"Faanshi's First Sylvan" Log Date: 3/9/99 Log Cast: Patrin, Faanshi, Shahar, Maat, Vayu, Allegra, Avasa Log Intro: After the turmoil of a war in the heart of the Empyre -- even if one happens to have been a humble shudra and a woman and certainly not anyone who would have witnessed any fighting, so far as the Varati are concerned -- the relative peace of Atesh-Gah is almost soothing. And even though she finds her new home still all very new and strange, Faanshi has been earnestly applying herself to her changed duties, her changed status, and most of all, the dizzying fact that she no longer needs hide herself from everyone. More or less. She _is_ still a halfbreed, and painfully aware of it, and desperately afraid to assert herself in the presences of the noble personages who dwell in the embassy of the Amir-al. However, there are some who are certainly as humble of rank as she therein as well... And some of them are even of the other half of her blood, the Children of Earth, the Sylvans. *===========================< In Character Time >==========================* Time of day: Night Date on Aether: Tuesday, April 25, 3904. Year on Earth: 1504 A.D. Phase of the Moon: Last Quarter Season: Spring Weather: Rain Temperature: Cool *==========================================================================* Entrance Foyer - Atesh-Gah - Haven The entranceway to Atesh-Gah is a marvel of Varati architecture and art; a half-dome rising from the earth to the heavens, appearing as if solid stone and seemingly made without reinforcing supports. It is but a shell of smooth, solid rock, made unbreakable by a combination of shaping and ingenuity. A long flight of stairs leads up toward the double doors of the throne room, while a smaller door down below and to the right leads to the back hallway. The massive space is acoustically sound, carrying each gurgle of crystal water from the central fountain throughout the entire room. Four couches of rich royal blue upholstery surround the fountain, providing a resting place for any who would wish to sit and speak; though the edge of the fountain itself may function in a similar fashion. Flecks and veins of bright gold streak through the pale marble of the walls, leading the eye ever up... until a breath-taking sight catches the eye. Above all else in the room stands Ashur Masad, the Lord of the ever-rising Sun, and father to Khalid Atar. Surrounding the glorious sun-lord is a vast mural of his son's accomplishments, a millenium and a half of legendary history. Contents: Patrin Obvious exits: Hallway Throne Room Out Even at night, servants move through the Atesh-Gah. Over here by one wall stands one shudra, a gardener who is taking care of a rather wildgrown, nearly bushlike potted plant. A shudra.. A Sylvan? Night, and the passage of the sunset, has freed Faanshi from her nightly prayers... but not necessarily from her duties. The exhausted girl comes padding into the entrance foyer, armed with a bucket and rags to scrub with, assigned the task of polishing the vast expanse of floor in this impressive chamber. Green eyes swing their gaze briefly around the room, noting the presence of at least one other; that other makes her stop a moment, blinking in startlement. Patrin A shock of mahogany hair falls from the head of this young Sylvan male, thick and slightly wild-grown locks ending with broad curls just over his shoulders. Set in a narrow, near wolfen face his green eyes are of a dark quality. Like burned emeralds or sooty leaves they do perhaps reflect the fire which has been bestowed into this alleged forest dweller. The mouth is a broad slash of deep red, perhaps contrasting, perhaps matching with his dark nut-brown skin. His nose is adorned with a small white scar, the sharply protruding bone going well with the high cheekbones and strong jaw. The ears are pointed to go, nearly extreme in their length and slenderness, poking into the air even through his heavy mass of hair. Patrin's build is that of youth growing, the base structure of his body, bones, tendons and muscle still not softened by much flesh at all. Gangly and tall at 6'3, the width of his spade-like feet and huge hands show that he still has a couple of inches to cover before he'll reach his ultimate proportions. Judging from the already nice width of his shoulders only, those proportions will be one giant Sylvan. He is dressed simply, a dark green cotton tunic hanging loose and comfortable with its sibling (match?) in his dark brown pants. On the feet are leather buskins. He's actually got stubble in his face, this young man/youth, a proud statement to his maturity. 