faderift | 01

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01 | OPEN

WHO: Lakshmi & You!
WHAT: Out and about events, catch all for the month, etc.
WHEN: Today to the end of the month??
WHERE: Kirkwall and the surrounds
NOTES: N/A at present.

i. ( training )
Each morning, Lakshmi's pattern is incredibly similar: she rises, goes about getting ready for the morning with quiet prayers and as little sound possible to disturb anyone she might be sharing her quarters with, and goes down to the training grounds. It has been years and years since the only weapons she relied upon were sword and shield - if ever. Disliking a pistol in her youth wasn't the same as not having it. Even so.

There is some secret thrill, to having nothing but the joy of Shivaji's weapons, to be like the stories of her grandfather's time. Fighting by Bajirao's side.

But stories they were, and the years since she had been taught the weapons, there had been rifles, thermite and Tesla's electricity to fill the space where those skills had once been sharp. Time to start at the beginning again. First with a spear, dressed to turn the long material of her sari to wrap her legs like pants and tuck the rest in tightly to a waist belt. The Inquisition light armour over the top.

Enough to train in. Taking up the spear first - and beginning to move with it - a series of long movements as she begins to turn it like a pinwheel between both hands, over her head, another full circle. Then again, and speeding up as she goes. Stepping in turns as she passes it between hands, one at a time, puncturing it with long thrusts, the practised strike of a spear into flesh mimed and pulled back from. Feet turning in the dirt in precise movements, turning on her heel the lessons of her father, sharp in her ears, it is speed, more than strength, a fast lion's swipe than its bite is how Shivaji triumphed, and it is - big, flashy, more dance than strict combat. But as much concentration as either. Fixing in the middle distance with the effort of keeping it up. Until the spear in her hand is spinning as fast as she can manage it, from behind her back to in front of her, holding it for moments it above her then, then across from one side of her body to the other as she turns into each step. Breathing hard, the sting of sweat on her brow. Then faster again, until her arms felt the ache of it.

Until when it's over, far more suddenly then how she built up to it, the spear is thrown down, tip to the ground and she bobs down. Arching on her toes, balancing there as she touches the ground, the reaches up to mime the touch near her face. I've gotten slow, father. Rolling up to standing after that, she goes to pull the spear out of the ground. Absent gestures - leaning her face down and pushing her shoulder up to wipe her brow clear.

Nothing for it, she returns the spear to the stock of weapons, then reaches for the sword and shield closest to her own preference - a long eye cast on the other pieces she sees. No, no, not worth it. Not yet, not until she knew her pieces perfectly. Shaking out all her limbs. The long sword was no talwar. This was not the lightness that she was used to exactly. Didn't curve against her palm right. But if this was what was most commonly available - then it was what she was to get used too.

Better than sitting around stewing over other matters she could not change - like still being here, or what Kitty had said to her. And to that - she gladly takes the offer of anyone who might want to the spar. Whether it was overeager Inquisition soldiers ( some she beats, some she does not ). Or other Rifters and her grin is quick and easy -

"And you? Fancy a match?" Her laughter with it, she likes being this - more than she likes just about anything else. It's simple, and easy, and knows quite plainly what and who she is.

ii. ( bathing )
Not a single time after training for however long she does so - that it isn't immediately followed by gladly throwing herself to be clean. Nothing more utterly blissful as that, especially after the recent years. ( Scrubbing in cold water on the worst of winter days left little to be desired. ) So glad that at least here, for all she might not want to stay here, had something decent.

Took the same sort of discipline to it, even if it was a sight more eagerly done than perhaps was necessary. Unravelling all four feet of hair from where it was pinned to the top of her head ( - ought to cut it, like she had before this place sore fit to give her reminders she did not want and with it the memory of why she had not until need demanded it. ) Taking the only truly selfish item she had purchased so far with the gold from trading some of her bangles, the bottle of perfumed oil. Tipping it onto her palm to coat her hands before she cards fingers through all that hair. Kashi would shudder for the rough care. But it was better than nothing. Scrunching it with rough hands at the ends. Whatever is left on her fingers is rubbed into old wounds, the bullet hole above her heart, the lycan bite on her middle, the claw marks on her legs.

Then gladly sunk in down until the water went over her head. Half intent on drowning herself, it seemed. Scarred skin softening with the moisture and all that hair wafting like an ink spill in the water. Only until she can't hold her breath anymore that she sticks her head back up and takes to resting against the side of the bath with both eyes shut. Not intent on moving for a good long minute. Her strange radio firmly discarded. If anyone wanted her, they could come to find her if it really mattered.

At least until someone else does arrive - and she cracks an eye, seeing who it is and whatever they might so, she hums and does her best to move over to give space if they need it. Still early, the sun ought to rise soon but - not busy in the day yet. "I'll be out soon - " in case they needed the place to themselves.

iii. ( lowtown )
A merchant here was as decent as anyone she could find in Hightown, she reasoned, and at least here - there was a great deal less fussing involved. Even if she did dress and behave differently, her veils drawn as ever. If they were going to insult her for the mark glowing in her hand, they would do it to her face.

