Date: June 22, 1999
Place: Courtyard - Atesh-Gah - Haven
Cast: Amar, Amineh, Cassius, Chana-Cari (@emitting Zafir), Darias, Fireheart, Jana, Kashtaritu, Khalil, Lailah, Maat, Niamh, Rabi, Ranjeet (@emitting Maat), Sarasvati, Shahar, Valin'dovev, Vayu, Zuhayr
Scene: The betrothal-party of Chana-Cari and Zafir is held in the courtyard of Atesh-Gah, and the vaisya Clan, Al'Samar, goes all out for the festivities: including a parade through Haven's streets, dancing, a hound race, an artwork display, and general feasting and merriment.

The parade makes its majestic way through the streets of Haven, and fortunately for all, there are no accidents and no disruptions. While most of the onlookers smile with delight, there are times when there are glares, and disdainful looks shot toward the whole affair. But for the most part, all goes well ... nay, all goes fantastically well. A glittering beauteous affair not often seen in the walls of Haven. But finally Ranjeet turns his beast back toward Atesh-Gah. Toward home. After all, there is far more to come in today's celebration. Upon their pass through the gates, a massive cheer is released, the drums and brass calling out their triumphant return. The signal is given and the clansmen and women of Al'Samar dismount from their beasts of burden. Food is ready, and servants flood forward to fulfill the needs of the celebrants.

Smiling, but face a little pale from all the movement, Chana-Cari waits patiently until the elephants come to a stop and Ranjeet gives word she can hop down. Zafir smiles, holding her hand and whispering comforts to her.

Fireheart stands with the small group from Delphi, uneasy in this place and amid such effusive splendor and the display of wanton indulgence.

Maat slithers off her elephant and sets foot once again on stable ground. There is an almost inaudible sigh of relief.

As the elephant lowers itself, Zafir jumps off carefully, and turns to help his beloved, Chana off. Still semi-green and pale, the young girl smiles, relieved to have stopped moving.

Fireheart leans over toward Jana to speak softly. "... is... to ..." She looks toward the gate and something occurs to her. She is here at the adept's indication, but is not supposed to return unescorted. A look of dismay and resignation is quickly hidden by the lowering of her eyes.

Lailah doesn't exactly look happier than when this whole spectacle started. Quite the opposite; the small mongrel's steps are slow and dragging, probably it is rather tiring to walk around with those chains around her ankles. A relieved expression flashes over her features as the parade finally comes to a stop.

Zafir murmurs softly about not liking the chains.

Ranjeet holds his position until all have dismounted, the animals drawn away to be stabled for the most part. A few remain, the finest of the stock owned by the Clan Al'Samar, to hold ground and be on display. With a satisfied grunt, Ranjeet leans down low, tapping his mount's left leg, murmuring lowly, "Basta ..." The pachyderm obediently bows down crooking his left leg, which Ranjeet gracefully descends, making a short jump down to the ground. With a nod of thanks, he hands off his wand and elephant to an attendant, turning about and straightening his clothes, eyes flickering about the grounds with a sharp and assessing gaze. Is everything aright? By the light smile that curls his lips, it would seem that all sits well with the Seshmew.

Chana-Cari looks to Zafir, and nods, but says nothing. Under her new veil, a smile can be sensed, then a frown. Food? How can she eat with this thing on?

Vayu steps out of the embassy and joins you in the courtyard.

Zafir straightens his red robes. Kinda interesting that his better robes look about like his normal clothes. Or perhaps he felt this preliminary party didn't call for the all out duds.

Although the parade is over now, many of the animals still linger in the courtyard of Atesh-Gah, offering a display of the Clan Al'Samar's finest in both regalia and animal stock. For the children, some of the milder horses are available for rides. The best of each beast of burden from Al'Samar's impressive caravan regime is present. Massive elephants have been painted in bright colors, patterns of flowers, vines, and paisley decorating the gray canvas of their skin. Upon each one is a palanquin, a lavish coach of carved wood and gold adornments, swathed in silks and tassels and resting upon tapestries that cover the backs of the lavishly appointed pachyderms. The camels and horses are each covered with silks and tassels, saddles and gear made by the finest of artisans.

The sound of yet another pair of boots on Atesh-Gah's marble floor tiles drifts down from the foyer, a body obviously in the process of descending. From out of the darkness, Vayu arrives, stops dead in his tracks, and observes the party with a decidedly confused set to his eyebrows. It's always odd to have partygoers right outside one's proverbial doorstep and in the proverbial yard. And in this case, it isn't really even proverbial at all. "I say," he comments in bewilderment.

As the parade comes to a halt, so too does Jana. She turns to Fireheart, and a bit of bewilderment enters her eyes, "You need to return to Delphi? Oh... Well, ah... I think Medea mentioned something about going back as well for a little while. She could take you back." Starsong and Medea are indeed a short distance away, currently getting refreshments for themselves. The Empyreal Hound escort that is always with Jana is also a few feet away, watching the displays of grandeur with a stoic expression.

Maat finished catching her breath after her long slide of her elephant and turns to Lailah. "Start serving drinks." Then, in a slightly lower hiss, she reminds, "Be polite."

Chana-Cari moves, hoping Zafir stays beside her, towards her mother, again hoping she can ask her a question. Eyes sparkling with excitement and merriment of the day, her gaze turns to Vayu, a small giggle escapes her throat.

Fireheart looks at the others and lowers her gaze, seeming to find the more sedate folds of her garb less unsettling to her eyes, so used to the subtle tones of the forest. "I don't need to go, I just feel out of my element here."

Lailah takes a few deep breaths to regain her composure, eyes flitting about the courtyard with a somewhat haunted look, as if searching for somewhere to slink away and hide. As Maat speaks to her, the mongrel sighs and makes a not-so-pleasant grimace behind her dark veil. Nevertheless, she does start moving towards the tables holding refreshments, staring straight ahead.

Darias steps apart from the press of the crowds, and sinks to a seat near one of the flower beds which frequent the courtyard. For comfort, he removes the great harp from his back.

Vaisya with party hats and Delphic students issuing 'wish you well' to an Atarvani. Things are certainly different in Haven than in other cities Vayu's lived in, that's for sure; his entire expression bespeaks great amusement, and he moves sideways toward the fountain. Exhaling deeply, he sits and observes the crowd once again. Especially Fireheart and Jana. Delphic people. How nice.

Jana's smile looks to be a bit sympathetic, but also rather eager, as she studies Fireheart. In a low voice, with her words almost lost beneath the music, she comments, "It is indeed a ... strange sight. I myself have never seen anything quite like it. My people hold pomp and ceremony more dear to their hearts."

Now that the celebrants have returned, the staff goes to work. Lavishly dressed shudra and naraki move about carrying trays of finger food in addition to the tables already heaping with a vast selection of delicious fare, but hot and cold. The stage is ascended by musicians ... tabla, vina, sitar, a beautiful vocalist, woodwinds, and chafil, a strange cross between a reed instrument and a small brass horn. They take a moment to arrange themselves and then with the throbbing singing voice of the two tabla ringing out first, they burst into traditional Varati music, vina and voice twining up into the sky in an exquisite blend of longing and delight.

Maat unwinds the long leather strap from her hand and begins once again to idly twirl it about as a poignant reminder for Lailah. The Shakir then moves into the crowd to begin socializing with the guests.

Zafir remains at Chana's side, though appears rather uncomfortable with all this fuss. It's just a union of two businesses, right? So why the fuss? He doesn't leave his betrothed's side however, so as not to disgrace her.

Approaching her mother, Chana's eyes move onto everyone. She doesn't know many of the people here... in fact, very few of them. A slim hand reaches for Zafir's arm, for comfort. Feeling better now she's off of the elephant, she moves to ask her mother a question -- but Maat left to mingle. Great! Now how is she to know how she can eat or drink?

Lailah picks up one of the trays holding filled glasses, frowning down to the drinks a few moments before turning back to the festivities. The naraki holds on to the tray with surprising care; that leash Maat is flaunting seems to have made an impression.

Fireheart lifts her head proudly. "Then you know not our people. We have ceremonies and celebrations. We sing and dance, we honor our Gods. We have marriage customs and pageantry of our own. I still remember the dance and the feast at Naming Day so long ago, and the instrument making and the festival tunics, the garlands of flowers and vines. The way the hunters danced the tale of the great bear and the young maidens danced to attract their mates. It just is... more natural than this." The words fumble as she tries to explain to Jana the difference in the events.

Circling about the party, Ranjeet considers the gathered celebrants with a gracious smile of a host, offering bows and murmured greetings of "Namaste," as he moves throughout. He pauses for a moment, taking up a glass from the tray held by Lailah, one brow rising thoughtfully as he takes in her appearance, placing it with what little he has heard about her. Busy with his own naraki, he has not had the ... pleasure ... of utilizing this one. His gaze flickers away though, dismissing her as he moves toward the familiar figure of the diplomat of Clan Khalida.

Maat meanders through the crowd, making her way to the fountain where she picks up a beautifully woven carpet, that lays in piles ready for use. Taking the rug, she angles to a place at the edge of the array of tables where she sets the rug under the shade of a tree and seats herself.

Darias sits in silence, eyes closed to better appreciate the music... though perhaps it is simply concentration, to better /hear/ the music over the sound of conversations.

Jana listens to Fireheart with an amused smile. Taking a deep breath, she replies softly, "Starsong has told me a little of your ceremonies. I remember the Naming Day... That was very nice bread that they served." Typical of the girl to think of food, and with the scents of herbs and spices in the air, her attention is further distracted. Hmm... What's to eat here? But not totally forgetful of her manners, she asks, "Do you want anything to eat or drink, Fireheart?"

Remaining more or less silent during all this, Zafir nods and greets each of the well-wishers, making small prayers over those who ask, yet never really giving one for himself. The selfless priest offering to support others even during his own party.

Chana-Cari nods to all, eyes bright from happiness. She waits for Lailah to come over her a drink... throat parched.

Drawing up to Vayu, Ranjeet bows respectfully, greeting, "Namaste' Imphadi .. I am pleased you found some time in your busy schedule to come and celebrate with us."

"Eh? Oh, hello, Imphadi..." Vayu answers, apparently startled that someone would bother to talk to him on such a joyous occasion. After all, everyone knows that Vayu's no fun, and has no imagination at all. Er. Yeah. "Well," drawls the diplomat, "You know how things go. I can always make time for something, especially when it's so near to my room... A man has to step outside sometimes, doesn't he?"

Lailah weaves through the crowds with surprising grace, considering those chains, stopping now and then to let people pick a glass from the tray. After a little while, she ends up where the happy couple are standing, offering what is on the tray to Chana-Cari and Zafir in stubborn silence.

Chana-Cari smiles politely, not overbearing to the slave as she takes a glass of the wine. "Thank you, naraki."

Fireheart says "Perhaps. Will sample what you recommend." She then looks aside. "You saw part of that, but not all. Part was in the glen before and the day after, just for the Sylvans." She lowers one eyelid in a wind that teases. One hand rises to smooth her hair and she murmurs, "What do the scratches on that ...chained one's collar mean? Why is she treated like that, like a rogue animal?"

Zafir looks at the tray a moment, reaching out as if to grab a glass. Instead the hand is placed delicately on the naraki's hand. "Forgive me, child," is his comment before he takes a glass from the tray.

Maat adjusts her rug below her and then leans back into the tree. She seems content to watch and listen to snatches of conversation that float through the air and into her ear. Under the tree, it is only Maat, her rug and that length of leather with metal studs imbedded within it.

Jana looks over her shoulder, searching the crowds until she finds the one that Fireheart speaks of, Lailah. Pivoting slightly on her heel, she answers uncertainly, "I do not know... I cannot see it so well from here. She is apparently a slave, though. 'Naraki' I think is the term."

Gritting her teeth behind her veil, Lailah waits for Chana and Zafir to take their wine, then raises her eyes to blink in surprise at the priest as he speaks to her. After a few moments and a haunted glance in Maat's direction, the naraki then starts moving off once more, her steps now taking her closer to where Jana and Fireheart are talking.

Beside Zafir, Chana-Cari is silent, holding the wine before her as if studying its nature. With the veil over her mouth, only the marring of the smooth skin about her eyes shows her consternation at having the beverage in her hand and needing to determine a method for consuming it.

Darias sits near the trees, idly brushing a speck of dust from his harp as he listens to the Varati musicians...

Zafir chuckles softly. He reaches over and gently lifts the bottom of the veil for Chana. hoping that is enough of a hint.

~Dha-terekata-terekata-Dha-terekata-terekata-Dha!~ The tabla drums ring through the air, defining the tempo, the rhythm. The sitar drones, like lazy summer bees filling the air with a song that swings and sways with seductive intent. The woman's voice rises, flickering in and out of pitches with the versatility of a deer springing across a field. The woodwinds are her support, the air beneath her voice, buoying her up, bringing flourish and harmony to her performance.

A charming smile curls his lips as Ranjeet settles himself next to the diplomat, his gaze shifting outward again toward the festivities. The musicians are playing a sprightly piece, one that invites dancing, and indeed a large number of women have formed an impromptu circle, bringing forth a traditional folk dance of the Al'Samar clan. They whirl out in a turn, forever stepping in a circle as they dance, hands crossed before them as they whirl like small sandstorms, tossing up bright colors, glittering metals and jewels, and swirls of silk.

