When Harry Met Zia

["Felizia al-Bahir" <felizia@angelfire.com>]

Salon -- Bajazet Embassy (Kaitain)

        Open and airy, the private salon is a space geared towards creature comforts. The expanse of tiled floor is strewn with a kaleidoscope of Kilim carpets, soft and warm underfoot. Several ornate chairs are grouped with mother-of-pearl inlaid side tables, and a cluster of rainbow hued cushions, offering a quiet spot to unwind and chat. In the center of the salon is a long low ebony table, surrounded by more colorful tassel-trimmed cushions. Candles, several games, and a chess set are strewn casually across the table's surface, a gem-studded brass lantern hangs above, providing ample light. Hammered bronze braziers are interspersed through the various groupings of furniture, their glowing coals easing the sting of chilly nights.

Players:

 Haroon                                            

Objects:

 Needlework Frame                                  

Exits:

 Golden Doors  <S> leads to The Seraglio -- Bajazet Embassy (Kaitain) 

 Arched Doors  <E> leads to Tulip Court -- Bajazet Embassy (Kaitain)


Haroon sits in his customary seat in the Salon, feet raised on a foot-stool and his pipe clenched between his teeth as the Bashir studies the Kaitain daily papers.

Quiet sounds come from the doorway, the sounds of someone entering with careful footsteps. Alone, and unaided, Felizia shuffles into the room, her hair yet unbound and not covered, the long tunic baggy on her from her lack of protruding belly.

Haroon listens to the footsteps approach for a moment, recognising the sound of a woman's slippers, but turns his head anyway to see who has joined him. He inclines his head in a nod, with a slight smile and folds his paper with a rustle, setting it to one side "Good morning my dear" he says casually by way of greeting.

Felizia wanders only a step or two closer, before dipping a slow but precise bow, "Most honored lord Bashir," she says in a quiet voice, "Would it be permissable if I joined you?"

Haroon pulls his feet off the footstool and sits up in his seat a little more "Hmm yes, of course" he replies and takes a puff on his pipe sending up a little cloud of cherry-scented smoke, through which he watches you "Take a seat" he indicates one opposite him. He smiles, presumably to put you at your ease, although the effect makes him look more like a confused elderly uncle.

Felizia settles herself down on a cushion, and as she settles a slave enters with a tray of tea and pastries -- evidently ordered beforehand. The Concubine servers herself though, pouring her own tea and settling down even more comfortably with the cup cradled in her palms of her hands. "I could not stand another moment in my lord's room, laying on my back, and staring at the ceiling," she explains, a small grimace punctuating the complaint.

Haroon removes his pipe from his mouth and regards you quizically for a moment. He smiles a little as a thought crosses his mind "Isn't lying on your back in your Lord's bed one of a concubines primary duties?" he asks with a chuckle, though not an unkind one. He waves his hand as if to dismiss his last statement "It is a pleasure to have company."

Felizia's brow arches delicately, and she chuckles at the joke. "It is difficult to do one's duty when m'lord is not there to perform for," she replies in kind, sipping from her tea to end any further comment from her end.

Haroon senses he will rapidly be out of his depth if he pursues the conversation and clears his throat, reaching one hand out for a strong spiced coffee that rests beside him "And how is your child? Has a name been decided for him yet?"

"No... not yet," Felizia sighs, the motion long and drawn out. "My lord waits for guidance from above for it."

Haroon sips his coffee and sets it back beside him, and his fingers stray to one point of his beard to pull and twist it between them "And do you believe that he will find it?" he enquires and leans back in his seat "I have seldom found guidance from above.. I believe we are intended to create our own paths."

"Where my Lord leads, I will follow," the former slave murmurs, her gaze dropping to the tea cup in her hand. Her bottom lip is pulled tight a moment, caught by her teeth biting down on it.

Haroon watches your expression and replaces the pipe between his lips, sucking on it pensively and watching you through the smoke that billows from it and hangs up towards the ceiling. Eventually he removes it and cups it in one hand "Your loyalty certainly does you a great credit.. you must trust your Lord completely" he muses.

There is a slow, solemn nod. "He is our beloved Sultan's son," Felizia says simply, as if that explains everything.

<<Haroon thinks: Or our beloved Sultan's sisters husband's concubine's son...>>

Felizia shifts on her cushion, sensing she is being scrutinized closely. But she remains silent, head bowed over her teacup, eyes cast modestly downwards.

Haroon nods solemnly, as if for him too that explains everything that needs to be said "Yes, indeed" He smiles, not a cruel smile, but certainly an observant one "And you have borne him an heir and thus continued his line.. You must be very proud" he chuckles "Although you are certainly too modest to show it, I'm sure"

"Pride... does not please the mast..." she starts to recite a line, possibly the beginnings of a meditation taught her during her training as a young girl. Instead, she finishes, "Pride is not becoming, and we should always be at our best."


