Date: February 19, 2001 (Aether: November 18, 3907)
Place: Courtyard - Atesh-Gah - Haven
Cast: Embla, Fatimah, Lailah, Roxana, Sukhvir, Thalia, Zel
Emits: Nazir (Thalia)
Scene: The ordinary journey of the Queen-Maharani through the courtyard is broken by the discovery of a hate letter.

Bright rays of sunlight filter through the canopy of leaves overhead, a golden illumination which brings to the courtyard the illusion of warmth more than the real thing - traces of red and yellow now show in trees and shrubberies, bringing a whole new explosion of colours to the already lush gardens. The embassy's residents move about their daily business; perched on one of the benches in the midst of this ebb and flow of motion sits a slight, dark creature, wrapped up all in horridly mismatching garments. And looking content about it, too. Lailah keeps a small, leatherbound book in one hand, and her half-lidded attention drifts from this to the rest of her surroundings, then back again, in an idle dance.

Perched on another bench is Fatimah, her knees drawn up, arms wrapped around her legs in a hug, as her long hair streams behind her, past the edge of her seat, almost grazing the ground. Her sharp green eyes are gazing curiously at Lailah, her emotions unreadable despite her face being clearly seen through her veil. One might say that Lailah and Fatimah were twins of each other, with these eyes, and the dark skin, except for Fatimah's curves contrasting with the Mongrel's slenderness, and the length of the Varati woman's lustrous hair.

It is the daily business of the Queen that brings her temporarily into the environs of the courtyard. With her vast entourage, Thalia Jovia Khalida steps out of the embassy, pausing at the head of the stairs to survey the lush gardens before descending the flagstone steps. Sycophants flutter around the Queen-Maharani, their many voices chorusing questions that interrupt the quiet paradise.

Where Fatimah's face is covered, Lailah's is left bare and unveiled; where Fatimah's hair is neatly bound, Lailah's tresses sway freely in the slight breeze of day. During one of those nonchalant sweeps of the nearby vicinity, the shudra's keen gaze brushes past the silent Varati a bit away -- then halts, and shift back to focus on the woman. One slender eyebrow raises onto her forehead as the scrutiny of her is noted, and the dark girl's back straightens subtly. Then it's back to that book again. If only to glance anew towards the other in a question of moments, round eyes slightly narrowed, now. Thalia's entrance earns her a quick glance and a momentary frown, nothing more.

A faint smile is on Fatimah's face, as she continues to watch Lailah curiously. When Lailah's gaze meets the other woman's, the slight smile grows even further, her eyebrow raising in response. However, any further silent communications between the two of them is interrupted by the entourage of the Queen, the Varati houri's gaze sliding over towards Thalia. Now, both eyebrows raise.

Like geese, Thalia's sycophants honk and clatter as they descend the steps behind the Queen. Making far too much noise, they attempt to draw attention to themselves, proving how important they must be due to their proximity to the ruling Varati power in the mulk. Thalia's attention is not on those who chatter behind her. Instead, she makes her way across the courtyard in a slow and stately manner, each foot carefully placed on the flagstones that form the path.

The breeze catches the white feathers of Thalia's wings, making them flutter. Eye-catching, the white wings loom over the small, diminutive figure of the Queen -- diminutive in comparison to the large Varati behind her. The sunlight bounces of the copious jewelry that decorates her bare flesh, spearing bright rainbows that dance in the air about her.

Lailah doesn't answer Fatimah's smile in kind; hers is a blank, unblinking stare, almost like that of an animal studying another, be it prey or elsewise. She shifts, on her bench, diving nose-first down into and behind her book; the chatter in the background is irritating her, or so might the nimble-gone-stiff posture of the servant suggest. Another sidelong glance is sent for the angelic one out of the corner of her eye -- not overly impressed with Thalia, Lailah spends more time studying those around the woman than the Queen herself, perhaps searching for someone.