"It is good to get some fresh air, and no place better to do so than a Varati celebration. Since I have come to Haven, I have found every party, every special or religious event to be a quiet, proper, and often bordering upon disastrous experience. The Varati truly are the people of the everlasting fire -- bright, warm, all consuming and beautiful beyond compare. This is a celebration ... full of spirit. I have not seen its like since we held the Kite War this past summer," says Ranjeet to Vayu.

Above the curve of the veil, Chana-Cari's cheeks fill with a flush that only heightens the youthfulness of her features and despite her demure attitude, make her, for a single moment, the alluring virgin for whom unicorns seek. She moves the glass of wine under her veil and takes a sip, the color of her cheeks increasing in depth and hue.

Maat chuckles to herself, upon seeing Chana-Cari and Zafir, but then her wayward attention moves back to Lailah. The woman is all alone under the tree. It is the most obvious hint that some naraki ought to be bringing her a drink.

Pale eyebrows lift upwards, and Jana's unveiled expression changes to slight surprise as the naraki of her conversation drifts nearer. Then she smiles, politely, and for a moment she is hesitant to reach out for refreshment. That wine will go straight to her head so quickly... But what the heck, eh? She's got her Hound escort nearby to knock her unconscious if she makes an idiot of herself. A pale hand, so unlike the others here, reaches out for a glass. "Thank you, Imphada."

Lailah waits patiently while holding the tray out for Jana and Fireheart. Large eyes peek up at the goings-on around her at the same time, now and then going back to Maat. Yes, she does get the hint, but no, she does not want to go over there to serve the Shakir. See how busy she is over here?

Kashtaritu steps out of the embassy and joins you in the courtyard.

Heads tilt toward one another, lowly murmured conversation exchanged for a moment between Vayu and Ranjeet. The Seshmew then shifts, turning and bowing respectfully, though there is a silent communication between the two men's eyes. He turns again, spotting Maat sitting all alone. He saunters over with quiet confident steps, halting short of the rug, touching brow, lips, and heart, hand swinging out wide as he greets, "Namaste, Imphada ... you look to be in need of both food and refreshments?"

Maat twirls about the leather strap in her hand so that it once again wraps around her palms. "Yes, Imphadi Ranjeet, it would appear that I am so in need." She glances over to the ever-so-busy Lailah. "But, my dear little Lailah. She would appear to be engaged. Such a trial for me." Her words are lazy and drawn out with a hint of drawl over the vowels.

Fireheart's strong fingers reach out to accept a glass after Jana does. Juice? Well, it looks like juice. She lifts the glass expecting the sweetness to which she is accustomed and tips it to accept a generous swallow. Her eyes widen and her nose wrinkles while a breath of air puffs out. Eyes roll as if she would spew the liquid out, but she maintains some modicum of decorum. Her glass lifts again and tips but this time the level in it rises as she returns the liquid back to it. She looks toward Jana indignantly.

Out of the Entrance Foyer and into the courtyard, heavy-soled footsteps muffled by the shrouding mist comes Kashtaritu. Dark, dripping fingers of damp hair cling to his forehead, his skin glistening slightly in the diffuse morning light with slight sheen of perspiration. For the moment, he pauses on the fringes of the crowd, expression giving away little as his eyes jump from face to face, looking for those he recognizes among the party going throng. The corner of his lips lifts of its own volition as the thrum of the music and the song of laughter tickles his ears. That burgeoning smile last until his eyes rest upon the scene taking form about Maat and Lailah, though he doesn't make a move towards them, thin lips making a line.

As Jana and Fireheart both have taken their wine, Lailah moves away from the women again, head swiveling from side to side, as the naraki seems to be considering where to go next. Catching the twirling of that leash in the corner of her eye, she stiffens for a moment, before finally turning her steps towards Maat's rug. Glaring, yes, but she does approach with those wanted drinks, nevertheless.

Jana's sudden smirk at Fireheart is hidden as she takes a sip from her own glass of wine. But the sudden wince and furrowing of her brow reveals an unpleasant reaction. No, that isn't quite what she expected. Spiced. Oh, so very powerfully spiced. She however manages to get it down in tiny sips, and for Lailah and Fireheart she manages a weak smile. "'Tis very strong..." she observes in a mumble. But no matter! The girl's eyes are drawn towards the servants who bear trays of food.

Darias sits still near the flowers, alone, and not seeming to mind. To the few who pass near, he seems to be humming.

Brow raising as his gaze shifts toward Lailah and then back to Maat, Ranjeet muses that she shows that poor naraki particular favor. Poor girl. With a soft sigh, Ranjeet considers the mongrel before asking, "Shall I fetch her for your service then, Imphada Maat?" The fluid, almost feline grace with which this young mongrel carries herself, has been somewhat subdued by the fact that iron shackles connected by heavy chains now clasp about her ankles and wrists, weighing the delicate woman down and hindering her movements. Around her neck is a thick single-piece collar, also that of iron, inscribed with the crime she has committed and bearing the Al'Samar crest, indicating her owner.

Niamh steps out of the embassy and joins you in the courtyard.

Chana-Cari smiles to her betrothed, Zafir, making a small motion with her hand, knowing he will catch the meaning.

Zafir nods to the wave then shakes his head, indicating he has no clue how. After all, the priest never joined the festivities. He simply watched from the sidelines usually. Chana-Cari sighs. A small shrug of her shoulders and she passes the subject off. She takes another sip of her wine. "That's okay, Zafir."

Maat untwirls the leash. Yes, this would seem to be Maat's favorite toy for the day. "No, Imphadi Ranjeet. It would seem that Lailah is bring her turtle-like carcass this way after all."

Thin almost manicured eyebrow of Kashtaritu's lift, as eyes that seem to match the fog that has hovered over the city these past few days in both color and firmness watch the ebb and flow of the crowd without really seeing them. Seeing through them is more like it but for the exception of Maat, Lailah, and Ranjeet. Whenever those greyish eyes flick across one of the aforementioned they sharpen, finding focus. A long fingered hand reaches out to snag a drink from a passing naraki with casual ease, only seeming to see it out of the corner of his eye. Steps moving with the flow of the crowed, almost listless in his motions. The occasional greeting or flickering smile given to a familiar face. The trio that previously help his attention seemingly forgotten.

The circle of women spin out, hands clapping as they turn in complicated steps, figure-eight steps as the move in unison, curling steps within a circle of continuous motion, skirts and hips shifting colorfully. An audience has gathered, men and women alike calling out in appreciation and pleasure, a few brazenly dancing with one another in turn. You can bring the vara to the city, but you can't take the vara out of its people. Though Haven is grey, here in Atesh-Gah it has returned to summer, the colors, flowers, and uninhibited joy expressed by the celebrants bringing forth the characteristics of the warmer months of the year.

Niamh rushes in and stops just as he gets to the doors leading out into the courtyard to compose himself. He didn't mean to be late, honest! Taking a moment to straighten his robes and futilely rub at the ink stains on his fingers, the Atman then slowly enters the courtyard and approaches the betrothed couple. "Mufti, Imphada... I wish to offer my congratulations." He tries to be all formal, but a bit of a smile escapes as he looks to Chana-Cari.

Turtle-like, is she? Lailah finally pulls up to where the Shakir and Seshmew are chatting away, tray held tightly in those small brown hands. If one would listen closely they would probably hear the faint rattle of glasses shaking against metal, but fortunately the music is too loud for that. Throwing dark, accusing glares down at the woman on the rug, Lailah hoists the tray out for Maat to take a glass.

Jana's study of the food is momentarily distracted, and her head swivels around until she fixes a brief stare on Kashtaritu. Well, perhaps a little longer than brief, grey eyes flickering from his face to the air above his head. And then she looks away, deciding now that she will indeed have something to eat, though likely it is going to be so spicy to give her heartburn later. Another sip of her spiced wine is choked down, cheeks flushing pink as the liquor begins to swiftly work its way to her head. Nabbing a servant, she is grinning as she takes a small plate and begins to fill it with all sorts of spicy delicacies.

Chana-Cari smiles, whether or not anyone can see it at Niamh's arrival. "Imphadi Niamh! I am glad you could come. Do not mind late, for others you would be early. I hope you enjoy yourself." Oh, yes, this is a celebration for her, she forgot! (Well, almost) "Thank you."

Fireheart disdains sipping the rest of her wine, the partial swallow she managed enough for her it would seem. "Yes, very strong. Am not used to that. Would give me a belly ache if I drank much, I think. Or worse." She does not demean the strongly-spiced wine, only explains her own simpler tastes. "How did you gain an invitation to this, Jana? I would have thought it one area you would have avoided."

Coughing lightly at the sharp words, Ranjeet raises his gaze to the approaching mongrel girl, lips curling in regretful amusement. Ah, and Deianyra thought she had it bad? In comparison, her duties here have been a breath of paradise, a reward rather than a punishment for her transgressions. "Very well then Shakir, I shall not interfere with your ... pleasure. It would seem that there are still a few guests who have not yet been formally greeted. If you will excuse me ..."

Zafir smiles and gives the Atman a slight bow. "Namaste, Atman, and thank you."

Maat nods to Ranjeet before deigning to notice Lailah and her tray of drinks. "This is a wonderful party, Imphadi Ranjeet. You have done an excellent job. Go enjoy yourself." She lets out one of her wicked chuckles that are full of sin and malice. "I know I will." Then, she looks over Lailah. Is she properly subservient? Are there the right sort of drinks on the tray? "Oh, dear me," says Maat in faux despair. "It would seem that all you have is wine and I would like to have some fruit juice." She gestures over at the tables. "Be a dear and go fetch me a glass of juice."

Jana is not so far from Fireheart that she doesn't hear her words, and she lifts her voice to be heard over the crowds, though her back is still turned to the Sylvan. Her efforts to fill her plate are not halted either. "I know the person who is in charge of arranging the ceremonies, and he invited me. Normally, I would avoid this place, since I am never invited here..." Then she turns to shuffle back to Fireheart, tone softening, "But I could not pass up the chance to see what happens at a Varati party. Would you care for some of this? I think it is a... um... pakora."

Niamh glances about at the celebrants and then back to Chana-Cari. "Yes, I believe I shall." And at that he catches a glass of the spiced wine from a passing naraki, sipping at it. With a bow he excuses himself to drift towards the food. Young men and their stomachs. Never full.

Lailah takes a deep, hissing breath to calm herself down at Maat's request, that veil momentarily seeming to be dangerously close to getting pulled in through her lips to choke the poor naraki. Turning on her heel, the dark woman then starts weaving through the crowds of celebrants back to the tables, stare fixed straight ahead and simply parading past people who seem to be about to grab a glass from her tray, obviously not seeing them in her efforts of controlling her temper.

The young girl nods to the Atman. Turning back to Zafir, Chana whispers something quietly. As a passing servant walks by, she places her half-empty glass on it. A look from Zafir to her, telling her he's not happy with her attitude to the servants. Using them too much. She smiles again, almost like her mother's evil smile, but it is hidden beneath her veil... it is her party after all.

Stifling a cruel laugh at his Shakir's taunting actions, her coy display, Ranjeet arranges his features into an appropriately respectful expression. "There is much more to come," he entices lightly, a subtle wink cast her way before he rises up, glancing with perhaps a degree of unexpected compassion toward Lailah. Or perhaps it is just the festivities. Heading back into the thick of things, Ranjeet spots the Delphic pair, altering his course to intersect with them. Of course, Domina Jana is filling herself a plate. Naturally. Ranjeet cannot fathom how the woman can possibly be so slight. If she eats with such relish as every time he has met her, why, she should be as large as Atesh-Gah itself. Lips curling wryly, he murmurs, "Yes, the pakora is quite fine, but that is the dish to the right of the one you are sampling now, Domina. That beneath your fingers is vindalar ... I suspect it would burn your delicate tastebuds sufficiently to make you think you had swallowed fire, not food."

Though at first it might seem Kashtaritu is oblivious to the world about him, seeming to stride the landscape of his thoughts while his own legs move on automatic. It clearly can't be the case for when the gaze of Jana falls on him, he turns, raven-wing brow coming together in concentration as his look scythes through the crowd to find the source of that gaze he just for an instant caught. He seems just about to give it over to his over-active imagination he notices catches Jana's eyes just as they lift to glance over his head. In turn, his own molten eyes follow suit, as if looking for some dark cloud or crown of thorns sitting unnoticed on his brow. Finding nothing there, his bloodless lips quirk quizzically, and he begins to wade his way through the crowd, wading through the crowd, trying to use fortuitous currents when he can, but occasionally just using his wide shoulders to the advantage, though he is sure to murmur the appropriate apologies. He almost casually places himself near the table Jana harvested the food from, and does likewise, watching now to see if again she looks his way. Curiosity piqued.

Maat gives Ranjeet a wave that is no more than a flick of her wrist, then folds her arms over her chest to wait for Lailah's imminent return. She is definitely using her naraki to her fullest today, choosing not to move a single muscle from her padded seat under the tree. And, if anyone looks directly into those golden eyes, the wheels can be seen churning.

Darias slowly rises to his feet, and returns his harp to its rest across his back. Turning his cloudy gaze and long strides towards the prospective bride and groom, he makes his way through the crowd.

Fireheart reaches for the offered sample, pinching off a little to taste, almost distrustful of the flavor after her earlier experience. She watches the others. "I have no invitation, just followed you when you indicated for me to come," responds the Sylvan, looking somewhat out of place. the simple white garb and the coloration of the woman make a stark contrast to the others present. She awkwardly manages a plate and on hearing the man's explanation of the foods, she avoids the 'fiery' one to sample of the others, very cautiously. A slight dip of the head acknowledges the suggestions and the comments. "Thank you...er..Inphadi." She attempts the strange term she has heard before but generally avoids speaking if she can. The tone of voice is polite but guarded under the circumstances.

