, 'aimed' thoughtlessly towards the silver Hawk which the girls guide gracefully through the air. Well, anyone can see it's going to miss by quite a bit. Wait! Then! One of the shorter of the boys trips and his string is pulled, pulling the tiger on a course right under the hawk. Maybe it will hit thier strings? One to the right... swaying.. Then Amar's all weight ends up on the left side as he fights to regain balance, still tripping backwards.. "I'm trying! My body is just not obeeeeyying!" The last word is quickly followed by his knees giving away.. He is almost horizontally located in the air for a moment, before he lands right in the sand, just barely avoiding to land right on the hungover woman.. Sand sprays out in all directions from where he lands, especially when he waves his limbs, trying to dampen the fall. Jihaad settles down upon the sand crosslegged to better enjoy the frenzied dog fight among the clouds. He unsheathes his Falcare, laying it across his lap reverently. His jade green eyes gleam with muted merriment as the gaze intently at the dancing kites above. Ranjeet laughs brightly, his gaze admiring upon the group of girls who so masterfully control their silver hawk kite. Pride goeth before a fall, and if the boastful attitude of the tiger boys is anything to judge that saying by, they shall take a great fall this day. His head shakes, dark hair blowing back lightly in the strong wind. The crowd suddenly cheers, not realizing that it is an accident that has brought the Tiger kite into such an advantageous position! Ranjeet laughs, at the response of an audience who sees not the technique, or lack thereof, but merely the results. The question now is, will the Hawk kite be able to elude this twist of fates fortune, or will the Tiger kite win a decisive victory in one blow? Keiki appears from further up the beach, wondering at all this noise being made nearby her home. She swims toward the gathering, at length pulling herself onto the beach to sit, water still lapping around her legs. The moment she does it is obvious why the woman took the water route. She is heavily pregnant, looking to be due at any time. She follows several eyes to look up at the skies. Salmalin turns as the boy trips and makes his way backward toward the rock Ambriel sits upon. But so preoccupied with the kite fight he does not notice how close he is until he litterally trips over the rock. It seems the Varati were just not made for the beach. Growling as he hits the sand this particular Varati curses everything and anything he can think of... especially the sand that he now flings about in his wild attempt to regain his footing. Oh, Ushas, she wants the girls to win. Wringing her hands where she kneels anxiously upon the simple blanket she's brought to give herself a sitting place upon the sands, Faanshi watches the airborne battle with eyes wide and wondering above her azure veil. Kosha as always lingers protectively at her side, occasionally peering alertly in all directions and barking if someone strays too close without giving a proper greeting. But the kites often attract the attention of the hound as well, and more than once Kosha sounds his own opinion of the flying hawk and tiger. "Someone else sampled too much gulai last night, I'm thinking," Devi drolly remarks to Amar once she's sputtered the sand from her lips and wiped her face. She starts dusting off her choli with a good-natured sigh. "Are you okay?" she asks the floundering man between soft whisks at Behzad silk. Thank Atar for admiring little Imphadas. It just so happens that one of the youngest girls in the 'hawk' group has been watching the short boy for some time, so as he stumbles she lets out a loud 'Aiiiiiiiiiiyyyyyyyeeeeee'. The sound alerts the rest and they tug fast upon the string, the wind favoring them upon this day as it takes the hawk away from the danger of entanglement. However, it would appear the taunt is done and like any predator of the skies, it knows when its opponent is weak. Together the girls sound out a shrill war cry, okay well its not much of a warcry, but it is quite shrieking amid all the giggles. Tahira changes the course of the gliding silver hawk, to send it swooping down towards the string of the fumbling tiger. Like a bird of prey in flight it moves in for the kill, aim direct in its path to knock the wind from its sail. Ambriel glances down at the tripping Salmalian, oh dear, there's a family face... A wry smile curves onto Ambriel's lips, and she shakes her head in bemusement, as warm and loving as usual.. "So nice to see you again, Salmalian, graceful as ever.." she muses, yep, warm and loving as your every day ice storm. Lailah has left. Amar quickly looks around to see what damage he could have caused, then lets out a deep breath of relief when realizing no bones or alike were broken. Sitting in the sand, he could just as well stay there, and while regaining composture, he flashes a somewhat roguish grin at Devi as he responds. "Well, I could hardly step outside without getting showered with it, so what choice did I have?" He chuckles softly, and shakes his head slightly, to get any sand out of his hair. This time making sure none of it ends up on Devi though. ".. Not to mention the wine.. ", he adds thoughtfully. "Who?" Salmalin lets out with a disgusted growl. Torn between two birds he stands up quickly.. watching as the girl's kite goes in for the kill. Some part of him cheers them on before he is made to respond to Ambriel.. a flush to his features. "Well I try, Domina. And you are looking as well as ever also. Looking for someone in particular or just browsing?" He asks quietly as he looks back to the fighting kites, considering what the boys might do to escape their terrible predicament. And so the silver hawk descends to make the kill, it's strike is succesfull. But the great tiger kite will not go down so easily! Oh, wait, yes it will. The string is snapped skillfully, and not only does the tiger come crashing down, but it comes crashing down directly at it's pilots in general, the short boy in specific. So in the end, as the boys tromp of the field with thier broken pride, one particular boy has a bit of a limp as well. [Log break here when murkworks.net went down.] Shahar walks down the winding path from Haven and steps onto the beach. Shahar has arrived. An unfriendly smile is offered to Ambriel as Salmalin shifts his position in the sand. At mention of the tattoo upon his arm he quickly rolls down his sleeves