Haroon holds the stem of his pipe lightly between thumb and forefinger, and swings it slowly between them, like a smoky metronome. "Where would the Bajazet be without our pride?" he asks slowly "We should always be at our best, and pride is most becoming when it is pride for one's House and service to it"

"Ah, but that is the difference between your world, and mine, Lord Bashir," Felizia counters quietly. "You... are obviously a man. It is correct for a man, even a soldier marching beneath the banners of our most beloved Sultan, to have such pride and to even be boastful of it. But in the Seraglio, it is a different world. We are protected behind our screens and veils, we are treasured for our gentleness and delicateness, and even our dedication. Pride, in a woman... it is not becoming. In a man, m'lord, it is expected."

The Lord Bashir's eyes flicker in suprise for a moment at receiving such a prettily worded response, before he chuckles and smiles wolfishly "How interesting, though of course are women not proud in the extent of their gentleness and delicacy?" He rests back in his chair and folds one leg up onto his knee, making his spurs jingle "Perhaps proud to be the /most/ delicate and gentle?" He smiles widely "Though there are other Bajazet women who clearly were not educated as you were.. I wonder at the Lady Amara's own opinions on the nature of pride sometimes"

Caught in a trap by her own words, all Felizia can do is laugh quietly. "I confess, m'lord... yes, I have pride." She pauses, a thoughtful expression crossing her face, but still a sparkle of humor in her eyes and her lingering smile. "Lady Amara, no doubt, had not the education that I did. Serving, pleasuring, anticipation of every possible need or whim. These were my subjects in my schooling. Lady Amara learned reading, writing, history and other such topics, I would wager, given her privilege of being nobleborn. I was not born a slave, but, I was young when I was sold. All the better for my teachers to mold me -- the younger the branch, the more likely it is to bend beneath the will of the hand that holds it. And, with the right bonds in the right places, the young branch will hold that shape for the rest of its life. But if given the choice, whether to repeat my training or to choose the education granted those of noble birth.... I would gladly choose again my time in the House of the Lily."

Haroon tugs at one point of his beard, twisting the tip between his fingers as he ponders a world of which he has no experience "When a plant grows, it will always twist and turn to face the light no matter what way you bind it..." He lifts his cup and sips his coffee, and pulls a disgusted face on finding it cold "I wonder if the same applies to young women... after all, you have the rest of your life ahead of you despite whatever bonds have been imposed upon you so early?" He cocks one bushy brow "Tell me, what happens to concubines as they grow old and can no longer serve " The warmaster looks suprisingly embarassed at the idea "Ahh serve in the way that they were trained"

Without hesitation, Felizia answers in an even tone, "They teach new girls, younger ones, their secrets."

Haroon ponders internally, with a man's natural inquistiveness, as to just how this training takes place.. practical demonstrations maybe? He clears his mind "They my Lady is lucky to not only know her future but to be content with it." He smiles, perhaps considering the idea amusing, or at least novel "Madame must anticipate few suprises in her life"

Felizia lifts her shoulders slowly in a small shrug. "That is what happens to some, and I assume it is what will happen to me. There are many, actually, who die young, victims of politics within the Seraglio - a wrong word, a wrong look, the competition for the lord's favor and eye. Some are fortunate to gain such favor from their lords that when they 'retire' they might lead a life of luxury in their remaining years. There are more than a few possibilities which might happen to us, and so we wait to see what our fate holds. One has no choice but to be content, for it is what we do... we wait."

Haroon rests his elbow on his knee and his chin on the palm of his land and lets a wry, lazy smile wrinkles the corners of his eyes "Madame has just described the life of a soldier, except for the politics of the Seraglio being the politics within the war-staff. Perhaps we are not so unalike after all.. except that our line of duty involves a little more risk than strained muscles" he chuckles.

Felizia gives the Warmaster a cool look while pondering the statement, and then, without warning, she laughs out loud. "M'lord has obviously never been through 52 hours of childbirth."

Haroon blinks "I'm sure that at some point in my life I did" he replies in a droll dead-pan voice, although his eyes gleam with inner laughter.

Felizia grins at the humor in the statement, but before she can comment further there is a sound in the doorway of the Salon. A young slave stands there, certainly no older than Felizia. As she sees the Kiaya's attention has turned to her, she bows low, and says quietly, "Madame... the little one is awake, and cries for a feeding."

Haroon nods to Felizia "No rest for the wicked, I see", and, understanding that the conversation is finished, sets his pipe back between his lips and sets a light to it again "My thanks for our conversation.. it has been most enlightening"

Felizia gets up to her feet with a bit less grace than she had before, having not yet had a chance to recovere her shape from before her pregnancy. She bows in the customary way, but then looks up to flash the warmaster a soft smile. "Yes, most honored Lord Bashir, I enjoyed it as well." She slips off then, the girl who had come to fetch her leading her back to the apartments she shares with Muradin.



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