Startled, Jana looks up from her plate to the man addressing her, Ranjeet. Her fingers just hover over the edible fire, where they had almost dipped themselves. Then she smiles up at the man, a little bit embarrassed, "Oh... Thank you. It smells nice, though, so I thought it would be harmless to try..." Wait, introductions must be made. Looking to her Sylvan friend, she says, "Imphadi Ranjeet, this is Acolyte Fireheart. Fireheart, this is Sheshmew Ranjeet Al'Samar." One might notice that she mispronounces the man's title, whether it be due to simple ignorance or liquor... well, that's hard to say. She takes another quick swallow of the wine. Getting used to it.. that's a good sign. Or maybe not. Briefly, again distracted, her eyes wander over to Kashtaritu. But upon seeing him watching her, this time she offers a little smile.

Chana-Cari nods to yet another face she does not know. She sighs, as she reaches for a small shrimp cocktail, wrapped with a strange vegetable and held together with a small wooden stick. She doesn't hesitate on eating it, knowing how to, now.

Of course, the Atman loads his plate with the fiery vindalar. But then again, maybe he has no more tastebuds left. Also on the plate is some pita and hummus... perhaps to help dull the fire? Niamh glances up at the voices, looking to the Empyrean and Sylvan in turn... paused over the platter of vindalar. But with a slight shake movement returns and he murmurs a soft apology for getting in the way.

Reaching the table with refreshments, Lailah puts the tray down with a loud clatter, her icy eyes scanning the tabletop for that darned juice. As soon as she spots it, one brown hand reaches out to snatch a glass up, and the mongrel turns back to the rest of the courtyard. With back stiff, she then once again makes her way towards Maat and her leash.

Darias steps around a pair of conversing Varati and approaches the intended couple, squaring his shoulders and drawing himself up to his fullest height.

One brow rises, but Ranjeet inclines his head politely toward Fireheart in greeting. "Welcome," he rumbles, making no comment on the fact that no invitation was proffered to Fireheart. If Domina Jana choose to bring company, who is he to deny her? After all, she was not upon the invitation list on his request, and he has no displeasure in her presence. "You will find the pakora to your liking -- more subtly flavored. I highly recommend putting it on the garlic naan bread -- the thin stuff. It is a good combination. Or the pulao rice. Subtly flavored with saffron. Won't destroy the lining of your delicate stomach or throat." It would seem that the Varati is in a fine mood, a warm smile curling his lips, no sign or hint of even the slightest displeasure.

Zafir nods to the new person, Darias, in front of him and his intended, Chana. "Namaste, Imphadi." Chana nods to the man as well, but stays heads down a moment or two longer than Zafir's. "Namaste, Imphadi Behzad."

Maat watches Lailah's return, marking the naraki's posture and that irrepressible fire that burns within the eyes. As if speaking to herself, she waits until Lailah is before her and then says, "A reward... hmmm... what sort of reward does the good little naraki want?" She does not, as yet, move to take the juice from Lailah.

Darias pauses before executing a deep, flawless bow, "Namaste, Imphadi..." he bows a second time to Chana, "Imphada." Straightening again, he regards the pair with a smile, just deep enough to make one wonder how serious he is. His voice is deep and rather musical, "Might I offer my congratulations on your impending union?" he looks briefly at Chana, recognition flickering briefly in his eyes.

Fireheart cautiously consumes some of the various foods offered her, washing it down with plain water when she finally locates one. Her smile is hesitant. Some of the earlier tasting she made are beginning to make their presence known. Her color becomes pale, then acquires a faint hint of green. The plate is set aside and she turns to Jana. "Pardon me, Adept. Please... make my excuses... but I /have/ to leave. There is enough emphasis on the words and on the phrasing to indicate there is little choice in the matter. "I...need..." Without finishing the words, she turns and, escort or no escort, back to the Citadel she goes at a brisk pace.

Rarely does anything cross that hard face of Kashtaritu's that can be construed as a smile, usually it is a mutated grimace. If the man didn't have eyes, he would doubtless have no friends, for it is a visage suited to the more crueler emotions. Such is the case now, as his hand stops mid-motion in a grab for some delicacy or other. Teeth glint in that imitation of a smile, as his eyes crinkle, a hint of hesitant softness there, as his head dips in greeting to the smile offered by Jana. A voice like the breaking of ice sounds from deep within his chest, easily cutting through the din of the crowd, as he speaks to Jana. "Greetings, a pleasant morn, no?" His head turns, the sweeping gaze taking in all of the Eden-like courtyard, and the merriment it contains. On the return his eyes attempt to catch those of Ranjeet's and assuming the manage to, he gives a nod of respect and greeting in one. His hand finally finds one of the sweeter offerings upon the table, the tip of his tongue darting out in anticipation, before he lifts it to his lips.

"Thank you, Imphadi." Chana's light voice drifts dancing to the ears of those close. Zafir nods, letting Chana handle this one.

Can she get to bite your nose off? Or pour that glass of juice you had her fetch over your head? That would be a reward Lailah would appreciate. The naraki actually tilts her head and peers down at the glass in her hand, as if considering that last bit seriously. With jaws set firmly, she keeps her lips tightly shut though, knowing nothing pleasant will come out of her mouth if she would try speaking now. The glass is held out in front of Maat, urging the woman to take it so Lailah can be on her merry way.

Naan? Pulao? Well, at least saffron is a familiar word. That must be the yellow rice stuff. Jana giggles softly at Ranjeet's words -- oh yes, that wine is definitely going to her head. She hasn't giggled in ages. But she obediently picks at some of the food, piling a bit of pakora onto the thin naan bread. Then, carefully, she takes a bite. A myriad of expressions crosses her face. Intrigue. A bit of disgust. Then pleasure. Hmm... she thinks she does like it, though she's not sure she'd admit that aloud. Confusion and concern furrow her brow as she looks up, mouth still full, and she waves at Fireheart. "Carefuw!" is slurred. Swallowing, she looks up at Kashtaritu, taken by surprise, and she offers him another, brighter smile. "Namasta, Imphadi. Yes, a fine morning. A very lovely... shelebration. Very lovely." She takes another sip of wine, then frowns a bit. The glass is almost empty. Drat. Where's another?

Fireheart passes between the massive pillars flanking the entrance to Atesh-Gah and returns to the street.

His brow rises again, offense taken that the apologies are proffered toward Adept Jana and not himself. After all, it is from the Clan Al'Samar celebration that she excuses herself from, not the mere presence of one woman. There is a soft huff of breath, that pleasant expression and demeanor darkened as Ranjeet muses to himself, Impudent candala .... what else could I expect? His gaze raises then to Kashtaritu's greeting, head bobbing in response. "Namaste," he greets, "We are pleased that you were able to attend the festivities today and hope that you enjoy yourself immensely."

Maat takes the glass from Lailah and would seem ready to allow the naraki to depart without further torture as she only says, "Ah yes, service without reward. The most honorable sort of service in the end." She leans back with the juice, but makes no move to drink the glass' contents.

Darias raises one eyebrow slightly. "Thanks? Oh no, I'll not hear of it...the privilege of your clan's hospitality and invitation is thanks enough for such a deserved accolade." That smile remains in place, eyes now resting chiefly on Chana, occasionally drifting towards Zafir.

Niamh takes a step away from the table, to feast on his meal with relative silence for the moment. Night-black eyes dart from the rather tipsy Empyrean to the sullen Naraki, trying to keep his expression neutral. But a slight frown could be seen as he takes another sip of wine.

Lailah's eyes narrow in their study of the lounging Maat. "Well, aren't you going to drink it?" She finally spurts out, frustration making her finally open her mouth again. She did go through all that trouble to get the glass for the woman, the least she could do is sip at it.

Chana-Cari nods. "Well, we owe everything to Imphadi Ranjeet." Zafir nods, shifting nervously, feet starting to hurt.

Maat says to Lailah with mock surprise lacing each word, as if she just realized her circumstance, "It would seem that my veils are an impediment to my drinking at this time. Such a pity."

Darias nods with a wry smile Zafir's discomfort, and resolves to make this short. "Do you?" his tone is slightly exaggerated, "Well, he is to be commended for arranging such a fortuitous match... May you find happiness, comfort and good company." He bows again, this time to Chana, "In whichever order you prefer." With that, he makes ready to depart.

Chana-Cari looks confused for a moment. "Oh! Seshmew didn't arrange the marriage, just the party." She grins widely, easily seen behind the veil.

Darias chuckles, "I was aware of that fact, Imphada... a simple jest at the grandiose wording of your gratitude." His tone remains light, on the edge of humorous, or perhaps lightly teasing... he also smiles a bit more broadly.

"Well lift them up, then!" Frustration seems to be getting the better of Lailah for the moment. The small fists that quiver at her sides indicate that the naraki would be all too pleased to help remove the veils from the Shakir's face, although maybe it wouldn't be quite as gently as desired. "I'm sure you're able to move at least a hand, if you only try." A pointed stare at the other woman's lazily lounging form at that.

There is a quiet break for a moment, perhaps the musicians resting their hands, though some of them rise and shift, exchanging instruments and roles. For this next piece, a pair of tabla drums are drawn out and a sitar is tuned. A young, veiled woman joins the musicians, clearing her throat as she kneels down upon a cushion beside them. And then all upon the stage is still and quiet ... waiting for one final performer.

Jana peers after Fireheart a moment, blinking, then shrugs and stops a passing servant. The empty glass is put on the tray, but another is not taken. Nope. Instead, the tray bears small cups of a dark, dark brown liquid. Kaf, it seems to be called. Well, ever one for a new sensation, Jana takes one of the tiny mugs and peers at it. Then, looking back up at Ranjeet, she smiles at him, oblivious to his discontent. "A very lovely party," she reiterates, intended as a compliment to the tailor. Then, she begins lifting the cup to her lips.

Maat fans herself with a hand to prove that she can move it. "Yes, moving the veils. An all too easy answer and suitable." She waves her juice glass about like a baton. "But why worry about my poor parched self, Lailah? Wouldn't all your worries end if I were to die of thirst?"

Niamh's eyes continue to return back to the young Empyrean, but the scowl is gone, replaced by his usual neutral expression. Somehow, the pile of food on his plate is almost gone. Well, that must be remedied. He steps back to the table, reaching for some of the lighter offerings and actually attempts to speak to the winged Delphite. "Have you tried any of the desserts yet, Im--Domina?" His voice is soft. Maybe it isn't even heard.

There is a bright call from the stage, a trumpet calling for the attention of the celebrants. The young man standing there, calls out in turn, "Gracious honored guests, we present to you, for the pleasure of your eyes and ears, the finest Kathak dancer in all of Haven." He then withdraws, many of the guests trailing down with food and drink to take a seat closer to the stage. Kathak dancing is one of the most ancient and revered forms of Varati dance, used both for religious purposes, court dancing, and storytelling.

Darias stands before Zafir and Chana, exchanging words with the bride-to-be. At the musician's announcement, he looks up and looks for... the' finest Kathak dancer in Haven.' A wry smile rests on his lips.

Lailah opens her mouth as if to say that yes, indeed she wishes nothing more than the Shakir to die a rather painful and slow death, but then she blinks, mouth shutting with a loud click of teeth. Tilting her head to one side, the naraki studies the other woman with still narrowed eyes. She walked into a trap once before, she's not going to let her temper get her into more trouble, at least not this time. Flashing a dark smile at Maat, all teeth, Lailah then spins on her heel with the intention of heading off.

Ranjeet's gaze flickers toward Jana as her slurring grows stronger, eyes narrowing delicately. "Domina ... I recommend you drink that kaf ... I suspect you need it at the moment." His gaze lifts at the announcement, and offering the slight Empyrean woman his arm, he inquires politely, "Would you care to attend the performance? It is merely one of many today. And my thanks for you compliments. It is well that you are enjoying yourself here."

Emerging from behind the curtain around the stage is a Varati woman of rather slight build and figure, shorter than most. But what she has lost in size she makes up for in exquisite beauty and a regally innate grace. A heart-shaped face has been artistically painted, the upturned wide eyes enhanced with kohl, as is the tradition for a dancer. The rest of her face is covered with a veil ... for the moment. Slender arms finish with intricately-wrought mehndi designs, on top of which the tips of her fingers have been stained a bright red, a flaring sun upon each palm. Her feet are both hennaed and painted, the tops bearing bright red suns, matching her hands. Decorative red lines have also been drawn about the edges of her feet and the soles are painted red as well. Wrapped about her ankles are a string of bells, ghungurus, worn only by women trained in the fine art of classical Varati dance -- Kathak. Her long black hair is secured behind her in a braid trailing down past her hips, decorated with delicate chains of gold and glittering gems.

Chana-Cari smiles, almost clapping as the entertainment arrives. "Oh, I have heard of the dancer Seshmew Ranjeet has gotten, She is very good." She smiles under her veils to Darias and then turns to Zafir, "Shall we get some food, while she performs?"