uncomfortably. "I have nothing to offer buy myself.. And before you say anything.. Yes, yes, I know that is not much. But if you tell me what you wish I will find a way to get it for you." There he has said it and admitted that he does in fact /owe/ an Empyrean. Ambriel laughs lightly, rising to her feet and shaking her head.. "I have not forgotten, and will not forget, until a favor is needed, and until the said favor is done, Salmalin.... But until then, you are 'safe' I suppose.." she resists patting his head now that she stands, not -that- cruel, is she? The crowds cheer wildly, the win of the girls both surprising and delight ful. The defeated boys are greeted by parents, no praise offered for a job wel l done, for after all, they lost the battle. But their injuries are tended, the kite carried off the field of war with respect, and many bolstering comments of "Practice hard and next year you will be sure to sweep the field are proffered." Rising up from his seat, RAnjeet once again mounts the podium, the brass horns of the musicians blaring through the air before he announces, "The Winner of this match is The Silver Hawk Kite! Silver leader, please bring your kite down, next contestants, take the field!!" It would seem that there will be another battle between two new teams, giving the victorious Silver Hawk team a chance to catch their breath before they are challenged again on this momentous day. Aww, the kites aren't homocidal. They're just laden with hooks and cutting devices and...what was the point again? Devi gifts Khidmah with a rather blissful smile, and straightens up into a cross-legged position. "You anticipated me again, Khidmah," she murmurs. Grateful. Sunshine and something light to eat -- fruit and some juice -- will banish the last of her hangover, surely. "Khidmah has a deft touch with preparation," she informs Amar. "I am certain the food will be enjoyable." Great... not cruel at all, Salmalin thinks. He rises as Ambriel does and picks up his boots... starting away. Pausing for a moment he turns around and says, "Better hope you get that favor in before someone decides I have spent enough of this life breathing. You are not the only one that has something against me, Ambriel." With a quick grin he now starts running down the beach as if to meet some appointment. Salmalin walks down the winding path back to Haven. Salmalin has left. Around the sea skate kite, the shudra children give a great concerted cry of glee: it is their turn! As one, they begin to hoist up their multi-hued creation, lifting it up such that it begins to seem to fly upon their shoulders. Hastened along by the middle-aged shudra man who is overseeing them, the youngsters scamper into their appointed place -- ready and eager to do battle with their opponents! Ambriel laughs, shaking her head, and takes into flight, avoiding the kites. Ambriel leaps into the air and takes flight, disappearing into the sky above Haven. Ambriel has left. A quartet of guards, two of whom are Agni-Haidar translates to the comings and goings of Haven's Pasha as an indiscreet thing. Sneaking about and arriving inconspicuously is simply not easily done. Conveyed to the scene by a sedan borne by another two pair of Varati - beefy, bronzed shudra - she rises from the chair with the aid of one bearer and studies her surroundings impassively. Wind captures and toys idly with wisps of her hair, the sole movement from her for several heartbeats. Slipping down from the podium, Ranjeet's lips curl in a feral grin for a moment, his eyes alighting upon the rising competition as well as his soon to be wife. He strides over to her, casual in the extreme with his gulai stained silwar and nothing else. Drawing on a pair of light gloves, his head dips fractionally to the Pasha, inquiring, "Would you do me the honor of announcing at the end of the battle the winner Imphada? I need to get my team onto the field, and you far better able to grace the podium than I," he notes wryly, his state of dress ... or undress, clearly not as stately as hers. Amar opens his mouth as if to respond to Devi.. Then he seems to catch the glimpse of something.. or someone in the throng of people.. "If you'd excuse me Imphada".. he mutters, and stands, brushing sand off of his trousers.. He flashes her one of his most wide, roguish grins. "Thank you for the company. Just whistle the next time I get in trouble, will you?" Chuckling softly, he starts to move into the crowd.. Of course, the person he spotted there is probably long gone by then.. Surrounded by toned warriors and muscled servants she may be, but Shahar notices only the half-unclad state of the man she shall wed a few days hence. To Ranjeet she responds in a purring undertone, "If that is your desire, Imphadi, so I shall do." Devi turns her face up towards Amar, grinning at him with undisguised amusement. "Watch the sky for kites, Imphadi. A good day to you." She wipes absently at her choli, freeing a few tiny grains of sand from it, and watches Amar meander off into the crowd. Yes Devi manages to get her shudra's cheeks to brighten red once more so to try and hide it Khidmah's hand dips into his basket, "Why thank you Imphada your too kind." Rummaging around inside he retrieves a corked clay jug and three small wooden cups which he he begins to fill. Seeing that Amar looks about to leave he doesn't pour a third, instead he stoppers the jug back up and falls silent so his Imphada may say her goodbyes. Amar walks down the winding path back to Haven. Amar has left. The shudra man in charge of the sea skate children is not nearly so impressive and carefree of appearance as Ranjeet -- but then, he is not unpleasant to look upon, either. His gray-streaked ebon hair is caught up behind his head in a horse-tail, and his well-weathered face is full of an alert interest in overseeing his charges -- behind which may well lurk an obvious affection for them, given the smile tugging at his mouth. Soon enough his team is in position, their young faces all aglow with their anticipation of the signal for the next round of combat to begin. And now that she has Khidmah turns his attention back to his mistress, "Would you like a piece of fruit to go with your drink Imphada? I have some peaches and plums too." Way. Too. Many. Varati. Then again, it's what Timin should have expected, right? It's a Varati celebration. But who pays attention to these little details. Carry on, halfbreed. Weaving here and there through the crowd on the sand. He's