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. "Come on, ya overgrown resemblance to an egyptian warlord's beard.." The boy, young man's voice is right now dead pan basso, the normal hint of nervousity not there as he thinks himself more or less alone. Aether. Magic shimmers on his hands, the element of earth shining emerald over the bronze skin as branches and leaves fall away. As neatly cut off as if he had used a knife or a pair of scissors, yet nothing is visible other than those enormous hands, moving deftly through the foliage. "There we go.." Faanshi is used to large males -- Varati men, after all, are creatures of size. She is not, however, used to large males with pointed ears, and a small gasp escapes her, as she nearly drops her bucket in her startlement. "Eck?" The gasp behind him makes the young male swivel around, dark dark green eyes slightly widened. Startled, some twigs and leaves of the poor bush curl around his fingers in ringleting shapes. There -- a slender figure in bright red and blue and gold, a glimpse of leaf-hued eyes quickly and timidly averting their gaze, a form whose slender golden hands fumble to keep their grasp on their bucket even as she must kneel to recover her dropped rags. Nervous females makes the Sylvan just as nervous, and thus it's perhaps not so much a wonder that his voice goes up in key. A boy's voice, "Can I help ye, Imphada?" Padding across the floor with his disproportionally big feet, he'll kneel down to help her pick up those rags. "I am only shudra, you need not call..." A girl's voice in reply, soft and low and clear... and still quite startled, blurting out those words. Her eyes, green and wide over the top of her translucent blue veil, come up to stare in wonderment at this person before her; clinging to her bucket now, she adds in unthinking politeness, "But thank you..." Green eyes? That's unusual for a Varati.. His own are dark enough to perhaps be easily mistaken for one of the fire race, if still uncommon. But those long ears, long even for a Sylvan, marks him as a would be wooddweller. Gaze lingers on the big, greengreen eyes of the other shudra. "Well, judging by yer clothing, yer got status over mine any day. Kshatri household, aren't ye? I'm just the gardener.. Name's Patrin. Patrin al'Jolon. What's yours?" Getting the last rag, he holds it out to her before he'll rise up. "I am Faanshi," the girl in scarlet and blue and gold murmurs, "Faanshi Khalida... a-again, thank you...!" She accepts the rags, now managing to rally her wits to think of slinging the bucket by its handle off her forearm to get it out of the way. Curiosity, however, has now seized control, and before she can think to stop herself, she blurts, "You are... Sylvan!" "Well, aye?" Eyebrows rise up over his darkgreen eyes, sooty emeralds glittering with a hint of adult amusement. And still childish laughter. The basso returns for a moment, still serious "Hope you don't have bad feelings against me for it, Faanshi Khalida. I believe in the Amir-Al, just as you do." Rising up, he offers a spade-sized hand to her. Eyes shyly lowered as she arranges her burdens, winding up with a small stack of rags propped on her bucket-laden arm, Faanshi then risks a peek at that big offered hand. Her own tentatively comes forth, to take it. "You _do_? I did not know... I mean... I have never _seen_ a Sylvan before...!" Shahar emerges from the throne room through a set of grand double doors. Shahar has arrived. The Sylvan gardener, Patrin, is helping Faanshi arise with his hand. There's a boyish grin on his face, eyebrows high over dark green eyes. "Well, I'm a 'stonewalker'. Me and my family, we've been working at the Atesh-Gah for quite a while. Been sort of idle during the winter, though. And I do belive in Atar." Letting go of her hand, he idly removes a curling vine from his wrist, a leftover from when he was earlier neatening one of the potted plants. A pair of shudra, the one tall and male, the other smaller and garbed in rich Khalida colors offset by the humble bucket and rags she bears, appear to have struck up a conversation. Faanshi, helped up, blinks at that vine, and then bobs her sari-covered head to the young Sylvan. "Forgive me," she murmurs shyly, "but... I do not know what a stonewalker is...?" Insofar as a high-ranking Varati with four somber Agni-Haidar can be inobtrusive, Shahar appears without much apparent fol-de-rol; even her guards are subdued today. Must be something in the air. Taking a moment to look over his shoulder to the kshatri Imphada and her, ah, incognitious guards, Patrin then chuckles to Faanshi. Fingers more suited to a seriously larger man are perhaps surprisingly nimble when they work at the vine in his palm. Little pastel buds, spring flowers, begin to slowly grow in size. Silk-thin baby leaves appear. "Well, a stonewalker is a person who lives in the city. A stonewalker Sylvan is one who has left the right way, speaking in the forestdwelling Sylvan's point of view." A soft intake of breath escapes the veiled girl, concealed though her mouth might be behind that blue silken curtain, as she sees what is happening to the vine. But then Faanshi sees her new acquaintance's attention distracted by the passing Shakir and her retinue, and she half-turns, nervously wondering if the lady's attention might swing their way, ready to drop to her knees if so. But her attention is divided, for that changing vine tugs her gaze back to it. "I see," she whispers. A frown dictates the general appearance of the Shakir as she paces toward the courtyard, a hand reaching for her face veil as she moves. Oddly, a bruise seems ripe on one cheek, marring the otherwise flawless honey-gold complexion. Observant by nature, she does pause as she espies Kiera's shudra and the unknown candala; each receives a penetrating gaze. "Mmm.. Do you like flowers, Faanshi?" The vine is finished, the gift is done. Tiny blossoms now dot the richly leaved vine, babyblue, pink, lilac and a bright buttercup yellow shimmering in the darkgreen foliage. And he's holding it out to her, the vine slowly curling around into a circlet big enough to use as a bracelet. The Sylvan's voice goes up in key again at the last