Dessert? There's dessert here? Jana's gaze is lifted up and around, more at the mention of that word rather than the title of Domina. She'd forgotten about sweets being served, and that certainly sounds much better than eating fire -- or vindalar, as they call it. The plate is set down, and the kaffe momentarily forgotten, and she gives Niamh a smile. "No, not yet... Perhaps later, after the... pakora..? Yes, after the pakora settles... Thank you, though. Very much." Without thinking too hard about the matter, she lays her hand on Ranjeet's arm, allowing him to lead her to someplace for a seat. Then she takes her first sip of kaffe, and she nearly chokes at the strong, thick flavor. She cannot help it when some of it goes dribbling down her chin in a fine spray.

Darias dips his head one last time to the intended couple and makes his way nearer the stage, in order to better observe the artist at work. Quite a pleasant appearance, one would hope she dances as pleasantly.

Niamh nods and takes some of the sweets... he'll probably go back to some of the heavier foods later. After the performance. Joining the crowd, he also turns his attentions to the stage, sipping occasionally at his mostly-full goblet of wine.

Stopping, partially in dismay, Ranjeet shifts, bringing Jana back to the table and firmly removing the cup from her grasp before she makes even a greater fool of herself. A linen cloth is offered to her with which to clean up her mess, none of which, blessedly, has soiled his raiment. A shudra is summoned, and simply plain lemon water ordered. "Perhaps you should find a seat in the shade for awhile, wait there till you recover yourself, Adept Jana?"

Maat makes a quiet chuckle to herself after Lailah stomps off and then looks over to the stage to watch the performance. Once the crowd has separated Lailah from her, she does dip the fruit juice under her veil and take a surreptitious sip. From the light within her eyes, it would seem that she is quite enjoying her day at the party.

Taking her place in the center of the stage, Sarasvati pays her allegiance through the shuta. With one quick motion the veil is drawn from her face, tossed back to the ground. As a dancer, her features have been as trained as her body, offering the audience insight into their emotions and their souls. Hand brushing her lips in a dutiful kiss, she reaches down to the ground touching it with her fingertips. She rises up again, showering her hands over her head to accept the blessings of Ushas and of the earth, from which comes her strength and her support. The musicians shift, preparing to perform.

Darias's eyes had been narrowing slightly as the dancer became visible... once she draws aside the veil, his eyes widen again slightly. He is almost certain it's her... well, once she dances it will be known for certain. Darias crosses his arms and simply watches.

How embarrassing. Somewhere in the depths of Jana's brain, she realizes she's made a social faux pas, and she begins to blush. Accepting the linen cloth quietly, she dabs almost viciously at her chin and neck. Mumbled words are given, most of them incoherent, but some recognizable. "Forgive me, Imphadi... Not used to this.. thank you... shade sounds lovely. Sorry..." She accepts the glass of lemon water from the shudra, and lifting her gaze once more, she searches out an appropriate place to sit and watch the dancing.

Did the Atman actually smile? It's possible as he watches the Domina make her way to a shaded place. Niamh's eyes move back to the dancer, readying his attention to stay on this for its entirety.

Never say Ranjeet Al'Samar is not a gracious host. Despite Jana's display, he once again offers her his arm upon which to rely on, a shudra sent on ahead with a rug to set beneath a shady tree. Escorting her there, he assures himself that she is settled comfortably, commanding a pillow to be brought for her back and an arrangement of mild foods, soft chali bread and cool yogurt dip with which to absorb the hot spices and oils from the food she has already consumed, easing both heart and stomach. He then shifts, standing not far off, his gaze upon the stage as well as the dancer and musicians prepare themselves

Sarasvati takes her pose, one foot lifting to touch the ground behind the other, knee crooked. One arm is curled before her, thumb and middle finger of her right hand touching. The opposite hand is its mate as it links through right circle of her fingers, chaining her arms together with the jewelry of her hands. Her legs are covered by close silwar, a deep rust red, gathered in a wide band at her ankles before they yield to the ghungurus. A wide, pleated skirt, a ghaagra, drapes down from her hips, flaring out just below Sarasvati's knees. Repeated again is the lush red silk in conjunction with a warm dun shade of ivory silk, elaborated upon with gold embroidery and detailing. An elaborated red and ivory choli is covered with a red and gold stitched orhni which wraps about her body, sari-styled, trailing out behind her back and across the front, flaring from her hip. Her head tilts to a slight angle, a smile curling her lips and a spark gleaming in her eyes. Here is the secret of her true talent, for from within the dancer comes a light, perhaps that eternal flame of her people, which illuminates her face and her body, transforming her from a mere woman into a piece of art, waiting to come to life.

Still blushing like a little lobster, Jana accepts Ranjeet's offer with a meek, embarrassed smile. Well, she'll never be invited to another Varati party, that's almost as certain as the sun setting in the west. With lemon water in hand, she eases herself down on the provided rug, taking a moment to study the bright colors woven through it. Niiiice. So absorbed is she in it that she almost forgets about the dancing, until the music brings her back to the dance. Her eyebrows arch upward at the henna paint over her feet and hands, undisguised fascination in her eyes. Neat! With a smile for the shudra, she murmurs thanks to the shudra who brings her the milder food. Too bad she can't stay, really. This is fun.

Ranjeet studies the dancer with an assessing eye. He had her audition, was pleased with her performance, but she is still something of a mystery to him. Clearly Varati, and from what she told him, extremely well trained in her area of expertise. But no Clan name. No past. Simply a member of the new Performance Guild. Innnnteresting. He takes a step closer to the stage. If she is as good as they claim, there may be much work for her here in Atesh-Gah.

Lailah seems to regain her composure as she moves away from Maat under that tree, back straightening, strides slowing to something more dignified, however dignified you are able to manage with chains linking your ankles together. The naraki moves back to the tables to pick up another tray of drinks, hardly even glancing in the direction of the dancer.

The music begins, the tabla calls out lushly in tings and throbs as the sitar drones out soft cries and underlying support for the melody to be born upon. The pace is light and fast, bright and musical. A woodwind sings out brightly, a sparkling melody like sunlight flickering upon a running river. Sarasvati holds completely still for a long moment, the anticipation rising and then slowly her arms move, making small circles before her that grow wider and wider, her hands holding their loving embrace with one another.

The wine goblet pauses as it is raised to the Atarvani's lips. His eyes are riveted to the performance, the goblet finally lowered once more.

Cassius soars in from the skies above.

Darias is no fool. Such precision of movement... such talent... such beauty. These things are not quickly forgotten. It is her. He should speak, after her actions at the gates of this very place. He thinks a long moment, and for some reason remains silent.

Between occasional sips of water and bites of yogurt-covered chali bread, Jana's attention is riveted to the dancer, watching each twirl, missing not a beat of the music. So unlike what she is used to, her eyes are wide open so that she is certain not to miss any of it. In the coolness of the shade, she begins to relax a little on her rug, leaning against the pillow at her back. And eventually, her cheeks return to a more normal color rather than that bright, embarrassing red.

Her foot comes forward, stamping the ground the bells replying to the call of the tabla's rhythm. She steps out, first to the left and then the right, her feet moving in an intricate pattern of flat steps, heels, sides of the feet, and the balls of the foot, each gesturing causing the bells about her ankles to speak, a dialogue between dancer and drums. Sarasvati's linked hands sway out before her, sweeping the air before turning to repeat the gesture to the other direction. They rise to the sky, a series of turns, three chakkar before turning to echo in the opposite direction.

As Niamh watches the dance, he closes his eyes a moment, taking in a deep breath as he reconciles some thoughts that have long been in turmoil. His eyes open again, having only missed a moment of the dance... but even that single moment seemed forever.

Chana-Cari leans fractionally against her betrothed, eyes riveted to the stage, though her hand drops to link finger with Zafir's. It would seem that this couple are at least fond of one another, if not indeed actively in love. A refreshing change from many marriages which are more about politics and power than passion.

Above the rhythm of the drums, the jangling of bells, and the murmur of conversation comes another sound -- that of distant wingbeats. They grow closer as a shape descends from a cloud-cast sky, and this is no hawk-winged halfbreed coming to roost on the stable of Atesh-Gah. An Empyrean -- and a noble one at that, judging by the clothing -- has decided to 'grace' the party with his presence. After circling thrice, Cassius chooses a clearer spot in the courtyard in which to land, and his silvery wings send a few autumn leaves skittering before folding along his back after his feet have touched the ground.

Lailah starts moving between guests with her tray once more, although this round there are considerably less hands extended to take any of the glasses offered, as most of those gathered are intent on watching the performance. The slight mongrel takes the opportunity to slink over to lean her back against one of the more obscured trees in the garden, resting for a moment.

Ranjeet's gaze is distracted by a flash of white, his head turning to note the appearance of yet another Empyrean... this time their diplomatic liaison. One brow rises, as indeed he half-suspected the man would not come. Turning, half his attention flickering back to the dancer, he makes his way through the courtyard to appropriately greet his latest guest.

Shahar steps out of the embassy and joins you in the courtyard.

Stopping her spin abruptly come center stage, Sarasvati's feet duel with the tabla in a duet, her motions too fast to see clearly, but the ring of her bells shifts and dances through the air, indicating the perfection of her steps. Her hands break apart only to cling to one another longingly, caresses and yearning stretches and undulations of her fingers recalling two illicit lovers needing to part before dawn but reaching out for one last touch, one last kiss. As they twirl about her form, her gaze follows them longingly as well, her smile bright with delight. This is nritti -- pure dance.

Cassius adjusts the folds of his chiton and smooths a hand through wind-tousled hair before lifting his head to gaze across the courtyard. Only a few months ago, he was a 'guest' here of an entirely different sort, but if unpleasant memories plague him, he keeps his expression clear of such recollections. The Seshmew of Al'Samar is noticed and greeted with a cordial tip of his head as the man approaches. "Imphadi," Cassius says, pale eyes flicking momentarily toward the stage, "it was kind of you to invite me."

If this place is to be infested by fowl this day, Darias does not seem to care; not now at any rate, not while he remains intent on the dancer. He slowly lets out a long breath, and turns away from the stage. It pains him to leave such a display of art, but leave he does. Slowly at first, but with steps of increasing speed, Darias moves towards the gates of Atesh-Gah.

The sound of beating wings is akin to the beating of her own heart for Jana, and it calls to her enough to draw her attention up and over her shoulder. Her eyes widen slightly, first in hope at the thought of a friend... then go flat grey as she recognizes that the other Empyrean is Cassius. Involuntarily, her wings and shoulders stiffen, and she turns back around quickly to finish watching the dance. Ah well. He probably wouldn't notice her anyway. And even if he did, most unlikely he'd bother her. She begins to relax again, and takes a big bite of bread.

At the wingbeats, the Atman glances up, his eyes growing darker as he sees the arrival of the newest guest. Unmoving, the priest's eyes go back to the dance, but his brow is drawn... and the wine in Niamh's goblet seems to be boiling.

Bringing hands together, bowing over them, Ranjeet greets respectfully, "Namaste, Dominus ... it is good of you to come, though in truth I would have been neither surprised nor dismayed if you had chosen otherwise. I suspect these grounds are not easy for you to tread upon. Please," he murmurs, indicating with a gracious sweep of his arm, "accept our entertainment, our food, our hospitality on this most joyous occasion. There is some sport yet to come -- the races of the hounds, if such things interest you."

Darias passes between the massive pillars flanking the entrance to Atesh-Gah and returns to the street.

Lailah lets out a small yawn behind her veil, then turns her head in both directions, black curls swaying. Is anyone watching? No? Good. One of the glasses is brought up from the tray to the naraki's own lips, and quickly the contents is gulped down her dry throat. Sighing, she then retrieves the glass to its former place on the tray. She needed that.

Unobtrusive as eight armed men and one solitary woman can be, a collection of Varati enters the courtyard from the Atesh-Gah proper, the four Agni-Haidar and the four Khalida guards surrounding the lissome figure in ivory as she progresses. As she is unveiled, Shahar's green-shot golden irises are left unfettered to flicker this way and that before she comes to an inconspicuous rest to one side of the festivities. It is the bride's day, after all.

*Dhi-te Dhi-te-Dha ghe na-dha Ti dha ghe na-Dhin na ghe na-Dha ... ti dha ti Dha .. ti Dha ti DHA!*

~Ching-ching/ring/chinga/ching - - ching-chara-chind-chara-ching-chinga-ring!~

Call and response, cat and mouse, predator and prey. Thus is the music created by the drums and bells. And then, there is an explosion of music and dance, the other instruments bursting back into the wild rhythm as Sarasvati flings herself into a series of complicated steps and spins, her feet never slowing in their own song, but merely coaxing the rest of her body to join them. Her arms whirl, palms rotating to face the earth, the heavens, then turning to face herself as she gazes into their contents as if they were mirrors which reflected her beauty back again. She then offers her hands to her audience, arms sweeping forward as if offering gifts to those who care to accept them.

So many colors and sounds -- such entertainment is unlike the more staid offerings of Empyreal dramas or tragedies. Cassius' gaze is arrested by the woman on the stage again, and then by the appearance of those eight hulking guardsmen. His wings rustle at his back; an unconscious bristling at the appearance of the Agni-Haidar, but he keeps his tone modulated and mild. "Your generosity is appreciated, imphadi. I had heard that Varati generosity was boundless." He starts heading closer to the stage and the crowd surrounding it, though doesn't seem inclined to mingle, himself. His pale gaze continually sweeps across the other party-goers, taking note of who is present.

For her part, Shahar is impassive as always, her demeanor as cool and distant as the moon for which she was named. While her guards find stances of military perfection alongside her, the Pasha sweeps her gaze methodically across the assorted denizens of the courtyard. No discernible shift in expression denotes her especial like or dislike to any one individual; she is too removed emotionally for something so base as an overt reaction. Or so it would seem.