There's this peculiar expression that crosses Fatimah's face, probably a mixture of many emotions and thoughts, as Thalia approaches. Her gaze keeps on sliding over the wings that the Queen sports, with white feathers, before moving away; her expression seems to shift from dislike, to fascination, back and forth, before her face smooths over into a mildly warm appearance. Her arms tighten around her legs, causing the bracelets to jingle upon her ebon skin.

The Agni-Haidar around Thalia professionally look over the various occupants of the courtyard, assessing the possible threat. The commander of Thalia's guard, Kaimakam Chandrima, does not appear to be accompanying the Queen this day, but the Agni-Haidar are still alert and watchful, as if wary of acquiring punishment for laxness. Uninvited, Thalia does not pause to speak with either Lailah, who is apparently assiduously avoiding eye contact, nor Fatimah, but continues to stride slowly past. One of Thalia's sycophants is not nearly this polite. The man bumps into Fatimah's bench and then glares rudely down at the houri as if it is her fault that the bench was in his way.

No, Lailah certainly doesn't desire to speak with the Maharani. She's doing her best at looking like a little flower - and in those clothes, she doesn't really have to try all that hard. Only when the blonde woman has glided past does her book lower enough to allow for frostladen eyes to peek up above the rim, burrowing into the back of the former. A half-hidden grimace is brought on by the little tumble, accompanied by a barely audible snigger. That cat's gaze looks with keen interest on to see how the little drama will develop; the shudra doesn't stir a limb.

Green eyes that belong to the houri flash upwards towards the man who bumped into her bench. They flash with a gaze that could kill even an Agni-Haidar, if they were swords; they seem to promise lashes across his back with a whip, if she had her way. It only lasts for a few moments, before Fatimah's gaze casts downwards demurely, as is proper. Her arms tighten even further in her hug around her legs, as she ignores the man in an act of polite civility.

The sycophant continues to glare at Fatimah, but the glare ends as he lets out a sudden shout. The progress of the entourage comes to a halt as the sycophant points a finger at Fatimah, or rather at a piece of paper that flutters out from beneath where Fatimah sits.

Thalia is the last to come to a halt, taking another step before she turns around to look at the shouting male. Her Agni-Haidar have already pinpointed the disturbance, but as the piece of paper does not appear to be lethal, they do not make a move toward Fatimah. All eyes in the entourage now focus on Fatimah.

"Traitor!" howls the male sycophant.

A quick blink of Fatimah's green eyes, as they snap upwards at the sycophant's face, from their demure gaze downwards. An expression of slight puzzlement enters the houri's face, as her gaze follows where the man's finger points at. Her slender eyebrow arches elegantly, as she reaches downwards with her fingers to pick up the piece of paper.

And with a quiet moment of serenity that crosses her face, Fatimah archly remarks, "Quite an accusation to make, imphada, when you didn't know the contents of the paper." Her green eyes cast downwards to read it, "So, let's read this paper that you so kindly dropped, hm?" Her voice sharply cutting, she begins to read it aloud to the assembled audience. Hardly the behavior of a traitor caught red-handed.

Again, one of Lailah's slender brows arches upwards. The glare Fatimah casts for the man does not go unseen from this particular girl's point of view, and for the first time during this episode, the shudra's own lips curl gently upwards in something that might be construed approval. Even as the other woman has turned her eyes back again, pale emerald continues watching her. Clear surprise dawns on her features at the accusation; perhaps not at the shout itself, but that it wasn't directed at Lailah. The little book is placed on the bench beside her, and the crossbreed herself sits up straighter, intrigued by the turn events have taken.

On the paper is written in big, black letters easily visible from afar, "The Kafir Queen must die. All Kafir in Haven will follow her."

The sycophant shouts, "I am not blind, stupid woman! I saw that paper fall out of your dress. Even from here I could see the words, Queen must die!" He looks over at Thalia to see if she notices how loyal he is.