word, basso turning into the high-keyed voice of a boy. "It won't last that long, but maybe if you put it in water within an hour..?" What...? Another gasp, from the shudra girl. This Sylvan, this Patrin, this creator of such a lovely little thing -- he wants to give it to _her_? Her gaze comes up again, as Faanshi is startled enough that she can't help it. "I... oh, it is so...." Though the lower half of her face is veiled, the dismay that floods her eyes is unmistakable, as is the distress in her voice as she blurts out, "But you... I am a _halfbreed_, you should not... I am sorry, but I could not... I..." Ushas. Sucking his lower lip in to hold it between his teeth, the poor Sylvan's eyebrows come together. Worry makes that voice tremble again as his adam's apple gups in his throat. "You don't like it? What does your race matter? If you don't accept it, then I'll have to throw it away. I don't think I'll be able to get it to root, in any case. Please?" Tilting his head to a side, he holds his hand closer. The vine, the blossom adorned green bracelet, is now completely finished. Shahar purses her lips as she watches the vines create and establish a bracelet, the guards likewise watching for wont of something better to do. "I do not want you to get in trouble," Faanshi murmurs uneasily. _For giving -me- such a pretty little thing,_ she wants to say, though embarrassment now stops her tongue. But it has to fight with dismay as she senses the youth's anxiety -- it's hard to miss in his trembling voice, after all. And she hastily appends, "It is very lovely... I have never seen magic like this, either...!" Shahar steps through the great double doors and emerges into the courtyard. Shahar has left. The vine curls even further, as if it was a tiny animal, wriggling on it's back. Pleading. The boy, meanwhile, scratches through the mass of hair on his head. Confusion joins the concern as he looks at the halfbreed. "Why would I get in trouble? It's just a flower, Faanshi, I mean.. It's not that big a thing? A pretty for the pretty?" And now he *is* squirming at the corny things he's saying. "It's earth-elementalism. Sylvan magic." Is there a red tint to his cheeks? Well... perhaps no one will mind this little kindness. Certainly it is not her mistress about whom Faanshi worries -- after all, she serves _The Halfbreed_. Nor does she worry too much about the kshatri in Atesh-Gah; most of them, it seems to her, are too busy paying attention to either subtly mocking or blatantly avoiding her mistress to notice that Khalid's Pet Halfbreed now has her _own_ pet halfbreed. No, it is the other shudra about whom Faanshi worries. but perhaps, just perhaps, they won't notice this. So now, tentatively, she reaches out for the multi-hued little bracelet of flowers, breathing in a steadier tone, "It is _beautiful_...!" Wonder has never left her tone; it's only been temporarily submerged, and now it bobs back up again. And now he is beaming. Those dark green eyes sparkle with the part childish, part very adult amusement, the wrinkles between his darkbrown brows are smoothing out whilst fresh one makes themselves masters over his eyecorners. Even Patrin's ears seem delighted, the tips actually wiggling. "I'm very happy you like it. From what I understand, this is a kind of vine that grows in the southern varas. You don't usually find it around here. Not enough caves.. I'm not sure if this is that plant, i and by, but I think so. Father is still teaching me." He seems completely unconcerned about what the other servants might say. After all, he is a *Sylvan*. Such a beast probably doesn't care who or what he sleeps with, not to mension just be nice to. Faanshi finally accepts the delicate bauble, cradling it in her fingers as though afraid it will break if she looks at it with too much force. Green eyes settle their gaze on green leaves; it would seem this lass is schooled against looking up, and thus, she misses the delight radiating out across the Sylvan's features. "I know very little of plants," she admits timidly, "except for herbs for healing, and herbs for teas..." Outside it's raining. The light patter of water against glass echoes through the foyer as somewhere, a door to a room has been left open. And the Sylvan's smile remains, looking at the pretty girl. The other shudra, well, they're mostly Varati or Mongrel. The former aren't interested in him, and the latter his parents would kill him if he looked at. Perhaps they will do so over a halfbreed as well, but.. Imphada Kiera is a halfbreed. And she's very high in status, atleast to that family of gardeners. So. "I don't know much at all, except for which ones we have here and in the gardens. And even those I'm only learning. My parents know a lot, we've been here really long. Over a hundred and fifty years." Faanshi's only hint that she is being evaluated as 'pretty' is the one comment the youth before her had made -- and that single comment has been skittered round by her consciousness. She doesn't know what to make of it; accordingly, she avoids trying. With the flower-bracelet in one hand and her other still propping up bucket and rags, she's at something of a loss as to what to do with her gift now, and she looks back and forth in a bit of bemusement from the shaped gift to her prosaic cleaning-things. "I have been in Atesh-Gah... only a few weeks now," she murmurs. Watching her look from work to vine