#* 001 / zahra

[ruqaiyahdayne]

who: @dancingshores when and where: lann's day celebrations within casterly rock, ruqaiyah dayne comes across a nobody who has been climbing the ranks of importance within the court of sunspear. how she hates it.

she had noticed it briefly first, orbs passing over the scene as she found herself engaging in conversation with the hand of king cedric of house tyrell, and then her gaze snapped back to it again.

a familiar figure and voice, all sweetness and honey with long thick dark hair behind a mask; and a head of blonde hair she did not recognise, dancing upon the floor. it was enough to cause her to look upon it, making no attempt to even be subtle; what a scene. this was hardly a surprise, was it? the woman had seemingly given up on her mission of being the most unreliable, detached string in the realm and had instead decided to climb the ranks of court - and climbing the cocks of reachmen.

the music came to a slow as the dance began to end, and she found herself winding her way toward the woman she suspected, and the man that would later be confirmed to be lord gael hightower. and when the dance ended, ruqaiyah had no issue with a slow, sarcastic clap for the duo; slipping right to the side of zahra sand, the dornish court seer.

"amazing." ruqaiyah spoke, her tone gushing in falsehood; and yet, she maintained the gaze of them both. would the reachman see her deceit? no doubt zahra sand would, instantly.

and then she switched to their native tongue, a smooth and seamlessly transition as she feigned a friendly move of putting her hand on zahra's forearm, as though to usher her away. "is the court seer too busy planning on spreading herself on the white man to do the ridiculous job given to you out of pity?" myriam allyrion's favourite pet, was what ruqaiyah called her. all the while, not once did she think of the sister she had left for dead on the borders of the tor. the blood that was never upon her hands.

"i want my palm read. save embarrassing us for later and do your job."

[dancingshores]

setting : the coronation events of jaehaerys ii, a pair of lords and unlikely third party play a game of cards together ; @nicholaslannisters @percival-templeton

the coronation events of the new valyrian king had been intriguing, to say the least, for the dancer of salt shore did not often find herself beyond the borders of dorne, unless she needed to be. though she was not necessarily needed here, she enjoyed the opportunity to see places outside of her own homeland - a kite drifting wherever the wind should take her. curious, hazel hues scanned the great room before her within the red keep, it was not quite obvious in the open, but not hidden away, either. tables were set up, with nobles sat around them playing various games.

zahra hadn't a clue what the rules of any of these games were, she saw dice thrown, cheers and jeers, laughter as wine seemed to flow through all of their veins. she tended to indulge in her curisosity, especially in such a, what seemed to be, relaxed environment. bangles rang as if they were signaling her approach as she stood near the table where only two lords sat with cards in hand, perhaps preferring the more intimate game, though she would inquire anyways. "is there room for another at this table, my lords?" lips pulled upwards into a friendly grin as she looked between the two, awaiting their response only a brief moment before taking the empty chair, anyways.

[eulcgizeme]

OPEN TO: @gcldenhcurs for zahra azarnoush MUSE: lennon burke, thirty-two. drug dealer. barry keoghan fc. PLOT: lennon and his lady (aka the wife of the cop who basically saved his ratty ass off the streets) are about to do the nasty. however, he realizes something's not right.

A familiar taste tainted her kiss, and Lennon had dismissed it the first time. Bad habits like these were often reminiscent of the company of another, but in his half hearted attempts at being better, he took them one at a time. Sobriety had pulled the veil out between them, but it didn't make up for the fact that this wasn't Lennon's bed— let alone that Zahra wasn't his to keep, even for a night. He had reasoned with it by challenging just how far he could get away with it. Afternoons spent at the Azarnoush house with her alone had evolved into something else in fruitless flirtation, until it did. A hand danced across a hem under the shadow of the dinner table, a wrist always brushing against a buckle between tight spaces, and a whisper of every what if behind a close door was suppose to instigate getting caught. It seemed that neither one of them knew how easily they could be bad and come out unscathed. They had ended up here, afternoon swelling outside, when Amir was gone and Zahra's come down from a shared high still rippled through her. Lennon stuck around, and soon enough, every brush of taunted desire was acted upon. He had boundaries, though, as a means of keeping his concerns at bay. "Wait," He said, breath splayed against her skin as the interrupted kiss was splayed against her chest. His lips brushed against her skin as he tried to catch his words. "Zahra, wait. Is that— are you high right now?"