just a wiry bundle in a hood and a cloak. Nevermind him. It'll be several paces before he spots Devi. Probably aiming his stride that way to call on a former client. Public relations and all. Good for the shop's business. After several long moments of laughter, the young priestess finally manages to extract herself from the tackling gaggle of the young Imphadi's rising to stand from the sand. Of course, leave it to Tahira to dirty yet another piece of attire. Really the young woman truly has the worst luck with clothes. She slowly lowers herself to take back up her silver hawk kite and makes her way out a bit to clean up. Even as she slowly makes her way on out from the beach the little girls call after her. The youngest scampers on over to retrieve the priestess' sandals before falling into step beside the woman-child. Yes, this little one appears particularly fond of tahira -- so fond that she thinks she will just accompany the priestess all the way back to Atesh-Gah. One little, two little, three little halfbreeds... well, okay, two. But then, Faanshi is less mobile at the moment than Timin, keeping her quiet position on her blanket with her hound at her side her only guard. But when she sees the sea skate maneuvered into position she gives a hopeful little gasp: _this_ kite, ever since the combats began, has been of interest to her. After all, it is being manned by children of her own caste. She sits up a little straighter, breathing hopeful prayers on their behalf, eyes taking on a light not unlike that of the children; it may well be that the healer maiden is taking a childlike delight in what she sees before her. Tahira walks down the winding path back to Haven. Tahira has left. His gaze flickers delightedly, and catching up her hand, Ranjeet brushes a kiss against it elegantly before turning and heading down the beach with a jaunty stride. His large group of children await him, boys for the most part, their kite hidden from view at the moment. Indeed, they all wished to make an entrance, and as such, refrained from practicing earlier upon the field that day. But they are now ready to present their might to the shudra children and put them soundly back into their place. As Ranjeet draws closer, he recognizes that smug gleam in their eyes though and raises a cautioning hand. "You saw where false pride and elitist confidence got the Tiger team, did you not? Your opponents may be shudra," he chides them firmly, "but they are not to be underestimated. This is the festival of Holi, and for this time, you will face them with honor and respect. Understood?" Properly chastened, heads bob in assent, the slick confidence replaced with something far more valuable ... pride and determination. A wide sly grin turns the corners of Ranjeet's mouth up once again as he barks, "Then what are you waiting for you lazy oafs, let's show the Varati people what a kite battle is -really- all about!" There is a ferocious shout from his team and with a battle cry they charge forward, uncovering and releasing their kite. Between the wind and their rapid pace, the kite rises fearfully - an enormous deadly looking creation. A wyvren brought to life out of fabric. A queen, black as midnight with defining lines of silver and gold, and from her lips and tail streams of red and orange, the flames of her rage. She is expertly built - made for speed, endurance, and battle. Like her inspiration, the sight of this kite upon the air makes the audience gasp in surprise and delight, cheers offered forth! "A peach, please, Khidmah," Devi murmurs, once she's looked back to the young man. Saying please to a shudra? It /is/ Holi, and all. She stretches her legs out again, digging her toes into the sunwarmed sand, and reaches for a cup of fruit juice. One sip, then another, and a contented sigh. Ah, bliss. She reclines again -- she may not have the beefy, bronzed servants that the lovely Pasha does, or the opulent sedan, but she's feeling rather regal nonetheless. Attention lifts up, towards the kites. Altair walks down the winding path from Haven and steps onto the beach. Altair has arrived. And as the wyvern takes wing, so too does the sea skate. While many of this creature's living, breathing, swimming cousins may claim black as the hue of their skin, this one is clearly a skate with much more connection to fancy than to the creatures of actual flesh which dwell within the brine. Red, blue, gold, green, violet, and white are all hues boasted by this airborne cousin of the denizens of the sea -- and its tail is a long, lashing braid of intertwined streamers of every one of those hues, with ribbons dangling off the braid, and the whole coated in gold and silver glittering powders to make it seem as though the skate is blazing a comet of color behind it as it launches itself into the air. Cheers from every shudra in the crowd burst forth at its ascent, and even Faanshi leaps to her feet, clapping in delight as the battle is commenced. Shahar ascends the steps to the podium from which she may observe the flights of fancy without impediment; the guards follow while the shudra remain beside the unoccupied sedan and share a wineskin; Holi being what is it. From this superior position the Pasha stares toward the sky, a hand occasionally wiping away some misbehaving lock that interfers with her line of vision; celebration or no, her pose is still aloof, distant as the moon herself. "A peach." That's Timin, the mumuring, walking lump of cloth over yonder. And, coincidentally, within earshot of Devi and Khidmah. Apparently, he hasn't had his station in life beaten into him properly: he's talking to Devi. "Would be lovely, imphada." About, say, a half-dozen paces from the lounging Varati and her servant. Yeah, yeah, kites. Lovely. Altair blinks at the beach as he looks at it from a far edge. He smiles softly, shaking his head a moment. "I'd forgotten. The Varati Festivals were taking place on the beach today, weren't they?" He asks no one in particular, talking to himself as he takes a couple steps away from the cityside. "Well, it's not peace and quiet and roaring waves, but kites could be even better." "As you wish Imphada." Foraging into his basket again Khidmah takes out a small knife and then a big juicy looking peach which he begins to cut in half, "And how was your evening last night? Did you have a good time?" Once the piece of fruit is in two he digs the stone out with the tip of his knife and then hands one half to Devi, holding onto the other one till