Which is how things end with this merchant - as it turned out. Most people seemed a little less guarded, the benefit of the tournament. At least meant no one went out of their way to avoid them. But she could feel the taste of being ripped off for the prices she was being offered on the plain bolt of cotton she had her eye on. Something of Myira perhaps, or Bronach, when she felt the urge to sit and sew again.

"That much? That was twice what you offered the man before me. Is my coin not as good as his?" Her voice is pitched, brittly angry. Deliberately loud enough for anyone else walking by. Never suffered anything quietly when it was like this, and it ripples an anger through her. Did they think she was an idiot? The response the same: that was the price.

Her teeth grit, pulling up to her full height. Ready, absolutely ready to pick a fight in the middle of the street. She could be quite decent at holding her tongue, walking away, at least until her temper got the better of her. Her fingers flexed cooly at her side, ready, ready, ready. That flickering dull green light on her palm that apparently what deserved this when she had never asked for it and once more punished for that which was never her fault.

Might be a good time to stop it.

iv. ( wildcard )

Got something else you want to do that we talked about? Want to do something, drop me a pm or a message over at aeneia.

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"That is not correct, Bai is the - " it doesn't matter what it means as she is led off.

And surely there are many wonders here. All worthy of individual attention. But right now - she is trying to work out how to be dignified about this. Careful, unsure, she reaches her hand up, hesitant like approaching a beast. She was not just... going to go for it. Instead, she swipes a little, onto her fingers, lifting it up to her lips slowly to close them around it and taste it.

It is not quite... the same as other things she had eaten the same. Not the almost salty tinge of Masala, not mixed with honey or caramel. But... sweet. All the same. Rich like milk and vanilla so inherently was. In more than just taste, the vanilla alone must cost a decent fortune and he had just given to her for how strong this was. "Thank you, this is very nice."

Maybe too rich for her, if only almost. She never favoured strong sweets, not much more than this would easily be too much. But she gently lifts her fingers to take another little bit to eat.

"Good eh?" Barnabas grins and then pulls a ledger towards him and gets a pencil. "Lets see here...Alright, what do you have that you're willing to part with? Tech is very valuable, as are things that are unable to be made here, plastics, unknown metals that sort of thing. Gold is always useful as is jewlery that has a otherworldly bent. You said you don't have and Ids...."

Barnabas looks up with a smile again. "So how about it? Lets make a deal."

And - that strikes her livid. Her eyes sharp behind her brows, narrowing slightly as she looks over him. How is he to know what he asks for? Hers are not trinkets, and never mind, mostly useless to him. The silks were soaked in blood - and the jewellery precious to her not for their wealth ( though in the years from her dream, she would be forced to pawn it, sell away parts of her bridal gifts to fund - charities, temples, the poor, armies, war - ) but for how they had been given to her. The moments of her greatest happiness.

She would not sell that for anything less than what it was worth.

"No." Firm, but not dismissive. Just frankly blunt. She will not be selling her items. "My items are not for pawning off for less than their worth to a middleman to sell to nobles at twice the price he bought it from me, as mere eccentricities. Besides - " her eyes look, and that is dismissive around her, " - you could not afford them even if you were to sell everything here."

Gangadhar had never spared when it came to showering upon his wife, even if she did not always want the jewels. But they were prized none the less, crafted gold beaten into intricate patterns. The finest stones sourced from all over the world. Pearls from the depths of the ocean of Ceylon. Diamonds from Egypt. Amber from the Baltic rivers.

Barnabas's smile drops a few degrees, but he sits back, hands folded over the ledger. "Ms. Bai, I understand you not wanting to give up items of sentimental value, and if you do not, very well. What DO you need then? Me to act as a middleman? You then do have money, from this world? I am not trying to take advantage of you, I just need to know what you want me to do. How can I help you in this new world?"

He also thinks, 'Double? Please. If I get less than triple, its a bad day.'

The plan is half-formed in her mind - but there was proof in this room that it could work. "The women and men here talk of me like they have not seen such use of colour, how to drape material like I do. You call this gold flashy? In my home, this is but trifles to how men and women dress amongst the nobility of my rank. I know fabric so fine it can be seen through, and shimmer with the pure gold woven into them. Things these nobles would hunger over." After all, half the world plundered India for its richness and colour in all things. Her husband had depended on that trade to make Jhansi prosper, a flower in the desrt.

Thank you for your lessons, still, heart of mine.

So what does she want? Carefully, she considers that. Wets her lip with a pause in thought. Her goal is the Inquisition's benefit, and thus her own. It is, after all, the only way she sees home is through helping them, getting access to the rift. "Find me a textile weaver. One who is willing to work a pattern they have never seen."

"Mmm, rifter designs and weaves, eh? Yah...yah, that could work, nobles do love their flashy clothing and anything unique...Good plan there Ms. Bai. and all you need is a weaver? Don't you need...I don't know, thread? Thread's how they make cloth, right? I'm a dwarf, textiles ain't my wheelhouse."