to work, the Sylvan hmmms to himself. "You can always just wear it while you work? It's not that delicate, I promise. Aah. That'd explain why I haven't met you. I've been away, I've been taught more about my magic in Masada. Father could only show me so much. If.. Since you're a halfbreed, you must have magic too?" It's perhaps not the politest of question, but curiousity is a well spoken trademark of youth. And at 17 years of age, Patrin has yet to learn not to ask about the things he wishes to know. Faanshi cautiously lowers her bucket and rags to the floor, her frame bending down and then silently rising back up again. Now with a free hand, she begins to study the flower-bedecked offering, trying to figure out the best way to slip it on, all the while keeping her gaze shyly ducked. But she goes still at that last question, before startledly blurting, "I... what?" Son of the Dawn, but she startles easily, doesn't she? "Well, you said you're a halfbreed? So I wondered if you've magic too? I'm sorry.." Taking a step back, he makes his storkishly gaunt shape give her an apologetic bow. Muttering softly to himself, "Me and my big mouth.. Please tell me I didn't offend you?" Up his gaze goes, the green darkening further with worry. "I talk too much, I know." The veiled girl blinks, gaze coming up again momentarily. "Oh...! No, I am not offended, please do not worry...! I..." Faanshi trails off, and then bites her lower lip behind her veil, though this is visible only as a slight disturbance of the blue silk. "You... speak as though all halfbreeds have magic...?" Confused once more, the poor Sylvan youth has yet to relax. "I'm glad you're not angry.. Aye, that's how I've understood it, at least? That it's rarer for halfbreeds *not* to have magic than it is for say an Empyrean to be able to shape stone." Shuffling those big feets, embarrassment joins the turmoil of other emotions. /Pat, you fool. Now you've gone and put your foot in your equally over developed mouth again!/ "Oh... I did not know... do not really know of such things," Faanshi confesses, her gaze ducking again as she slips the flower-and-vine bracelet into place on her left wrist. Chagrin seizes her as she considers how it must sound to this Sylvan stranger -- that her every third sentence is comprised of "I did not know". Then she appends, very softly, "I do have a bit of magic... they... tell me that I am a healer." He doesn't seem to mind, shoulders slowly falling down as the tension leaves his body. Just happy she's not angry with his poor self. "Well, I only know from what I've heard. You're a healer?" Respectful now, even more interest shows in those dark eyes. "That's good magic to have. Will you join the Ushasti, you think?" Patrin's gaze is pulled to her wrist with her movement, that basso sounding once more. Thoughtful with his musing, the boy leaves to let the man grow strong. If just for a moment. "The bracelet, by the way, I think it's one of those that keep its colours when you dry it. You may be able to use it still, if that's the case. It should grow more tenuous than brittle." "I will remember," Faanshi promises, fidgeting oh so very carefully with the blossom-wreathed bracelet, and risking a peek up. Is that a slight lightening of what is visible of her expression? "And..." Her gaze darts away. "I do not yet know... whether I will be Atarvani or Ushasti; the... Most High said that such would happen only if I am deserving." The girl's voice drops down to a whisper. Head tilts to one side again, in that curiousity filled manner. "Aaah.. Amir-Al's spoken with you?" Wooha. Status going up. Clasping his hands together behind his back, Patrin's shoulders seem about ready to slump into another bow. Maat emerges from the throne room through a set of grand double doors. Maat has arrived. Two shudra, quietly talking not far away; the one, tall and gangly and pointed-eared and male, the other, smaller and clad in the colors of Clan Khalida, veiled. The latter, Faanshi, does not meet Patrin's gaze as she whispers sheepishly, "I was... made known to Him, when Imphada Kiera saved me from the Warlord Hashim... I serve Imphada Kiera, now..." Maat travels through the environs of Atesh-Gah, silent, though observant. Several scrolls are bundled under her arm as she moves toward the upper reaches of the compound. "Aah. That is such great honour.." And now the Sylvan does step back, bowing to Faanshi. Would she be higher in status than a mere gardener? Definitely in his point of view. Then, his head moves to one side again, tilting as he arises. "But why do you then have that bucket and the rags with you? Surely the Imphada doesn't require you to wash the floors here?" Again, he's confused, perhaps overstepping himself. But a youth will be a youth, and he can't help his curiousity. Oh yes, being made known to the Son of the Dawn was an honor, though it's one that still fills Faanshi with a kind of dread. Reminded of her appointed task, she lets out a little squeak of dismay, looking left and right, spying the passing figure of Maat... and then, alarmed that someone might see her shirking her work, she blushes so deeply that color creeps over the top of her veil, and she dives hastily for the bucket and rags. Water sloshes as she hoists the bucket up. "I-Imphada Kiera does not give me much work," she blurts, "so I try to serve Clan Khalida however I might... this is my task, today...!" Better