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The Mournful Chorus	Some say that in order to rise up to the higher echelons of the Guild, one must not only posses wealth beyond avarice, limitless ambition, and a web of connections throughout the organisation and, in fact, most of Creation - but also free themselves from the burden of conscience. Factor Nasran Yadiri of Madara's Copper Stave Company certainly has earned her position by supporting the coup that allowed the City of a Thousand Wings to break away from Simharajala's rule six decades ago. Since then, both her fortune and reputation had only risen to new heights. The slender, silk-draped woman might be well into heir eighties now, but her mind remains razor-sharp. Rumors whisper that she is looking for a worthy successor to her many businesses, with all her children having died well before her. Maybe tonight, she will choose someone. This is her grand salon, after all. The location? A veritable palace, an enormous, multi-storied house fit for a queen, surrounded by enormous, immaculately trimmed gardens and high walls. Most of the estate's many rooms are closed off to guests, but that still leaves plenty of room to explore, delicacies to taste, and expensive displays of wealth to admire. The main event, where the hostess holds court on a high dias, surrounded by her guards and her most beloved servants, takes place in the estate's center hall, beneath a high dome of colored glass. Bird motifs, so prominent and varied in Madara, dominate the lavish mosaics on the floor and walls. Priceless Essence-powered glow crystals cast the space in golden light. A plethora of guests, all filthy rich, merchants and nobles from the Dreaming Sea region and beyond, mingle and gossip and scheme. New trade deals are struck by the minute. Nasran Yadiri sits resplendent on her high seat, a veritable throne lavished in gold, peacock feathers, and gemstones, watching her guests with ardent eyes.
Mahendru Divya	In a room just adjoining the center hall lies the antechamber. A plethora of couches are provided for aspiring apprentices and servants to those merchant princes making trade deals. Most of them pass the time in conversation, while waiting for the latest demand from their master. Drinks are abundant, served to these servants by the servants of Factor's most beloved servants. There's still influence in this room if one looks in the right corner, and it provides a useful opportunity to look at the main players for tonight's gala as they pass through the antechamber in order to enter the great hall proper. Reclining on one of the couches is a somewhat disheveled young woman, wearing fabulous cloth-of-gold robes over a silk blouse. She looks like the heir of someone important and the petulant, bored expression suggests she's here against her will. There's also a sly curiosity whenever she makes eye contact with junior officials and would-be masters of commerce, suggesting someone with very little compunction about taking a good deal no matter how dubious the ethics. At the moment, she idly swirls the wine in a wineglass and watches people coming in and out.
The Mournful Chorus	There's certainly a lot to watch. So many far-traveled dignitaries, mercantile celebrities, and even the occasional envoy from other Dreaming Sea policies - most with their own retinue of servants, adherents, and bootlickers in tow. Anyone passing through the doors into the antechamber has already made their way through the front gate, across the yard, and through the long hallway leading up to the main event, where servants stand at the ready to greet the newcomers and provide them with directions. After a long procession of people Divya might or might not recognize or care about, the constant stream of new arrivals slows to a trickle. But the doors won't stop admitting stragglers until midnight. And indeed, here comes another one: The young woman who now strides through the gilded mahagoni doors certainly isn't tall, but her proud bearing allows her to make up for the fact that most of the other people present, including her own small retinue, tower over her. She's draped in a flowing robe, perfectly fitted to her body, silk died a rich purple, rimmed with gold, and a scintillating shawl around her hips. Tiny turquoise gemstones are set into a complex floral pattern right below her decollete (which is cut deep, doubtlessly on purpose). Her black hair sports jewelry of gold and pearl chains, clinking with every step. There is no doubt that Divya has seen this woman before. She looks... different, not only for her dress. There's an air of someone wealthy and important surrounding this person, and the bootlickers in the room regard her with the same interest and greed like everyone before her. Her dark eyes flit about the room and finally, slowly, settle on the supposedly young woman on the couch.
Mahendru Divya	The disheveled heir looks admiringly at the newest entrant, particularly at her clothing and choice of accents. By the time her gaze has drifted back to the other woman's face, Divya realizes she's being regarded at the same time. She gives a flirtatious waggling of the eyebrows and then follows it with an impressed nodding, both expressions plainly supporting approval of the woman's look. Then she peels herself off the couch and brushes at a crease she's made in her cloth-of-gold robes, which is absolutely useless given she's already creased the magnificent finery in dozens of places and probably won't be able to wear this to a public occasion again. Heedless of her rumpled appearance, the heir approaches and dips into a curtsey before the newest arrival and her procession. "Welcome, welcome. Here for the show?"
