Chaat in the Spring (Closed; Tyran)

[Tennai]

City of Hampi
A Downtown Street

A young man walked down a crowded street with a bundle of white carnations in one hand and several sticks of fragrant incense in the other. The man paused for a moment to wipe the sweat from his dark brow. He then exhaled and looked up at he sky. The sun beat down mercilessly on the people, pavement, and skyscrapers around him. Looking back toward the street, the man continued on his way and tugged at the white t-shirt that clung to the sweat on his chest. Walking past a chaat vendor that seemed unfazed by muggy air, the man’s nostrils flared and saliva began to fill his mouth. There was not time to stop however, so the man walked past the stall a little hungrier than he had been before.

Another block found the young man standing if front of a small shrine built into the side of an office building. The man placed the carnations he was carrying at the foot of the shrine and then knelt down and stuck the incense sticks he had with him into raised, sand filled receptacle. He then lit the incense and let the spicy aroma they emitted waft into his nostrils. He then pressed his hands together and looked up at the wide hipped, slender waisted, and amply bosomed figure of the goddess Yakshali in her manifestation of marriage and beauty. Gazing at the colorfully painted image of the goddess, he said a silent prayer.

“Yakshali, most beautiful of the goddesses, please accept this offering and hear my prayer. It is time that I accept my role and marry. Please guide my mother’s hand and let her find for me a woman that will bring my family good fortune and allow me to follow my heart’s desire.”

The man stayed kneeling for few minutes longer and then stood and wiped the dirt from his knees. He took a deep breath and exhaled. “I hope Yakshali hears me,” he thought as he turned around and walked back the way he came. “I don’t want to hear my mother get after me again about considering a more “worthwhile” profession. I really don’t want to be like uncle Rangarajan. Miserable and divorced three times because his wives can’t stand his constant self pity and self loathing.” He then shook his head and let the thoughts of his miserable uncle fly into the back of his mind. If his mother could find a woman that would agree to marry the son of a bicycle shop owner and let him pursue his dream of being a writer, then things would be fantastic.

A short time later, the young man was walking away from the chaat stand that he had passed on the way to the shrine and was gleefully munching on masala puri from a large styrofoam cup. Before he could get far, the man heard the phone in his pocket blare out a popular pop song at him. He sighed and then made his way to a nearby bench, sitting beside half a dozen crepe myrtles heavily laden with pink, white, red, purple, and orange blossoms. “Vanakkã, Deepika,” the young man said after taking another bite of his snack, “What’s going on?”

A woman’s voice replied from the other side of the line.

“I am just wondering where my brother is since he did not show up for class. You know Nithya is going to say something if she doesn’t see you. That girl really likes you...”

The City of Hampi
Perumal Raghava Academy of Film and the Arts
Student Lodgings

“...Poittu vare, Prakash.” Deepika tossed her phone onto the bed beside her desk and stretched her arms above her head. Prakash. She could not understand her brother sometimes. Nithya was a beautiful woman, smart, and studying journalism. Both her parents were barristers and her grandparents where the heads of one of the largest private banking firms in the nation. Topping all this off was the fact that, for some reason she could not understand, Nithya fancied her brother. But, Prakash seemed completely ignorant of all of this. It was either that or for some reason she could not even begin to wrap her head around, her brother chose not to pay heed to the woman who would be the most likely to let him follow his dreams. Whatever blockheaded reason Prakash had for ignoring Nithya’s affections, the last thing he needed was to pray that mother would find a woman that would agree to marry him. Deepika loved her mother, but sometimes the woman seemed too focused on how her son could be a success to get a good glimpse of his heart.

Deepika let out a long sigh. Her job as Prakash’s sister had never been easy and it looked like things would not change in the near future. All she could do was to try and make sure he brother found happiness some way or another. They had shared a womb and after that a room for fourteen years. Deepika and Prakash had always been very close and when one was troubled or pained, the other could not help but feel the same in the depths of their heart.

Having worried enough about her brother for one day, Deepika looked down at the pages she had just finished inking. The volume was coming along nicely and all that she had to do now was color what she had and then scan everything into her design software for digitization. Smiling, she flipped open the lid of a large metal case on her desk and pulled out a dozen or so brush pens and began the process of making sure every last bit of her inked drawings came to life in an array of perfectly blended colors. A deep, vibrant purple for the choli that threatened to burst because of the ample bosom of the protagonist. A bright crimson for the blood spraying from the wound the antagonist had received from a shining, deadly looking katara. And a soft brown for the eyes of the man watching with fear and awe the woman who had saved his life.

A few hours passed as Deepika colored the latest issue of her yet unpublished comic, Lady Nika. She did not stop or look up from her work until her bladder would not let her wait any longer. After leaping from her chair like a scared gazelle and dashing for the toilet, Deepika exited the bathroom and decided to check the time. “Shit,” she exclaimed loudly while staring at her phone “If I don’t get my ass going I’ll be late meeting Nithya.”

She then strode over to her closet and flipped through her clothes. Hmm. They were going out for tea and then going over to the school’s studio to watch what the choreography students had come up with for the actors in the school’s current student film project. Dum Dum Vali. Apparently it was a comedy of some sort that the queen had shown interest in. The queen, and then everyone on campus after that. It was going to be a fun day.

Settling on comfy pair of white jeans and a bright saffron sleeveless choli, Deepika dashed down the stairs after locking her door. She passed by group of students discussing some sort of painting class in the dormitory lobby and then flew through the door. A short train trip later and Deepika was waving and smiling at the gorgeous, intelligent woman that was head over heels for her dense, dreamer of a brother.

[Nalaya]

Student Lodgings
Hampi, Tennai

Shyntafay could feel her attention slipping as she frowned down at her work. Her thoughts were trying to creep and crawl their way back towards Armavir and the workshop she’d abandoned in minutes with nothing to her name. She hadn’t wanted to run. Everything in her had screamed to stay and fight, but then her father grabbed her by a wrist and drug her forcefully out into the street behind her workshop, ordering her to go. If you die, so does six thousand years of tradition! he shouted at her in that dark alley. Go and do not stop running until you cannot see the fires of war as even smoke in the distance! Keep it alive!

Because she loved him, she had done exactly as he asked. Her friends in Sevan had concurred with her father’s assessment of the situation. We love you, Shyn, but you can’t stay. If the war comes here, they will find you and they will hurt you. Leave the country. Come back when it is safe. They had given her enough money to reach Tennai and start over. That was more than she could have ever asked for, but it wasn’t what she wanted. She was still intensely homesick and feeling more isolated than she had in her whole life.

Her differences were written on her face too boldly—in a literal as well as metaphorical sense: the young Mak’ur woman had a line of swirling script tattooed across her face in a horizontal line that ran from ear to ear across her cheekbones and nose, its bold emerald ink standing out against her tan skin. She wasn’t quite dark enough to fit and her hair made it worse, a shade of brown so light it was almost blond after her time out in the sun. She was tall like so many of her people, with angular features and a strong, narrow jaw. She was built leanly anyway, but years of work had trimmed away softness to make room for iron muscle that left her with a more androgynous frame. It was her hands in particular that had lost their feminine aesthetic: rough and calloused, scarred from flecks of hot metal hitting the skin, nicked or cut, and generally dirty despite religious use of a particularly caustic soap.

Her hands were smudged with graphite at the moment as she bent over a piece of thin paper with a stubby pencil and a ruler, drawing out with exacting precision the dimensions of designs to be made for a ring. Shyntafay was heir to an ancient and venerated tradition in Nalaya: metal working. For no one was this more important than her particular ethnic group, who made what was arguably the finest steel in at least Siduri. It was as much art and mysticism for them as it was science and pragmatism. Her particular line of tradition was steeped in secrecy, though Shyntafay did not live like a monk—well, perhaps that could be debated at times—or guard it the way the other five who had been trained in the ways of arrend metalworking. At home, she had been able to make a blade every step of the way, beginning with gathering iron sand and ending with polishing the finished product. Most were ritual blades that could take months or even years to make.

