Date: December 6, 1999
Place: Courtyard - Atesh-Gah - Haven
Cast: Majidah, Niamh
Scene: Majidah works her wiles on an unsuspecting priest -- and though he might wield the elements, he's completely out of his element when confronted with a beautiful -- and flirtatious -- young woman.

Courtyard - Atesh-Gah - Haven:
      If indeed the Hebrew folk of lost Earth are correct in their legends, then this must be the legendary garden from which mankind was expelled. The flat expanse of the great courtyard of Atesh-Gah is covered in the most luxurious grass of bright emerald green, broken only by a cobblestone path for riding and walking to prevent wear upon the lawn. Rich copses of carefully tended wood grow by the walls, lovingly groomed flower gardens acting as a barrier of color before the rising trees.
      Perhaps even more relaxing than the sight of the yard are the sensations of it. The lovely scents of flower and tree; honey-suckle, apple blossom, peach, and jasmine; combine with the soft cushion of green grass to provide a sense of peace and harmony that defies the looming sand-hued walls of unbreakable stone. Not even the shadowed maw of the main gate, nor the blocky, unimpressive presence of the impenetrable main keep can overshadow the beauty of this place. Indeed, the stark contrast serves only to enhance it.

Niamh makes his seat comfortable and closes his eyes, breathing in the scents and general feeling of the area, the tension in his body relaxing as he both hears and not-hears the conversation about him.

Majidah makes her way into the general area, her slippered feet making no sound as she glides across the soft grass. Instead, she is accompanied by the faint sound of singing, and occasionally the gentle chime of tiny bells. Slender hands move in time with her song, fluttering around her sari like graceful birds. For the moment, the others go unnoticed, as she pauses to examine a brilliant collection of flowers nearby.

Niamh opens his eyes as the others greet a newcomer. The spectacles are adjusted on the bridge of his nose as he looks to the greeted one. Oh... her. Atar help him... his eyes are drawn towards the belled one. Isn't he supposed to be meditating?

Oh look. It's that nice young man. As Majidah slowly straightens from the flowers, it becomes obvious she's caught sight of poor Niamh, seated but ten paces away. After a momentary pause, she moves in his direction, her voice slowly fading away.

Niamh has survived living at Delphi, surrounded by candala... he can survive this. Standing as Majidah comes closer, he offers a nod and a soft, "Namaste, imphada... it is good to see you again." Truth be told, it is very good to see her again, especially after what happened to him at Delphi.

"Namaste, imphadi." Majidah's throaty voice floats to Niamh on a delicate hint of sweet perfume. Pausing a pace or so from him, she continues, "I am pleased to see you as well. You disappeared after our first meeting, and I searched for days." Half-seen lips curve into a tiny pout behind her veil. "But please, do not let me interrupt you. We can sit on the grass together." Suiting action to words, she sinks to the ground in a small puddle of shimmering silk, dark eyes turned up and fastened to Niamh as she awaits a response.

She looked for him for days? He would give a bashful giggle if he dared. Instead, he merely takes a deep breath and sits on the grass next to Majidah, pulling his robes about him. "I am sorry I had to leave so soon." Well, if he recalls correctly, he had to leave or explode because of all the attention he was getting. But this is more like it... he is much better one-on-one.

Majidah absently plucks a single blade of grass as she studies Niamh, twirling the tiny green shoot between her fingers for a long moment. "I suppose I can forgive you," she says at last. "But only if you satisfy your promise to me, imphadi." She manages to make those few words imply a great deal more. Particularly the word 'satisfy.' It seems to be a gift.

Atar... what did he promise? Niamh is quiet for a long moment as he tries to remember way back... oh yes! Did he promise to show her Delphi or the city? He at least remembered he promised to show her one of those places, yes? "Yes, of course. Whenever you wish." Granted, going to Delphi would be very bad right now...

Majidah's eyes dance with laughter, but her voice is perfectly level as she murmurs, "Good." Her head turns for a moment in Kerani's direction, and she studies the younger woman for a moment or two before letting her gaze drift back to Niamh. She doesn't seem to notice his priestly robes, or particularly care if she does. "Have you been very busy, imphadi?"

Niamh's robes shouldn't matter too much... he's not in the Temple proper or anything. And he is surprisingly without any books or scrolls nearby. Is he actually *gasp* relaxing? "That I have, imphada. Again, I apologize."

Majidah shakes her head, causing a number of hidden bells to chime softly. "Why apologize? Duty before pleasure." There she goes again, placing a warm, husky emphasis on 'pleasure.' Coincidentally, she leans a little closer to Niamh, one hand almost brushing his robes as she reaches out to pluck another blade of grass from the earth. "Do you have much time to relax, imphadi?"