[myriamas]

who: @dancingshores​ where: one of the gardens allocated to the dornish quarters within highgarden, in the final few days of the dornish court’s stay within highgarden. there is privacy within the gardens, and martell guards stationed where entrances are located between the bushes. why? because the heir of dorne was in the middle of something incredibly precarious and important. presenting her mother and zahra sand with her kathak skills, an intricate dance skill.

there came the sounds of leila’s ankles with each move she perfected, with a sense sharp of perfection; her movements were sharp, concise, and clear. and yet it were her expressions that caused the sun to beam across the face of myriam allyrion, to watch the girl channel the theatrics that truly made dornish dance different to other forms of dance: each move was almost a piece of theatre. she had never heard of the name zahra sand before, and yet, it seemed as though leila had heard of the woman amongst her own circle of young dornish girls, with the world at their feet and on their shoulders. 

and it were like a wonder had played out before her very eyes; for as much as the princess of dorne would clap and encourage the girl who knew herself to be the ruler of dorne, kathak had never been her strength. if anything, she had been some of the weakest amongst her group of friends all her same age; children, unaware of the realities of the world. and here she was now, with a sense of concise movement that myriam had been unable to install within her old child, regardless of how many demonstrations she had showed. 

regardless of the times the two had grown irritable with one another, they always ended up trying and trying and trying again. 

zahra sand had been working with her daughter for some weeks, and this was the first time she watched it. she heard the woman was very gentle in the way she interacted with children, and ensured to thoroughly run through the woman’s background before granting her access to the very future of dorne. she had found nothing to be worried of, only that the woman engaged in travels with her lord father years ago, as so many of them had. dorne was the only place to go, and thus, so many truly travelled it length and breadth. there was clapping as the girl finished, her face clearly excited; and in one go, she had flurried off to the other girls who watched. 

they spoke excitedly with one another, and myriam watched with a sense of joy, of happiness, and of bittersweetness. there was a time where her daughter would come to her instantly. she truly was growing up. 

turning toward the lady in question, myriam rose from the ornate chair she had placed herself upon, approaching the woman. her face was bright, brighter than it had been in some days; though her altercation with her brother remained hanging heavy in the hair, she was able to find joy in the reality of her life. how she wished for another, and whilst she was not entirely sure, here they were. “what need i say to you?” she asked, the sounds of anklets jingling as she crossed the grass. she was barefoot upon it, feeling the warmth of the sun beneath her soles. “what magic do you use, zahra?” 

[dontleaflily]

*/ @silvcrbite at the Summerfest

It's been a while since Lily has last come across Zahra -- she's been more around Aaren lately, going through training session after training session, in an attempt to become a better fighter. Her brother's haven't been something that could be labeled as a good trainer -- and the deep scars on her throat speak volumes. She's been gradually getting better, and still. There's something she has been hiding. A random mention, random proposal she's heard her brother make to her Dad a few days ago, something she wasn't supposed to hear -- I'll challenge for Alpha. And while Aaren might be the better fighter, Lily is still scared that his brutal and cruel ways might get the best of her.

The familiar smell of lilies wavers in with Lily's scent as she leans against the bar right next to the advisor, grin soft on her lips as she masks her trail of thoughts, "Hey Mom," she jokes, but maybe also deep down wishes it to be real, "Are you going to buy me a drink or what?"

[nelefinn]

     𝙾𝙿𝙴𝙽 [2/𝟸] 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶, 𝙹𝚄𝙽𝙴 𝟹𝟶𝚃𝙷, 𝙶𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚃𝙴𝚃𝙾𝙽 𝙼𝙰𝙻𝙻, 𝙴𝚇𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙾𝚁.

     Smoke billowed into the dark sky, a grey monstrosity gaping its maws at the stars. It filled the air with the scent of charcoal and sulfur, hair from the corpses below sparking in the flames. Nele reached back to retie the bandana covering the lower half of her face, wiping her hands on her thighs before she bent down to haul another body into the fire. This was one she recognized more than most, though she’d never gotten to know her well. Marseline. Too young. Her features are nearly unrecognizable, half her face chewed to the bone, though even if she didn’t reconize her, the supple youth of what remained was enough to know it was too soon. Nele knelt, lifting her stiff and heavy torso to pile it over her shoulder, a low grunt escaping her as she stood. It was odd, how little she felt, how the smell of burning bodies didn’t make her stomach turn. She was encased in ice, her warm center put into hibernation, and she couldn’t recall exactly when that had happened. She’d been so young when it happened, but she’d lived some before, so why did it seem so far away?