Since she had been in Tennai, she had not even thought to make a blade. Not in an unblessed forge. So instead, she had turned her considerable wealth of knowledge to other crafts and other materials. Jewelry was a familiar side project that was now becoming her focus. She’d studied Arusai and Nava’ai designs within Nalaya itself, which had significantly broadened her repertoire of techniques and basic patterns. Besides, there was something equal parts soothing and fascinating about working with the different spirits that inhabited a different kind of metal.

The Perumal Raghava Academy of Film and the Arts was a rare thing in her world now: somewhere safe enough to learn and grow. Now if only she weren’t maddeningly practical to the art students and frustratingly humorless to the film ones. Shyntafay didn’t have many desires in life—primarily, she just wanted to make beautiful things in a world that could be so ugly—but having people she liked and cared about around was one. She’d taken her family and friends for granted when she had them near. Now they were gone, some of them far beyond a place where a phone could reach them. It was not a mistake she would ever make again.

It was that loneliness that convinced her to abandon her work for a while and go for a walk. She stopped at her small mirror and spotted the smudge of graphite on her chin that had originated from her decaying pencil, mercifully granted a chance to stop herself from looking too ridiculous. Her faded, well-loved blue jeans had just ripped in one knee, but right now she didn’t have the cash to buy another solid pair that she could work in. She was wearing a scoop cut white undershirt with an unbuttoned forest green oxford over the top. The heat in Tennai didn’t bother her much—particularly after days spent sweltering in the forge or out under unforgiving desert skies—though it was wetter and more humid than what she was accustomed to. As she stepped out the door, she rolled up her sleeves and took a deep breath.

A land where she knew no one, a language foreign on her tongue—something she knew from only text books and subtitled movies, a different culture entirely to complement an alien spirituality: it was terrifying, but her faith had taught her long ago that change and uncertainty was the nature of life. It was the beauty of life. She could survive it, adapt and overcome. Know thyself, the doorway into her old workshop had read, a reminder passed down through generations of artisans. If you could do that, everything else would follow, and even in a whole new world, the way would still be clear.

Even so, Shyntafay murmured a prayer for fortitude and touched her polished, damascus steel rings—one on each index finger—to her lips. One had the symbol for ssivah, the voice, worked into the braided bands of steel and the other had shar, the mind, similarly included. They were reminders of the pieces of herself that allowed her to give expression to her soul. For a Mak’ur artist, few things were more important than the two forces. Then she set off through the dormitory common room, and out towards the city proper.

[Tennai]

City of Hampi
Kanarahsta Handrai Commercial District
A Main Street

Prakash stepped out of a small bookshop with a small plastic bag in one hand and plastic cup filled with a refreshingly cold cumin and green chili chaas. The book store was one of his favorites as it was a independent seller with a wide selection that was well disguised by the small size of the building. It was also one of the best places that he knew of to get a little something cold to drink on a hot day. The tea seller the bookstore employed was just as good with yoghurt as he was with the tea he was originally hired to make and sell.

“My sister really can’t stop talking about Nithya,” he muttered to the city around him. He was not sure why his sister was so convinced that the someone as intelligent, beautiful, and well bred as Nithya would be interested in more than some passing friendship with him. Nithya was just a nice girl he had given a ride to the train station. She had sat down behind him on his moped and he had then driven her to her destination. They had become friends after that, but that did not mean that Nithya was in love with him. She was a nice girl who was nice to everyone. He was nothing special. Just another guy.

Turning on his heels, Prakash headed down the street. He walked past a video shop, something you did not see too often nowadays, and then someplace advertising a free cell phone if you signed a two year contract. Prakash grinned and patted his pocket as he passed the phone shop. He was rather proud of the fact that he had managed to get his hands on the latest model a solid month before anyone else he knew. He had done a very good job of keeping quiet about how had managed the feat and was very keen to make sure that he continued to do so. If anyone knew how he had managed to get the device, he would never hear the end of it from friends. But worse than dealing with his friends, would be surviving the storm his sister would churn up if she knew.

Walking a little farther, he came to the spot he had parked his moped and inserted a small yellow ticket into a small card reader. The machine beeped twice and the gate keeping his moped safe opened. Pulling out the vehicle, he then hopped onto it and strapped on his helmet. He then started the engine and took off down the busy street with the air gently streaming past him as he drove. He really had no destination in mind and he had recently charged his moped’s battery. He was in no hurry to get back to the dormitory and the day was spread wide before him.

After thirty minutes of aimless driving, he found himself a short distance from the Institute’s campus. He had not intended to make his way toward the school, but it had happened anyway. He stopped his moped and then threw down the kickstand. Looking ahead of him he could see the ancient Dravdi Temple rising up behind several groups of modern apartment buildings. The Institute had been built adjacent the old temple and it was always breathtaking to see the seventy-five meter tall, multi-tiered western gateway jutting from the earth like some divinely sculpted piece of art.

Prakash then moved his eyes from the temple and noticed someone a young woman walking in his direction and she stuck out like an elephant in a tea field. She was tall, slender, pail skinned, light haired, had green tattoos on her face, and was generally average looking. If she had been a local, she would have blended into the myriad of people around them without trouble. But, she was far from looking like a local and it would take a lot of work to even make the woman appear as one. “Well, that’s not something you see everyday,” Prakash muttered to himself. He then watched the woman for a few seconds and decided to let his curiosity take over. He pulled his moped onto the sidewalk and parked it by a bench and then walked toward Shyntafay. Getting closer to the curious woman, he was struck even more by her exotic appearance. Plain was perhaps a word better used for himself than for the woman. He was just shy of average height with the slender body of someone who bicycled on regular basis. His hair was black and short-cropped, his face round cheeked, his eyes a dark brown, and he had a long, broad nose.

Flashing a bright, white smile when he neared Shyntafay, he spoke to her. “Vanakkam. I am Prakash Jagaram, honored woman. I noticed you walking in this direction and I was wondering if you needed any help finding your way around town. I know Hampi can be a little confusing for visitors,” he then chuckled, “And even those of us more familiar with it.”

[Gylias]

Lania was starting to get the sensation that she should possibly be doing something right now.

Maybe.

If only she could remember what it was...

The heat and humid atmosphere weren't doing her many favours. How great it was that she had brought a small fan with her! She actually needed two. Her rented room was small - one room, with a desk on one side and the bed on the other, about as large as the goal area of a football field or slightly larger than that. But the south side of her room wasn't a wall, it was a balcony, facing a beautiful view of Hampi. The nights when the air settled into a cool breeze were particularly lovely, and Lania enjoyed having the balcony door wide open and watching the currents gently dance with her thin translucent curtain, hearing them brush against the wind chime she'd hung on her wall.

(The mosquitoes she could do without though. The constant splats of dark and insect corpses on her wall would testify to that.)

Lania was sitting crosslegged on her chair and leaning back, using one hand to browse the internet on her laptop, heading for no particular location, and the other to improvise random patterns on a goblet drum. Sometimes she turned it upside down and banged on its edges instead of the head to get another sound, although the problem with that was that if she hit too hard the thing lost its balance and fell over her leg, but if she gripped it between the legs the sound was dampened.

Someday, she would find the solution for how to sustain a goblet drum for performance without dampening the sound.

Until then, she was reading about a TV show she hadn't heard of before, but which seemed interesting. Or had that been five minutes ago? Who knew where the net stream would take her once she set forth on a voyage...

Ah! Could it be...

No, that wasn't it.

Lania shifted to normal sitting position, lowering her feet back on the floor, and continued her impromptu percussion soloing. The fan in the room was not only keeping her cool but making a pleasant background hum, one typical of either cheaper, or older fans. The apartment she shared back in Gylias was air-conditioned, but she still liked the buzz of the fan.

She missed that sometimes, as she would miss things she had been used to or taken for granted back home - nothing like a spell abroad to really stir one's inner homesickness. Still, what she appreciated all the more was that she even had the opportunity to do this in the first place. Do a half-semester in Tennai studying Tennaiite music? At absolutely no cost? Was that even a question? She'd even contributed to the academy already through her transfer process. Specifically to the amusement of the staff who had to be assured that, yes, she did have credit for the courses she'd finished so far at university without any grades. Her uni did offer to give them the full transcripts but they seemed to balk at the idea of going over all of them individually...