she is finished and then giving her that next. At the sound of another's voice so close he looks up from where he sits and seems surprised to see a halfbreed standing there asking for a peach. As the gasps of delight rise, they are quickly followed by cries of dismay! For the Wyvren children run across the sands with bloodcurdling uulations, their pace never slacking, but the red line of gulai lays just ahead of them. Will they be so foolish as to cross the line and forfeit the fight before it has even begun?? But those who watch have forgotten that the leader of this group is a most accomplished warrior upon the air. They draw periously close to the line before a rising cry breaks from Ranjeet's chest. In concert the children reel backwards, feet digging into the sand as they use the entire weight of their bodies like anchors, the kite dragging them forward in it's hunger for the kill, heading straight for the Skate Kite. The kite, the wind, is the only thing that holds their slight bodies up from the sand, but they manage to break the wild creature that they hold tamed with mere string and cord. With the drop of his right arm, the right side of his team drops their lines to the ground, the kite swerving and swooping with murderous intent. It will not ram the Skate. That is too risky. No indeed, it pivots upon the air in a beautiful arch, it's left wing reaching out, it's intent to cross and cut the strings of the Skate with one elegant pass. The podium is for few occupants, and ascending it has removed Shahar from the rest of the onlookers. Without alteration of her impassive expression, she stares toward the kite and those that control it, assserting an unbiased approach towrad the contest despite the identity of one contestant. Hel-lo, what's this? Devi looks away from the kites and over to the source of the voice. Black brows shoot up just a little. Blank uncomprehension for a second, then a blink, then a slow, amused smile. "So you are not kept in that dark, dusty store all the time, then? How delightful. Please, join me. Come watch what you might enjoy for true should you earn an honorable rebirth." Yes, a fulfilling and worshipful life, and you too might get to be one of the Pasha's hunky shudra. She grins to herself; baiting candala must be one of Holi's less-advertised events. Half a peach is offered to him, the second half taken from Khidmah for herself. Under that grand opening sally, the shudra children momentarily falter -- training and habit of caste are hard to overcome when one is confronted with the war cries of a band of kshatri children! But with barriers dissolved during the freedom of Holi, the Skate team is not about to go down so quickly so early in one of their few chances to engage in even _this_ kind of combat. The shudra boys and girls stagger sideways, but hold their formation -- and under their efforts the Skate bucks violently in the air, as if throwing off an invisible rider. Just in time, just _barely_ in time, it skitters out of the immediate range of the descending Wyvern and circles around as though to crouch and spring at the other kite-creature. "Up, my children, up, my brave ones!" bellows the man who leads the team, his lean dark hands gesturing sharply to punctuate his orders to his youngsters. Exactly what Timin wants. Really. Honest. Let's be Shahar slave, rather than an enterprising, hard-working halfbreed. 'course, anyone who's seen Timin's shop might think that'd be a pretty good trade, being a slave. "Thank you, imphada." Peach received, and Timin'll push down his hood in order to eat it. And sit at Devi's side, in the side. "Oh, I think I'm beyond such a lofty station." Note the touch of sarcasm, there. "Enjoying the festivities, imphada?" Khidmah shrugs and relaxes, obviously his mistress knows this person and that she has asked him to join them means Khodmah too can be civil to one such as he. Taking hold of the jug he put down earlier he uncorks it to refill Devi's cup and then gestures to the cup Amar was going to be offered, "Would you like a drink?" That's asked of Timin, he is a polite little shudra after all, even on festive occassions it seems. Shahar is oblivious to any musings about her staff and the reincarnation thereto. A wave of her hand dismisses the offer of wine; she prefers to remain on her perch, backed by those sworn always to protect, and regard those gathered without the cloudy haze of the laced wine prevalent during Holi. Every fiber of Faanshi's being now is riveted upon the Skate under the controlling hands of the shudra children, and she murmurs fervently to the only sympathetic ears near her (those of her dog): "Look at it, Kosha, is it not beautiful? Oh, Ushas, children, make it fly, you can do it!" She must absorb it all, it seems to her, and let each detail of everything she sees emblazon itself upon her consciousness. Perhaps she can carry it all later to a bard she knows... and maybe, just maybe, he will make her another song. Altair watches the kites as they fly, smiling as one avoids the other. "Gods, when was the last time I saw a Varati Kite battle? Ten? Eleven?" he muses, still staying closer to cityside. To help him see the kites better, he unstraps his helmet and places it in the crook of his arm. "I swear, never have they seemed prettier." What the shudra children lack in training they clearly make up for in spirit, Ranjeet notes quickly, rolling across the sand to gesture with sharp motions of his hands and arms, a fluid pass of body symbols, which carry far better than mere words, though he uses those as well. "Dive and roll!" he barks brightly, and the children tumble, not by accident, but by training and coordination. Suddenly the right and left sides have swapped without tangling lines and the Wyvren dives for the ground, causing the audience to applaud first and gasp shortly after. Will it crash? Can they pull it out of the blinding dive in time? Ranjeet dives in, grabbing one of the lead lines as well as he points to the new left front to pull hard on their line whilst the left shift foward. The tip of the Wyvren's wing nearly touches the sand, but missing it by inches it flicks upward again, tailing lashing out in a rage. One false move and it would have crashed wing over wing. But no, like a creature reborn it rises again, the sharp point of its nose arcing forward toward the soft unprotected underbelly of the Skate. "Mmn." An amused syllable given to Timin, along with a sidelong glance. "The kite-fighting is marvelous. I