[Exalted] The Dragon's Spite

LXII. Hot Tempers

In the last weeks of Fire, you pack up your baggage, settle the petty sums that remain in your account with the hotel, and then decamp to Zia's family's townhouse for a few days while you wait for the landship to arrive.

"Meira, it is just wonderful to see you looking so fetching!" Zia exclaims as you saunter in, his people helping with your baggage. "That fabric — that is Shogunate tar-silk, is it not? The blues are so very bright and clean! Was that from your finds?"

You spin for him, showing off the slinky dress you had the hotel tailors make for you from some of the fabric you found in the apartment ruins. It is gorgeous, and it has spent seven hundred years and more out of the light. It is as brightly coloured as the day it was made, and it is frankly gorgeous. And the cut is a Cahzori one, not intended to be worn out and about. But you deserved something nice, and everyone who gets to see you in it will have their own reward. "You have an excellent eye for colour and hue," you tell him.

"Nothing is as fine as ancient tar-silk. I have a few garments of it myself, but they're an inheritance; they've faded in the sun! But that…" he looks up at you, "you will be the talk of every party this Calibration if you're wearing that."

Oh, he is a darling boy. "I am so pleased to be staying with you. You said we'd be leaving in about a week?"

"Next Moonsday, yes! But come, come, get out of the sun before she damages the fabric! And have some wine!"

That is quite welcome indeed, and you retreat into the shaded heights of Zia's family's townhouse, where the smell of old paper and stale incense almost manages to drown out the smell of the Little Nam.

---

The hotel was a delight in the Cahzori heat with its cold air-pumps, but the townhouse of a jansi is a tolerable second best. The high shutters are closed throughout the day, and the dripping of water from cracked pots hanging in the corners helps take the edge off the dry heat. Everyone dozes at the height of the day, but you find yourself often unable to sleep and so you wander through these tall halls bedecked with faded paintings of beautiful, dragon-blooded aristocrats of old and read the scattering of books of any topic you can find in Zia's library.

There is an awful lot of pornography there, built up eclectically by Zia's forebears from how dusty it is. And nearly all of it is utterly useless for sorcerous research. The bits which would be useful are mostly coded rituals for summoning demon breeds intended for the purpose. Which you have no interest in. If you were one of the lords of Hell, you would have your servant hellspawn spy on those who summoned them. It just seems obvious to you — you cannot trust demons, not when Zed is out there and has plenty of reason to want to know what you are up to.

Thus, you must find other ways to entertain yourself between attending Cahzori society events with Zia and cataloguing the notes you obtained on your expedition. You haven't even started seriously interrogating it — right now you need to sort it by source, category, and nature. You have missed this so awfully much. You do enjoy the task of a scholar, searching through old papers and lost books for information that might be worth more than gold.

It was the only thing that kept you sane during the bad times of your life. Books will not abandon you. They don't die on you. Well. That is what you thought. But they burned your library.

But you can't spend all the time inside without feeling a little cooped up, and you find the inner courtyard is a shaded, almost-cool place where hanging gardens try and fail to take away the sink of the rotten lake outside. Your presence is helping the plants, and some are even flowering for the first time in a long time.

You had the servants set up a target, and you are throwing things at it.

Amigere wasn't wrong when he said you were putting on muscle. You had to have some of your tighter fitting dresses let out around the arms and stomach and taken in around the stomach and hips. Your body is more like how you were at forty than it has been for the past few decades. How easily good habits come back when you exert yourself.

You hate it. Good habits are awful. You'd rather be self-indulgent and out-of-shape. It's much easier. But unfortunately, dying is also easier when people are trying to kill you, and you're not that lazy.

Stompy feet sound behind you - too big for Sei - and you turn to see Zia's little sister Inaan. She's dressed in the loose clothing they wear here for training (unlike her older brother, who you've never seen do anything that would raise a sweat).At the point when you hear soft footprints behind you, you got distracted by checking a hanging sweet-smelling flower which seems to have a little trace of mould on its tendrils.