"I'm hungry", she said, apropos of nothing.

She then continued her routine for two more minutes, before adding, "Hmm, maybe I should get a snack?". She turned to look out the window, and thought, Doesn't seem like they're about to close, but no point taking risks...

Was that what she was thinking of doing? Of being supposed to be doing? thinking she was supposed to do? (It was either that or perhaps give her mind a lesson about sentence structures...)

She shrugged, put her goblet drum on the floor, and closed her laptop with one hand as she got out of the chair. She went to where she left her wallet and rifled through it. Hmm... 50 tali., she thought, again turning to look out the window. That probably can't get that much. She supposed it might be enough for a benne dose or chicken 65. Failing that, some Mysore Pak or murukku.

As she began to head for the door, she suddenly stopped with her hand on the doorknob.

Aha! That was it!

She had to put on some clothes before going out.

Reaching for the clichéd student pile that served as her source of clothes, Lania pulled out an oversized T-shirt and put it on. It was about two sizes larger than her actual size, short-sleeved, had the logo of a Gylian band (obviously), and had the magical property of changing colour when exposed to sweat. Which it saw a lot of. She liked how it loosely hung on her body, and it was large enough that it reached down to the top of her legs, covering her boyshorts.

"Ya better look out food, 'cos I'm gonna eat you!", she said while pointing to the balcony. She giggled and left her room for the city.

On the way, it occured to her that she didn't actually know where the food actually was.

But wasn't that what her nose was for?

(That is, except for the whole "breathing" thing.)

[Nalaya]

Kanarahsta Handrai Commercial District
Hampi, Tennai

Hampi reminded her of home, crowded and loud. That was why she liked being out in it. The noise faded into the background of her mind to create a sort of omnipresent hum. The only time she didn’t hear it was when she was working, but then there was the roar of a fire and frequently the sound of hammer or files against metal. Quiet was good, of course, but Shyntafay rarely knew what to do with it. That was why she did most of her drafting in the workshop rather than her room, though she’d thought about finding something appropriately loud and industrial to play on her phone in her room. The only thing that stopped her was consideration for her neighbors. The moment they stopped being polite, however…

It took Shyntafay a moment to realize she was being addressed. Her thoughts were awash with thoughts of metal and fire, as always. There was no verbal cue of ‘Siruhi’ to tell her she was now in a conversation, so there was a delay for a half second or so before her jade eyes focused on Prakash instead of the distance. There was another half second delay as she processed what he’d said. Her grasp on Tennai’s language was not perfect and it showed in crowded areas or when people started speaking too quickly. “Good to meet you, Paron Jagaram,” Shyntafay said. Her voice was an accented, raspy alto. It had gained its roughness from years of inhaling smoke. “I have no destination, so I would be very difficult to guide.”

She sounded faintly amused, but it was hard to tell, because she never really fully smiled. Instead, the corners of her lips turned up ever so slightly for a moment, something easily missed. Shyntafay wasn’t completely dour or humorless, though she knew people often thought she was. It came with possessing a particularly dry sort of humor. However, meeting new faces was not her area of expertise. In Armavir, she had lived in such a tight-knit, isolated community that it was almost like living in a small town until she left the Shrjani Nshanneri for deeper into the city, like downtown—something she’d rarely done, just because it could be dangerous sometimes.

“Thank you for your offer, Paron. Hampi is a very beautiful city,” she said, meaning it sincerely even though her inflection and tone remained fairly constant. She wasn’t very adept at breaking the ice, but it felt nice just to talk to someone. “I actually live at the Academy. I was just out for a walk.”

Shyntafay would have said more, but she found herself distracted by another approaching figure, who looked honestly like the female embodiment of barely contained chaos: messy brown hair, wearing a slightly sweaty, slightly rumpled T-shirt with a Gylian band logo that Shyntafay remembered from her friends’ music collections—Shyn assumed there were some kind of shorts under the shirt—and looking as painfully foreign as the Nalayan herself was. There was something the way the newcomer moved that spoke of constant, exuberant energy. However, the Gylian—assuming again, of course, but Shyntafay had confidence in it this time—was also swiveling her head back and forth as if looking for something…or alternatively, as if lost.

“That one might be in need of direction,” Shyntafay said to Prakash, dipping her head a little towards Lania as she slipped her hands into her pockets. She rocked back on her heels. The Nalayan was easily taller than both her new compatriot and their even newer, if unsuspecting, acquaintance. “Shall we go see?”

[Cacerta]

Kanarahsta Handrai Commercial District
Hampi, Tennai
Lavinia was still not yet accustomed to Tennai’s kind of heat and humidity; it was vastly different from the kind of weather she encountered in Molfetta -- which was the furthest south she had even been in her home country of Cacerta. And even there, it had a wonderfully consistent sea breeze that blew through the streets of the city. The Cacertian woman was having a very difficult time stopping herself from peeling the clothes off of her body. Back home in Potenza, that kind of thing would have been a completely fine and natural reaction to a hot day back home. But here? She didn’t want to go to jail or anything in a foreign country because she was irregularly uncomfortable with her own sweat.

Even though she had grown up working in a forge back home, Lavinia did not enjoy sweating for no reason. Wearing a welding apron at least gave her the exact purpose behind being uncomfortable -- sweating for the sake of safety was certainly more important in her book -- but she was not in love with her family’s tradition of forging bladed weapons. It was partially why she had come to study at the Perumal Raghava Academy of Film and The Arts; to escape her family’s tradition of blade crafting and sword art. Perhaps the purest irony of her studying abroad came with the fact that she ended up enrolling in the Academy’s metalworking school. Old habits die hard, she supposed.

Although she was from one of the warmer parts of the country -- Potenza specifically -- Lavinia did not blend in with the native of Tennai. They possessed a solid tan that most Cacertians were more likely to get sunburn before achieving. As a result, the young eighteen-year old woman stuck out like a sore thumb with her pale skin and dark violet hair. The sword, sheathed and in its scabbard, she was holding was probably not helping either. She did her best not to stare back at people who were staring at her with her slate gray eyes, apparently she possessed what her younger sister often called resting bitch-face and she didn’t really want to draw any more additional attention to herself.

Lavinia had gone out to grab a bite to eat, some snacks packed in her backpack, before returning to the Academy’s forge. She was very self conscious with her work and had a thing for not letting anyone touch her projects, as a result she had instinctively grabbed the blade and brought it with her. Had she been paying more attention, Lavinia would have realized that people were throwing her attention her way not only because she was carrying a sword but also because she was wearing her welding smock and a welding mask sat balanced on top of her head.

With that realization quickly hitting her, Lavinia picked up the pace of her walk in the hopes of getting back to her room. But in her haste, she managed to run herself into the back of a wandering Gylian woman.

[Tennai]

City of Hampi
Kanarahsta Handrai Commercial District

Prakash looked in the direction that Shyntafay had dipped her head, “You are right about that.” The goddesses were really starting to make this and interesting day. First this tall, slender, and seemingly reserved woman and some energetic and seemingly lost young woman dressed in a rather haphazard fashion. The former individual he assumed was Nalayan as there were few people anywhere else that he knew of that looked as the young woman did. The latter young woman he assumed was Gylian as she seemed to fit that into the stereotypical mold that often saw in any many Tennaiite films that depicted individuals from that nation.

“I am glad that you like Hampi,” Prakash spoke as he walked in Lania’s direction, “I have lived here all my life and I am not sure that you will find a more beautiful and vibrant city in Tennai. Getting up every morning and knowing that I will get to spend another day here is more than enough to inspire me when I write,” he took a few more steps and his face then took on a sudden look of recognition, “You say you attend the academy, well I do as well. I am studying journalism, though my true aspiration is to be a novelist.”