had only heard stories of such battles. Vara Behzad is...not conducive to kite-flying." Low ceilings, and all, you know. "The ocean is intriguing as well. I may wade along the shore later, should the mood come upon me." Devi gifts Khidmah with a brief, sunshiny smile as she drinks from her refilled up and murmurs, "Khidmah, please, help yourself to food and drink if you wish it." "Thank you Imphada." Is Khidmah's reply and for the moment her and Timin are forgotten, the kites too for that matter as he fixes himself a drink and helps himself to a few plums and a peach. First strike! The Wyvern reaches its target -- and all at once, the belly of the Skate is pierced, a slash dealt along the cloth and ripping downward in a sharp sound of tearing cloth that makes itself heard even over the noisy cheering of the throng. But although the Skate has been wounded, no damage to its structure has been yet done, and the strongest and most agile of the shudra children manage to wrest their totem out of the path of the attacking Wyvern in time. Their leader frowns in consternation, but keeps up his steady stream of instructions to his young ones, urging a slight shuffle in their formation to try to compensate for the injury the Skate has taken. The kite wavers and drops for a few moments before rallying once again and pulling up sharply out of its almost-plummet to aim its right wing up in an intended mighty slap for the Wyvern's flank! Apparently, Timin doesn't have the appreciation for kite-fighting. However, lounging is something he can do quite well. And he's demonstrating. See? Lounging halfbreed. "A relaxing activity, imphada. And an impressive sight, I must admit." The ocean. Right. That's what Timin meant. Oh no -- oh no! Faanshi starts violently as the Skate takes first 'blood', as it were, half-wishing she could heal cloth as she can flesh. But even if she could mend the rent in the Skate kite, it is far out of the reach of her hands, and thus she can only hope that the cries of encouragement she utters can lend speed and swiftness to the shudra children's kite. Two of her gulai-blowing escort of the bonfire ceremony, spotting her and the excitable Kosha from afar, come scampering over to join her... and soon the halfbreed maiden and the Mongrel waifs are cheering in concert. While the Wyvren's wings, like its nose, are sharp and designed for piercing and cutting, the Skate, like its real life counterpart, has wings that are soft and thicker on the ends. The fabric swims through the air with the flip, keeping the Skate kite well clear of the piercing, cutting strengths of the Wyvren kite, but dealing it a well placed blow upon its flanking underside. There is a cry of consternation amongst the kshatri children, the tactic unexpected and unprepared for as a few of the lines are torn out of the hands of their owners, the children scrambling madly to reclaim their ropes before all is lost. The Wyvren wheels, its left side arching up into the air, the ropes beginning to foul as the left side starts to cross over to the right, the kite spinning off toward the ocean. If something isn't done, and done quickly, the Wyvren kite will topple end over end in the air's embrace till the water rises up to swallow it whole! One of the guards posted behind Shahar makes a step forward to whisper into her ear, and she inclines her chin in affirmation to whatever was said. No matters of state, not tonight; no critical events luring her from the kite competition. No, instead a small child is permitted past, proffering a bowl with fruit along with a broad smile. The Pasha places her hand on the sooty locks of this boy, takes a peach, and keeps the youth close so they may together watch the conclusion to the battle. Altair's expression grows worried as he sees the Skate Kite get hit, a cringe on his face. "That's gotta hurt," he says to himself. Only now does he notice that he's rooting for the Skate Team, a fist being shaken out in front of him as he begins cheering the kite on. But that doesn't stop him from showing the kids his own support, though just another face in the crowd. Devi sits up straighter as the kites tangle and 'strike' at eachother, and claps her hands a few times in rapid succession, laughing as she does. "Ha-hah!" she shouts in encouragement. "Careful, Wyvern! Careful!" She leans back again, reaching for her cup of fruit juice, and looks to Timin. "I suppose it may not be as blood-stirring as the coliseum fights, it's true," she murmurs. "Do you prefer those, I wonder?" Jana soars in from the skies above. Jana has arrived. Zuhayr walks down the winding path from Haven and steps onto the beach. Zuhayr has arrived. Mekhti walks down the winding path from Haven and steps onto the beach. Mekhti has arrived. The ninth of the holy surahs is Self-Reliance, urging that the Children of Fire rely upon their own strength and prowess to survive -- and at least as far as the Skate team is concerned, this includes hearkening to the call of opportunity when they hear it. As the Mongrels in the crowd might put it, too, the gods help those who help themselves. And thus, the Skate children in a straggling but spirited effort rally themselves together to whip their kite around to aim itself into the faltering Wyvern and encourage its plunge into the ocean. Their leader points emphatically with his left hand to half the children, ordering them forward, while beckoning the rest back with his right to cause the Skate to pivot and charge towards the Wyvern's now vulnerable strings. Cries of "Skate! Skate! Skate!" burst forth from the shudra in the crowd, and dusky fists punch the air in punctuation to the cheers. A flutter of feathers marks the entrance of one white-winged Empyrean girl, garbed in the dark indigo kaftan which marks her a ward of Delphi. Jana's landing is graceful only in the sense that she didn't manage to trip over the garment's humourously over-long hem, and she stumbles a few paces, kicking up sand. But not that anyone truly notices, for the majority of the crowd around her is caught up in the excitement of the kite battling. Fun. Grey eyes wander about, and as the Oracle seeks out a comfortable perch upon an outcropping of rock, she tilts her head back to watch the skies. Zuhayr's eyes are on the sky, and who could blame him, for it is there that the battle is fought, isn't it? He's in no danger, however, of colliding with anyone, or of letting anyone collide with Mekhti who walks with him. Altair stands near the cityside