[Zozeko]

Zozeko never liked to come home. Not because he disliked his home realm, but because trips home usually involved a lot of paperwork, as well as incessant nagging from his mother to return to the House seat. She never had understood that he really did not wish to be the patriarch, trying to claim that his "lack of ambition" stemmed from some unnecessary guilt or grief, when in fact he just didn't want the responsibility. And why? Atuf was doing a marvellous job as proxy, and would no doubt officially challenge for the position of zubaidi soon, knowing Zeko would hand over the House with just enough of a fight to keep his honour.

Swearing quietly in Zanaryan — “A pox on it all.” — Zeko scuffed the toe of his soft leather boot against a rock. He watched it sail over the bluffs to splash into the ocean below, shuffling his wings. Lifting his head to gaze out across the ocean once more, he heaved a put-upon sigh. Honestly, “How long does it take to get a ferry around here, anyway?” The damned thing only had to cross a hundred miles of ocean. Put a Djinn aboard and it would only take half a day. “I've already been waiting an hour, Lords-dammit.”

Patience was definitely not his strongest suit. Then again, Sebastian had only given him a couple of days' leave to sort out his affairs, and most of that would be spent travelling. “Damned inconvenient.” Sometimes, he really wished Zanarya had more portals. Then again, that would have been "damned inconvenient" during the war...

[Tsiyone]

Tsiyone had never been so glad that his master's wife was all-but a hypochondriac. Okay, so, he'd never been glad of that period, but today - today it was very useful indeed. It had been ages since Tsiyone had last lost control of his form. Usually he didn't have the energy to take an extra breath, let alone transform his body parts into a different species all together. For some reason today, though, his disobedient body felt it was a perfectly splendid idea to begin sprouting scales everywhere while Tsiyone was on cleaning detail for his master's bed chambers. Thank Nen that the mistress had come in.

At first Tsiyone had been worried about covering up the scales, but as they began to itch as they always did, the poor boy couldn't help but scratch at them. The woman of course did the only sensible thing and shrieked, covering up her mouth and spouting off some Xanth-forsaken disease name that Tsiyone didn't even care enough to attempt to remember. Some rash or pox or plague or something, probably. Not that it mattered, Tsiyone was instantly ordered out of the building. Not to go home, though. No, of course not. Send a sick individual home so they can rest and heal? That would be humane. A high society Zanaryan could never be caught doing something so merciful, it would be a scandal.

Tsiyone rolled his eyes and scoffed at the thought.

As it stood Tsiyone was waiting on the docks of the little temple island for some ferry from Paia that was bringing a load of spices and bath salts for his lord. Tsiyone was supposed to heave the shipment that was likely going to weigh more than he did back to his master's chambers, taking care not to damage or lose any of it. That was going to be fun. On the plus side, new shipments always meant a nice surplus of goods that were... well... available. Not that he would steal from his master. No. Never. He'd never even think of it.

Tsiyone found himself just now looking over his shoulder as he walked closer to the end of the dock as if there might be a Peteulanus 'Vari behind him picking at his every thought. Heh. That was ridiculous. 'Vari weren't allowed into Zanarya and no native had the ability to read minds, right? ... Right? Tsiyone was trying to remain composed as he just double checked that all those around him had wings and horns, being slightly wary of any who just happened to have even blue-tinted eyes. Stealing from a high-ranking individual was a capital crime here, and if Tsiyone were to ever be caught then it could mean worse things for him than losing his life.

After all, it was nigh impossible even becoming a servant with just a broken horn, imagine trying to hold any sort of job or position while missing one - or both! (gulp!) - of his hands? The thought sent a shiver down Tsiyone's spine as he moved towards a group of people that were gathered together at the Paian dock, not paying attention really whatsoever to the direction he was going, and also not realizing that he was still scratching at those insufferable Naga scales cropping up on his arms. Shifting was painful enough as it was, did it have to itch, too?