Oh dear. Not the best little message to read aloud in front of the Maharani and all those... scary black-clad men. Lailah's petite features shine interest, now. Her pose has turned from negligently leisureful, to irritably rigid, to alertly tense in a matter of minutes. Still, she remains silent.

Fatimah's expression is quiet and serene, though her green eyes flash with a steely anger at the sycophant. Her arms slowly unwrap from around her legs, her bare feet sliding onto the ground, jingling with the bells that are around one ankle. She's risen up to her full height, her hip cocking to one side, a hand resting upon that particular curve.

"And what is your name, respectfully, imphadi?" Her smile is cold, almost feral, "You had dropped that letter, and made a false accusation. You besmirch my honor, and the honor of my clan. I would like to know your name, so that my brother would know who to call up for diya, to cleanse this stain upon me. My brother is very ... protective of my reputation, and it is my duty to inform him of such things."

Unaware of anything but her destination, someone does enter the courtyard, walking slowly on bare feet. It's a female in the traditional clothing carrying an object in her hands that is covered with a piece of cloth. Embla nows stops and looks around, trying to remember the instructions she got, as well as looking at who might be around. A small breeze blows across the courtyard.

Thalia backtracks, leaving the progress that she had made across the courtyard, and steps over toward Fatimah and the sychophant. Her Agni-Haidar move closer to Fatimah as well, though they do not appear to be interested in acquiring the piece of paper from her, nor do they appear to be reading the words written on the paper.

The sycophant puffs out his chest and proclaims, "I am Nazir ibn Gotu Suleiman. I do not lie. That paper was under your bench because it fell out of your clothing. I do not fear a diya from your brother. To die in the service of my Queen is a greater honor and privilege than proving that you are a sneaky, lying woman!"

Upon reaching Fatimah and Nazir, Thalia holds out her hand. In her light soprano, gentle like a soothing lullaby, she asks rather than commands, "May I see the piece of paper, please?"

"Nazir ibn Gotu Suleiman." Fatimah al-Hajah nods slightly to herself, "I shall remember the name of the honorless man who would make an accusation, to advance himself in his Queen's eyes."

An almost bittersweet smile crosses her face at that, "Know that the woman whom you would trampled upon and besmirch, for your own gain, is Fatimah al-Hajah. And my brother is Ashfaq al-Hajah. I expect that you will be hearing from him soon." Her clear voice rings around the Courtyard, heedless of the presence of the Agni-Haidar that surround her.

She turns upon the Queen, her green eyes flashing with a mix of emotions, though her expression is serene. The paper is handed over and slipped into Thalia's hand, her ebon fingers a contrast to the Empyrean's fair skin.

Embla carries her burden carefully, it seems hot and there is a sweet smell coming from under the cloth. She pauses a moment, and does not notice the people discussing over there. Oh, an Empyrean, she blinks. Then she lifts a hand to push back some blonde starry strands of hair that has escaped the veil.

Movement in the distance is short-lived and nearly impossible to trace. True shadow subdues the flame of her jubbah, leaving only the collar ruby, stilled and lightless, to betray her from the shade of the trees overhead. Close enough. Close enough to forget the nearby noise of the fountain, and concentrate on this most... interesting turn of events. Poised and silent among the darkened grove, Zel chooses to watch rather than lend her - heh - support to the fracas, and even were someone to catch a glimpse of the young Lady-in-Waiting, her smoky veil is the perfect shield for a warm, contemptuous smile.

The young naraki has totally forgotten her mission it seems, and stands there, watching the Maharani. Embla has only heard about her before... then she remembers and lowers her eyes, still catching a glimpse now and then.

Thalia looks over the paper, then reads the words upon it out loud for those who are illiterate. "The Kafir Queen must die. All Kafir in Haven will follow her." A frown creases her fair forehead, so pale in comparison to the dark, rich skin of the houri before her. Turning now, her sweet, high voice stretches across the courtyard to grab the shudra attempting to remain unnoticed. "Lailah, please come here."

