faderift | ( closed ) don't go chasing waterfalls

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( closed ) don't go chasing waterfalls

WHO: Lakshmi and Magni
WHAT: fancy meeting you here
WHEN: i have commitment issues
WHERE: the Gallows
NOTES: nudity, idk

( A long day at the forge, and her skin feels leathery with sweat and grime. It will be better after bathing, softened and human instead of its current state, which leading her to suspect that she could be reasonably mistaken as some sort of oddly shaped wyvern. Soot is smeared across her neck, jaw and cheek from thoughtlessly touching her face, or pushing her hair out of her eyes when her braid was in need of re-doing. In the Gallows, with these baths present, this is an indulgence she allows herself daily, soaking away the battering done to her muscles as much as the dirt clinging to her skin.

She has been in the bath only a short while, and slowly sinks below the surface, savouring the feeling of hot water rising over her skin until she is completely covered.

Holding her breath, Magni stays submerged for long moments. An old habit from childhood, disappearing into mountain rivers and competing to see how long she could hold her breath. Thirty seconds, a minute, and she is comfortable. A pleasant mental exercise, simply being in the space and enjoying it. Two minutes, three. This is something she does often, still, and eases the tension from her. Four minutes, pushing into five and then six—

before she feels the searing burn in her lungs. She will need to keep practicing to get to long, bursting back above the surface. )

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There are oh - so many responses. Quick things belonging to the brothel. Meaningful things belonging to admiration. But she is ever more practical than that - "I prefer focus, in myself. I will leave perfection to God."

Her teeth gnaw on the inside of her lip. It was a foolish notion, spending more time around her might cause more complications but... She had seemed very exact, in her work. Determined in her hold.

You are not a blade, Lakshmi.

"If you were given something different, something you had not seen before, would you shy from its crafting?"

"Imperfections in people— make them real."

An agreement of sorts, weighty, as she watches Manu's mouth very briefly, and ticks her gaze upward.

"Not shy. I might take more time to learn how to best craft it, learn its particulars. Better to take more time and make something proper, I think."

She has many, she thinks and knows not for the first time. Felt and wretched and guilted and forgiven herself for. Refused to deny them, deny herself, as the knights had in the effort to distance themselves from others. Flattering and insulting as it was to be thought of as spirit. She was a woman, dames and holy as all the rest.

Her eyes keep up, enough to watch that flicker. To do no more than tilt her face up.

"It is the style of a famous blade to my people, but I have not seen its like here. We call it Urumi."

"Urumi."

The repetition is quiet, the word unfamiliar and a little clumsy on her tongue. Briefly she wonders if this could be a trap or a test, some made weapon deliberately made up. Somehow that seems less likely.

"Describe." Not quite an order, but certainly expectant as she turns to face Manu more properly.

That at least is easier than talking of herself, or making sense of this strange dance. Her hands move below the water as she shifts herself. Describing the famous weapon of Bajirao.

"A whip, but made of metal, is perhaps the easiest to describe it as. But thick as a piece of parchment. Both edges are sharp, like a fine blade."

As the urumi is described, Magni’s smile slowly widens. A spark, fascination, as she pictures the weapon. It would need a cross guard, surely, something to protect the hands and knuckles. The materials... she mused quietly.

“Steel,” she murmurs, contemplating the nature of it, how to keep it both strong and flexible. Certainly not a project to be mastered in a single day, or perhaps even a month, all other work and demands considered. She did not have the luxury of time that some seemed to squander so easily, piling duties upon themselves so thickly that it was a wonder they did any one with a measure of competence. It is hard to imagine perfectly, she suspects.

“Such a weapon would surely be as dangerous to master as to be struck with.” Her own main focus is the forging of weapons, moreso than the wielding of them; she is formidable, she knows, but there are others whose sole purpose is wielding. If Manu has mastery of a weapon that could so easily be treacherous, she must be skilled indeed, beyond even those highly though of in the Inquisition for their deftness with a blade.

“Come to the forge. I will do drawings, first, see if they match what you have worked with.”

"You must be fast, and you must be sure." not to say she crows over herself, though she knows what she's best at.

But there is an eagerness. This is where she is best, rather than sorting out the trappings of relationships she didn't know the best of. But a blade and it's crafting? That she is all eager, turned out open. "How long would you need to draft such a thing. It ought to be no longer than a great sword, but the width of a long sword."

She nods at that, and looks at her with a new kind of appreciation, gaze assessing and considering the strength and the speed of the other woman.

"To draft?" A quiet sound, not dismissive, but along the lines of not long. "I may need to experiment with the execution."