Shortly after he had finished his last sentence, he stepped within polite speaking distance of Lania, he smiled and began to speak, “Hello honored lady, you seem...”, but was interrupted when another curious young woman bumped into Lania. This one had pasty white skin, purple (very curious...), wore a sword at her side, had welding smock across her torso, and a welding mask sitting on her head. He then realized that he had been wrong before. The goddesses were not just going to settle on making this an interesting day, they were probably going to make a very odd and estrogen packed one. There was no shaking the feeling he was getting in his gut.

[Gylias]

If Lania's disheveled mop of brown hair and loose T-shirt said one thing, it said clueless tourist. Which was actually two words, but they counted as one thing. Or, alternately, it could have said student. Or even studentourist. Which was one word, and therefore actually one thing, and thus what should have been said from the beginning. If it had actually been said, instead of merely thought in the minds of passersby who deigned to take notice of her and devote more than a microsecond's thought.

She walked at an easygoing gait, and scratched the back of her head with her entire right palm before yawning mildly and letting her hand dangle off her body again. Lania's hands had this quality of seeming like they were constantly in motion while she was walking, her left hand tossing mildly forwards and upwards before her left foot took a step, and similarly for the right hand and foot. It was a hot day, and she enjoyed the sensation of the sun against her body, at least until the point at which she got burnt, which was unfortunate because she burned a bit more easily than her friends who had more melanin. It was partly why she'd switched to swimming in swimming pools indoors, since it allowed her to swim without having to worry about her skin being blistered and having to apply sunscreen. She looked right and left as she carried on walking, but couldn't see a place to buy food yet. Or, maybe she did, but couldn't tell it was a place to buy food. Because it was indoors.

Lania had faith in her sense of smell, because she sure didn't have much in her sense of direction. Even back home, the only places she knew best were where she lived, where she studied, and where she'd supply from. More than once she had managed to make a plan to meet up with a friend, plan her arrival using a map, and then get onto public transport and manage to forget where she was going on the way, forcing her to ask people for directions to her meeting place. It was the same here, she tried to make sure that wherever she went she wouldn't have the university out of her sight, or simply go in a straight line of sorts such that by following the street back in the opposite direction that she'd walked in, she'd make it back to her flat.

It was at an intersection where she stopped, and while making sure it was safe to cross, she was approached by a young Tenaiite man holding a bag and a cup of... drink. It was a drink. Darn., thought Lania. Cup like that, I almost thought it was liquid food. She had never quite understood why soup counted as food, but tossing slices of meat into Apollo Gin somehow didn't.

Not that she'd tried that herself.

It was merely an example.

She turned to look when he greeted her, but didn't get to hear much before her back accidentally became an obstacle in the path of a Cacertian in a hurry. The shove sent Lania leaning forward, but she managed to position herself such that instead of falling to the ground, she merely came down on her hands and knees. As she lingered for a moment on the ground, her hair mop covering her face from the people surrounding her, she finally burst into laughter and pushed herself back on her feet, managing to still give the impression of being gravitationally challenged even while standing still. "Haha, right, nobody mistake me for a komodon, eh!", she said. (She had meant to say Komondor, not that she even knew why it was the first dog breed to come to mind.) Her voice had a slightly high-pitched sound, and a bit of a slurring that made her tone not akin to a friend trying psychedelics for the first time and harmlessly expositing on how much they loved everyone. She turned to face the woman who bumped into her, and held her hand out for a handshake. "Hi yeah, sorry about being in your way when you're in a rush. Still, at least it was me and not a lamp post!"

She then turned around to look at Prakash and Shyntafay, and placed herself in such a way that she was between them, and was able to give friendly shoulder-pats to both with each of her hands.

Her two hands.

If ever was a good time for three hand multitasking, it would have been now.

"Ne, nice to meet you both, hey.", she said, still mildly chuckling to herself over how absurd her not dog impression was. She then pulled back, and moved her gaze back and forth between the two and Lavinia as she said, "Heh. Wow, we got quite a group here now, haven't we?" She clapped her hands together once. "Well, I suppose I should start with the introductions." She placed her left hand on her chest briefly, though she couldn't quite keep perfectly still with her hand gestures. "Hæ, 'hayō, I'm Lania Tirsa, I'm from Gylias, and, hehe, no, I'm not related to a former Sodep leader, but if you have any puns I haven't heard yet..." She rapidly touched her index fingers against her earlobes. "... they're functioning~", she said in a sing-song voice.

She then brushed some of her hair out of her face and back over her forehead as she awaited her new companions' introductions.

[Nalaya]

Kanarahsta Handrai Commercial District
Hampi, Tennai

“A novelist? A noble profession,” Shyntafay said. She admired people who could write or speak, considering how much she often struggled to express herself in those mediums. Her writing and frequently her speech were much like her thoughts: brusque and mechanical. She tucked her hands in her jeans’ pockets, jostling some coins and a ring of wire she’d braided first thing in the morning.

As soon as she’d registered the presence of another metalworker, her attention immediately gravitated not towards the woman, but towards the weapon. Was it balanced? What was the edge like? The flexibility, the strength, the shape, the material? She kept herself focused, however. Staring at the woman’s project would be rude, touching it without permission even more so. It was strange to see someone out and about with gear on, particularly carrying a piece of work. She kept her own stuff religiously in her workspace, always accounted for and exactly in its place. In Armavir, she’d drawn painstaking outlines of each tool on the wall or workbench so her father would know exactly where everything belonged if he went to borrow a tool. Her friends had teased her nigh mercilessly about it. Kasadu in particular found it amusing.

Part of Shyntafay felt awkward encountering these new people, if only because she didn’t know exactly how to react…not that that was appreciably different from normal. The Gylian’s tone and behavior concerned her a little bit. Was the woman drunk? Was she alright? She might have asked, but it would probably seem rude or intrusive, something she generally wanted to avoid.

The Nalayan woman flinched back from the unexpected touch. Nalayans had a very complicated relationship with personal space, but one consistency was that the Mak’ur were not generally touchy outside of their own circles, particularly in places like Armavir where jostling the wrong person could end in a fight. Shyntafay in particular had always been aloof, out of disposition more than desire. She’d learned distance from her father and wore it like armor most of the time.

She wasn’t really prepared to deal with such a high level of energy, but it was at least entertaining. It was also mildly amusing to see how the Gylian had to reach for her shoulder. Shyntafay was tall, several inches over six feet in height. Combined with dense muscle, it made her powerful. Her father had been even taller.

“Well met, Siruhi Tirsa,” Shyntafay said a little stiffly. She knew enough to shorten her own name, even though she knew by the same token that no one could truly know her without understanding it. But these people weren’t Nalayan, and so they wouldn’t know which name was her personal one. It was always a little bit awkward when people called her by the name of her qu’ilinasar. In Nalaya, it would have meant half a dozen heads turning in the Shrjani Nshanneri, even those of people she had no blood relation to. Here, there would be no such confusion, but she still didn’t like the idea. “I am Shyntafay Ilaleztice, from Nalaya.”

More properly, she would have been Illith’vir Shyntafay Ilaleztice dal Ruathym, but she doubted anyone would care.

Her lips curved into a faint, dry smile when she glanced over at Pravash. “It would seem you are outnumbered, Paron,” she commented, studying the two new people with her sharp, jade eyes. “I will endeavor to keep my second X chromosome in check, for your sake.” She was no biologist, but she’d learned enough to get by. Chemistry was much more her speed, considering how much of it she needed to know to be good at what she did. Every practice, every ritual, every formulation, had underlying pragmatic reasons that very much drew from the chemical properties of the metal and fuel. Shyntafay embraced hers was as much science as art.

Shyntafay pulled her watch out of her shirt pocket, a battered, sterling silver pocket-watch from the 1820s that she’d lovingly restored to function. It was a lever escapement that kept time within a minute a day, its cover engraved with roses and thorns. It was currently on a chain, clipped to the button-hole of that pocket in case it decided to try to dash itself on the pavement. She had received the case and its box of old parts when she turned sixteen and spent the next few years rebuilding it piece by piece with her father, keeping as much original as possible even though it meant hunting through antique shops to find similar watches with appropriate pieces that she could salvage. “It is very near to lunch,” she said. “I am going to get food.” She continued, albeit self-consciously, “You are all welcome to come. I assume we are all students. Like attracts like. It is somewhere to start, yes?”