Nazir snarls at Fatimah like a rabid weasel, "Never." He looks as if he desires to dispute Fatimah's claim further, but with the Queen's soft-voiced request, he falls silent and waits for the consequences of his actions to play out.

Fatimah's eyes watch Thalia intently, her expression quietly serene, simply ignoring the man that she had issued a challenge to. Her part is done, any further action or words would be done by her brother. Her eyebrows raise in slight surprise, as Fatima's head turns towards Lailah, whom she'd been watching earlier, so quietly.

Brow puckered, lips pursed in thought, the little shudra on her own bench listens in silence to the various voices and threats, even emitting a soft snort at one point; obviously the irritating man's continuous whining and boasting doesn't sit too well with Lailah. Her pale gaze goes back for the slab of stone upon which Fatimah perched only moments ago; eyes narrow in their regard of the same - but once her own name is spoken, it comes as a surprise to her, and the girl gives a start, before whipping that feline attention back to the Maharani. A heartbeat of stillness comes and passes, and then she finally rises, to slip closer to the gathering.

Thalia does not state her opinion of Nazir's accusation or Fatimah's counter accusation. Instead, she stands, waiting for the shudra to arrive, then holds out the piece of paper to Lailah between her fore and middle fingers. "Please give this to Kaimakam Chandrima. I am sure he will desire to see it."

What did that thing say? The young naraki seems both surprised and confused. Her Master's teaching about Varati terms seems not to have been complete. What a Kafir is, is beyond her. But Embla did understand something about that the queen should die. She wets her lips, realizing she is staring, and again lowers her head, moving towards the wall, so she can remain without being so easily noticed.

Zel bites her lip hard to prevent a peal of laughter. Lailah? Oh, Ushas. Considering the source, however, it certainly seems a fitting course of action. Seeing no further reason to bother hiding from the blind, the girl takes one or two steps forward into the light and crouches among the garden flowers, immersing her fingers in the softly petaled life.

Fatimah's eyebrows arch upwards, her green eyes gazing sideways at the Mongrel shudra known as Lailah, her counterpart in many ways, down to these green eyes, and equally dusky skin. She remains silent, however, her expression almost reminding a watcher of the ocean lapping at the beach, gentle but inexorable.

"I'm sure he will, too," comes the murmured response, words carrying a hint of darkness -- though what exactly Lailah could possibly be irritated by from that is for anyone to guess. "I will, Maharani." Pink fingertips close on the parchment to retrieve the same from the Queen's grasp; Lailah doesn't manage the perfectly meek picture of an obedient servant, though she does however manage one of stoic politeness.

From the great doors of Atesh-Gah emerges yet another woman, this one with a single Agni-Haidar following her as a shadow follows the sun. She begins to make her graceful way down the steps, an instrument-case in one delicate hand and a book of music in the other.

Thalia gives Lailah a brief nod upon releasing the paper, but does not converse with the shudra further, perhaps choosing not to tax the mongrel girl's control on politeness. She looks over Nazir and Fatimah. "You will, of course, in the custom of the Varati settle the matter of honor between yourselves. However, the issue of truth is still at hand. Did you see Imphadi Suleiman drop the paper, Imphada al-Hajah?"

Embla stands still, listening and watching... part in awe, part not wanting to move as she might very well disturb this important moment.

A shake of Fatimah's head that causes the long mane of hair that streams behind her to sway sideways with the motion, in a hypnotic pattern. A shake of her head, "No, imphada." Her voice soft and level. "Though he had deliberately bumped into my seating, to stir up attention and trouble."

A corner of Thalia's mouth quirks, as if in amusement. She now turns to Nazir and repeats her question to him. The sycophant pauses, as if desiring to vindicate himself, gain greater prestige in the eye of his Queen, yet under her calm blue eyes, he wavers and states more truthfully than before, "The paper was under her seat. I did not drop it, Maharani." He looks out over the courtyard and takes a deep breath, puffing out his chest. "Did anyone see me drop the paper? I think not." This appears to be an open invitation for any observer in the courtyard to vindicate him or Fatimah.