Piper's Boutique ≈ DaFont ≈ Selphie's World ≈ Aethereality

[Zozeko]

There was a young Zanaryan who was behaving very oddly. Zozeko rarely paid attention to youths (even his own) since they tended to make a nuisance of himself, and sure enough, this was making a nuis... Did he only have one horn?

A sneer made its way to Zeko's face and he looked down his nose at the young man. Did he have no shame? Horns and wings, horns and wings: They were the pride of a Zanaryan! Not taking care of them was tantamount to, well, it was sacrilege!

To make matters worse, as Zozeko stared at him, he started scratching. In public. At scales. On his arms. Disgusting.

“Gah!” Back-stepping quickly and almost toppling himself off the narrow dock into the water below, he brushed off his sleeve as if the man's scratching was contagious. “Get away from me, you pox-ridden charlatan!”

[Tsiyone]

Ugh, he was on the dock for like two minutes and already someone was moaning? “Charlatan?” Tsiyone balked at the comment. He'd been called many degrading things, but that was a new one. After all, Tsiyone was no con man. A thief, perhaps, but no deceiver.

“I would suggest you not talk such to a servant of one of Lord Nen's abd'aali.” Tsiyone warned, scowling at the pompous Zanaryan who was condemning him. “And do not fear, I am not contagious. I will not soil your dainty skin.” The last statement was a venomous barb disguised by a servile tone and an obeisant bow.

Tsiyone turned away from the offending individual and rolled down his uniform's sleeves to their proper position. He was slightly worried about ripping the garment as his arms were ever so slowly, and excruciatingly painfully, growing into those of an adult naga's. The sleeves, however, would at least cover up his scales for the moment. Besides, it wasn't all too hot today. It was early spring on the island of Farahij, and Tsiyone's body temperature was slowly dropping as his body continued it's painfully slow mutation into a cold-blooded reptile. Tonight was going to be fun.

Oh well, at least finding food wouldn't be too hard.

Piper's Boutique ≈ DaFont ≈ Selphie's World ≈ Aethereality

[Zozeko]

Zozeko about had apoplexy right there on the ferry dock.

Why, the nerve of the man, speaking to him in that tone! Or at all, for that matter! Someone like him, missing a horn and tattered like some street urchin, should be bowing and scraping before Zozeko, pleading to be forgiven for so much as breathing his air.

Aab'dali or not, the offence was too great to be ignored — dainty skin, indeed! — and the sound of Lord Nen's name tore it. He had half a mind to push the jumped-up Marid into the frothing waters and, when challenged about it, ask, "Afraid of a little water?"

Instead, his wing tips flexing enough to jangle the stars and moons attached to them as he shifted his weight and his grip on his staff, Zozeko demanded, “I will have your name, sir!” The "sir" was more than the man deserved, he was sure. “To which zubaida do you belong?”

[Tsiyone]

Ugh. Not again. Why was it that Zanaryans had this whole "I'm gonna tell your father on you!" mind set? It was rather juvenile. At least as far as Tsiyone was concerned it was. Maybe that was just because he didn't really have a lineage. No, never mind, certainly not. IF anything that just made Tsiyone more objective. Yes. That's it. Objective.

“My zubaida is none of your business.” Tsiyone spoke harshly, simulating the other man's condescension. He hated being talked down to, and it was one thing when it was his master, but a total stranger? That wasn't going to fly. “My name is Tsiyone. That is all you need to know.” he informed the stranger.

“And what, pray tell, is your name?” he asked the other Zanaryan with a bit of acid to his tone. There was no aggression between these two. Nope. None at all.

Piper's Boutique ≈ DaFont ≈ Selphie's World ≈ Aethereality

[Zozeko]

Refusing to give one's lineage was tantamount to a declaration of war. “I am Azat Djinn Zozeko Zubaidin ibn Nihim al-Walid ibn Karahim al-Walid abd'al-Risna ibn Serren abd'al-Cirodjinn al-Khayridji il'Artega aal-Fessijah al-Paiadjinn aal-Marport al-Dardanos,” and he was not about to back down!