Cassius' gaze makes another circuit of the throng, this time with an objective. He'd glimpsed a tray of goblets -- ahh, there they are. Choosing a spot not far from the stage in which to loiter and observe the festivities, the Aegian makes a subtle beckoning motion toward Lailah -- and that tray of beverages she's carrying.

For a moment Ranjeet studies the back of the Empyrean curiously, his gaze then flickering toward the amassed Agni-Haidar and the woman under their protection. It seems extreme for a social setting, but turning toward the Pasha of Haven, Ranjeet draws toward her to offer both greetings and thanks.

She turns, a five step spin, her ghaagra and orhni flaring out in the wake of her expressive hands, which lead the way with fingers that curl and undulate, pirouetting gracefully about her body. They offer the audience anything and everything, occasionally snatching back with a coy and teasing yank only to splay forth further offerings. Drawing center stage again, Sarasvati's feet become a blur, both the dance and the music reaching a fevered pitch. He hands kiss, mate, linking to one another again, binding her arms in an arching whirling circle.

*Dhi-te Dhi-te-Dha ghe na-dha Ti dha ghe na-Dhin na ghe na-Dha ... ti dha ti Dha .. ti Dha ti DHA!*

And then it is finished, her foot striking the ground behind her, arched up, her hands clasped in their lovers embrace as she recaptures her starting pose.

As the dance comes to a stirring conclusion, Jana's head lifts up, wings spreading oh-so slightly. But, recalling that others may not be able to see so clearly, she quickly ducks back down, pressing the great white limbs close to her back. She hesitates a moment, looking around... Do the Varati applaud?

Extreme as it may be, busy and bustling social situations with the Atesh-Gah's doors open (metaphorically) are invitations to trouble, and Haven's Pasha has no shortage of enemies. Shahar keeps herself and her requisite guards in a discreet locale so their presence is not as jarring as otherwise they would seem, and at the approach of Ranjeet she raises her chin and replies simply, softly, "Imphadi."

Lailah pushes herself off the tree she was leaning against, the wine giving her some new strength. Noting Cassius' motioning, the naraki's jaws set in that firm way of hers, and she starts making her way over to the Empyrean. Pulling up at his side, she stretches the tray out for him to take a glass. Wow, she's handling this serving business so well, she's almost amazed at herself. Now and then her eyes do go back to Maat and that leash she is twirling in her hands, though.

There is indeed applause, as Sarasvati bows deeply, hands before her, in respectful acceptance of the accolade. She then turns, putting her veil back on over her features before retiring from the stage to catch her breath. There will be another dance later, but now it is time for some music ... time for the celebrants to indulge in more food and wine, fresh supplies pouring out from Atesh-Gah in virtual waves. There must be close to three hundred in attendance between all the of the Varati clans and their guests, though the number waxes and wanes as people come and go from the all day celebration.

Luckily, the Atman's goblet of wine doesn't boil over. But it is set down... anyone who picks it up might be in for a slight surprise as the liquid seems to have been headed under a fire. But Niamh's eyes remain on the dancer, even after the performance has ended. Incredible.

Amidst the crowd, seeming like some castaway adrift at sea, is Kashtaritu. He had found himself a quietly shaded spot and then made like the statue he can so often resemble. But for the shallow and even rise and fall of his chest, and the fluttering of his long eyelashes, he seems as lifeless and inanimate as the bench on which he has placed his massive form. Corded arms have folded across his chest, while eyes like molten pewter watch the myriad hues and sounds flit and dance before his senses. The arrival, and the stir it causes in others, is enough to bring him out of his stoic stillness. Curiosity it seems is the key to unlock this man. As the torrent of sounds and motions wash over him like a flood, dazing his senses, Kashtaritu comes to his feet and begins to amble through tide of the beings. So does he concentrate on Ranjeet and Cassius, with what other attention he has to spare given to the whirling splash of color and motion that is Sarasvati, that he doesn't notice Lailah, or the tray she carries, and so runs right into her, sending wine, glass, and a slight, dark mongrel flying to land in a jumbled heap. Though considering the differences in height it can't be all his fault, just mostly, and there he stands, towering over the mess he has made, considering what to do about it.

Touching brow, lips, and heart, his hand drawing outward in a respectful greeting, Ranjeet purrs softly, "Pasha ... it is a singular honor. Namaste." His hands draw together, palms kissing, as he bows deeply before Shahar. "Please avail yourself to the comforts the Clan Al'Samar as to offer, and do not hesitate to request for any additional needs you may have."

And just as she thinks she's getting the hang of it all, she is sent flying through the air, tray and glasses disappearing out of her hands, wine spreading in every direction. The red beverage does not spare Cassius' clothing; a fair amount of red is sprayed to land on the material of the man's chiton, at the same time as Lailah hits ground hard a bit away. With large eyes blinking in surprise a few moments, she simply sits there, staring up at Kashtaritu and Cassius as she tries figuring out what has just happened.

"Seshmew," Shahar murmurs, an exotic trill to each syllable, "your clan does honor to the Varati of Haven and indeed to the Amir-al with such a show of joy at the coming celebration of marriage, which confirms, of course, the tenth Surah that our beloved Flame has..." She pauses as Cassius is splattered, a small falter soon passed by, "dictated to us. I give you the greetings of Clan Khalida as well and a thousand blessings upon Nefer Maat's family in this time of bliss."

Jana is one of those who begins applauding, more than happy to do so. Even as the dancer retires from the stage, the young Empyrean mage watches the woman. Now that is some nifty costume. She claps for a few moments longer, then gathers the remainder of her food and drink, briefly catching a passing servant's attention in order to hand off the dishes. Briefly, though, her brow furrows, and she looks over her shoulder through the crowd. Towards one particular Atarvani. And then towards the tripping naraki nearby. Her eyes widen in shock, and then gleam with utter delight. Oh, she'll pity poor Lailah later, that's for certain, but she is oh-so-glad she could see the Deus get drenched. Chalk it up to childish malice, but she's not done being a kid yet.

There is a sharp crack of laughter, but it is quickly gone again, the echo of it riding upon the wind. Who's to say what person was so bold as to find amusement in the moment, but it was clearly a woman's laugh, and Nefer Maat Al'Samar does seem to be shaking fractionally as she reclines beneath a tree, surveying the celebration with a keen and mirthful gaze. Ah, Lailah is clearly going to suffer for such an embarrassing display and slight. Punishment is clearly required. After all, to stain the Empyrean ambassador?! Tsk tsk. Such a disgrace cannot be overlooked.

A hand had been extended for a goblet of wine... but the goblet had never been received. At least not in the way Cassius intended. Pale eyes widen as he finds himself the recipient of a good douse of deep, red liquid, all across the front of his pristine white chiton. His eyes slowly trail downward to settle on the naraki, Lailah, somewhere in the vicinity of his feet. "Well..." he remarks, with an impressive amount of composure, given the circumstances. "Is this part of the entertainment?"

Niamh takes a step back, even though he is in no danger of being splattered with wine. His lips purse, but it is less in anger than merely trying to hold in laughter. This is just too precious. An ink-stained hand raises to cover his mouth, trying to stifle the impending laughter.

Was that a smile that flickered across Kashtaritu's face, like a flash of heat lightning? Just a quirking of his lips perhaps, nothing more before his expression is schooled to its usual sober mien. Kashtaritu, now reeking of wine and shame for having caused this little problem, lifts a hand, a single thumb drawing across the line of jaw. "I apology." Two more inadequate words were likely never uttered, and by the wild look crossing Kash's eyes for a fleeting moment, he clearly is aware of such a fact. For a moment, those grey-green eyes roam Cassius' front looking stained as if with blood, not a pleasant sight at all, and his eyes tighten for a moment. Where is Lailah? Ah yes, the slightly rumpled heap of clothing and glasses there. Salvation to be had in such a small package. Slowly his expression darkens, as he rumbles, voice clear to any near enough to hear. "Watch where you are going." He turns on his heel, anger and embarrassment battling within, and faces Maat. "It is clear that she has not been attending what you have instructed her with, Imphada. Perhaps I should....." A offer or a threat, depending on your perspective. Head nodding towards the entrance foyer, where he will have to go none the less to change.

"You are too kind," Ranjeet rumbles in response, bowing again before the Pasha. "It is to the greater glory of the Amir-al and the Varati people do we, the Clan Al'Samar, dedicate our work, our arts, our trade, and our celebration to. We are grateful to have proffered pleasure to the children of the Eternal Fire and to find that it has been received with both delight and acceptance." Raising up, his gaze flickers toward the unfortunate Empyrean and the more unfortunate mongrel. He does not miss the heavyset Varati guard that descends upon the pair, sent by Maat, knowing that it is Lailah who will suffer for this display. "Ah, if you will forgive me, it would seem that apologies are in order now ... and such actions are the province of my position. With your leave, Imphada?"

Demurely, nodding once to her own guards, Shahar replies to Ranjeet, "Actually, I believe I shall accompany you, Ranjeet."

Lailah finally seems to regain some control over herself -- at least she shuts her mouth, after sitting there gaping like some fish left on shore. The woman starts scrambling up to her feet again, the already dark color of her face having deepened several shades, her feet getting caught in skirts and tangled up in the chains around her ankles. It is a rather undignified sight indeed, and the glare that is directed up at Kashtaritu is not of the most pleasant kind.

One brow rises, intrigued, but he turns, offering her his arm in escort as is appropriate for a woman of her station. "I would, of course, be honored by your company." Ranjeet slowly approaches the poor, stained Cassius, noting that the massive guard now stands there.

It would seem that indeed Maat has done something regarding her clumsy naraki. She shakes her head at Kashtaritu's offer nothing, "You have already ... done sufficient work, imphadi. I thank you for your offer, but the situation is well in hand." Aye, and by the gleam in her eyes, the near hidden smile on her lips, she is well pleased with the outcome of this situation. More torture for her naraki. Bliss

Cassius flicks at the front of his chiton, and picks the red-stained fabric away from his chest, though it's obvious the garment is ruined. His mouth has tightened in a thin line and his eyes are ever more glacial, but still, he stoops and offers a hand to the fallen naraki. "An unfortunate accident," he remarks, "caused by a clumsy fool who didn't notice where he was going."

The guard glances toward Cassius, but with the Empyrean his duty does not lie. Glaring down at the mongrel woman, he barks low, "Get up ... Shakir Nefer Maat commands that you attend her. Now." There is the none too subtle threat there, that should the naraki choose not to walk there under her own power, she will be bodily dragged to the spot where the Shakir seats peaceably.

Shahar comes to a stop at Ranjeet's side, her guards flowing like shadows behind her, and for a moment all the Pasha occupies herself in doing is studying the destructive work of the wine on Cassius's heretofore immaculate chiton. "Well," she drawls with the barest trace of dryness, "you look very well, Deus."

The Atman's laughter is swallowed as he tries to remember to breathe. It is then that the scowl returns and the goblet is taken back up. Whether the hot wine bothers him or not, Niamh drains the contents in only a couple gulps.

Ahhh... the poor mongrel. Jana has stopped smiling now, and she only begins to shake her head. Hopefully they won't be too rough on her, though by the looks of that guard and the Shakir, it's not very likely. But maybe it's only a public display. Sniffing a bit, the Oracle's nose is drawn by the smells of more food. Hmm... she never did get her dessert that the Atarvani had mentioned. Idly meandering forward, and careful not to bump into anyone, she begins to approach the tables. And this time, she'll avoid the alcohol, too. Just plain water for her now. With a tangy twist of lemon.

Sarasvati gazes upon the performance happening, not upon the stage, but amidst the audience, eyes curious and a little dismayed. She does not relish the punishment likely to be thrust upon the poor mongrel girl, who clearly is not at fault. She bites her bottom lip silently, the events too far away for her to hear clearly what is being said. But that punishment is warranted is clear ... and clearly unfair.

Lailah takes the hand offered by Cassius and heaves herself up, then widened eyes go towards Maat under her tree, and she actually chews her lip, her stance indicating that she is ready to run for her life. She does not, however; a quick, suffering glance is shot up at Kashtaritu before she makes her way past him towards the Shakir, looking as if she's walking to her own execution.

Cassius casts a glance downward again and then, impossibly, the corner of his mouth curves in a smile. "Not my best color, Pasha, but thank you." He glances over at the looming guardsman who'd just ordered Lailah so tersely back to her 'mistress.' "Ahh, excuse me, but the naraki is not the one at fault here. The clumsiness was not hers." He motions to Lailah, already headed back toward Maat's tree, and then indicates Kashtaritu. "I believe that rather oafish fellow is the one you'll want to discipline."

Clumsy fool? Well, far worse aspersions have been cast in Kashtaritu's direction, so he takes the comment and shrugs. That added to the fact that it was a rather appropriate description causes any arguments to die on his lips. Kashtaritu then takes a few steps, after a shallow bow and another murmured apology in Cassius' direction. The difficulty of course is that Varati are never very good at bending, considering their heights and size, so he sticks out like a rather embarrassed, though mutely amused man stepping away. Whatever thoughts or comments he was intending to bring to the table our forgotten before this new incident. He stops mid-stride as he hears the accusation, and turns to quietly accept his fate, not looking at all contrite.