The Mournful Chorus	To the surprise (and dismay) of the young, attention-seeking folk in the antechamber, the petite woman in purple ignores them completely after sparing them just a fleeting, dismissive glance - focussing on that woman in the crumpled-up dress instead. Outrageous! The apparent noble? Wealthy merchant? only has seven servants with her, most of them her own age, if not younger, sharply dressed in identical green linen vests and gold-rimmed skirts. Now, she shoos them away with a dismissive gesture. Her gaze stays firmely locked on Divya. In fact, she eyes the other woman up and down with great interest (maybe - probably - in more than one way), until she looks up to the "heir's" face again, and their eyes meet. A slow, indulgent smile spreads across her lips, which are lightly sprinkled with tiny golden specks, instead of painted in a solid color. She gives a courteous bow in return, not particularly deep. "Thank you, my dear. Indeed, I always enjoy a good show. Although the main event won't start until midnight, or so I've heard. It seems I have found the perfect place to languish until then... and perhaps, interesting company." With her head slightly tilting to the side and coaxing another chime from the jewelry, she gestures toward the many servants and new-blooded merchants strolling about the room. "You seem quite content to linger here yourself..."
Mahendru Divya	The heir gets slightly breathless at the other, far more glamorous woman's presence. She briefly drops her eyes to those gold-flecked lips before the sight apparently reminds her to refresh her lipstick, which she does by fishing a goldcase from a black designer handbag, extracting a silver-filigree lipstick tube and quickly retouches from where her wineglass stole the glossy red. "True," she acknowledges with a nod, breaking eye contact even further by turning to face the great hall. Her own earrings are golden sigils in the shape of a strangely fractured spiral that a particularly high Int + Occult or Lore roll might note as the symbol of Izaros, God of Bankruptcy. "Rumor has it that the next to hold the throne may be announced tonight. Wouldn't that be something. Factor Nasran Yadiri's had a good run of it, ever since she supported the city's break from Simharajala way back when. Whoever she picks next has some -big- shoes to fill." Turning back at last, the heir grins. "In the running yourself, do you think? Or just here to make deals like the rest? I can point out one or two useful kind of people, depending on your part of the market." She appears to ignore, for the moment, the observation about her lingering in the spacious antechamber.
The Mournful Chorus	Every minute movement of the heir's body is observed by those attentive eyes - even more so as the disheveled woman breaks eye contact. "Wouldn't that be something indeed... to become heir apparent of one of the mightiest trade empires in the entire direction. The temptation is unbearable. For some, at least. Me? I don't think I would stand a chance. Others here have sculpted their reputation and fortunes to stand up to Yadiri's piercing gaze." Her humble words are accompanied by a dashing smile that somehow manages to strike a perfect balance between innocent radiance and suggestive allure. The merchant only turns away for a moment, to accept a jewel-crusted glass of blood-red wine from a servant who has been making the rounds dozens of times already. Then, she gestures towards one of the couches. Maybe the one where the heir had draped herself before, maybe not. Does it really make a difference? "As much as I appreciate your offer, I'm much more curious about you. Why don't we get comfortable, and you tell me a bit more about how you ended being swept up at this gala? I don't believe we have been properly introduced yet..."
Mahendru Divya	The Sidereal's words had briefly swept up her imagination as she speculated on the next to take power. Of course, she had some 'insider knowledge' there. This was a Secret whose time had come and she was there mostly to ensure nothing went wrong. That there was a statistically significant margin of potential pattern error was concerning enough to have a Sidereal sent, just in case. But then the other woman had to go and turn on the charm. The heir looked back at the newest arrival, looked into her eyes and perhaps briefly looked at those gold-flecked lips once more. Then she smiled at the gesture of invitation and gamely followed her to one of the couches. She set her wineglass down on a sidetable, freeing up her hands to better gesture with as she talked. "Me? Oh, I'm no one important." The garments alone put a lie to that. "Well, someday I will be but I'm in no hurry for that." Less of a deception but perhaps ringing a little falsely. "Anyone who's anyone turned up at the Factor's invitation. Even I know it's an honor to be invited to Nasran Yadiri's grand salon, after all. I suppose I should be making friends and talking business, networking I think is the 'modern' word used for meet and greets. After all, these people," she gestured to those around them on the couches or standing. "These people will be the next generation's movers and shakers. Someone has to play the long game and I guess tonight that's me." Her words have a calculatedly indifferent nonchalance to them. She's well practiced at playing what amounts to a spoiled, bored brat of an heir who is -trying- to be friendly when she'd rather be somewhere else having fun. The way her gaze every so often shifts back to the Factor suggests her real interest in this setting is squarely in whatever the Factor's next move is going to be. Which may be interesting, given she arguably could be in the great hall herself, closer to the action, and yet she's content to lounge back here where she's only watching what's going on.
