Logs:Preparing
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| RL Date: 7 April, 2015 |
| Who: Zadkiel |
| Involves: Igen Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: Preparing to dance before the Bazaar. |
| Where: Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 20, Month 6, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Clear. Cool. Comfortable. |
| OOC Notes: Pre-Bazaar |
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| Hunting was not an unusual thing to do. Nor was dancing, on the face of it. Yet, Zadkiel suspected the northerners would be less forgiving of it. Of the nature of it. The women had their bright colors and shimmying ways. They shook and sparkled; they quivered and glowed. Few men took that particular path of dance. Fewer still had his especially tall and lean build. He was too tall, they said. Too tall to hunt from a runnerbeast's back. Too tall to dance. He proved them wrong. He was adept at the sinuous motions and at the jarring, jerky gestures that seemed inorganic and strange. He caught on quickly - and the exercise helped. Between hunting and dancing, his body was hewn into the hard, sculpted thing it was. The two arts complemented each other perfectly. But, his pursuit of them - and his work with the traders - left him with little time between to pursue a social life. That suited him well. Or did. Now, with his fellow Candidates, he was starting to feel discomfort. Perhaps it was just because he was from Igen. Perhaps. He stood patiently while Pahaliah applied the henna to his skin. Her hand was steady and he could barely feel the brush as she painted the peculiar, asymmetrical patterns on his skin. Tephra stood behind him. She was busy braiding his hair with a myriad of darkly glittering charms. Zadkiel remained still. Silent. "What dance are you doing for them?" Tephra asked with a bubbly laugh. "And who are you dancing with? Akiressina?" "Death Takes His," he replied. "With Shadai." Pahaliah clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "Bad choice. Bad omen. I saw the moons the other night. The stars. Is it too late to change it? Maybe to The Courtship? Dragons Dance Forever?" Zadkiel grunted. "It has been decided already." "A shame. A true shame." The henna artist shook her head and finally stood. "Arms out, Zak. So. Good. Is the cloth sitting right? Tephra, get the dust when you're done." He stretched his arms out as he was bid and lifted his head just a little. The bells in his braid jingled faintly. "Well," Tephra said, "I prefer that dance over the others. It's so... oooh. I don't know how to describe it. It just gets under my skin." The young woman hastened to get the dust and a few other things. Minutes passed. "Almost done." More minutes. Then: "There. Done. With the char smears there and there, like so. And around the eyes- ah! And we have our Death. Tephra. The hood and bracers, if you would." The obedient assistant served well in that role. Zadkiel endured the remaining moments of their attention. It always felt strange, but there was little he could do. He couldn't apply the henna, the dust, the kohl. He could barely get the outfit on without some assistance. He suffered those last moments with a grim look until, at long last, Pahaliah smeared a line of dark makeup down his lower lip. "And there you are, Death. Go." And he went. |
Comments
Edyis (18:34, 8 April 2015 (EDT)) said...
Not ominous at all. Still loved the further look into Zadkiel's past and also the name of the dance itself.
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