In fact, she stands in the water, unconcerned by her nakedness, and moves to the edge of the bath. Her hair is still messy, less than tamed and trailing water down her back as she steps out of the bath and momentarily disappears into the area where clothes and belongings are safely kept, before returning with a small notepad and a pencil. Neither of high quality, not the sort of thing used for fine art sketches, and the cheapest notebook money could buy for the sketching down of ideas when she has them. There is a towel over her shoulder as well, hands dry as she sits at the edge with her legs dangling into the water, and starts to makes notes of dimensions.

And then, a thought— "Can they be dual wielded?"

She is so much a woman. Lakshmi watches her as she walks away, gathering up her tools to begin drawing. A few minutes where she is no more than eyes watching above the water. A hungry river fish softly blowing bubbles below the water.

Only moving closing when she comes back. Shifting through the water towards her. Not too close, a respectful distance and no more. Hooking her arms on the edge of the bath. "No. Though often one can be in each hand."

Magni makes a quiet, thoughtful sound, as she keeps writing. "So the grip... should not be..."

She is thinking, and when she is thinking she doesn't care for speaking, moreso than usual. Speaking can lead to as many miscommunications as not speaking, perhaps more. She prefers to listen. It is the matter of her brain moving from through to thought as swiftly as a darting sparrow that leads her to neglect verbal offerings this time, instead gesturing with one fist alongside and over the other, as though grasping the hilt of a two-handed blade.

A shorter grip, for a weapon of swiftness and precision. A longer blade might disrupt the fluidity and balance.

Water threatens to roll down her arm from her hair, and she makes a sound of quiet displeasure; sets the towel down so the paper and pencil can rest someplace dry, as she retrieves the leather string she had been using for her hair and ties it up with literal consideration for the good of her hair, and as soon as that is done, goes back to sketching.

She lets her work with no interruption. Her quiet to herself. After all, she had come here to bathe. Taking the moment to dunk her head under the water backwards, scratching at her scalp with her short nails to shift the sweat from the day's work. Feeling the oil soften her skin, releasing old aches, even if she'd never quite been able to breath as deeply after that all too fatal shot, it at least loosened it all enough to not hurt so much.

Its when she's done, and sees Magni reaching to tie her hair back that Lakshmi clicks her tongue, a brief shake of her head. "Let me." if they are both moving in from this, then it meant nothing but being helpful.

The clicking tongue gets her attention, and she looks towards Manu, bemused, eyebrow quirked. Am I a horse on the lunge? she almost asks, instead entrusting her expression to convey the amusement and faint incredulity.

Her hand falls from her hair - still partially braided, tangled from said braiding. The sweat of the day's labour has been washed away, but the brutal effect of the forge's heat baking her hair through the day leaves it far too dry and ready to tangle at the slightest thing.

Her focus turns back to the sketch. "Is the edge hooked or serrated?" She assumes not, assumes it would be smooth as a standard blade, but assumptions in this could be foolish.

"More a like a stiletto blade." is the response as she pulls herself out of the water. The water running down her body as she did. Letting it drip a moment to track as little as possible.

But mostly sodden anyway, she moved around to kneel behind her - and it takes no more than a brush before she realises how miserable her hair is. What a mess. She touches it briefly, feels it's dried out tangle and admonishes soft in Hindi. She certainly hadn't noticed it before, but there was a dozen things to notice before.

She reaches for the oil, slathering it over her fingers, and for the wide toothed comb. "What did you do?" and despite the clipped words, her fingers are nothing but gentle as she begins to pick apart the braid.

She might not understand the word, but she does understand the tone, and looks over her shoulder very slightly.

"What did I do?" Quiet, prompting, because she thinks Manu is talking about her hair, and yet... her hair isn't that bad.

(It is. It really is.)

"You sound horrified, Manu."

"I have seen rats keep neater nests than this."

Its a grumble, fussing almost as she begins to pick it apart. Then once the braid is loose - the leather tie wrapped around her wrist for safe keeping - she loosens it with a shake of her fingers against her hair. Shifting it in brief motions.

"Do you do nothing for it?" admonishing, she reaches for the oil, letting it drip into her palm with the thick smell of jasmine and lilies. Maybe not as great as her home but pleasant enough. Once it's coated, she begins again against her hair. But this time, smoothing through it, soaking it through with the oil. No doubt, she'd smell it for days after this. But at leaat it would soften it some.

A quiet sound of surprise. "Is Torvald not in there? He's very houseproud."

So flat and even and serious, though a slight smile plays at the corner of her mouth, Magni making no particular effort to rein it in. Even less effort is directed towards such a notion when the scent of florals catches her attention. She closes her eyes for a moments, inhales, remembers - the scent ignites the scratch of nails down her back, and the taste of salt on her tongue, flesh under her teeth.

Focus. "Doing anything for it will be little good. I remain in the forge."