     Because it was. It was a faint shadow in her past, so indiscernible she forgot it even existed. So pale, she was able to burn the dead with no reaction. She knew it wasn’t right; she knew she was supposed to feel more, but she simply… didn’t. A light sigh was the only reaction given before she tossed the young woman in with the rest, eyes squinting against the harsh smoke as she watched her torn clothing burst into flame. And then, she did feel something. White, hot anger to match the fire — because how had they let this happen? And yet, didn’t it always come to this?

     Nele wiped her forearm over her furrowed brow, her gloved hands and shirt decorated with smeared blood, the crimson on her neck glistening as it mixed with sweat. A crunch behind her; the sound of a footfall, and she turned her head, peering over her shoulder to see who was approaching. Most of the others had taken a break — and most of the others preferred a different clean-up job — but Nele had kept working, because sitting still, even for nourishment, wasn’t an option. She’d keep moving until she was spent, until the idea of sleeping on the crowded mall floors seemed a bit more enticing. Until the rage leapt into the fire with the corpses. Until she could breathe. 

     “You happen to bring back out anything from snack time?”

[armaans]

who: @dancingshores​ where: one of highgarden’s many bustling halls, within a night of celebration. there was feasting, dancing, and gambling; he noticed how women from the other courts did not seem to engage in the game, apart from their own. currently, armaan was involved in some sort of game of dice, with lyseni, tyroshi and reachmen. 

it was another hot summer night within the great hall of highgarden, ivy and vines creeping up stained glass and ornate white marble decor; and yet, after an evening of feasting, the surroundings was the last thing on his mind. this card game had gone on for far too long, thanks to a specific member of the party seemingly enjoying the conversation more than the actual game. unaware of the impatience that was only growing upon the table, the man continued to speak of matters across the narrow sea; matters that were not anything of significant importance. 

rather, building styles of villas and pavilions - and as the lord of yronwood put down his final hand, his hand seemed to come down hard upon the table top. almost in a way that caused whatever was on the table to shake.

it shut the representative up at least, or reminded him they were here to play the game, rather than engage in small talk for the sake of trying to get in one’s socialising. his dark orbs, stormy in essence, looked to the large crowd that was dotted around the rest of the room; there was dancing, there was one woman dancing specifically. by the sounds of the anklet, his first impression was to think it was the princess consort - only, it was not her. only someone with an uncanny resemblance to her, a woman he had come across before. she had stayed within yronwood with her lord father some years prior, for a brief amount of time; back when his uncle held the regency and armaan was to turn eighteen within the week. 

of course, she was once someone of far more importance to his friend, the ruling lord of the tor. she had stayed with the jordaynes; he was sure he had seen her during his visits to the tor, time after time.

there was much talk of him retaking yronwood that evening over the dinner, stepping into his father’s shoes that dinner; it was almost ironic now. for who knew what betrayal, bloodshed and butchery would come just a week later; crossbows shot into an empty bed, and he watched. her presence reminded him of a time where things seemed okay, but in reality, were truly not. their eyes met multiple times throughout the course of the night, and when he was finally able to collect his winnings once the game wrapped up, the man did not excuse himself. 

rather, moved his way through the crowd in his black kurta, still adorning traditional dornish attire. his hair longer than he usually kept it. moving his way through the crowd, he knew better than to interrupt her. he would not join her. and so, the bloodroyal just became another figure stood around watching. watching, alongside those andals who looked as though she were a piece of meat to be unwrapped. he was there, silently, as he felt as though he needed to be - she was dornish, she was one of their own. 

there was applause as she finished, in a spiral conclusion. he joined the claps, slowly; still keeping his gaze fixed on her. though in truth, his attention was on the people around them. dancers were not whores, not in dorne; he knew not elsewhere. “kya aapaka kaam khatm ho gaya, ya kya mujhe agale din tak yaheen rukana hoga?” (are you finished, or do i have to wait until tomorrow?) 