area of the beach, his wolf's helm nestled into the crook of his arm as he watches the battle unfold. He, too, is punching the air as he cheers on that Skate Team. He knows they can do it! Devi's eyebrows again shoot up her forehead -- this time as the cloaked halfbreed leaves as curiously as he arrived. She watches him wander away into the crowd for a few moments, then chuckles to herself and returns to her propped-on-elbows sprawl. An anticipatory grin is given to the sky, as the Skate wheels in to try and cripple the Wyvern. Mekhti remains close to Zuhayr, somewhat uneasy at being on a beach, of all things. Her eyes move to the skies, as soon as the kites come into view, a flickering smile appearing momentarily on her face, but it does not remain long as she gets caught up in what's left of the fight. Shahar has selected a peach, but the fruit remains untasted, held in loose fingers against her side while her eyes remain on the end of the contest. A creature of the air descending to the ocean, while a creature of the sea reigns triumphant in the skies? The efforts of the shudra children in battle rising forth to succumb those of the warrior caste of the kshatri? Has the world turned itself upon its ear? But it is Holi, a festival where boundaries are for a short time dropped, allowances made, and where, being the birth of the God-King Khalid Atar, miracles happen. And that is exactly what it will take for the plunging Wyvren kite to rescue itself from what would appear to be an inevitable fate. Kshatri children run frantically and Ranjeet, their adult leader, barks out commands with efficiency and calm. For as his eyes study the scene of catastrophe, even within the death grip of failure can he see the gimmer of hope. The possibility of a tactic that could turn the tables. But he'll still need that miracle to make it happen. With a soft prayer upon his lips, Ranjeet dashes forward, helping children catch lines. What was once the left wing is now swerving dangerously, and Ranjeet calls for the children still holding their right wing lines to fall back. -Hard- back. They rum up the line of the beach with all haste, the loose lines swinging free once again. The other children recapture their once tangled lines and then .... of all actions, the run -away- from the red gulai lines? Away from their attackers? What is this cowardess?? But perhaps there is wisdom in retreat, for the Wyvren gains fractional stability once again, skimming just above the water like a bird of prey searching for the glimmer of scales just beneath the ocean's surface. One good slap or hit though, and those very waves will consume the creature of the air. Having arrived too late to pick out a team for her to cheer on, Jana nevertheless watches the colourful spectacle with a sedated, almost drugged and dreamy smile. Idly, ink-stained fingers run up to smoothe back a lock of wind-blown hair, and she half-turns to scan the dusky-skinned, brightly garbed sea of Varati people for any familiar faces. Zuhayr's eyes narrow keenly on the plunging wyvern, and his fingers curl at his side, a silent offer of hope for the creature. It's only natural for him to cheer that creature, no matter how late he might have arrived. Well, a pair of white wings in that sea of dusky faces might be something for Jana to spot, would it not? Her cousin Altair stands on the periphery, shaking his fist at the air as his cheers for the Skate Kite grow a few octaves louder. He knows they can do it! They can seize the day! It is _not_ every day that the shudra children are priviledged to see kshatri retreating before _them_. The sight strikes their spirits like a ray of sunshine slicing into stormclouds, and with a great glad shout rising from each and every throat on their team, the inexperienced youngsters temporarily meld into a far more cohesive unit as they claim the opportunity to add strength and power to their charge. But their kite _has_ been weakened by the rent in its belly, and even the strongest of the children of the Skate Team is beginning to look pressed by the control they're having to exert upon the strings they clutch in their determined hands. Under their guidance the Skate climbs and climbs, gaining altitude to build up power for -- what they hope will be -- a final assault, but even as they execute this maneuver the slash in the underbelly of their kite-creature can be spotted once again by the crowd. Will it prove a hindrance to the dive the Skate now makes upon the Wyvern low in towards the surface of the water? Dusky faces -- and many dusky female faces, those of the braver Varati women who have dared to venture out of Atesh-Gah or their homes in the Varati quarter without the veils that so often hide their faces from the world. Faanshi is for once standing out from the women around her with the veil she retains upon her own face -- but she is at one with everyone around her, shudra and even a few naraki, as they pour forth their praise and support for the shudra children's kite. Mekhti's head tilts, her arms crossing in front of her to ward off the cool breezes. She roots for the wyvern kite in her usual, quiet way - gently biting on her lower lip, fingers anxiously tapping on her arm. A soft prayer is murmured, but easily lost among the cries of those who more vocally support their teams. Zafir walks down the winding path from Haven and steps onto the beach. Zafir has arrived. Yes, bright white wings among this gathering do catch Jana's attention. She shuffles up to her feet, crouching on the slab of rock, then straightens up and cranes for a good view of Altair. Somehow, she's managed to do this without tripping on the hem of her kaftan. Someone is having extraordinary luck. Rather than jump into the air and glide over to her cousin - which might cause some difficulty in seeing and risk getting tangled up in kite strings - the Oracle hops down from the rock and begins walking. With many mumbled apologies, she pushes her way forwards slowly, but steadily. Once in range of her cousin, she calls out, "Altair!" For those who have never seen a true wyvren, they cannot imagine the beauty, power, and often horror that this majestic creature can emanate. It is the warrior stead of the Varati people, the people of the NeverEnding Fire. The Queen Wyvern being a creature that only the Amir-al can tame and ride. And this kite, though it be string and cloth and wood, is a manifestation of that very Queen. The Skate team made a grave tactical error, or it would