Niamh isn't going to get flustered... he is not going to get flustered. He watches the fingers pluck the grass (so he doesn't get the urge to watch anything else), "As much time as I give myself, usually..."

"Are you always so vague when speaking with young women, imphadi?" Majidah inquires, her slender eyebrows arching just slightly. Well, that blade of grass is no good. Oh look, there's another one. This time, her fingers lightly brush the thick fabric of Niamh's robes as she plucks it. Her gaze, however, rests squarely on the young man's face.

Does he dare smile? It's tempting... very tempting, especially as he feels the slight pressure of the fingertips against his robe. "Yes, almost always," he answers, not smiling, but his eyes seem to be. "Are you always this curious?" he teases.

"Almost always, yes," Majidah replies, voice light. "There is so much to see." She pauses, then adds, "And feel." Another pause, this one a moment longer. "And experience. Do you not find that yourself?" A gentle breeze flutters the edge of her veil, and for a moment her tiny little smile is obvious.

Niamh actually chuckles, "Of course, imphada... why do you think my nose is always buried in a book or a scroll of some sort?" He must be still teasing. But he seems to be missing the gist of Majidah's teasing... or maybe trying to look over it? As it is, it's a miracle he hasn't blushed yet.

Majidah nods her head slightly. "Books are certainly fascinating in their way. But, imphadi, surely there are more things than are written in books or scrolls. More... tangible things, perhaps? Books are but a poor reflection of the world, in my opinion."

It is the priest's turn for innuendo, "Such as?" Perhaps he knows, perhaps he does not (those priests can be awfully cloistered, you know). But either way, he won't let on. But in argument for his precious books, "Books are what shape the world we have now. They tell us of the histories that make us what we are."

Majidah lifts one hand to adjust the folds of her sari, the thin silk stretching across the contours of her torso by sheer coincidence. Or so she makes it seem. "Am I in your books, imphadi?" she asks, her voice gentle and, surprisingly, not terribly coy. "Or that butterfly there?" She points to the insect which flits past, its brightly-colored wings fluttering quickly. "Or the sun, warm on your skin?" She tilts her head back, allowing the warm light to drip across her dusky skin. After a moment, she lowers her gaze to Niamh. "History has its place, imphadi, but there are more important things all around you."

Is he actually being given a lesson? If he is, it is the most pleasant lesson Niamh has actually been subjected to. "I do see your point, imphada. What else may I not find in my books?" Seems he is getting into this lesson...

One eyebrow lifts at Niamh's response, but Majidah hardly seems disappointed. "I do not believe I have read your books, imphadi," she murmurs, lowering her gaze in a good imitation of meekness. "So I would not be able to venture a guess with any real certainty." She touches the silk which puddles around her on the ground, lifting the thin material to reveal one slender ankle and the thin band of golden bells which encircles it. "Do they mention music in your books?" she asks, fingers brushing against her own skin, nudging the tiny bells into crystalline song, as she watches Niamh from between thick lashes.

Niamh's eyes remain on the slender hand as it moves, his eyes brushing the ankle before raising, "Quite often... many different types. What type of music do you know best?"

"The music of beauty," Majidah replies, shifting slightly until her ankle is once again properly concealed. "Softer than silk, yet hard enough to bind even the strongest heart." Her eyes dance above her veil, a gentle breeze stirring her inky hair into motion against one cheek.

Niamh nods once, "Yes... I can see that. And what do you do with your powerful song?" His eyes are now raised to meet Majidah's, peering intensely... almost as if he could look through the fuzzing veil.

Sunlight glitters from the golden thread of Majidah's sari as she murmurs, "Tame the elements, imphadi. Even the fiercest storm can be calmed by my music."

Niamh arches one dark eyebrow, "The fiercest? The next time there is a storm, I shall have to find you to see that, imphada."

Throaty laughter floats from behind Majidah's veil. "If you are fortunate, imphadi. But I have kept you from your reflections long enough. If you will excuse me?" She rises to her feet in one fluid motion, a wave of her perfume settling to the ground as she does so.

Niamh stands as well, but a little less gracefully. "Of course, imphada... and I will hold you to that. I shall no doubt seek you out at the next storm." He offers a slight bow, "May the Amir-al's flame shine brightly on you," he offers.

Majidah inclines her head just slightly. "And may the Mother's hand shelter you," she replies quietly. "Namaste, imphadi." And with that, she turns away, gliding across the grass.

FIN  

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