She knew her words were coming out a bit short and nigh robotic, but she couldn’t really help it. She flipped the cover closed on her watch and tucked it back in her pocket, ready to go find food. She had a bit of money on her and it wasn't like she really spent much of it on anything but materials anyway. Besides, her stomach was starting to make its presence known.

[Cacerta]

Kanarahsta Handrai Commercial District
Hampi, Tennai
Lavinia was flustered, her pale face a bright shade of pink, as she clambered over the woman she had run into and back onto her feet. If there was anything comforting about the awkward situation she had gotten herself into, she was not the only foreigner. In fact, it appeared that everyone present was a foreigner with the exception of the one man -- he must have felt rather out of place, although he seemed kind and adaptable enough. Unlike her. She was never really a people person. A part of her really wanted to pick up her blade and snack and get back to work, but now that she was stuck in the middle of this gaggle of people, it would be extremely rude for her to just to grab and go -- the deep Cacertian roots within her wouldn’t allow her to.

There was a somewhat brief and awkward moment of silence between the ragtag group of gathered students before Lavinia gather up enough courage to introduce herself in her impeccable English. “My name is Lavinia Onesta Moreschi. I am a metalworker and gunsmith from Molfetta.” She was quick with her words, but crisp in her execution. Even as a child Lavinia was never one to say any more than she needed to. She always felt it was better to save one’s breath and spare others’ time when there was very little she could contribute to the conversation.

When Shyntafay made her offer of lunch to the group as a whole, Lavinia wanted to decline. But she hadn’t made any friends yet at school and things were getting lonely rather rapidly. If things did not change soon, it was likely she’d either return to Molfetta out of homesickness or because her parents -- who were both always concerned and somewhat invasive -- would make her come home. “I bought my snack just now, but it would not hurt to each something with actual substance. Lead on, Madam.”

[Tennai]

Kanarahsta Handrai Commercial District
Hampi, Tennai

“It is good to meet you honored ladies Moreschi and Tirsa,” Prakash said with a small nod of his head and with an accented version of the language the Cacertan had used. It was times like this that he was glad that his parents had a lot of foreign tourists stop by the shop to rent or purchase bicycles. It had given him a decent grasp of several different languages, though he was not exactly fluent in the vast majority of them. Moments after he had said the appropriate greetings to the two other foreign women, he realized that Lania had given him a pat on the shoulder.

“Whoa,” the word shot through his mind, “Does this woman have an interest in me?”

Prakash let the thought buzz around in his mind for a few brief moments before he concluded that it likely did not. Lania was a foreigner and was likely unaware of the meaning that was associated with the action she had taken. A woman placing a hand on another individual’s shoulder meant that she was interested in that particular individual. Of course, it did not simply mean “Hey, I think your interesting. Do you wanna date?”, it meant something more like “Hey, I think your hot. Wanna fuck?”. She was certainly unaware of that and had simply touched his shoulder to be friendly. That was what many foreigners did, right?

Then, before Prakash could continue that train of thought, the phone in his pocket started playing a lively song from popular film that had recently opened to rave reviews. “Please excuse me for a moment ladies,” he spoke before taking a step away from the group of women. “Hi Deepika,” he was speaking in his native tongue again, “What’s going?

....
“Well, I met with some other people from the school and we were thinking about heading out for lunch.”
....
“Three, and no. All women.”
....
Prakash looked back at the three women momentarily and then away again. “Hmm. I guess so, though you would have to see for yourself.”
....
“Uh hu, but aren’t they a bit pricey?”
....
Prakash furrowed his brows and then took a deep breath, “She really doesn’t have to do that. She is already so nice to us as it is...”
....
“Okay, okay. I’ll bring them along. Is there anything else sister?”
....
“Alright, I’ll just go park my moped and we will head over. I’ll see you in a bit Deepika.

Prakash then put his phone back into his pocket and stepped back into the presence of the women and smiled. “Well,” he spoke in his own language, “My sister and her friend invited all of us out for lunch. The place isn’t too far from here so we could walk if you wanted or we could grab a taxi.”

“First though, I need to go park my moped and store my bag..” He then looked at the three women and nodded, “If any of you need to store anything, the lot across the street has storage lockers you can rent.” Prakash then walked to his moped and put up the kickstand. He then turned the vehicle around and walked it up to Shyntafay, Lania, and Lavinia. “If you are ready, shall we go honored ladies?”

[Nalaya]

Kanarahsta Handrai Commercial District
Hampi, Tennai

Shyntafay looked caught off guard by the invitation, but then again, she wasn't usually invited places by anyone beyond the world of the Shrjani Nshanneri. It was a little different when she was doing the inviting, because then her expectation was that she would be footing the bill. "That is most kind," she said, jamming her rough hands back into her pockets. Her fingers found the piece of braided wire and curled around it, feeling the comforting press of metal into her hand. "I would not like to intrude."

She was not a soft creature and she knew that people sometimes objected to that, particularly in the world beyond Nalaya. The Mak'ur did not precisely have the same definition of femininity that others worked from and she knew that better than most, as all of her people were hard and sharp like broken glass. To them it was obvious who she was and she took comfort in that. But in a strange world, she found herself uncomfortable. She'd her androgyny pointed out to her before by strangers, after all, often less than charitably. It didn't help that in her experience women could be even more quick to unkindness.

One of her hands darted up to her ear, sweeping sandy hair back and leaving a smudge of graphite on her tan skin. She hadn't managed to get it all off her hands. The muscles in her forearms, considerably powerful after a lifetime of constant work, flexed and moved as she started to nervously clench and relax her calloused hands. She rocked on her heels a little bit as she looked at the others, trying to figure out whether she wanted to agree or not, just one step short of shuffling her feet anxiously. It was hard to read her expression, however. It seemed as serious as always and gave very few clues to what her inner thoughts were. As transparent as a lump of coal, a friend had once said of her.

It could sting to accept this offer, yes, and she felt like she would be imposing, but her workshop was empty of people and she was feeling a long, long way from home right now. If she was going to be here, possibly for the rest of her life with what a warring Nalaya could be like, she needed to start meeting new people. None of her friends back home would have been happy to hear that she'd turned a forced exile into solitary existence. Nalayans really weren't meant to be on their own, particularly not a Mak'ur from Armavir. They needed other people, preferably tightly wound together to form a shield against the world.

"I...if it is alright," she said finally, nodding her head slightly at Prakash. She fished out her pocket watch and checked the time despite the fact that she'd just looked. It was a way of calming herself down a little bit. She watched the delicate hands move at their steady pace for a moment. Sometimes when she was really upset, she would hold it up to her ear and listen to the soothing ticking sound. Of course, that was only when she couldn't get into the forge. Working made all her problems seem to fade. "I have nothing to store. Everything is back at home." Home for her was far more the workshop than the place where she slept.

When Prakash returned, she gave him a more distinct nod, mentally steeling herself. "Yes, ready."

[Gylias]

"Well well, it's lovely to meet you all.", Lania said, her voice losing the slurring somewhat but the words still shuffling out at a relaxed pace. "We've got quite a good coverage of nations, hehe..." She pointed towards herself and the others, saying, "Gylias, Nalaya, Cacerta, Tennai... not too bad for a group of four, I'd say." She then chuckled to herself and added her thought out loud: "I never seen Nalaya in the qualifiers, that's a first, it is."

When Shyntafay had pulled out her pocketwatch, Lania had looked at it with some interest. She hadn't really seen pocketwatches like that before, certainly not in real life. There may have been in old images, generally in times and societies that forced people to overdress because of sick and neurotic attitudes towards the human body. The pocketwatches at least seemed to come in handy. But it was certainly a novelty for Lania - she had even been born too late to catch people wearing wristwatches. Gylians could take to technology a bit more quickly than other nations, at least in part because of its economic structure and predominance of cooperatives. It meant that often in particular areas, companies couldn't compete on prices, so they had to go for service or product quality, and the little things that kept their customers happy. Mobile phones spread rather quickly from the 1990s, so Lania had always taken it for granted that if you needed to know the time, you'd just look at your mobile.

