I. ( CROWDS )

[ If she didn't know better, she thought she might have awoken on Holi, but the night lights up like Diwali itself, and despite her current state, her current misgivings, that despite her intent to remain removed from it all -

- It's hard not to want to enjoy herself as she winds her way through the crowds milling about. Piling in and around without much care except for their revelry. Jostling, pushing and shoving. That eventually she gives up on much in the way of politeness when she spies there are drinks to be had, especially if she is with someone she might know. ]

Come on, seems we must go into the breach.

[ She hooks her arm through her fellows and with an almighty shove begins to barge them a path through the party goers. It was quite the crush, it seemed. Hard to see why not. ]

II. ( DANCING )

[ But here - now - there is a freedom to it - that allows some break like lancing a wound. A knife pulled from, from where it had struck and stuck. The infamous glory of being one more face in the crowd, of being no more than dark eyes behind a simple black mask. Still her, still obviously her, the choli top and lengha skirts hid nothing, after all. Even the veils were pinned to the top of her head, were sheer and light. Hung loosely not in gold but as many flowers as she could place in her hair, hang around her neck.

Least of all when she's caught, laughing behind her mask, and tugged into the thrall of dancers by her wrist. She pushes back not to leave but to get her space. But it isn't a refusal as she takes the space she wants. She cannot dance like that but what she does instead - it's intricate, each step hops, her heels strike the ground to the rhythm of drums, the call of the music, her hands move in intricate patterns where each one seems to pause on particular meaning that is utterly lost here and now. They spread and curl around like open flowers, interconnect around her body to exaggerate each sway of her dance. Dropping one hip by the jerk of her knee, rocking into the motion that bares all her skin, all her body, curving around itself. Snaking her body up and around in a long extension.

Rani, this is not for others to see - damn them. It hardly mattered anymore, did it? If she wanted too, she could. Rao would forgive her. No other opportunities were going to present themselves with battle looming to do what she liked and simply enjoy herself.

Eventually, she fishes up points of her skirts. Her finger lifts, to pick someone - anyone, out of the ring of people about that have mercifully cleared the space she asks for, and she does not even look to see if it is someone she knows or not, particularly. She just beckons with the expectation of being followed ( as always ). The Rai girls danced like this, coming back in from the desert. She'd watch them, clap along to it, but stay reserved behind the trappings of position.

How they would beckon, curve, wish so kindly with the gesture with the sulks and rises of their bodies. A fond memory, half thought through as she holds up the material in her hands, eying up her new found companion. Gauging the distance she'd need around them. Stepping close, enough, almost enough to touch and then darting back the other way with the material waving back and forth like a great fan between her hands. Once, twice, teasing, laughing, listening to the whistles and - just stand still, it's all she really needs, right then.

Then she begins to turn. Holding the material out to keep out of her way as she moves. Each strike of her foot is practised. A sword man's sure footing. A young girl's lessons kept amongst women. Turning around and around on herself so she does not slip. Until it gets enough speed that she does not need to hold the material up at all as it goes flat out with momentum, her hands shifting high above her head. The movements keep up of before, each hand gesture reaching beginning middle and end with the turn, until eventually, she shifts from her spot.

And oh - do not move, friend, don't move a step out of place. Gauged the placement very carefully. She could never have been this good before the blackwater, half hungry to those dancers she had watched. But she is it now with an erring grace, she doesn't miss a step as around the person she has placed firmly in the middle of the circle she spins, she orbits like earth around sun. Moving as fast as the crowd calls her to, clapping to keep her going, to not let her fall over like all spinning tops eventually must. But just to keep her going faster and faster and faster with a whip-like speed. This was not, Diwali, not, it was its own kind of revelry, but it tasted so achingly like home that it goes easy.

The dance will end of course - as she gets closer - depending on how that person catches her. So all that really remains to be seen is, are they falling over together in a pile or not? ]

III. ( DRINKING )

[ Well and truly after she's exhausted herself dancing, she takes in the rest with an easy abandoned. Until she's falling back into the comfort of strong drinks that, any other time, she'd keep herself from.

Because there is a rather terribly unfortunate truth: Rani Lakshmi Bai is an utter lightweight.

And worse, she's an obnoxiously happy one.

It's not two drinks in that she's already laughing too much at the conversation she is in with the perfect strangers she met by the table she has sat at. It's nothing untoward, of course, she is respectful, hands to herself, but there is a direct openness with it that if it were not here this mess, she would not be partaking of. It will take her a second to sober if she must. But the signs are all there: a flush in her face, the open gesture of her hands, the way she leans in, keen, listening over the loudness of the gathering. that if she sees you, knows you, even in passing - she beckons with a curl of her fingers. Come, sit, drink, stay awhile.

What you do with that information, is of course, up to you. ]