The Mournful Chorus	Ravi, no, Sadhrana, or whoever this woman ~really~ is, settles on the soft white leather couch. It has been decorated with beautifully embroidered cushions, every single one perfectly comfortable... and certainly worth a lesser woman's household fortune. Chorus settles back into them with practiced ease and lets out a soft, content sigh. One could easily mistake her posture for a lazy recline. In truth, she arranges her limbs in a very deliberate way, meant to guide the eye. While the Sidereal continues to pretend that she is actually unremarkable and not important at all, the Abyssal listens attentively... not only to her words, but to the much more subtle and infinitely more telling language of the other woman's body. In the end, she can no longer hold back a soft chuckle - the sound of warm, heavy rain drops on smooth pebbles. Her smile returns, briefly parting her lips to show teeth. "It would seem neither of us has the amibition, or the avarice, to compete for that prize", she concludes, casting a long look across the hall to the factor. "If you're only going to be important someday, who are you now? Should I call you No One, then? It would be unimaginably tragic for a striking lady such as yourself - to have lost her name, or forgotten it, or misplaced it." Her voice drops a bit lower as she continues, gaze searching the heir's features... or committing them firmly to memory, perhaps. In fact, she seems not at all affected by the same indifference that others in the room display towards the Sidereal. Then, she adds, scratching her chin as if lost in thought: "Maybe it's a thing with those who bring flowers, after all."
Mahendru Divya	There's little doubt in her mind that this woman wants something of her. It could be as easy as the usual physical intimacy. Perhaps its a secret. Ultimately, her intentions would take divining, which is work. And the Sidereal beneath the disheveled heir already has one job to do tonight. But then she had to go and mention -flowers- of all things, which was...inauspicious? And there was only one way to handle inauspiciousness. So the Sidereal spends the tiniest portion of motonic energy to seek the Auspicious Prospects of Secrets for this matter. Is there any harm in giving up a name? Only Destiny is curiously...quiet on the matter. Jupiter has no comment, it seems. Which may or may not be true. One of the downsides for working in the Forbidding Manse of Ivy is that inconclusive answers aren't only an occupational hazard, every single one of them is filed somewhere. It's irritating to be denied information and that's not the mood for tonight's celebration. So she sighs and says "Why, how did you know?" before blinking coyly and smiling at the much more glamorous woman beside her. "I was named Naisha. In Madara's native tongue, it means 'special flower'. I'm not quite what my parents expected of me but perhaps the name suits me better than I used to think it did."
The Mournful Chorus	"Oh, I didn't know! I guess it was just a hunch", chuckles the woman in the purple dress. "It just so happens that I like flowers very much... if it wasn't obvious." Chorus winks, certainly not only referring to the floral embroidery she's wearing, then proceeds to sip her wine with deliberate slowness, allowing her gaze to slip away from the heir for a bit to cast searchingly about the chamber. There are still people arriving, but only intermittently now; midnight is drawing closer, and still the enormous estate manages to swallow all of those people with room to spare. Most are slowly filtering into the main hall now. When her eyes return to Naisha, they are full of about equal parts desire and, strangely, regret. "I'm Kaliyanei, of the House of Shining Squalls. But you can call me Kali, if you like." Her voice is warm and full now. "As you might imagine, I haven't actually come here all the way from distant Nysina to not at least make a few new acquaintances, seal a deal or two..." Sighing heavily, she waves a ring-laden hand. "You know, family obligations and all that. But after we both have done our thing - after the Chosen One has been announced - we could maybe, just maybe, reconvene here..." Here, she breaks out of her lazy reclined position against the cushions, sitting up straight, then leaning slightly forward towards the other woman, letting her gaze drift over the Sidereal's face, then her lips, and further down from behind thick eyelashes. "...and have some ~fun~. Business is important, but it's also boring as fuck."
Mahendru Divya	As Kali straightens in the couch and leans forward, Naisha finds herself leaning in a little unconsciously. The other woman's a mystery too, but the irritation of an unknown pattern error and an inconclusive Auspicious Prospects fades as the Sidereal who's been named Naisha sometimes remembers she -likes- mysteries when they're solvable. Perhaps this one is. So she smiles, nods along with Kali's words, then she straightens a little to prepare to rise from the couch. "Business is important," she finally says agreeably. "But we should definitely reconvene here. After all..." Just before she leans in like she's going for a kiss. Only at the last second, instead, she angles for Kali's ear. In a rich whisper, she says "There's nothing boring about the way I fuck." With those words delivered, she slowly draws back and, unless the other woman has a particular reaction, she'll rise and head out into the Great Hall as the minutes countdown to midnight.
The Mournful Chorus	When Naisha moves towards her, Kali's cheeks flush in anticipation, eyes sparkling along with it. There's an audible sigh of denied longing as the other woman deliberately ignores the Abyssal's lips in favor of her ear. In response to those whispered words, she bites her lower lip with her canine and leaves it there for a while, then catches Naisha's gaze and holds it while the Sidereal draws back, all while gripping her glass tightly. "Good", Chorus grins with deep satisfaction. "I can tell", she simply says - then, in a deeper, honeyed voice: "Until later, then."