Lailah has no intention of vindicating either the annoying man or the spirited woman; the shudra scans the paper in her hand in silence, that thoughtful frown still evident upon her dark mien as pale emerald flits over the words on the page, then she takes a few steps back from the gathering, to effectively bring herself out of the center of events once more.

"Perhaps you did not drop it," Fatimah's voice directs sharply towards Nazir. "But you were quick to take opportunity to trample over my honor and dignity." Her form shifts the other way, her hand moving to rest on the opposite hip.

From the path leading to the sparring-ring emerges a Varati male, moving between the bushes with the easy fluidity of a man who has been practicing his weaponcraft diligently. His head is held high, his sword and bow slung in their proper places, his clothing arrayed perfectly -- Sukhvir has taken care, obviously, to set himself straight after his practises finished. He pays little attention to the array of colourful butterflies in the courtyard -- such things are seen day after day. He does, however, stop and take note when he sees a pair of white feathered wings, turning to head towards them.

Upon seeing the Maharani, Roxana walks towards her Queen, stopping several feet away and politely waiting until the current business is done before asking to be acknowledged. It is appropriate to curtsey when such a gesture will be seen, to save the strain on the legs if nothing else. The Agni-Haidar, for his part, makes for the wall around the courtyard, joining his brothers in watching over all present.

Embla wets her lip, and then...once more remembering what she came here to do she does look around once more...what house was it here?

Nazir's shrill voice rises up over Fatimah's. "You were sitting on the bench. The paper was under your bench. It can come from nowhere else but you." He snaps his fingers. "Logic," he proclaims triumphantly. "Something you obviously know nothing about."

Thalia holds out her hand to pause Nazir. She gives Roxana a nod of acknowledgement before speaking. "The truth is that neither of you know where the paper came from. We will allow fate to determine whose honor has been most besmirched when the diya is called." She manages to maintain a serene countenance even while proclaiming that two men will meet and try to kill each other. "I must take my leave now. If any other such papers appear, I would be interested to see them." The last sentence is said to the entire courtyard before Thalia turns away from Fatimah.

A polite nod from Fatimah, her entire body tense and vibrating slightly with the emotion that runs through her form. "Good day, imphada." she curtsies towards the Queen, before her gaze shoots at Nazir, her words sharp, "If you survive the morrow, imphada, I hope that this is a lesson that you will learn. Behind ever woman is a guardian, and guardians have sharp swords."

Embla seems to have decided on one of the houses and does carefully head that way, carrying the already cooled bakery product with her. She doesn't look back but moves slowly enough so that she can still hear the words, not wanting to miss a thing.

Another moment, one last glance Fatimah's way; then the dark shudra turns away from the scene, as well. Holding the piece of paper rather flippantly between two fingers, Lailah makes her way over towards her own bench once more, bends to pick up the leather-bound book which still lies upon cool rock where she left it.

Embla steps into Atesh-Serai through its arched double doors.

Thalia gives Fatimah a polite nod, then turns to continue on her original route out of the courtyard. Nazir is not nearly as satisfied with the ending to the situation. He shoots Fatimah another dagger-like glare before joining back into the entourage which trundles after the Queen-Maharani.

Fatimah stands there, her spine erect, her posture proud, as she watches the Queen and her entourage depart. For long seconds she stands there, her gaze lingering, before her body slowly relaxes, her expression melting as she sinks back into her bench.

Roxana makes her curtsey as the Maharani passes, sweeping down in a graceful and practiced movement and rising again at the appropriate time, the colours of Clan Khalida forming a pool of silk and satin about her for a short while.

Straightening with her book, Lailah casts a final look over her shoulder at those assembled and scattering, and then this one sets off at a brisk stalk towards the main keep, that dire message fluttering easily in the soft wind and looking much as if it might flee her nonchalant grasp any second. It does not, however, and soon the lithe shadow has merged with the darkness of the embassy proper and disappeared from sight.

FIN

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