"What are you doing in here?" Inaan asks. She sounds sullen and irritable, but it is something she brought in here with you. Zia's sister carries a heavily curved cavalry sabre that looks like it might be the militarised version of those blades used by the duelling cults. "Only I have my fencing lessons here in a bit. And I just have to get away from all this… urgh!"

"Checking the health of the plants. Practising. Entertaining myself."

"Throwing knives at a board?" she asks, dark blue eyes flickering with contempt.

"Throwing playing cards," you say with a lazy smile.

That gets you an irritable teenage glare, as if you are making fun of her. Which you are. But in your defence, you're making fun of her by telling the truth. "See if you want."

Inaan stomps over to the target you're using, and you see the exact moment when she freezes up and realises the things protruding from the thin wood are playing cards. You watch with a smile as she tests the edge with a finger, looking for some cunningly hidden metal rim, and finds only stiffened card.

"How?"

"It's all in the flick of the wrist," you inform her.

She manages to pull one of the cards out on her second try, and tries throwing it. It flutters down to the ground. "That is nonsense," she declares.

"Now, now. I am a master of Peacock Style," you inform her. "I am rather good at this." Better than you were even a few weeks ago. The muscle you put on on the expedition makes you strong enough to manage to drive a playing card half-way through a thin piece of wood, and the time you've spent getting the old knack back means you can actually do it.

"I can see that. Wait, a master?"

You beckon her over, then tug up your left sleeve, showing her the tattoo that covers your upper bicep. "Yes. A master."

"Wow! I've never seen anything like that before! Covering the whole arm like that — the feathers and the patterns and the colours!" Inaan exclaims, her irritation momentarily banished. "Can… can I touch it?"

"It's just my arm, but go ahead," you say, flattered by how the young girl is obviously taken by this. As she traces the feathers, you explain how the tattoo is built up as you advance further in the art, each time requiring many long sessions with one of the school's artists. And your one, covering your upper bicep and extending onto your chest and back, is a master's design.

"We don't have that kind of tradition here for fighters," she says, stepping back to let you cover it up again. "I mean, some of the desert savages have scars for things they do, but that's them. Only a Dib would scar themselves like that!"

"Only recognised members of the schools are allowed to wear tattoos back home," you tell her. "If you have one and you haven't earned it… well, the law says it should be burned out with a hot iron."

"Wow!"

Ah, how Cahzori. But you like her amazement, so you show her your other arm. "And this one is for Viper style."

"A snake and a bird?"

"Mmm hmm."

"Why? Why did you pick them?"

"That would be a very long story — longer than you have time for if you have training now," you say. "Maybe I'll tell it on the trip to your estates."

"That might be fun. Landship rides get boring." She looks you up and down, clearly looking for any more hints of ink. "Any more hidden away?"

You laugh. "No, I'm afraid not. I was out of arms." And more importantly, those bastards in the Open Palm Chamber don't consider Graceful Willow Style worthy of recognition. Oh, those arch-conservatives who believe that only animal styles are real martial arts, who speak flippantly of Graceful Willow a thing for dabblers. The unashamed cheek!

It isn't just that you are of the certain opinion that a willow design on your back would have looked fantastic!

… though in Cahzor you're a long way from the Open Palm Chamber. Hmm. Something for later. Except no one here will know the proper Cheraki forms and you couldn't stand wearing something unaesthetic on your skin.

You realise that Inaan was saying something. You decide to pretend you were paying attention.

"Mmm hmm," you say, nodding.

"Exactly! It's ridiculous! I'm glad you agree! But Mother doesn't want it! She's only interested in my marriage - and only to a dragon-child! But I really like Faiz! And he's my age too! But oh no!"