to be one of the masses than personally known by the God, hmm? Confused enough to nearly stumble on his own big feet, Patrin moves back from the halfbreed. "You give yourself tasks? But why such hard labor? Surely there are other things you could do?" Like what? Embroidery, umm.. "Healing people?" Maat looks over at Patrin and Faanshi, eyeing them with hard golden eyes. Indeed, this would be one that notice when servants dally in the hallways rather working diligently. Vayu enters the foyer from the hallway stairs. Vayu has arrived. Head backtilted to survey the skies, Vayu's eyes blink and squint to wash away the rain that falls - it's cooling again, in the schizophrenic weather of spring, when the world cannot decide if it shall be warm and sunny, or cold and damp and black. He proceeds from the Foyer, stance easy-set and at home amid the trees and greymist that floats in from the low fog-clouds above. The heavy smell of oil is in the air, still lingering from the lamps which burned the whole night through; the whiterobed fellow seems rested, for once, and though his eyes note Maat, Faanshi and Patrin, they seem to hold no more than a passing interest for him. Still - there *is* the Al'Samar woman. Best to say hello. "I-I-I am not permitted to heal anyone," Faanshi blurts hastily. Another peek is shot in Maat's direction, and she positively blanches, concealing veil or no, as she espies Vayu's entry into the foyer. Down she ducks, snatching up her bucket and rags, turning to scurry towards that section of floor she had been ordered to scrub. "I-I-I cannot control the magic yet..." White robes, slick with rain, are tossed very lightly to and fro by the rain as Vayu pauses beside Maat and Faanshi; the young Shudra's words in healing magic seem to have gotten his attention more than a little. Chin lifting slightly, his lips curl up as a brow is quirked in curiosity. "Good morning to you, imphada Al'Samar... Good morning, young lady," he greets, obviously unsure who Faanshi *is*, but certainly not going to deny her a hello. Any less would be rude! Vayu While often we are told that the outer shape does not make the inner, we sometimes forget that the inner mettle of a man will often shape his appearance, by virtue of determination and will. This Varati man shines with his inner strength, body shape and language radiating confidence and self-reliance. Tall, this Varati man - perhaps six and a half feet, perhaps a little less; his shape is, as the Varati are known for, seemingly chisled from some sort of dark brown granite. He does not appear exceptionally strong - for a Varati - but rather appears to have the hardiness of one who has travelled many miles during their life, and has endurance to outrun the greatest Olympians. He is lean, like a runner, but the muscles stand out as proof of said miles travelled. His face is beholden of the strong features of the Varati, dusky skin matching his hard grey eyes and jet black hair - everything is a square, hard angle, matching his prominent nose and jaw. He is marked with a mustache and goatee, as is the style of the Easterland Varati. These are noble features, matching fierce purpose with kindness and acceptance - he is, without fail, a handsome and regal man. Age can be see creeping in around the edges of his eyes, marking him in his early 30's, but it does not diminish his appearance one whit. He is clad in simple fare; the mix of styles shows that he is a diplomatic envoy of the kshatri caste. He wears a plain white robe, embroidered with grey around the lapels, cuffs, and edges. Belted with braided leather, a jambiya dagger is present - it looks like quite a fine weapon, too. Below the robe appears to be brown jubbah; he wears simple sandals on his feet. Despite the plain fare, however, the Varati man holds himself as though he were a king among men - or, perhaps more accurately, a sage among students. Not condescending, but certainly aloof - kindly, but still distant. Maat Swathed from head to toe in layers of thick, protective cloth, the figure is slender enough to give the impression of femininity. Cloth circles the head, winding about in turban-esque fashion to only allow a pair of golden eyes to be visible. Hands emerge from within the folds from time to time, displaying a tasteful array of gems and exquisitely crafted jewelry on well-protected flesh; the color of creamy coffee, the sun has only rarely kissed these hands. All shape of the body lies hidden beneath the folds, revealing only a hint of curves and ankles to tease the viewer's perception. Yet, the despite the limited view of the person hidden by the cumbersome garments, the precise carriage and sure movements provide clues toward an authoritative person used to holding the reins of command. Like the gossamer wings of a butterfly, each individual piece of fabric lies no heavier than swan's down, nor thicker than the aforementioned wings. Each iridescent panel contains a multiple of rainbow hues, rippling like the facets of a beetle's eyes when the breeze drags the light silk hither and yon. Yet, none of the body below the silk is revealed. Individually, each fragment has close to zero substance, yet as a whole, the ensemble covers arms, legs and torso with efficient ease, providing an amazing lack of flesh to be viewed. A finely wrought mesh of gold wire forms a solid cap over the head, pressing down on the silk below. Splitting