While Prakash was on the phone, Lania approached Shyntafay and said, "I'm definitely joining in on the food, but I just wanted to say, that is a nice watch." She pointed towards the pocket where Shyntafay had put it back. "They're... old, ne? Must be a century or two ago." She giggled. "You really have something no one else does. That's something, alright."

It occurred to her that that phrase probably sounded better in Adhunese, but it had already been said by that point.

Lania nodded her head in agreement at Prakash's invitation to go for food. "I'm all up for it!", she said. She found herself a bit amused by being called an honoured lady. It was a nice thing to say, it was polite, but it was also so very... Middle Ages. Or RPG. Prakash, Lania, Shyntafay, Lavinia: the party of saving the planet, again. They had their swordswoman covered, the magic expert accounted for, and the healer checked... but Lania couldn't tell what Prakash's role would be. She definitely had to be the healer. She wasn't sure if Shyntafay double-classed as a magic warrior, but that seemed the most likely.

She briefly glanced in Shyntafay and Lavinia's directions as she pondered the image of them doing a joint attack, like one of those dual techs in Chrono Trigger - Shyntafay likely charging Lavinia's sword and Lavinia leaping umpteen metres in the air to stab the baddie of the level they were in. Or in space, if it was the final boss. I don't actually know why so many RPGs just put the final battle in space, or a bad trip, she thought. They really shouldn't be mixing LSD with cocaine when working on level designs.

As the group began to move in the direction of food, Lania approached Lavinia, figuring it would be fair to try to make conversation with everyone. "So... Lavinia Moreschi...", she said, trying to think of something not stupid with which to start. "Your family name, does that refer to the city you're from?"

[Tennai]

Kanarahsta Handrai Commercial District
Hampi, Tenna

Prakash waited a moment for the others to be ready and then led them across the street to the bicycle lot were he parked his moped and then put his bag away into a storage locker. Once he had taken care of himself he then helped out anyone who needed to store anything before leading them away from the lot and onto the busy sidewalk beside it. “”Okay,” he said with a wave,” it is only a walk of a couple of blocks, so we should be there soon.” Allowing the others to speak, he made sure to keep a close eye on the women so that they did not get separated from him or themselves as they walked.

He would have suggested holding hands or onto each other’s sleeves, but he was unsure of how that would go over with this ethnically and culturally diverse group of people. After they had walked a short distance he pointed to a portion of the sidewalk raised several centimeters above the rest of the sidewalk, slowing his pace slightly. “You should try to avoid walking on these raised portions of the sidewalk,” he spoke thinking he sounded like some low paid tour guide, “they are for people who need to stop or take a break.”

At the end of the first block, Prakash led the group of women across the street and then around a corner where a sleek looking modern tower emblazoned with the Ragvan International Bank’s logo stood. Once around the corner, Prakash decided he should break his silence again and find out if the ragtag group of women had anything to ask him. Looking back at the women with a bright smile, he queried them as they continued to walk. “Honored ladies, it occurs to me that I have not asked if you had any questions regarding the city. If there is anything that you would like to ask, I will do my best to answer. I have lived here my whole life, so I should be able to offer a few answers at the very least.”

[Nalaya]

Shyntafay twisted one of her rings at the mention of questions. She didn't exactly have any, not when she was used to just soaking in history almost by osmosis, as naturally as breathing. She answered her own questions by pouring over books of designs and symbols with their various meanings. Part of Shyn wondered if she just wasn't curious enough, not imaginative enough, to come up with inquiries. "All things reveal themselves in time," she said finally. "It is the wonder of the thing, the love of the thing, that brings the knowledge of the thing to light. I do not even know where to begin with questions, Paron."

It was something of a love affair, her fascination with the designs and motifs of Tennai. They were different from the world she had known, even if universal patterns revealed themselves in stories, legends, and myths. They were her sources of inspiration. Mak'ur loved their ties to the past and she supposed she was no different. Even just the thought of it was somewhat calming. Tell me a story, she'd always used to say to her father. Growing up had only meant he would tell her the more serious and important ones. Her craft was about connection as much as art, as far as she was concerned. Inspiration came from caring.

She jammed her hands back in her pockets after a moment. The closer they came to their destination, the more anxious she became. It didn't show in her face. It never did. But she felt it in her hands and distracted herself with the press of her rings into her hand and that braid of twisted wire. If she wasn't careful, she'd be working on it more at the table...which wasn't usually a good idea. People seldom appreciated her working with metal during conversations, particularly if it was a bit grubby. Not that the graphite wasn't, of course. She cleared her throat. "Are you certain that it will not be intruding, Paron?"

Self-consciousness, thy name is Shyn, she reflected with a dry amusement. There was a faint quirk of a smile at the corners of her mouth, but not much else of an expression. She waited on the answer, carefully suppressing her nervous habits as much as she could.

[Gylias]

Lania somehow felt that she might have been supposed to have some questions, but she just couldn't remember what they were. She chuckled awkwardly, and said, "I probably did have one or two... but they don't come to mind right now." She looked at her company with a shrug. "If I forgot them, they probably weren't that important." She scratched the back of her head. "Although, to be fair, the parts of the city I do know best are the academy, the academy lodging, and where I get food from."

She had mostly just followed along quietly and looked around a lot, taking in the city's sights - although a bank probably didn't count as one of its national heritage monuments, to be sure. She had made a bit of small talk with the other women in their group, but they tended to peter out quickly, and she didn't push the issue. After all, they were on the move, and they were still mostly strangers to each other, so a degree of walking on eggshells around each other was understandable, especially since they first had to get to... where they were going. (They weren't walking on actual eggshells, though. Nobody could pave a road out of that. Even if some of Lania's attempts at cooking eggs may have suggested otherwise.)

[Tennai]

“You almost sound like one of the old romantic writers or globetrotting explorer...” Prakash readied himself to repeat Shyntafay’s rather exotic name, “Shyntafee,” he then added quickly, “Please forgive me if I have pronounced your name incorrectly. After a few more steps Prakash responded to Syntafay’s next question with a shake of his head, “I can guarantee that you are not intruding. If my sister and Nithya invite you out, then you are never an intruder. Nithya is very sweet and generous and my sister is her best friend. So there is no need to be worried.”

Lania was an odd one, but she seemed pretty harmless and so Prakash responded to her as they drew ever closer to their destination. “If you ever recall those questions, I will gladly answer them Lania.” The Gylian woman’s name was a bit easier to pronounce as there similar sounding names to be found among the various ethno-linguistic groups of Tennai. It was a fact that helped ease his anxiety concerning his pronunciation of the names of the other two women.

Prakash then led the group down the street that he had turned them onto and then made a turn at a small shrine decorated with the carved images of a multitude of figures surrounding a recessed center. The figures on the shrine depicted women, men, and various semi-divine entities. In the recessed portion of the shrine was the brightly painted figure of a bosomy six armed female figure with green skin and richly decorated clothing. In each of her six hands she held a different item. These items were a chakram, a conch shell, a mace, a bow, a sword, and a thunderbolt.

As they passed the shrine Prakash took a quick glance at and slowed slightly before returning to his normal pace. After a few more minutes of walking the group neared a reasonably modern stone building, built within the last century and a half, with large windows covering its entire front. A large white sign boldly emblazoned with deep red Samil lettering that spelled “Bipasha’s” sat above the windows and marked the building as the most highly acclaimed eatery in the city and among the top places to eat in the nation. Of course, if the sign did not let you know that fact, then the fragrant aroma of spices, garlic, ginger, and a host of other heavenly smells would have certainly alerted you and enraptured your olfactory sense.

“Here we are Honored Ladies. I hope you like great food because you are not going to find anything else here. If you need any help with reading the menu or have any questions regarding any of the dishes once we are inside, my sister, Nithya, or myself will be able to help you out.”