Maybe you should have paid attention. Oh dear. It's the not-yet-Chosen teenager's fury. So easy to set off by accident. You didn't have that problem, thank the Dragons, but you've seen it so many times before

Her mood only sours more. "This whole season was a waste! An utter and total waste! I know I'm now the eldest daughter so I'm the heiress, but if the estates are going to be mine I should get some say in it! But Mother just wants more dragon-blood for the family! I hate it! Being treated as if I'm already a failure! I have years yet before Mother should be thinking of that!" She throws her hands up, letting her sword fall to the ground with a clatter. "But of course Zia didn't manage it so why would I?!"

"Don't treat your weapon like that," your mouth says for you without your mind intervening. "Pick it up right now!"

Crap. This is the problem with having been a mother. Some things get burned in by force of habit. Inaan is glaring at you, and you have to quickly cover for your stupid mouth.

"Your weapon is your life, or at least it will be, out in the ruins. Throwing a good blade around can ruin its edge. And a good blade isn't cheap," you 'clarify' for her. "When I was down there, men, demons and beasts all tried to kill me. And they would have tried to kill you too. So learn to never drop your weapon - and never mistreat it, unless you want its spirit turning in your hand or breaking when you most need it."

Inaan's nostril's flare, and she stroppily picks it up. "You said you agreed with me! Why are you being like this?"

"Whether I agree with you about that doesn't mean I agree with you on the subject of mistreating your blade. So mind your sword-manners - and your temper."

Her dark eyes glower as she flicks her dark blue hair back over her shoulder. "You're a guest here. You can't talk to me like this!"

"You are being ridiculous," you say.

"Ridiculous! Ridiculous?" Her shoulders hunch, and she grips her sabre tighter. "What's utterly ridiculous is you bragging - claiming to be a double master in two schools of martial arts! When you're as soft as Mother!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" you ask, actually genuinely somewhat bemused where all this is coming from.

"I've seen you with your wine and your boyfriends and you flaunt all that in front of everyone," her sword dances an exaggerated hourglass in front of you. "Maybe you were a fighter when you were younger, but I can see your wrinkles! And that means you must be really, really old."

That little bitch. That was too practiced a remark to be off-the-cuff. Maybe Zia's friendship with Sadia has resulted in a bad influence on his little sister. Pointing out that you may have a few lines and that is a giveaway that you're in your second century is frightfully obnoxious.

You hear a chuckle. It sounds like Sei. But Inaan is too wrapped up in her self-indulgent fury to notice it, thank goodness. It would be very rude to hurt the little sister of your host. And yet—

"Mind your tongue," you tell the brat. "Other people would think you're challenging them."

"And if I am?" she fumes. "So what if I am? I'm not a pushover! I actually try, unlike Zia! So I am challenging you! Maybe then you'll show me some respect and not just… just laugh at me with your… your everything!" This time her gesture is even more emphatic, taking in not just your appearance, but also your dragon blood.

Inhale. Exhale.

You consider how she holds her weapon with the viper's eye for weakness. Good for her age with natural talent, but not as good as she thinks she is. The kind of cockiness that only comes from out-pacing everyone in your age-group but never really getting in a real fight against someone better than you, and your instructors aren't allowed to actually hurt you. You could take her, but you might have to work up a sweat and actually pay attention to do so.

---

Article:

What Does Rena Do?
[ ] Refuse. This is not worth your time, not when it's just a case of the Descending Fire tempers. A teenage girl in a tantrum is no reason to get in a fight, and it's too damn hot to do anything like this. She'll get over it faster if you don't humiliate her. Maybe you can go look up Zia and try to get him to get his little sister under control.
[ ] Make an Example. Inaan is young, and foolish. If she goes around challenging people so easily for something as petty as being scolded for dropping her weapon, she'll end up run through before she's twenty. A short, sharp demonstration that you shouldn't try to fight a self-proclaimed master of two styles might shock her out of it and help in the long run.
[ ] Teach This Little Idiot. She's a touchy teenage girl and sort of annoying, but her brother is attractive - and maybe it's something to do during the hotter hours of the day. Maybe she'll be less of a pain in your ass if you give her a few pointers and show her why she should respect you. It's certainly not because she reminds you of anyone you once knew. Warning, this option will demand future time commitments of you