the eyes apart, a line of mesh descends over the nose bridge. A matching belt and choker hold the silk to the body just as the cap holds the thick veiling to the face, preventing even the faintest view of the mouth to be seen. Ohhhh, sweet holy Mother of the Khalid! Faanshi, as both Vayu and Maat come within range, ducks her stricken gaze away from the Sylvan shudra youth with whom she had been conversing, the wreath of flowers about her slender wrist a rather notable sign of how that conversation must have gone. "Imphadi," she breathes in a sharp, soft little gasp to Vayu, and then to Maat, she appends, "Imphada..." She then promptly scurries back a few steps, safely out of the way, kneeling down to start wetting the first of her scrub rags to begin getting that floor scrubbed. Allegra passes through the grand double doors that lead out into the courtyard and joins you in the entrance foyer. Allegra has arrived. Eyes downturned to the cobblestones and the Shudra who's decided to abase herself before the might of the path and wash it to honor the stone, Vayu seems... well... a little confused, to put it mildly. His brow stays quirked to the side as he regards the young thing's nearly instantanous labors with the ground - as if he can't decide if he should laugh at the abruptness of it all, curse her into a cowering, gelatanous pile for offending him, or merely decide to ignore her. Naturally, all this looping thought takes time - so to the outside observer, he appears a clinical observer, a judicator of her scrubbing quality. Allegra treads cautiously down the steps, looking around as she does so. Seeing some of her friends she walks up to join the group, remaining silent until she is noticed. Well, in so much as a bemused Vayu and a decidedly nervous Faanshi now kneeling down on the floor to apply rag and water to the already shining tiling can constitute a group. The shudra girl, her green gaze timidly averted, her nerves strung taut by the presence of her betters in the vast foyer, no longer has Patrin's or Maat's expressions in her line of sight, so she can't judge them. With her right hand, she busily scrubs. Her left, several small flowers of delicate hues and leaves of soft green twined in a bracelet about the wrist, takes on the somewhat less wet task of keeping tabs on the bucket. Perhaps it's the indroduction of more stark white into the colors of the immediate area, or the rustling of feathers; even, perhaps, the padding of light steps... But Vayu seems to notice Allegra very quickly, and cannot help but grin quite widely as he sinks to a cross-legged position before her. "Good morning to you, little one! You're up quite early today, I see; did you sleep well?" he inquires pleasantly, bowing her her with palms pressed together. Goodness... treating the child as though he were her lost uncle or some such. Allegra smiles, taking Vayu's motions as an open invitation to sit upon his lap. "I sleeped good, Imphadi Vayu. I didn't do any sleepwalking last night. At least, I didn't do any that I know of." She giggles, snuggling in to make herself more comfortable. "How are you, Imphadi." She'll get to Faanshi soon. One person at a time is enough for this little one. Well! Gasp and surprise! Vayu blinks a few times, but doesn't seem particularly averse to having the girl sit on his lap. If nothing else, Empyrean children are cute little things, and Allegra is certainly no exception. "You sleepwalk?" Vayu asks, eyes widening comically as he does so. "Goodness... teach me how, maybe I can learn to sleepread or sleepwrite. I'd never have to stop working - and I'd finally be caught up on all of my paperwork!" He was way over there, attending to a decidedly overgrown potted plant, Patrin was. Well. Maybe it's not that big a distance. Just yer average Sylvan gardener, he is. Shudra with pointed ears and green eyes. And perhaps just maybe responsible for the pretty flower adornment on Faanshi's wrist. Allegra giggles as she listens. "It is not a good thing," she says seriously. "I am supposed to stop. Especially after I even go-ed sleepflying," she confides. Maat disposes of her noble stance of holding scrolls and looking aloof for the moment to tap a spot on the floor helpfully for Faanshi. "You missed a spot." "Thank you, Imphada," comes the low murmur from the girl now scrubbing the floor. Her voice has lessened decidedly in volume, and Faanhi does not look up as she swings her rag over to the indicated spot on the floor... careful to avoid the woman's foot, lest she splatter it with water. The wet rag is followed by a dry one, so as not to leave moisture standing long upon the floor. "I see," Vayu comments in a deep, resonant, and decidedly sage tone - when, in fact, the very wildness around his eyes indicates he most likely has only a faint idea what in the world Allegra is talking about. "Well, good! If you're not supposed to, you're obviously making progress somewhere..." he ventures, hesitance and firmness showing through all at once. Glancing to Faanshi and her grey, brackish water, he lets out a soft 'hmmm' of thought, contemplation of the water overtaking him. Life of a shudra. Little twigs and leaves are falling for Patrin's greenglowing hands as if he was using a pair of scissors or a knife.. Greenglowing? Glancing over at the two kshatri, the winged child, and the female halfbreed, he begins to work on shaping the large, bushlike plant