When the group was a few meters from the front of the restaurant, a young woman who looked about the same age as Prakash stepped out from the front doors of the establishment. She was about three inches taller than Prakash with large brown eyes, mid-length ebony hair that looked like it had been very quickly tied back, and a somewhat slender physique that displayed an upper torso that did a reasonable job of imitating one of the goddesses of Hahtta. She was dressed in a saffron hued sleeveless choli and pair of white jeans

“Ah,” exclaimed Prakash when he saw the woman approaching, “That is my sister Deepika coming towards us. You should probably introduce yourselves when she gets over here. It would be a bit rude and inappropriate for me to make the introductions for you.”

When Deepika arrive in front of them, Prakash smiled at her and stepped away so that the women with him had a chance to introduce themselves without him hovering around them like a dragonfly around a lotus blossom.

[Nalaya]

“Shyn, if it is easier?” Shyntafay said. Her lips quirked into something that was almost a smile as they walked. When they passed the shrine, she touched two fingers to her forehead, then her lips, then her heart, and made a small gesture as she brought her hand away from her chest. When in strange lands with strange spirits, it paid to be polite. At least, that was her mentality.

At the restaurant, she took a deep breath and savored the smells coming from the restaurant. They were different than home, but she associated them with excellent tastes. She wasn’t terribly worried about reading the menu, as she had some grasp on at least reading Tennai’s language. She wasn’t particularly eloquent, but she couldn’t claim to be that even in her native tongue. Others had far prettier phrases ready at the drop of a hat.

Now to make an introduction without putting her foot in her mouth, a feat easier said than done to the metalworker. “Siruhi, I am Shyntafay Ilaleztice. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Your brother invited me—us, I suppose—to lunch,” she said. Her hands hung at her sides, as she still wasn’t clear on how free Tennaians were with their touch. Besides, even if a handshake was appropriate, Shyn might have preferred to avoid one. Her hands were calloused and rough, nails cut very short and frequently chipped. It would be like shaking hands with sandpaper.

She studied Deepika carefully, uncertain of what to make of her current situation. Culture clash was frequently unavoidable, but Shyn was nothing if not polite. She had no desire to cause discomfort or offense, particularly not if it could be avoided.

[Cacerta]

Kanarahsta Handrai Commercial District
Hampi, Tennai
Lavinia had always been characterized for her quiet nature; her mother always told her how her personality fit that of an observer -- noticing details here and there that were often overlooked by others. It’s what made her very good at her art of forging; even though she hated it. Customers to her family’s shops always loved the detail she put in her work; her blades always sold first but Lavinia never came out whenever a buyer requested. Often, her excuse was that she was far too deep in the process of forging another blade that she couldn’t leave her work alone.

Or so she liked telling herself.

The young Cacertian kept pace with the rest of the group, keeping quiet unless she was directly addressed. When Lania asked her about her family name, Lavinia responded quickly -- telling her that Moreschi was not related to Molfetta at all and that her family actually came from some of Cacerta’s more central situated islands. She mentioned that they believed they had come from a Viareggio cadet-branch considering the dark violet hair she had inherited from her mother, but they had never really looked into it. It was always something on the list of things to do -- as it would be interested to learn about their family history -- but considering how busy they always were, no one had ever found the time.


Lavinia was one to take in her surroundings; there was still so much about Tennai -- it’s culture and it’s people -- that she knew very little about and the stacks and stacks of history books in her room back at the university illustrated her ignorance in the foreign land. She did her best not to let it show and it was a humbling experience to know and meet people from a culture so distinctly different from her own. Even the food, as strange to her as it was, made for her currently short time in Tennai and interesting one. She paid very close attention to the things that Prakash pointed out, taking mental notes for future reference, and when he introduced his sister to the pack, Lavinia waited for Shyntafay to finish.

“Madam Deepika,” Lavinia bowed in her Cacertian fashion, “My name is Lavinia Moreschi and I hail from Cacerta. It is a pleasure to make your acquitance.” She felt obligated to excuse her attire -- which was unlike any real clothes Cacertians wore -- but at the same time Lavinia was aware that a Cacertians reputation always preceded them. A nation of odd people that found clothing and nudity equally as appealing.

[Tennai]

Deepika nodded at her brother he arrived with the three foreign women in tow and then listened as two of them introduced themselves. Both of the women that spoke had rather exotic appearances and that was not taking into account their clothing. Both were somewhat pale by Tennaiite standards, though that was not a bad thing. She had always been a fan of lighter skin tones, though you would not have been able to tell if saw her ex.

Before acknowledging Shyn and Lavinia’s greetings, she examined each of them closely. Shyn was tall, slender, packed with lean muscle, tattooed, had pale brown hair,, and looked like she was the type to get her hands dirty for her art. If she had to guess, the woman probably worked with metal or stone. She did not possess a more traditional female figure, especially the sort that was idealized in Tennai, but she did what most people would call a warrior’s cham.

Lavinia was paler than Shyn, and had a more feminine figure overall. The woman’s hair, possibly dyed, was a vibrant shade of purple that Deepika was sure did a wonderful job of drawing in peoples eyes. It had certainly drawn her attention, much like the blade and metal workers gear that Lavinia was wearing. There was no questioning what she was studying.

Her examinations of the two women complete, she smile and nodded. “It is a joy to meet Shyntafay,” her pronunciation was only lightly accented, “And also you Lavinia.”

“The both of you look very lovely today.” Deepika then turned to Lania, who she thought had a curious look about her, and nodded. “May I have your name beauteous lady?”

She then swept her gaze over all of the women and placed a hand on her heart, “As my brother might have mentioned, I am Deepika. We are twins. He a student of journalism and myself a student Graphic and Comic Arts.”

[Gylias]

Ooh, a shrine, Lania thought. She had passed some on the street during her time as student, enough to recognise them visually, but never really had taken too much time to stop and ponder them. What amused her was how similar they seemed to Concordian shrines. Well, perhaps they were more ornate and sumptuous than Concordian ones - which weren't particularly known for having multi-armed creatures on display. (Gylians' imagination when it came to portrayal of spirits had its limits.) Well, I suppose they wouldn't have used all those arms just for a dance number. (It occured to Lania she may have been too familliar with Tennaiite musicals, compared to Tennaiite...ness...icity?) She stared for a good few seconds at the writing on the sign above the building Prakash had just led them to, but to no avail: she couldn't properly read the entire word.

She only realised she'd been spacing out when she heard Deepika's question. "Oh, me?", she said, pointing to herself. (Needless to say, Lania hadn't exactly considered herself a "beauteous" person before. Hearing that adjective applied to her was nice, but also required a bit of processing power to digest.) [She made a note to herself to stop mixing up computer and eating metaphors.] "I'm Lania Tirsa. Nice to meet you." She shook Deepika's hand. "Though I think you're probably the more beauteous of us two, haha!" Or at least the one who didn't look so obviously like a student.

"Comic arts?", she asked. "So you mainly focus on comics?"

[Nalaya]

Shyntafay gave her faint, almost unreadable smile. "And you as well, Siruhi," she said in return of the compliment. It was rare she heard anything like that. Over the years, she was more accustomed to compliments of skill and talent than any commentary on her appearance. Well, except for the Lirdnolu boy, but nothing had come of that and Shyntafay had no idea of what might have become of him. With the assault on the Shrjani Nshanneri, the answer was probably nothing good. She'd liked Valas. He was a sweetheart, even if he was a shameless flirt.

She could appreciate comics and graphic arts just as much as journalism, though she lacked the knack for both of them. Paper had never been a medium where she excelled, at least not in shading and color. Her simple pencil patterns were usually enough to see her through, no matter how intricate the design. "Perhaps I will have the good fortune to see some of your work someday, Siruhi."

Work was something Shyntafay understood. She didn't feel as awkward or tongue-tied when she spoke of it, particularly her own work. She didn't feel as though she knew enough to critique paintings or poems or songs, but she understood alloys and grinds and forging techniques so well that it was ingrained beyond her ability to articulate explanations. She just knew when cracks were going to form or when the weld would break, feeling it and seeing it with an expert's senses. Her father had taught her well to know the limits of her metal and how to push them.