The mouthful didn't so much as faze him, and his chin set proudly, haughtily, his nose in the air and his wings spread - not to their full extent, but merely enough to back up his claim of power. He was utterly confident that he was better than this man, both physically and familially, else why would this Tsiyone refuse to give his House?

And what kind of name was "Tsiyone" anyway? Certainly not Zanaryan, which all the more supported his earlier insult that the man was a charlatan!

“I will have your details, boy, else the temple guards can look into it.” Zozeko was certainly not about to leave an unidentified, pox-ridden, hornless man roaming freely!

[Tsiyone]

Note to self. Don't ever actually ask a Zanaryan to tell you their name. It's like asking to be bored to death by an old Therian folk tale. Tsiyone made no efforts to hide his over-exaggerated yawn while "Zozeko ibn blahblahblah" continued on with his name.

Suddenly the other Zanaryan was all up in Tsiyone's face, threatening him with the guard. Why did people always jump to threats? Temple servant or not, there was no way that Tsiyone would scoot past a formal investigation. Thank goodness the ferry was starting to pull up.

What would be the easiest way to stop this upright spoiled hoity-toity fancy pants? Well, he said he was a Djinn... Maybe a nice wave would shut him up. Right here on the coast... a nice crowd of people. No one could reasonably blame Tsiyone... A bit of applied focus and a swift wrist movement and...

SPLASH. A nice, large wave came up over the edge of the dock, drenching both Zozeko and Tsiyone in the process. Plausible deniability if there ever was any. After all, why would Tsiyone drench himself? That just didn't make sense. Except that it would divert blame. But that was so convoluted no sensible person would believe it, right?

Piper's Boutique ≈ DaFont ≈ Selphie's World ≈ Aethereality

[Zozeko]

Zozeko blinked. Water droplets stuck to his eyelashes momentarily, then disappeared. The salt tang of sea water dripped from the tip of his nose onto his lips. The cold of the same sea water soaked through his clothes and his skin. His wings — Oh! How disgusting!

Leather boots squelched as he took a step forward in order to turn and stare at the ocean as if it were a living thing, absolute shock and horror skewing his features. How dare it wet him? Him? A Djinn! This was the very reason he and his kind despised those sopping Mariid. They didn't deserve to walk the same earth, to breathe the same air — until he needed a drink, of course.

He didn't even suspect the one-horned Zanaryan. Such an obviously weak thing could clearly not command a wave, nor would he even dare. Nevertheless, the very fact that he had witnessed such a travesty was enough for Zozeko to sneer at him once more as he made his dripping way to the now-arrived ferry.

“Sorry, good sir, but I'm afraid I cannot let you aboard in such a... state. Perhaps the next ferry, when you are dry...?”

Zozeko almost had apoplexy right there and then. Instead, his face turning red, he stepped into a six-foot-tall whirling dervish that appeared and disappeared into thin air with a swish of his wrist and dried (well, mostly) the salt water from his clothes and hair. Then, as he was permitted to step forward to board, he sent a sneering grin at the charlatan he blamed for the entire event.

[Tsiyone]

The exertion of manipulating his element took away his focus from trying to not shapeshift. “Ugh...” Tsiyone groaned as he fe3lt the pain of his legs attempting to merge into one solid tail as tiny bones started to extend from his body, beginning to form the characteristic webbing of the Naga he was turning into. Oh yea, becoming a mutant-Naga-freak on the docks of Farahij? That would be a great thing for his reputation in the temple.

Not even bothering to shake the water off of his form, Tsiyone dierted all of his energy on forcing himself to stay a Zanaryan. The only benefit of his transformation was that all remnants of his stench were essentially gone for the moment (well, except for that which had absorbed into his clothing). Quickly Tsiyone found the Paian courier and paid for the package he'd come here to deliver, and then he moved as quickly as he could out of the crowds at the dock. He avoided the main path, instead heading into the brush as soon as he knew he'd be able to hide there for a little while while the change took over his body.

Well... while he was a Naga... maybe he'd be able to find some... free food.

((Tsiyone has left the thread))

Piper's Boutique ≈ DaFont ≈ Selphie's World ≈ Aethereality