into something more resembling a small tree. Looks neater, that way. Ever so helpful, Maat taps another spot for Faanshi. Though, didn't Faanshi just wipe that spot? Is that fresh dirt? Or is that just the reflected shadow of a plant? Allegra doesn't particularly understand everything Vayu just said, not that it seems to bother her overly. She gets up from his lap, moving over to Maat and looking up at her. "Good morning, Imphada Maat. Do you remember me?" Maat holds out her arms to Allegra for a hug, "Of course a I do. Zada, yes?" In the process, she drops her scrolls all over the floor. If Allegra feels the need to get up and go take her flighty attention elsewhere, Vayu certainly won't argue - he merely straightens up some, and continues to watch Faanshi scrub the ground near him. An interesting task? Well... maybe. Knowing him, he's formulating some strange mathematical process by which to explain water's displacement. Faanshi blinks over the top of her veil, first reaching for the second spot that Maat had tapped... and then gasping in dismay as scrolls go falling. She dives for the bucket, just barely getting it out of the way of one such scroll. Allegra ohs at the dropped scrolls, and in knowing how important they are, she immediately bends down to help scoop them up, trying to keep them safe from the water. Oopsie. One shudra coming to the rescue. Moving around so as to not step on anyplace Faanshi's cleaned, Patrin bends over, picking up scrolls. Plucking them off like feathers from the wing of an Empyrean, dark green eyes search out the face of the halfbreed. If he can't catch her gaze, he'll just take little peeks at her in general, in between saving the scrolls from the floor. Faanshi can't quite help but look up as both the child and the Sylvan youth move in to help gather the fallen scrolls -- looking up is necessary, after all, to keep hands from colliding. She bites her lip behind her veil, recovering a scroll or two herself, and looking around nervously for the lady who dropped them. In the process, her gaze does cross Patrin's, green to green, and flustered. Maat says down to Allegra in a beaming voice, full of sunshine. "Thank you, little one. This is most helpful of you." She manages to make that compliment include both Faanshi and Patrin, though is not speaking to them directly. Allegra smiles as she stands up and hands Maat the scrolls she managed to pick up, the smile lighting her eyes. "You are welcome, Imphada Maat." After handing the scrolls back and giving Maat a hug, Allegra turns to Faanshi. Crouching down before her she greets. "I remember you. You are with Imphada Kiera," she says with assurance. He's managed to save half a dozen or so, Patrin has. Big hands can be quite practical, even if he's still clumpsy as a teenage moose. Dark green eyes narrow further with the grin he offers Faanshi, before returning to their normal blankly polite 'I'mJustAServant' look. Offering Maat the scrolls, "Here you go, Imphada." Snort-chortle-giggle; Vayu's rude little noise is stifled behind one hand. Allegra's accusation of Kiera-ness undoubtedly amuses him - most likely because Faanshi is demonstrably *not* who Allegra seems to think she is. Still, though - no need to rub her face in it. Inhalding deeply, he lifts his chin in feigned study of the water, but is undoubtedly watching Faanshi to study her response. "That is correct, Imphada Zada," Faanshi murmurs softly, a bit more steady talking to the little Empyrean girl than she is to any adult. Gathering the rest of the scrolls, she then seeks out Maat with her gaze and proffers them up to her, though her head bows down again the moment she's determined the woman's proper direction. Maat takes the scrolls from Allegra, Patrin and Faanshi. She does not provide either Faanshi or Patrin with more personal thanks, but rather simply gives Patrin a nod of thanks as the scrolls are deposited back into her care. Any sort of appreciation that might be given to Faanshi is aborted as the young woman is once again inspecting the architecture of the floor. If Faanshi expects thanks, she certainly gives no sign of it. She turns round to her interrupted task, taking stock of the location of her own hastily set-aside rags, and trying to see where she'd left off. Her face is half-veiled, but her hands shake just a bit; clearly, the shudra maiden is unsettled. He'll just return to that wildgrown would-be potted plant, Patrin will. Once more the aether of earth surges through him, and.. Eureka. He might actually be done. A couple of steps back to get a better look at his handiwork, before he moves over to a nearby bag with black, moist and highly nutricious earth. Adding it to the older and weaker one in the pot, he's humming as he works. Avasa enters the foyer from the hallway stairs. Avasa has arrived. Allegra hms. Well, Faanshi is back to her floor scrubbing, so Zada finds someone who is paying attention. In this case, Maat and Vayu. "Oh!" she says upon seeing Maat again. "I forgetted to ask Mama about the baby shower! I'm sorry!" Her eyes are wide with dismay. Avasa steps through the great double doors and emerges into the courtyard. Avasa has left. Rising from his earthward position, Vayu sighs in a vague way; "Well, I must get back to my duties... farewell, Zada, and be good," he comments fondly, bowing in a comically low fashion. He turns on a heel, marching toward the gates as four