Barnabas closes the ledger and reaches over to another book and begins flipping through it. "Hmm...I think I can hook you up with a weaver...Perhaps we could join a bit of a partnership? I could get you some of the seed money, as you don't want to sell any of your personal items, and if these designs are as nice as you say, you're gonna have to have the highest quality cloth. Not to mention the accessories...Can you get me a list of everything you would need for the weaver to get to work?"

"They do that."

She eyes the ice cream a little longer, wondering how she could eat any more of it before it melted all over her fingers and made further a mess. Just keep eating, it seemed. Even if she didn't quite have a taste for all this sweetness. Never really had. Instead, she takes a few more mouthfuls before she puts it aside on whatever surface looked best to hold it. Business was to be conducted properly, not casually.

"That will be between the weaver and I, and I am sure I can inform you once we have worked that out." Carries on - old hand at this it turns out. Still, there is pride in this one. She knows, after all, the horrors of British Imperialism, the hungry jaws of the United India Company that took advantage of those that could not protect themselves when it came to business. Had to beg off those around her once before - and never again. "But I will take it as loan from you, to be repaid once we have the profits to do so." Established then, how much this means to her, and with it a sign of her good faith on the agreement. From her wrists, she takes off the pair of gold bangles. "This is my compensation in the event that it fails, so you may be refunded all costs." They set heavily on the table between them. Ornate, finely beaten gold. Handmaid, by a smith who knew his task well. "They were given to me on the day of my son's birth. So I'll trust you not to sell them behind my back."

Barnabas looks down at the bangles and gives a little sigh, but doesn't move to take them. "Ms. Bai, never bet anything you are unwilling to lose. This is a risk. Nobles are notoriously flightily and it could be that they all hate your designs because...I don't know, they all want red and purples, and the colors you made are just SO last season."

He gently moves the bangles back towards her. "Want I'm offering is a business arrangement. Nothing obscene, I was thinking perhaps 20% stake in your new business. I front the money and costs, if it fails, well, that's bad but hey, it's just money, always easy to make more of that. You don't lose anything but perhaps some time and you don't risk the gifts that you were given to commiserate the birth of your son, who paragons know when you'll be able to see again."

And you won't try to steal them back if this does go pear-shaped Barnabas thinks to himself. You're either lying about the origin or you've no intent to actually let me keep them if this does go badly.

"So lets go into business. I have a idea for who would make the cloth as well. Another rifter, an elf, but not...from here. A different kind of elf. A bit..." Barnabas pauses for a moment. "Intense, I think is the proper word. Name of Galadriel."

She clearly doesn't like it, frowning deeply. Doesn't like the slight on her honour, how familiar it stings. "No, you take it. Because I not Ms. Bai. I am Rani Lakshmi Bai, the Queen of Jhansi. I do not like loaning money from anyone. I've suffered for such things. If I take this, it is done honestly, with neither of us out of pocket."

She realises she's difficult, more than difficult, but she will have her honour if she will have nothing else. But in it, a security. He cannot ask for more from her or anyone else if this does succeed. For both their sakes, she will start on even footing.

"Perfect. Rifters I think are best for this. I want to show how we might all contribute to dispelling these... notions about us." Demon tax, an ugly thing for it, but it certainly seemed to be the case.

An eyebrow goes up slightly and Barnabas shrugs. "As you wish."

He takes the bangles and a eye loupe appears in his hand which is the affixed to his face as he looks closely at the gold bangles. "Mmm...Alright then. We can make a deal here. And I do agree, 'Rifter made' has some level of mystique in it. And if you need an introduction to the nobles, well, I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement."

"Well then."

She bows her head, graciously, properly. Respect down to the last second. A little more relaxed as she leans back slightly in her chair. "Rifter made. If they want more to tease them, I suppose, say that it is material from a..." Oh, how to dress it up? She taps her fingers against the table, one leg crossing over another. "A foreign Queen from a place called Hindustan. That she spent her years in devotion to crafting such things for her husband, who loved beautiful things. Respectable romanticism, I think, but nothing too scandalous."

The sort of nonsense that they always enjoyed, that she might have once. To that end, easy to cut herself up to pieces. "A good starting point to tell them tantalizing stories, I hope?" If she read it correctly. An honourable woman that learned things out of love seemed to be a universal sort of tale, even here.

Barnabas dosn't look up from his analysis of the bangles. "Could work, it's a known style of story. Has plently of interesting hooks. But if I may offer a suggestion..."

He looks up, the lopue still in his eye. "Give them some mistique. Maybe don't even mention it's Rifter made at the outset. Wait a bit untill they marvel at it's beauty and then lean in and whisper, 'I hear that it was made by a rifter as well...' and then go into the story. Keep your hand in a glove and never confirm. Give em a sly wink and a nod, but let their imaginations run wild. Take it from a old hand at this, People will pay double for a bit of socially acceptable naughtyness they can show off to their friends."

He'll find them well made. The shape of the work beat into the metal. Leaf patterns, delicately chiselled in on the top to define them. But.. symmetrical, tightly bound geometry that reflected each half of the pattern in direct halves. A reflection of the world held in gold. Well kept enough that it reflected the light well.

That makes her smile quirk. Slow and easy. "Very well. You would know that trade a sight better than I do."

She waves a hand, done then.

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