"I work arrend drostan," Shyntafay said. "Metal. Old ways." She wasn't above using modern technology, but she preferred to work by hand despite the backbreaking labor. It had a good feel to it, taking something from iron sand to a finished project with power and technique. She looked at the restaurant. "Should we go in?"

[Tennai]

Deepika smiled and nodded at Lania. “I do indeed focus comics Lania. I have a couple of my own series that I write, pen, and ink. I know that in most larger publishing houses there are different people taking care of all these things, but I love doing all of it. There is nothing better than having complete creative control over a project.”

Turning her eyes upon Shyntafay nodded once more. “You will definitely get to see some of my work Shyn,” she flashed the other young women a grin, “And everyone else of course. I would also love to see what everyone else does. I love what can be done with metal by a good craftsman, especially since I am so poor with things like that.”

Nodding again at Shyntafay, Deepika looked over at Prakash. “I think Shyn makes an excellent suggestion brother. Let us lead our guests to their table.”

“Of course sister,” Prakash nodded at Deepika.

“And don’t walk too slow either brother. I am sure Nithya is eager to see you.”

Prakash tried and failed to keep from rolling his eyes. His sister never knew when to give something up. If she had her mind set on something she would pursue it relentlessly and there was nothing that could get in her way. At times he loved that about his sister, but sometimes it simply annoyed the shit out of him. But that was how she was and he still loved her.

Deepika chuckled at her brother and then the two of them stepped through the doors of the restaurant. The interior of the establishment was a blending of modern and ancient styles that became popular a few years ago and was still going strong. Stone, wood, and metal created sleek modern lines and also intricate patterns and figures reminiscent of the temple and palatial architecture of bygone centuries. A large, flowing fountain sat in the center of the dining space and strategically placed local plants broke the dining area up into smaller, more intimate areas for its many guests.

Deepika and Prakash wove through the restaurant, making sure not to loose the other women, and led them to a table at the rear of the dining area. When they came within a short distance of the table a young woman stood up from her seat and walked over to them.

The woman in question was tall and possessed a slender hourglass shape with proportions that were not exceedingly overwhelming but none the less were more than satisfactory to cause a bit of jealousy. A bit of jealousy and the expected divine comparisons. Her long and lustrous black hair was tied back and a pair of gem-like hazel eyes shone out from the dark skin of her well formed face.

When the woman reached the group she leaned down gave both Prakash and Deepika a hug and a kiss on the forehead. “I am glad you came Prakash,” the woman said with a smile, “These are your friends then?”

Prakash nodded, “They are Nithya.”

Nithya then smiled at the foreign women and greeted them. “It is lovely to meet you lovely ladies on this fine day. I am Nithya. Please take a seat let me know if there is anything in particular that you have been dying to try and I will see if I can get the chef to make it for you.” Nithya then guided the group to their seats and indicating that she would sit between Lania and Shyntafay

Once everyone was seated, Nithya looked around the table. Did these women fancy Prakash? It was something that she was going to have to find out. If they did, then she would simply have to change their minds about him. Whether he had figured it out or not, Prakash was one person in the world she had chosen to lavish her attention and affections on and it would break her heart if he let himself become ensnared by someone he barely knew.

“So,” Nithya spoke again, “Are we missing someone? Didn’t you say you were with three women Prakash?”

Prakash nodded, “I did, but Lavinia got a call before we came in and it looked like it was important. She said she would meet us inside if it was nothing really urgent.”

Nithya nodded. “We will just have to make sure and save her something then.” She then looked around the table again and addressed everyone. “I have already ordered a few things I thought would be a good introduction to Tenaiite cuisine for our visitors.”

[Nalaya]

Shyntafay gave Nithya a small dip of her head, but made no move to shake hands or make contact. Mak’ur were notorious for being standoffish with strangers, particularly those outside the faith. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Siruhi.” She was taller than Nithya, but not by much and she was making an effort not to loom or accidentally glower.

The smith was no expert on people. She preferred metal, as she always knew where she stood with it. That said, she wasn’t an idiot. The way Nithra looked at Prakash spoke volumes and she understood that there was a definite air of mine between them, at least going one way. Getting in the middle of that was a recipe for disaster. She wasn’t a fan of confrontations with people. With her work, Shyn’s patience was infinite. When it came to people, however, she knew she had a temper. Mak’ur in general seemed hot-blooded even if many could keep themselves polite. The last thing she wanted was an argument with a stranger.

Besides, the war had changed how she felt about such things. Even though she rationally understood that Nithya wasn’t likely to stab her, her stomach still knotted at the idea of a fight...not that she would have gone down easily.

It was a stupid thought and so Shyn pushed it out of her mind. She managed a barely-there smile for Nithya, more out of politeness than good humor. “Thank you for ordering for us, Siruhi. I am never certain where to begin at restaurants.”

She had every intention of proceeding with caution. Her face was as unchanging as always, barely expressive at all. It made her look altogether more serious than she really was most of the time. Sarcasm was her favorite method of humor, but it didn’t always translate well and so she made it a point to avoid it now. “Please forgive me if my curiosity is rude, but do you attend the Academy as well, Nithya? I understand that Prakash and Deepika both do.” It was an effort to break the ice.

Their surroundings were beautiful, though Shyntafay tried not to focus on the architecture so that she could devote her attention to the other people at the table. She kept her hands in her lap, knowing that they weren’t particularly beautiful to most people. In Armavir, it was...different. They were badges of honor, marks of the status that had granted her so much respect. Every scar was a testament to the hours of ceaseless labor poured into attaining mastery of her craft. She had been swinging a hammer as soon as she was strong enough to lift it and working on fine details long before that. It made her dexterous and strong.

She glanced over at Lania and nodded slightly to her. “And you are..a musician, yes?” It was a guess, but everything the Gylian seemed to do had a rhythm to it and she knew that Lania’s country valued its artists of sound.

[Gylias]

"Mhm," Lania replied. She thought of the process, understanding that there are times when one who writes cannot also draw, and vice versa. "That's understandable. It must be a great advantage, that you can write and draw your series too." Presumably, at the large publishing houses, the people who handled these different processes also knew each other and worked together. Otherwise it sounded more like an assembly line, and assembly lines inevitably made her think of Modern Times.

She couldn't really add anything to what Deepika was saying—or rather, she could, but Deepika and everyone else's attention was everywhere, so she said "Oh, I'd love to" rather quietly instead and followed everyone else. While walking along to their tables, her attention frequently darted to and fro, mostly to the elaborate patterns on the décor. I wonder how they carved those into stone?, she thought. Probably by hand... must've taken a lot of planning. Metal you can just press on...

The table set for them was agreeably far into the back of the restaurant; she mused they could talk without real worries that they'd be inconveniencing others. The woman they met there was named Nithya, so she surmised from overhearing Prakash saying "They are Nithya". She hadn't caught what came before that, but smiled at the thought that Prakash was respecting Nithya's wishes about how to be referred to. As befitting a Gylian, the first thing Lania took note of was Nithya's clothes - they looked pleasing and complemented her appearance very well.

Lania was able to reach out and shake hands with Nithya, and said, "It is lovely to meet you too, Nithya." Chuckling slightly, she added, "I'll defer to your expertise."

Hopefully Lavinia's doing alright, she thought when Prakash mentioned her absence. Glancing past Nithya at Shyn, she joked to herself that Nithya volunteered to sit between them so that she wouldn't have to look small by comparison with Shyn. The Nalayan was remarkably tall, to a point that just looking at her felt rather mesmerising. Lania estimated mentally that she was probably as tall as Asuka.

When Shyn also turned and glanced at her, Lania smiled. "Yes, I am," she replied, "although some of might colleagues might disagree!"

"I am studying music, yeah," she continued afterwards. "I'm at the University of Tomes at Gydas, and I'm doing a half-semester here as a transfer student. I wanted to learn more about Tennaiite music than just what our bands have borrowed, haha. Drones, polyrhythms, raga, things like that."

There was more to say, but she paused first to give Shyn (or anyone else, really) a chance to join in.