not have required much to send the Wyren Kite into the jaws of the ocean, but now that they draw back for a mighty strike they give the Wyren team that which they needed ... time and room. Once again their is a violent battlecry, triumphant and determined that rises up from the tiring kshatri children, and Ranjeet blurs over the sand as he runs, shouting out commands, and directing them in for the kill. They Wyvern is a creature without mercy, and this kite is no exception to that particular instinct. As the right wing continues to advance up the shore, the left retreating, the right suddenly stops dead, pivoting and plunging down the beach again while the left wing flank dashes diagonally up the beach. It is amazing, perhaps a miracle, but for a moment the kite hovers above the water, pivoting. She turns, and with the killer instinct native to her species, the Wyvern wheels and swoops in a wide and graceful arch, shifting to once again face her attack. But she now as the advantage on her side - speed and her sharp cutting edges. She will not attack the Skate directly this time - its wide body a soft and hard to dispatch opponent. No indeed, the Wyvern lunges forward once again staying low to the ground and picking up speed with an alarming rate as clothes screams under the strength of the wind, demanding to be set free. But the children will not falter, for they plan to cut off the Skate's very life line .... that is to say, her string lines. Altair jumps as his name is called, quickly looking about for the one whom called it. Seeing Jana, he reaches out and pulls her closer through the crowd. "Come on, Jana! You've got to see this!" He looks back up to the Kites a bright smile on his face. "The Wyvern kite's about to--" Uh oh. Altair's smile soon fades as he sees the dire peril the Skate Kite is in. "Oh Gods," he says softly, shaking his head slightly. Come on, Skate Kite! you can avoid it! Zafir strolls silently onto the beach, hands folded silently within his robes, a red hood pulled over his head. His eyes are downcast, as if teh kites were not for him to watch. Wyverns. Skates. What difference does it make to Jana who wins? Not much, judging by the blank look she gives her cousin as he pulls her closer. She obligingly turns and looks to the skies, watching the kites, oblivious to the fact that one is about to get creamed. Battle tactics simply zoom past her. Instead, she smiles a little, in appreciation of the colours and artistic work of the paper, cloth, and wooden creations. "What? What is it?" she asks, voice dropping from that shrill call to something just loud enough to be heard over the crowds. They may not be warriors by birth or caste or training, but the Skate children, Varati and Mongrel alike, are meeting this battle with now unfettered determination. Many of them are sweating with their exertion, and the children on the edge of the team are drawing dangerously nearer and nearer to the gulai line that divides them from their opponents. "'Ware the line!" thunders their team leader, and little shudra feet scrabble frantically to dig down a place in the sand. But little shudra faces are now set in stubborn lines, and if the Wyvern intends to come in for the kill, then by the Divine Flame of the Amir-al, the Skate will make it regret it! Little shudra hands pull in frenetic intent at the strings to try to redirect the kite so the vulnerable strings are protected -- but the harder they work, the more wind whistles through the rent in the Skate's underbelly. The Skate is now hurtling itself in a trail of glittering color for the Wyvern, promising to collide with it in a mighty impact -- but its strings are still open to the Wyvern's attack! Which will happen first? Closer... closer... Mekhti takes a step closer to Zuhayr, her fists clenching in front of her. She is not much a talker, and still says nothing - silently rooting for the Wyvern, and willing it to speed up so that it might slice the strings of the other kite. Zuhayr darts a glance at the crowd of children controlling the Skate, and then looks back to the Wyvern's handlers. This should be no contest, really. The wyvern will win, must win. "Fight," he rumbles under his breath. The Skate has weight on its side, to be sure, but the rent in its belly wastes air and makes its descend erratic, swaying to sea and to sand and back again. The Wyvern screams as the children hold it restrained, but as the Skate tries to dive for it, Ranjeet's hand drops and he barks out sharply, "Forward!" Again rise the uulations of battle as the kshatri children charge the red line and their foes, much as they did in their first attack. "Oooooouuooooouuuooouooooouooooooh!" They cry out, and as Ranjeet's hand drops, again the dig in their heels, flinging their slender bodies backward, feet riding against the sand, their hair brushing the beach as the Wyvren kite in its blood lust drags them in its wake. Again the right wing drops to the ground and diving below the uncoming Skate, the Wyvren plunges and swirls to the left, cutting through all of the Skate's strings, severing them with sharp audible snaps that causes the shudra children to drop as gravity presses them down, the Skate now released from its bondage, plunging toward the sea from whence it came. Altair starts shaking his fist in the air again, his expression looking strained as he roots for the Skate Kite. "The Wyvern Kite is about to rend the other kite's control strings to ribbons unless it can do something fast! Come on, kids! You can make it!" His free hand he places firmly on Jana's shoulder, so he doesn't lose her in the crowd. "Nooooo!!!" he cries out as the skate kite's strings are indeed severed, the kite itself under only the Gods' control now. Glassy grey eyes turn to the sea and the sky just in time to witness the doom of the Skate. "Oh, that is too bad," Jana murmurs beneath her breath, finding it more a pity that such a pretty kite had been ruined. And while the crowd about her reacts with either cheers of joy or despair, she herself remains calm and collected. Her hands, nearly lost within her voluminous sleeves, drift behind her back and are clasped together. "Aie!" "Eee!" "Aaaah!" Startled shrieks erupt from the shudra children, but in moments they're drowned out by the cries of dismay that explode out of the shudra portion of the crowd. The rest of the throng is still cheering in thunderous excitement over this particularly spectactular battle -- but soon enough their cheers turn to gasps