She doesn't do anything so much as squeal - in disgust, but she does freeze.

No, there was not rat. She was teasing and Lakshmi tugs at her ear in a playful pull. don't you dare. No rat, she instead keeps going. Until the hair is loose to a point she can thinks she can put a brush to it.

She starts at the bottom. A woman with so much hair knows to work through knots. So it's small, as she begins, still remarkably gentle. Little, small gestures. Working the knots out, from the end up. It might take a little but - she could hardly leave it like this.

"You ought to, if you do not want to snap off from being so dry."

The ear pull is accepted, deserved repercussions, though she uses the blunt end of her pencil to gently tap Manu's knee.

"He must be looking for cheese," she concludes, and proceeds to write cheese for Torvald in her notes. How certain is the fair lady that there is no rat?

And then she makes a quiet sound of acknowledgement, continuing her sketching as she tries to grasp how this weapon will work. She should do something, yes. "I do not have time."

This time, it is the paper that is tapped. Work is more important. Work is what she is good at.

erg. her noes crinkles. How utterly dreadful a thought. She had no love of the thinga even when she had luxuries a plenty. But there was a particular hatred of them now that she'd had since Whitechapel, the damn awful things. Always in the floor and roof.

"You have time here. A few moments when you brush it out is surely not so much." though it hadn't stopped her taking it by fistfuls in the shudder and sprawl of their bodies.

On the plus side, there is no rat.

On the negative side, she can't guarantee the Gallows is entirely free of rats. If she felt eagles and hawks were meant to be pets - which she does not - she might consider it an opportunity for hunting.

Another quiet sounds. Magni wiggles her fingers, demonstrative, and rakes them through the ends of her hair. It snatches at one point, and she goes to just pull it through, with a sound of inconvenience.

Before she can get too far, she gets a firm, square rap on the knuckles with the back of the wooden comb. "Then you best find me again when you cannot loosen it again."

She chases the hand off before it can ruin her good work. A shift forward, as she realises she might be here for a little longer than she thought. Settling comfortably forward, closer to her. Falling silent for awhile as she works out the hair, section by section.

Then, "Lakshmi. My name is Lakshmi. I have you another... Earlier."

Finally, Magni actually stops what she's doing, turns around enough to look at Manu. Not Manu, though— Lakshmi. A sharp flick of her hand, to catch Lakshmi's wrist, if she can, and still the hand seeing to her hair.)

The sharp gaze flickers, a study of her face. Briefly lingers at her mouth, but focused on her eyes more than anything else, leaning in very slightly to look at them carefully, intently.

"Lakshmi." A slight smile - very slight. Guarded and curious in the same moment. "I am still Magni." She tilts her head a little to the side. "This new name... less sweetened on my tongue."

So far.

She stills, tense and holding, as the hand finds her wrist. Not so much because she finds Magni a threat. But it is the reaction she has to suddenness as much as silence.

Holds, again then, as she speaks, as she looks. Or rather, it seems, she inspects. What she'd find is the same and different. As proud and as bare as she had been before. Because that ran deeper than skin, then the trappings of her body. It was bone and blood. It was soul and dust and ash.

A thin breath, a place between she had indulged in for the night but - "Nor will it, I suspect. For it is the name of Rani Lakshmi Bai. The Queen of Jhansi."

Firm, and she hopes an understanding. It was pleasant, to be Manu again for awhile. More than pleasant, tongue and teeth and a freedom to do nothing else but put away her concerns, the creeping sense of hopelessness, to be no more than Manu again.

But it was never the whole of her. Never what she was.

"Rani Lakshmi Bai, Queen of Jhansi." Her voice scratches over it, a little, and she smiles—

Not widely, or toothily. The smile is small, but it is warm, as she releases the wrist slowly, gently, and holds out her hand in offering instead. Varmas had always impressed on her the importance of proper introductions. This made things a little more interesting. "Good to meet you."

As close as they are, it is easy to remember heels digging into her back, and the scratches that have left their marks on her even now. Even before Manu laid out her full name, repositioned herself as a queen rather than a woman of some liberty, she had no intention of making eyes, leering, being obnoxious with craving attention. Now it was to be firmly set aside.

"I hope you think the weapons I craft worthy of a queen."

Her hand retreats, (the feeling of fingers warm and brand like), settling back to her work. Taking up the comb once more. How rarely she let anyone near and it comes as a sudden thing, to want it half as much. All past intimacy like a note hanging in the air.

"If you make a blade worthy of any good soldier, then it is a blade worthy of me."

She will never call herself less than what she is, but she will never ask for more than that. Titles meant the effort put into them. No more, no less.

"No warrior can ask for more than that." her eyes slide away, a little clearing of her throat. Back to work and this mess of hair.

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