The guard follows in Lailah's wake. Clearly, she is not trusted to indeed not bolt. Though in her chains, it is not likely the girl would get far. Maat sits quietly beneath her tree, the leash in her hand swinging like a hangman's noose and as the mongrel girl draws close, she speaks archly. "You were warned before ... now you will suffer the punishment for your clumsiness. Down on your knees, candala."

"I am certain that justice will be served," Shahar remarks with bland reassurance, following the naraki's retreat with something resembling apathy. "Days such as this invite forgiveness, and no harm is done you. You have honored the Varati, Ambassador, by your visit." As she is ignored by those involved with soiling the Empyrean representative to her people, so too does the Pasha pay no mind to the hapless creature's fate at Maat's hands. Another clan's business, not her own.

Inclining his head, Ranjeet murmurs, "My deepest apologies, Deus, we will of course create a new set of matching clothes for you to replace these ruined ones." But the Varati's gaze is sharp, flickering to that hint of a smile upon the Empyrean's face and over to the woman at his side before shifting back. The guard cares little for Cassius' words, but Ranjeet hears them, and sighing, his hands raise. "In Varati culture, it is the naraki who is at fault. No matter the circumstances. It is a question of caste and responsibility. It is her duty not to be underfoot -- to be prepared for the actions of others and fit hers to match, not to collide and cause displeasure and damage. Do not give her another thought, Deus."

Pale blue eyes grow incrementally cooler as Cassius watches the naraki prepare to face her punishment. Once, perhaps, he would not have cared, and may have been among the first to demand discipline for the accident. But now his expression grows more severe as he takes note of the length of leather being brandished, and he is hardly mollified by either the Seshmew's or the Pasha's words. "I would view it as a personal favor," he remarks, "one of future good faith between our two people," he pauses to glance at both Ranjeet and Shahar before finishing quietly, "if you would not whip that naraki."

Oh! Right in front of everyone?! Jana grimaces at the display, hands pressing against her stomach. Yet she doesn't look away, and her progress towards the refreshment tables comes to a halt.

Lailah stops to stare at that piece of leather that is dangling from Maat's hands. Now that is just not fair. Not fair at all. Digging her heels in, the mongrel refuses to take another step. She's tried being obliging today, as Maat 'asked' her to. This just takes the cake. She doesn't seem to notice the guards behind her.

That does it. The Atman, Niamh, approaches the small gathering, Seshmew Ranjeet in particular. "Seshmew, Pasha... thank you for your hospitality, but I regret I must excuse myself." A rather pointed look is granted to the elder Empyrean. The young Atarvani has tried to remain neutral. But if he just leaves, then he won't say... or do anything drastic that could embarrass.

At Maat's nod, the girl is caught up by the nape of her neck and pushed down to the ground easily, pinned there. For thistransgression she will be likely to get a whipping. But it was not Maat's intent to do so, and leaning closer she attaches the leather in her hands to the metal clasping about the girls neck. It is not a whip, but a leash it would seem. Passing the end of it to the guard, Maat murmurs, "Tie her to the tree like the disobedient dog that she is."

"The Ambassador of the Empyreans has asked for leniency," Shahar informs Ranjeet, too quietly for the words to carry far, "and on a day of celebration such signs of forgiveness are traditional. I would not have your naraki tied to our courtyard tree, if you please."

Shahar, catching Niamh's imminent departure, then inclines her chin in polite and respectful farewell to the Atarvani.

Glancing over at the Atman, Ranjeet turns, inclining his head graciously. "You are most welcome, and we are glad of your blessings and your attendance. Namaste' Imphadi, may the Amir-al's light always shine upon you." His gaze then flicks back to Cassius, eyes turning firm. "I am not Shakir of the Clan Al'Samar, though I will, since you both request it, request leniency from Imphada Maat. Indeed, though the spilling of wine does not demand punishment, the unwillingness to obedience does ... but that is merely the opinion of a Seshmew and a true Varati. Perhaps it matters not." He turns then, heading past the pair with quiet reserve to discuss the matter with his Shakir.

Well, being tied to a tree is better than being whipped, and Jana relaxes a little. She knows which she would choose in a heartbeat. Still, she doesn't seem to keen on heading towards a dessert anymore, and as an alternative, she begins to wander back closer to the stage. Hands drifting towards her back and clasping beneath her folded wings, apparently she's decided to listen to the lively music.

Cassius picks again at the stained cloth of his chiton; by now, the wine must have soaked through, leaving his torso uncomfortably damp. He takes note of Niamh's expression and terse farewell, but does not comment on it. Instead, Shahar earns a fleeting, thin-lipped smile. "Thank you, Pasha. I should hate to have my notion of Varati generosity proven untrue." At Ranjeet's words, the smile fades, but he does at least seem somewhat satisfied that his request might be carried out.

"And on you..." The Atarvani mumbles before slipping back into the embassy proper. Most likely Niamh's going to hide out in his rooms again.

Lailah gasps as she is pushed down to the ground, staring wildly up at Maat and that leash. As it is clicked shut, the mongrel goes from silent shock to furious yelling in the blink of an eye. Cursing, screaming and kicking, she doesn't seem to take any notice of that those actions will probably only make matters worse. She did what she was supposed to do, though, this isn't fair! Well, this party turned out nicely.

Shahar's jaw firms its lines as the golden green eyes above follow Ranjeet's withdrawal with unblinking sternness. That she is displeased is well-inscribed in her forehead. "I seek to confirm the notion amongst the Empyreans that we are a people of civilization, not barbarism, Deus. To have a creature publicly disciplined on a day such as this is not the image we would have our guests take with them."

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

Well, that turned out much as Kashtaritu had expected. There was some doubt, not being a man of politics, what rules might be bent for his little misstep. Considering the importance of the person on which the results occurred. A breath he didn't even know he was holding is let out in a quiet whoosh, and a bit of tension leaks from his body, as he returns to the bench he so recently occupied. Arms once again crossing across his chest, a dark unruly scowl, to match his hair, claims his face, and narrowed eyes follow Lailah with ill intent. Though when sympathy is asked for, he doesn't seem too discomfited by the fact. Perhaps somewhere deep inside he had felt a twinge of guilt, though he knows such an emotion shouldn't be there, and it is on that which he broods in silence.

Perhaps punishment is not warranted at a public affair, but the actions the naraki displays now demand no less for their outrageousness. As he draws closer, his face dark with displeasure and what can only be a hideous blemish upon the day, Ranjeet softly confers with Shakir Maat, the guard holding Lailah to the ground lifting her to her feet and restraining her both bodily and vocally, a massive hand clamping over her screaming mouth. Another guard draws close to assist if need be.

"Yes..." Cassius murmurs his quiet agreement to Shahar's comment. "Such incidents can be... unpleasant." The words would likely go unheard amidst Lailah's curses, though the naraki is soon silenced by the intervention of the guard's hand. Cassius watches dispassionately; expressionless now but for the iciness in his pale blue eyes. Turning deliberately away from the sight, he seeks out the stage again, waiting to see if the festivities will commence after the unfortunate interruption.

After a moment of quiet consultation, Ranjeet rises, approaching the held mongrel, catching up the leash and removing it. Softly it would seem that he whispers to her, though it is unclear what is said.

Lovely music. Hum de dum. Hum hum. Jana also keeps her back to the unfortunate naraki's display of rebellion, her attention only on the performers. Most especially she studies the flautists, envy in her eyes as she watches their fingers dancing over the delicately-crafted instruments.

Likewise turning away from the scene with the mongrel, Shahar addresses Cassius directly now, regret laced in her tone. "I believe we may have something suitable for you, Deus, rather than your damp chiton in the autumnal breezes. If you would go with me but a moment...?"

"Ah, thank you," answers the Aegian as he glances down again. "I suppose it wouldn't do for me to resemble a rather slovenly drunkard at such an auspicious event." His mild humor seems restored, and Cassius nods his head toward the embassy. "After you, Pasha."

It is indeed fortunate that the bulk of the celebrants either did not witness the unpleasant event, or have chosen to turn a deaf ear and a blind eye to it. For the Seshmew of the Clan Al'Samar, however, it remains an irreversible stain upon the day. Turning away for a moment, he signals to the Master of the Hounds to ready the dogs for the race. Soon there is the sound of soft baying, lean racing dogs from a number of the Varati clans emerging from the kennels, heading toward the track.

Lightly, Shahar responds, "Or a slovenly Deus. This way, Dominus." Gathering up the immaculate silk of her sari, she strides glassily toward the embassy, two of her guards pausing to escort Cassius within. Familiar faces, these guards.

Lailah continues trying to break away from the guard's hold on her, until Ranjeet leans in to remove the leash and speak to her. The woman first stiffens, then, a few moments later, visibly relaxes, limp in the guard's hands. It is likely she would have fallen to the ground once more, would she not have been held up by the large Varati. All the resistance seems to have drained from her body.

With a minor twitch of his wings after taking note of Lailah's sudden lack of spunk, Cassius follows the Shakir of Clan Khalida through the formidable entrance of Atesh-Gah.

Shahar and Cassius ascend the stairs to Atesh-Gah's sturdy double doors, allowed past by the ever-present Agni-Haidar.

What is this? New entertainment? Jana's head swivels in the directions of the dogs, eyebrow arching upwards as she, like so many others, begins to meander around to the track. A slight smile is mustered to her lips, and lightly humming a more basic version of the tune the musicians currently play, she takes up a position to watch the action.

Ranjeet holds for a moment before murmuring again to Lailah softly. Then he turns, heading down toward the track to officiate the race, his robe fluttering out behind him as he makes his way across the courtyard to the outer edge.

Lailah frowns as she listens to the Seshmew's words, already starting to regain some of her usual strength now as the first shock -- along with that hateful leash -- is gone, straightening her back and lifting her chin as much as possible as she is still held by that guard. A small, barely visible nod is the reply to Ranjeet's words before he draws away. The look in her eyes is far from meek, though.

The dogs bark excitedly, each bearing the color of their clan as they are lined up. Royal blue and silver for Clan Al'Samar. Red, gold and blue for Clan Khalida. Crimson and black for Clan Behzad. Navy-blue and silver for Clan Messala. Gold and white for Clan Suiliman. Black and gold for Clan Kazim. Green and gold for Clan al'Turgit. And purple and ivory for Clan bin Ushas. The dogs squirm restlessly, but all wait until Ranjeet has arrived and climbed up to the top of the viewing tower, so that he might see and judge accurately the results. Pennons fly brightly as trainers hold their dogs steady.

Jana has absolutely no idea what the differing colors mean which mark the dogs, so she remains rather quiet as she watches. A bit lost in the proceedings. However, she does not allow the cacophony of the crowds nor the tantalizing aromas of food to distract her.

The white flag is raised and dropped abruptly, handlers releasing their dogs, who spring from the line, flying down the track with ever increasing speed and grace. Long legs extend out, and a roaring cheer breaks from the crowd. Money has already been exchanging hands ever since the dogs came out, but now it is traded fervently, Varati voices crying out impassioned with the thrill of the race, the excitement of the wager. Each Clan it would seem is deeply stanched in the reputation of their own. For there is something that an outsider would not understand or necessarily know. Whichever dog wins this race, whichever Clan that may be, all the other Clans will forfeit up their dogs, losing not only valuable breeding stock, but in most cases, their best racing dogs. Much is at stake and the voices crying out encouragements and curses reflects that value.

Valin'dovev passes between the heavy stone pillars that flank the entrance to Atesh-Gah, and joins you in the courtyard.

Jana blinks at the vehemence in the cries in the Varati people, clearly taken aback. Again, this is nothing like she is used to. Briefly lifting her eyes away from the racing dogs, she studies the people. No, these aren't the same, stony men and women she usually sees on the streets. Very animated. Or as she has overheard someone say, full of fire. Musing on these thoughts, the young Empyrean girl's attention drifts back to the racing hounds.

As one of the higher ranking persons in Al'Samar, one would think Valin'dovev wouldn't drink on this occasion. But oh... that's so far from the truth. In fact, the huge Varati man is holding a /keg/ of ale in his left hand, and is drinking from it. Some mug eh? Amazingly enough, he doesn't even seem in the last bit fazed by the alcohol.. After all, would a kshatri allow himself to be drunk in public? Never!

Clan Al'Samar is out in front, a lucky break it would seem, and only due to the fact that the dogs of the al'Turgit and Behzad clan have decided they feel more inclined to fight than race. Side-betting on that little event starts up with a roar, hands and scarves dancing in the air as the dogs vanish behind the structure of Atesh-Gah only to burst about the other side after a few minutes. It would seem that the odds have changed again, the Clan Khalida hound drawing forward, a length ahead of Al'Samar.

Jana simply remains quiet as she watches, craning her neck forward to peer as far as she can after the hounds coursing around the track. She would cheer if she had a clue as to what was going on, but frankly, she's lost. At least she's smiling, though, seeming to enjoy herself.

Valin'dovev doesn't seem to be interested in betting, as he lifts the keg to his lips and drinks, not spilling anything either. He moves slowly through the crowd, most moving out of the way because of his size, the others moving away because of his rank.

The first lap is completed, the crowd roaring in delight as some of the bets have already been lost or won. Gold and silver coins ring in the late afternoon air as they trade hands and owners. Then suddenly, there is a roar for the dog from the Clan Suiliman pulls out and pulls forward, gaining on the other dogs with great strides. No surprise this, since the Clan Suiliman is known for their animal husbandry ... more in the area of horses and steeds of war, but it would seem that expertise shows. The slender dog flies as if wyvern were upon its tail until soon it is neck and neck with Clan Al'Samar's dog, a length behind Clan Khalida. Ranjeet leans forward from his high perch, keeping track of the animals.