Agni-Haidar appear as ants from the hive, taking up their flanking position. Off to meet with someone important, no doubt! Vayu steps through the great double doors and emerges into the courtyard. Vayu has left. Maat pats Allegra on the head as one might a pet dog. "That's alright, little one. I'll try to ask her next time I see her. It looks like you will have a little brother or sister very soon." She would appear to finally spot Vayu as he rises from his seat and gives him a peremtory nod. Allegra shakes her head. "Both, remember? Mama has 2 babies in her tummy." Maat snaps her fingers at a naraki wearing Al'Samar colors and hands over her only slightly damaged scrolls. She shakes her head at Allegra. "Ah, I hadn't realized that she had two babies, Zada." She walks toward the door. "I need to head out and do some shopping. Would you like to come with me or are you not allowed to leave Atesh-Gah without one of your parents?" Scrubbing the floor though Faanshi might be, and quite aware of the presence of others in the hall she definitely is, still the shudra girl in the garb of Clan Khalida can't quite resist peeks of curiosity at the little winged girl. Her two hands, the one bedecked with flowers and leaves and the other bare, continue about their task, moving about as restlessly as uncaged birds. Allegra mms. "I may leave, but we have to take two janizars and I have to tell Daddy. Can you wait for me to go tell Daddy?" Hmmm. Here's another one of those vines. The Sylvan starts to dislodge it from it's wrapped position around the trunk of the plant, humming softly as he works. Maat says to Allegra in a voice suggestive of a smile. "Yes, I can wait if you really want to come with me. I wouldn't want to get you into trouble. I will be going to the Rialto." The Rialto... another word Faanshi does not know. She peeks briefly in Maat's and little Zada's direction, storing the word away even as she ponders its meaning; her flustered gaze, at any rate, has lightened a bit. The humm turns into a soft whistling, it's perhaps off key state mildered by the very low volume Patrin keeps it at. Finished, he looks at the loose vine for a moment.. Then he clasps his hands together. That green glow begins once more, and what loose ends of greenery there were seem to nearly wiggle their way into the space between his palms on their own accord. Earth magic. Gotta love it. Allegra has run off down the hallway, seeking her father. Allegra comes back, trailing a pink cloak which half-drags on the floor. "I can come. I am ready. But I cannot stay out long, cause it is raining." Maat nods to Allegra as she takes a cloak from a naraki that appeared, as if by magic, or terrified obedience, at her side. She holds her hand out to Allegra, then moves with great confidence out the door. Maat steps through the great double doors and emerges into the courtyard. Maat has left. Allegra steps through the great double doors and emerges into the courtyard. Allegra has left. The foyer might once more be empty, and this is cause for some relaxation; however, the vast floor of the vast chamber is a bit more than one shudra girl's bucket can handle. Faanshi busily works, but eventually, she has to look up again, wiping her hand across her brow and rising gingerly to her feet. "o/~Through the green eyed foliage, and the blue veined fields, there came a young man from Masada. His eyes were filled with brimrose greens, and his arms were full of Yimsada. Yimsada, Yimsada, oh maiden of the sun in the sky. Yimsada, Yimsada, oh wonderful woman, your gaze it echoes my cry..o/~" The whistling has turned into a humm, and now a low toned singing. But the Sylvan's gaze is no longer at all interested in any plants nearby, just the halfbreed. Slowly moving across the floor, he once more falls into humming before that too dies away. "Do you need any help, Faanshi? I don't have any more greenery to take care off." The humming catches the girl's attention... so does the singing. She pauses, all her dampened rags now clasped gingerly in one arm, the bucket held in her other hand. And she blinks, before looking down... and then up again, fleetingly. "No... I must return to the kitchens, for more water, and then the polish... and perhaps a mop... but..." Eyebrows go up over those narrow, dark eyes. "Aye? Anything I can do for you..?" Geez. Is he really *asking* for more work? When normally he would take the opportunity to slink away and sleep a little extra or similar, the youth is now looking very hopefully to the halfbreed. Hopefull that she'll say yes. Something to do... for _her_...? Emerald eyes over an azure veil blink, and then Faanshi shakes her blue-saried head. But she also breathes out in a swift rush of words, "Thank you for your kindness, Patrin al'Jolon -- and your gift -- I shall take very good care of it...! And thank you for your offer." She turns, scuttling a step or two before she looks back and repeats gratefully, "Thank you...!" Then, bucket and rags carefully borne, she turns again and darts off in a flutter of blue and a clank of her bucket, as swift as a bird on the wing. "You take care, Faanshi! I still think you deserve the title Imphada." That's all basso, as the youth's shoulders and chin all lift simultaneously. A soft mutter whilst his fingers semi-conciously threads the vine, green glow making blossoms sprout and die all over it. "More deserving than many others." [End log.]