of startlement as the Skate is caught up by the wind and sent plummeting out of control. As if someone has shot off fireworks and aimed them into the ocean, as if it were a phoenix descending towards its own funeral pyre, the Skate kite drops into the salty water in a trail of vivid color and smacks into the waves with an immense splash. Faanshi, in the midst of the press of shudra and naraki, cries out her own dismay at this turn of events -- but even as she witnesses the death of the shudra children's kite, there is a kind of pride to it all. If one must lose, best to do it with grandeur, yes? But still, oh, the poor children! Never mind that if they were kshatri, they probably would not be receiving praise for their ultimately losing efforts. Above her veil, the halfbreed maiden's eyes are liquid with her sympathy for the children of her caste; beside her, her dog barks furiously in counterpoint to the cheers of the crowd. Zuhayr does not grin again. Twice in as many days would surely break some Agni-Haidar rule, even during Holi. Still, he straightens up a little more, and nods once, approvingly. "You see," he rumbles toward Mekhti, "the wyvern will always win." Zafir looks out at the water in time to see the skate start to sink. He gives a small shake of his head and keep s moving. Mekhti, on the other hand, does break into a smile, a nod of her head towards Zuhayr. So do the Varati, but she'll not say /that/ out loud. Her gaze shifts upwards at the tall kaimakam, before turning back to the victorious kite, still riding high in the sky. The crowds are torn, cheering and cries of both delight and displeasure ringing out ... though in truth there is still more applause and pleasure than not. For no matter which team won, it was a most exciting and unexpectedly well matched fight. The Wyvern kite arches up, its controllers crying out in delight, their voices mimicking the battle scream of a true wyvern mount in battle. Rising to the pinnacle of its lines, the Wyvern circles overhead, winged beast of prey, victorious and assured. But Ranjeet rises up, praising his team vastly, for they battled valiantly and suffered for their efforts. There will be many sand burns needing soothing salves and sore muscles needing to be soaked on the morrow. But for now he gathers his team close, his hands touching upon their heads, ruffling their hair with affection and praise as he speaks to them quietly. Gazes lifted to their leader with respect, there is a brief moment when frowns cross their features in confusion, their eyes darting past Ranjeet's form to gaze upon the scattering of defeated shudra children. But again Ranjeet speaks, his words lost in the din and wind, but the tone commanding and firm. They slowly nod and then, as a collective group, do the draw up to the red gulai line, facing their downed enemy. There is some surprise from the onlookers as the kshatri children, in all sincerity, bow low and formally to their vanquished opponents. For none can say that the shudra caste did not fight without pride, honor, and skill on this day. It would seem that these kshatri will not only acknowledge that fact, but honor it as well. Altair peers at the kites, especially the Wyvern as it is still flying. He shakes his head slowly, closing his eyes. When he opens them again, he looks to Jana with a sigh. "Both teams fought well, wouldn't you say Jana? It was an excellent battle at sea..." He smiles to her, then looks slowly back to the Wyvern, his brow arched. His eyes lose focus, thinking of something off in the future. He smiles a bit mischievously, nodding slowly. "The next time there's a public kite battle, there's going to be a new kite to challenge that Wyvern. You'll see." Every pair of eyes on the shudra team -- including those of the man who has guided them -- go round as zechin in astonishment. But the leader of the Skate team recovers quickly, and if there is anything an experienced shudra can do with grace and ease, it is bow. This time, though, the Skate leader bows in honor and respect and pride rather than in simple acknowledgement of a superior caste. And, seeing the example of their mentor, the shudra children gather themselves together and bow in honorable reply to the Wyvern team. With that, then, the team leader bows again to Ranjeet in particular, and at last, he turns to order his children into neat lines and direct them off the field of combat. Standing upon the podium, proud and tall, the Pasha does not need to declare the victor on this day. That much is obvious. But there is a tap upon her shoulder, and bending her head fractionally, the proud lofty woman listens to the priest who has drawn near, a small smile curling her lips as she nods dismissively. Drawing to the front, she raises her hands for a moment of silence, announcing in a loud and clear voice. "Both the Wyvern and Silver Hawk kites have garnered much honor upon this day, but two other contestants which to call and challenge upon the battlefield. To accomodate their challenges, I hereby extend the competion another day .... the challengers will meet their opponents upon this sandy field of battle to decide the true victors of this Festival of Holi!" There is much applause and excitement ... two days of kite fighting? Who can complain about receiving -more- of a good thing? Nestor soars in from the skies above. Nestor has arrived. Kallista has arrived. Nestor dropped Kallista. "And will you be among those challengers tomorrow, cousin?" Jana asks with a hint of a smirk in her eyes, as she turns her head to study the young Empyrean man. Her question comes quietly spoken on the heels of the Pasha's announcement, and she adds in a mumble meant for herself, "I will have to remember to come watch the battle tomorrow, since I missed most of the excitement today." Oh, Ushas, Lady of the Dawn and Mother of the Hawk of Heaven...! Faanshi, amazed to find herself breathless from what she has just witnessed, finds herself as well profoundly touched by the noble gesture of the Wyvern children. Behind her veil, the halfbreed maiden smiles softly to herself as she turns to take up the blanket upon which she had been sitting and coax Kosha to her side. She has seen much today, to uplift her heart and to give her warm memories to carry her and sustain her when Holi is at last over. But Holi is not over yet -- and although the halfbreed healer girl now quietly slips away from the throng, it is with a nervous, happy anticipation of what more will come. [End log.]