Rabi comes down the stairway leading into the Atesh-Gah proper, a faint and slight-looking woman except for the enormous full-moon curve beneath her heart. One hand rests on her pregnant belly; the other cradles a silk-wrapped bundle in the crook of her elbow. Silk shimmers around her ankles, now and then revealing the sight of one slippered toe or the other as she moves. Her hands are undecorated and she makes no sound as she walks -- no jewelry bangles to make music as she moves, no adornment but for a single and modest blue diamond that rides her forehead on its golden chain. She immediately finds herself, of course, at the edge of a cheering, jumping, shouting, swearing, laughing crowd of (mostly) Varati and beyond the bellows of animals. She rises up on her tip-toes and catches sight of Ranjeet and a hidden smile changes the shape of her eyes. Looking around, she sees the parade animals: there's no hope of her getting through the crowd to see the race. But /elephants/, sweet Ushas... the small woman finds herself drawn in that direction.

Jana stands at the edge of the track, peering down the course as the dogs race on by. The odd one out, she is a pale, unveiled Empyrean amongst a sea of dark-skinned Varati. Looking lost in regards to the significance of the colors that each animal wears, she nonetheless seems excited -- perhaps due to the influence of the crowd around her. The thought to ask someone for advice does strike her, but after a quick glance around at the somewhat... intimidating people... well, it may not be such a wise idea.

The two fighting dogs have been drawn off to the side of the track, and much to the disappointment of the bettors, pulled apart before there is a definitive victory one way or the other. Money is exchanged again along with sullen sighs and bitter commentary on the mistake of "altering the natural way." In other words, for breaking up the fight.

Valin'dovev pauses for a moment to watch the dog races, before he turns away and sits down. He begins to sip more from his tankard, looking over all the things his management was able to bring to Al'Samar and the party.

Zuhayr steps out of the embassy and joins you in the courtyard.

In quieter pursuits than their male counterparts, it would seem like a large number of women have started a contest of their own. An artists' one. Of course it was arranged and planned, but it seems like a sudden birth of art. Paints and thick rice is pulled out and mixed in pots of different colors. It is a contest, no doubt about it, just not as impassioned as the Race of the Hounds. The women mix and then start to paint the massive walkway with large elaborate images known in the Varati culture as rangoli designs. With surprising skill and deft hands, giant paisleys, mandalas, and flowers are born upon the flat stone walkway. Each clan is represented here ... and their work will be judged. There is room also for children who are learning or simply the curious. Everyone is invited to make their mark, though they do pause on occasion to glance through the massive crowds, trying to see which dog is leading the race now.

The Nayaka's woman is immediately distracted from the elephants, for what animal can compare to the art of a human hand? An animal-handler would argue, but Rabi is an artist in her own right. But not of this delicate and beautiful art and she stands on the sidelines, watching with huge golden eyes as wonders unfold on the courtyard's flagstones. Valin'dovev seems content with simply sitting for the time being, not noticing anyone worth his time speaking to.

Zuhayr appears, at long last, and to the relief, perhaps, to some of the Atesh-Gah's denizens. To the dread of some others, too, but appear he does, arms folded across his massive chest as the race proceeds below him. Dark eyes consider both races with equal impassivity.

Watching from her corner by the stage, Sarasvati stays wisely out of the way, catching no one's attention now that she is no longer performing. And she prefers it thusly. She watches everything about her though with a hungry gaze, drinking it all in as if her eyes were lips, the touch of water a mere memory to them.

Cassius steps out of the embassy and joins the group in the courtyard.

Cassius emerges from between the massive pillars that mark Atesh-Gah's entrance, his pristine white chiton exchanged for silwar and a tunic of royal-blue, with adjustments made to allow for the breadth of his wings. He is alone at the moment, having gone ahead of the Pasha and her guardsmen, and so his presence as one of the only winged guests in the courtyard is all the more noticeable.

The second pass is made, the crowd howling with delight and dismay as more bets are lost and won, the sound of money changing hands punctuating the air with bright rings and chimes. But what is this? Clan Al'Samar's dog as managed to pull in front of Clan Khalida?! There is great hue and cry as the dog makes great strides, the crowd moving as one as the follow the racing hounds.

Shahar steps out of the embassy and joins you in the courtyard.

Valin'dovev continues to drink quietly from his keg of ale, his eyes looking around the room. They pause on the other large Varati here, before he inclines his head respectfully to the bodyguards of the God-King. Other than that, he's duly unimpressed with the others here.

A multitude of incredible patterns and images is blossoming off to one side, born of colored rice: paisleys, abstract patterns, vegetation, mandalas, all worked in measured areas by women of different clans. Like rugs, perhaps, or tapestries, growing color by color, bit by bit. Children, too, work in their own focused fashion, along with other women come new to the art. And the artisans have their own onlookers, mostly female. Rabi is one of these. She tilts her head, wide eyes full of all of the gorgeous designs. And all of them without a touch of writing. But then again, that is a man's domain; she is reminded of her alienness. Still, what she sees is completely beyond her own abilities and she is both amazed and inspired by it.

Then Cassius will have to pass Zuhayr, for the Kaimakam does not step aside for him. Nor does he step off the staircase, preferring, perhaps, the vantage point that being above the courtyard affords him. There are others, as well, clad in black and watching as stoically, members of the Agni-Haidar, positioned around the courtyard, out of the racers' way, as motionless as statues.

As Cassius proceeded while she was detained within, Shahar emerges alone from the embassy (insofar as one can be alone with eight guards) and pauses to take stock again at her surroundings. As would happen, her eyes find and focus on Rabi, perhaps not altogether kindly. Which is entirely uncharacteristic.

Cassius' mood seems subdued, and he takes note of the current goings-on in an abstracted fashion. His gaze is caught by the colorful patterns being created along one of the walkways within the courtyard, and so he almost collides with Zuhayr, positioned directly in his path. Almost, but not quite; it would be difficult to miss the Kaimakam, after all. He sidesteps at the last moment, murmuring, "Ahh, pardon, imphad--" And then he glances up, and happens to realize who it is. The words die away.

Ignorance is bliss, and Rabi is blissfully aware of only the beautiful patterns taking life under the skilled hands of clan craftswomen, and of the charming designs taking form under the amateurish hands of children still new to the craft. Most of the patterns are traditionally specific to each Clan and she wanders about the edge of the workers, noting them, wondering silently about them. Each has a history and story, passed along from generation to generation along with the images within. /Like the soul of a Clan, expressed through art, and constant through the ages,/ she thinks, and smiles. It heartens her to see such expression of Varati culture, and specifically of women's culture.

It is perhaps fitting that the Clan of the day shall have the Hound of the day, but fate is not always so generous. With a sudden burst of speed, the Clan Suiliman's hound leaps forward, a blinding streak of black fur and his clan colors, shooting past the struggling dogs of Khalida and Al'Samar to win the race in a brilliantly trained move worthy of the finest of strategist. The crowd goes wild, no matter what the clan, cheering on this fine specimen as it crosses the finish line, the red flag swirled upon the air by Ranjeet Al'Samar declaring it the winner. There is much grumbling in the wake though, trainers collecting their dogs, now prizes for the Clan Suiliman. A loss of not only good breeding stock, but for many, their finest racers. But, such are the stakes with the Varati -- high and oft times harsh.

Valin'dovev passes between the massive pillars flanking the entrance to Atesh-Gah and returns to the street.

Zuhayr looks over his shoulder at Cassius' aborted apology. Recognition slips into darker eyes, as well, and the Agni-Haidar unfolds his arms, slowly. "Imphadi," he rumbles lowly, "is appropriate."

While a pressing desire to hold discourse with her akraba inspires Shahar to study Rabi and her meanderings, and interest in the hounds' racing lures her focus toward the track until the Suiliman beast takes the day, it is the confrontation between Zuhayr and Cassius that demands Shahar's attention. Toward them she walks, soft-paced, eyes just narrowed.

Rabi laughs reflexively at the huge roaring of sound that erupts at the race's conclusion; she turns to look out over the stamping, jumping, cheering mass before returning her attention to the growth of a particular complicated and delicate pattern of jasmine. One might almost discern words in the curves of leaf and flower. Almost. Rabi's mind puts them there and a different pattern takes shape in her imagination, a prayer hidden in greenery to reward the observant.

Climbing down from his perch, Ranjeet rubs at his eyes for a moment before heading over to the triumphant clan, offering the Master Trainer a bow of respect and the additional prize money in a black silken bag. Turning then he heads toward the tables of food, strolling as he does so along the walkway of art, his eyes the elaborate designs with interest and delight. On occasion he even stops, studying the work of lines and color carefully. After all, he is an artist too, and inspiration can be drawn from many sources, even the hand of a woman.

Amineh steps out of the embassy and joins you in the courtyard.

The surrounding festivities fade into the background for the length of time that Cassius stares up at Zuhayr, and his wings -- almost completely healed now -- twitch in remembrance of the whipping he received at the Kaimakam's hands. It is not often that any real emotion forces its way past the Aegian's aloof facade, but Zuhayr, at least, would be witness to the subtle working of his throat, the widening of his pale blue eyes, and the way he takes one abrupt step backward. His smooth orator's tones are marred by the faint catch in his voice. "My... apologies, imphadi," Cassius says to the Agni-Haidar. "I did not see you. Excuse me." No subtle air of mockery now, or pretended affability; it would appear that the hulking Kaimakam has the intended effect. The emotion that so briefly rose to the fore was fear.

And the Nabi arrives just in time to see the kafir put in his place by the good Kaimakam? Ah, the day is truly blessed. Crimson silk whisper-whickers as Amineh moves down the steps, flanked by two of her Akhund, and gives a slow, studied glance over the celebrations before her.

Shahar steps to Cassius's side without hurry but without hesitation, a whisper of silk proclaiming her arrival and the subtle motions of her sari. "Kaimakam," she greets faintly, a hoary sheen to her words. "I trust you are well this blessed day."

Rabi steps back to make sure that the women of Clan Kazim have plenty of room in which to do their gorgeous, patterned work. She glances up and sees the solid, comforting form of Zuhayr guarding the Embassy. And there is Cassius again; her brows knit beneath their silken veiling. She sees Shahar beyond and quickly returns her gaze to the artwork, concentrating on lovely shapes and colors which, for a moment, she does not see. Then peace returns as the artistry fills her mind.

"Mmph." That's an acceptance of the apology, or at the least as much of one as Cassius will get from Zuhayr. Shahar's next into his sight, and this time he bows respectfully, answering, "I am as well as I have ever been, Imphada Pasha. Perhaps more so." Ebon eyes drift briefly toward Cassius as he straightens, then back again. "I trust that you are the same."

Pausing close to the jasmine design that so entranced Rabi's gaze, Ranjeet draws toward the pregnant woman, offering her a formal greeting, his hand touching brow, lips, and heart, extending out toward the woman with genuine warmth and pleasure. "Imphada Rabi ... it is a delight to see you here. I hope that you are enjoying the festivities?" Shifting he glances back up the walkway, which is coming to life with art just as the dull grey hide of the elephants had been decorated for the parade earlier, a few of the massive pachyderms still lingering for examination and impressive value. "You see that I have labored to leave no one out of the festivities," he murmurs, indicating with one hand the contest in progress.

A muscle tics in Cassius' cheek as his jaw clenches; either at the Pasha's timely arrival, or Zuhayr's casual dismissal of his apology; indeed, of his very presence. Tucking his ruined, wine-stained chiton more securely beneath his arm, Cassius gives an abbreviated nod to the Kaimakam, and a deeper one to the Pasha. "Excuse me," he interrupts in a low, unassuming tone, "I believe I shall take my leave. Thank you for your generosity, Pasha. It was appreciated." And then he steps around Zuhayr and continues down the steps, seeking out Ranjeet among the crowd so that he might thank the one who invited him in the first place.

Rabi bows a respectful greeting, although it is not quite as deep as tradition would require. But then again, traditional also requires that women give to their men as she is giving to hers, so the slight on the one hand might be forgiven in light of the huge curve that has so hampered her show of respect. She straightens, finally able to see the detail of Ranjeet's clothing, and gazes at the attire with frank admiration for his own artistry. She dips her head in acknowledgment of his words and shifts the silk-wrapped bundle from the curve of her left arm to both hands, offering it to the tailor.

Shahar's response to Zuhayr is delayed by her observation of Cassius's departure, its result a frown on her unveiled features, then to the Kaimakam she murmurs, "Yes, I fare well, though I confess I miss my husband. Blessed I am that the Amir-al so needs his services, yet I would have him here more often."

Henna patterns writhe on wrinkled hands as Amineh gestures slightly to one of her Akhund; the man steps forward, inclined slightly to listen to the quiet, crisp syllables that follow. Some sort of question, perhaps, for her eyebrows lift in a silent 'Is that not so?' The Akhund seems a bit startled, and gives a look to his compatriot before nodding to the unheard words and permitting a quiet chuckle. The Nabi made a joke? Surely impossible. Her attention moves through the crowds, lingering finally on Ranjeet. She doesn't approach... yet. Simply observes, as Cassius nears the Seshmew.

Brow rising up curiously Ranjeet reaches out to accept the silken package from Rabi, inquiring softly, "What is this?" He seems puzzled as well as charmed, uncertain if the gift is for him or the betrothed couple. Should he open it or present it to another?

From out of the crowds re-emerges Jana, looking mostly content as she holds a small dish in her hands. Some sort of creamy, sweet and spiced dessert rests in a little bowl, and it is being devoured with relish by the young Empyrean. Playing the role of a wallflower, she wanders about, admiring the decorations and staying out of the way.

Since her hands are now free, Rabi is free to bring forth her slate from under the long veils that conceal her face and torso. She steps closer to Ranjeet, the stone hidden between her form and his.

Zuhayr's chin dips, a nod of agreement. "It would be good to have him here, Imphada." He crosses his arms over his chest again, and shifts his weight back onto his heels. The Kaimakam, it would seem, as planted himself.

Cassius makes his arduous way through the crowd toward where he last glimpsed Ranjeet, while standing upon the steps. Unfortunately, the Seshmew is occupied by the time the Aegian manages to locate him, and so Cassius stands idly by, training his gaze out over the other sights to be seen within the embassy's courtyard. Elephants are a rare sight indeed, and so the Empyrean treats the massive beasts to the focus of his stare.

She is all his ... so to speak. Ranjeet's full attention is shifted to Rabi and the slate she brings up between them. Further more, he plants his hands upon his hips, adding further visual distraction to any who might try to peer what is occurring between the Seshmew and the Nayaka's consort. His head bobs up and down and graciously he murmurs, "You are too kind and generous ... no gifts were necessary, and thus yours will be valued and cherished all the more for your thoughtful nature. My thanks to you on their behalf, Imphada."

A blush like hot bronze dusts Rabi's cheekbones, edging the curves of her cheeks which are outlined by her silk. There is a pause, a hesitation, before she looks up at Ranjeet's face again.

With some understandable regret, Shahar informs Zuhayr, "Duties do not allow me much time without the embassy without purpose, so I will take my leave." She casts a last glance in the direction the Empyrean ambassador took, then, with a final bobbed bow of her head and no further words, she quits the courtyard entirely.

Pausing again before a potted plant, Jana looks this way and that at it, cocking her head to study this most fascinating thing. Then, shrugging, she dips her spoon into the creamy mixture, swirling it about a bit before slipping it into her mouth. Yum. She begins to wander back towards the refreshment tables now, attention briefly wandering towards the many Varati faces. Did they know they all look alike?

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

"Thank you, Imphada," Ranjeet murmurs softly. He would kiss her hand, but such attentions would draw the wrong kind in attention and conclusions. He waits until the tablet is safely hidden before stepping back. "I would be honored if you would act as the judge in this competition? I have not found a woman I felt was worthy of the task, and I know I can trust you to be unbiased in your judgment." His hand of course drops to indicate the rangoli designs that she has been studying.

The appearance of wings glimpsed within the throng drags Cassius' attention away from the elephants, and at last he notices Jana, so absorbed with her creamy delicacy. It takes him a moment or two to recognize her (the last time he saw her, he wasn't quite in the right frame of mind), but once he places those youthful features, he calls out a greeting to the Delphite. "Domina," he says, "I did not expect to find you here."

Rabi blinks and touches her hand to her heart, eyes wide. She looks out over the designs with alarm and finds herself the object of the gaze of some of the women closer by -- women who have happened to overhear Ranjeet's statement. Some of them have that frowny look to them: Rabi is, after all, a most unconventional artist to those who know her station as Khalid's only female scribe.

Jana stops dead in her tracks, the spoon halfway to her mouth as the Deus calls out to her. Uh oh. Looking around, she quickly spots the winged man amongst the others. A polite smile is mustered up, though she has some difficulty in hiding her uneasiness. Great. Just great. Wings and shoulders tensing, she shuffles forth to approach and deliver polite words. "Ave, Deus Augustin... I suppose this is a day full of unexpected events. You are well, I hope?"

The musicians ascend the stage again, now that the race and the chaos of it has died down. It is time for music once again ... and dancing! Yes dancing. Sarasvati climbs the stage as well, a gleaming vision of emerald silwar, violet ghaagra skirt and choli, an emerald orhni crossing from shoulder to hip, all elaborated upon in detailed gold embroidery. She is a piece of jewelry, gleaming in the light of the setting sun as she takes her place. A heart-shaped face has been artistically painted, the upturned wide eyes enhanced with kohl, as is the tradition for a dancer. The rest of her face is covered with a veil ... for the moment. Slender arms finish with intricately wrought mehndi designs, on top of which the tips of her fingers have been stained a bright red, a flaring sun upon each palm. Her feet are both hennaed and painted, the tops bearing bright red suns, matching her hands. Decorative red lines have also been drawn about the edges of her feet and the soles are painted red as well. Wrapped about her ankles are a string of bells, ghungurus, worn only by women trained in the fine art of classical Varati dance -- Kathak. Her long black hair is secured behind her in a braid trailing down past her hips, decorated with delicate chains of gold and glittering gems.

A good deal of the children are distracted from their artwork attempts by the noise on the stage. Dancing! A whispering and chattering flows through them, a tide heralding the change of their attention. Many of the women, too, are distracted, although they only peek up periodically as they continue this all-important work. Their Clans' honor is at stake, after all.

A brief glance is cast over his shoulder, toward the steps of Atesh-Gah where Zuhayr still resides -- and where the Pasha departed from moments ago. Expression inscrutable, Cassius turns back to his fellow Empyrean, and remarks frankly, "I have had better days, domina. But then, I have also had worse ones. I hope you are enjoying yourself?" His pale eyes make a quick circuit of the courtyard, lingering on the bright designs created by the Varati women, the impressive pachyderms situated off near the garden, the musicians and the dancer on stage, and the general turn-out of brightly-garbed citizens that have come to attend this event. "Many things to see," he murmurs.

For the most part, the Agni-Haidar watch the dancer as impassively as they watch anything else. For the most part. There is one janizar, a new arrival from Masada, who watches with a little more enthusiasm than his brothers-in-arms, going so far as to smile. A little. Noticeable only by contrast with those around him. Women, one must understand, are not a part of an Agni-Haidar's training.

Taking her place in the center of the stage, Sarasvati pays her allegiance through the shuta. With one quick motion the veil is drawn from her face, tossed back to the ground. As a dancer, her features have been as trained as her body, offering the audience insight into their emotions and their souls. Touching her lips in a dutiful kiss, she reaches down to the ground touching it with her fingertips. She rises up again, showering her hands over her head to accept the blessings of Ushas and of the earth, from which comes her strength and her support. The musicians shift, preparing to perform.

"Oh, well, yes, I am quite enjoying myself," Jana replies quietly to Cassius, her words said only loud enough to be heard over the ruckus. The pudding in her hands is glanced at, then with a twist of her lips, she apparently decides she doesn't want it anymore. The bowl is handed along to a passing shudra servant, the girl casting the Varati a faint smile. Then, hands drifting to clasp at her back, she says to the Deus, "I must admit I have never seen anything quite so... opulent. Very rich."

"Do you accept?" inquires Ranjeet, certainly not wishing to force the duty upon her. "I will be neither offended nor dismayed if you choose not to Imphada ... I will simply have my work cut out for me to find an impartial judge of the work. Already, though it was a decisive win, there has been much displeasure with my decision upon the race." His tone is light, though, amused and unalarmed. This contest has less at stake ... less to lose.

Sarasvati takes center stage again, her arms raising up to curl one in front of her, the other over her head, one foot pointed upon the ground before her. The sitar sings out first, droning and seductive with its lazy halftones, and ever so slowly her leg lifts. The tabla roll in next, undulating banya lightly percussed with the smaller tabla drum. She holds perfectly still, that leg rising, rising, rising to crook before her, toe pointed, then slowly flexing out. It's a testimony to her muscle control. While that leg shifts, her arms begin to dance, swirling slowly and seductively to intertwine about one another like mating birds before breaking apart to switch positions. And yet her body is perfectly still ....

Rabi hesitates, looking out over the artworks -- and finding even more eyes upon her. She swallows: Ranjeet may not find such a thing a heavy burden but she does; she is part of the women's culture that will swallow her whole if she judges this wrongly... and with her lack of expertise in this particular art form. But then again, it is /Ranjeet/ who is asking, and she is very fond of him; he may not be dismayed, but she is at the thought of leaving him in the lurch. And so she nods, accepting the challenge, and drops a very shallow (pregnant) curtsey before clasping her hands to keep from wringing them.

Cassius indicates his agreement with a nod. He bunches his wine-stained chiton into one hand while clasping both behind his back. Those silver-white wings -- which make him stand out so markedly from the crowd and which, of all the party-goers, only he and Jana seem possessed of -- twitch against his back before settling once more into stillness. Leaning down a touch, he asks in a more conspiratorial tone, "So, did you raid the party just for the food, or are you here in a more official capacity?"

Turning to the women assembled and working, Ranjeet declares firmly and loudly, "So it is decided that Rabi Imar Ashtar, scribe to Khalid Atar, shall hereby judge these works with a wise and impartial eye. None shall question her judgment, for to question her authority is to question my own." It would seem he is not completely unaware of the politics amongst women. His hand rests for a moment upon Rabi's shoulder before he turns to her with a wide smile. "My thanks, Imphada."

Jana cannot help but smirk, averting her eyes to gaze down at her toes hidden beneath the heavy kaftan's folds. Well, that question had taken her by surprise. So the Deus has a sense of humor when he's not drunk? Looking back at the older man slowly, she answers in a carefully-controlled, polite tone of voice. "Though their cuisine is a tempting reason to visit, I must admit I came in a more official capacity. Clan Al'Samar saw fit to invite me as well as the Estrella, as I am acquainted with a few of its members."

Rabi blushes again lightly and bows her head once again, accepting both words and burden. As Ranjeet is undoubtedly putting aside more important tasks for this passing of responsibility, she remains still until he is gone, then shifts back into the background where she can keep an eye on the work that is being done. How ever will she judge all this? She finds that a pathway has been made for her between the outermost ring of works and the watching crowd of women. She walks it slowly, mindful of the weight riding her hips that robs her of her grace and yet gives her added status.

From within the embassy exits Khalil straight into the celebrating. He stops abruptly as though he did not know about it, yet how could anyone live and not know? With a rather sour look and a slow exhale of breath he takes the steps down into the courtyard slowly, his attention focused on the gates ahead. Khalil takes only a few moments to bow respectfully to those who notice him, but that is all the time he takes. There is a definite need for him to leave this place despite the joyous feelings that sweep through. But there will be none of that for this Agni-Haidar not while he is still breathing and no one will stop him.

Silvery brows lift in mild surprise; surely Cassius could not have overlooked the fact that Jana was clad in an indigo kaftan to mark her position within Delphi, but amid all the other brightly-garbed guests, he may not have noticed. He scrutinizes Jana more closely, noting the studs in her collar that mark her as an Oracle, and his brows lift higher. "Well well," he comments. "I am impressed. And duly chastised." Then, mouth quirking, he indicates his stained chiton and remarks, "For my part, I came for the wine. And got plenty of it."

Nodding in farewell, Ranjeet continues his passage toward the tables of food, drawing closer to the winged pair, though his gaze flickers to the stage curiously, glad to see that now things have quieted down some there is renewed entertainment for the masses. Her foot lowers to the ground, and as the lazy beat of the tabla picks up, Sarasvati echoes it, stepping lightly from foot to foot, a strange stamping kind of step that is integral to classical Varati dance. The bells upon her ankles ring out with each step, her hands swirling about her, again twisting and mating with one another as she spins about. Knees bend, feet flex. It is the dance of enticement .... as age old as the Varati themselves. Her eyes speak volumes as she offers the most seductive dance that this tradition has to offer. Perhaps it is simply her favorite, for it does demonstrate all the skills of a developed dancer. A piece done to impress as much as to please.

Jana's smile widens a little, unable to hide the pleasure upon receiving a compliment from the infamous Deus. "I thank you, though I assure you I did not mean to chastise you, Deus. I have little reason for that." The girl trails off a moment, expression going blank for a moment, and briefly, she glances aside at the approaching Ranjeet. A faint smile is given him, though she says nothing in greeting quite yet. Her grey eyes flick back to observe the Empyrean man, and she says, "I saw the accident... Quite unfortunate, but it seems all worked out well enough in the end."

Amar passes between the heavy stone pillars that flank the entrance to Atesh-Gah.

"I should hope so," murmurs Cassius to Jana in an undertone. "It is humbling, being at the receiving end of a whip." His feathers twitch again, though he does not turn to glance at the Agni-Haidar upon Atesh-Gah's steps. Instead, raising a beckoning hand to Ranjeet, he calls, "Imphadi, I would like to thank you for your cordial invitation."

Khalil passes between the massive pillars flanking the entrance to Atesh-Gah and returns to the street.

Jana slowly folds her arms over her chest, studying Cassius with renewed curiosity. Maybe a hint of respect? Inconceivable. Well, maybe. It's more likely just the polite expression she's got plastered on her face. She seems to have nothing to say in reply to the man's words, though her demeanor suggests she could agree with him, even if she has no experience to base her opinion. Turning aside again, she gives Ranjeet a small, welcoming smile.

Amar is, for once, without his heavy backpack.. His tunic hangs loose, and his vest is unbuttoned completely. His steps have a... slight sway to them, as if balance is perhaps a bit of a struggle for him somewhat.. His lips are curled upwards slowly towards one corner in a lop-sided, distracted drink, and his grey blue eyes are somewhat in a... haze... Yes, all the symptoms of someone having had quite an amount to drink.

His path is altered to intersect with the Empyrean pair, his g