[follklored]

❛❛ alright , z . . .❜❜ he calls to the living room his voice trails off as he lowers himself to the counter, rustling the reusable plastic bags that take up most of the real estate on the island. from inside the bags he pulls out a plethora of ingredients that could be used to cook cuisine from across the globe. callum isn't a particularly good chef. he's fair, but he tries. he is good at picking up the groceries once a week on his way home for work. he does that splendidly. ❛❛ you've got an important decision to make, my darling. ❜❜

his keys click onto the hook in the foyer, the part of a routine he has established over time. the part of the life that exists only within these walls. the best parts live here. he leans in the doorway to the living room, a smile that crinkles at his eyes spreading on his lips.

❛❛ and that decision -- is whether or not i attempt a meal for us, or if we invariably decide to cut to the chase and order in. think very carefully, as i am prepared to be quite creative with my recipe tonight. ❜❜

@wandcrlusts

[maribyrne]

"an honor," mari nodded, not sure if zahra was telling the truth or just saying it to be nice. she'd take the subtle compliment either way. in a night where seemingly kind words had been traded as subtle attacks, she was grateful for the change of pace.

and that it seemed like they'd had the same approach to the evening.

"nope," she mirrored the girl's answer, a matter-of-fact confession soon following. "i'm not the biggest fan of public speaking, but i figured this would be a low stakes event. i wasn't actually trying to get these parents to commit to new horizons."

her nerves had come only when she'd stepped into the room, a sea of faces she hadn't expected to see before her. what had drawn them there? the chance to brag or the intrigue of the posts in the alumni group?

"i also didn't realize so many of our classmates would come back for this."

"yours was one of the ones i stayed awake through! i'll give you that, mari," zahra responds, aiming a finger gun at the other woman with a playful wink.

in truth, while she knew that mari was a successful published author, zahra...hadn't read her book. mostly because she preferred audiobooks and didn't think there was one out yet, but also because there were whispers that it had to do with st. mary's; the school already occupied her thoughts enough without returning to a fictionalized version of it.

the brunette laughs loudly, unconcerned with who hears. "nope," she responds, popping the 'p'. there had certainly been discomfort at the thought of returning to the school, and some nerves and excitement surrounding certain people, but it wasn't the reason that she was tired. "did you stay up late practicing your speech?"

[dancingshores]

setting: a terrace upon casterly rock, where guests mingle and dance indoors during a great feast being held this night, and zahra sand finding herself where she always is, gazing at the stars ; starter for @deimos-velaryon

the sky was lovely here, more serene than she might’ve imagined, though incomparable to the one back home, of course. different stars and constellations than she normally saw were sprinkled in the indigo above, and eyebrows furrowed together as she made it out, trying to memorize everything she saw, to read what she saw. a light breeze blew, and she pulled her dupatta, a burgundy color with golden trim, tighter over her shoulders to shield her from the chill. it was colder than she imagined, although not terrible.

people lingered about the terrace, more so in the seating area, where zahra stood nearer the balcony, in the open space. she heard soft chattering behind her, but she was so focused on what she was looking at that she didn’t hear notice a man who took his spot upon the balcony railing just a few paces away from her. it was only when she heard a heavy exhale that hazel hues drifted to look at him, though she did not know if he were the source of it.

his features were stern, and zahra was unsure if he were in a sour mood, or if that were simply his face. she did not recognize him in the least, but she rarely remembered people up north that she did not stay in contact with outside of her visits outside of dorne with the rest of their court. regardless, she felt so inclined to strike some polite conversation, not out of any obligation other than zahra enjoyed talking and knowing people who were not from dorne, curious about their customs and lives.

“it’s a lovely evening, isn’t it?” she asked, a soft grin upon her lips, she did not truly see him from the front, or up close, for she knew if she saw the lilac of his eyes, she likely would not have engaged at all.

[ofzahras]

CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT TASK #001

a zahra hamed playlist

[zahramorales]

with — @daiyus​ where — daiyu’s room at the residence inn when — may 16, after daiyu’s release trigger warnings — mention of death

Zahra had thought they’d gotten out of this situation scot-free when she’d glimpsed the woman leaving after Ray’s death — no, execution — but she should’ve known better. Worry kicks in as soon as she watches Daiyu take a step towards Mike at the funeral, because if she’s going to worry about anyone in Idaho Falls, there’s a good chance it’s Daiyu. She’s spent the last eleven years watching Daiyu grow from angry, impulsive teenager to even angrier, reckless adult, and she knows it’s only a matter of time before the woman goes one step too far. There’s no doubt in Zahra’s mind that Alexei wouldn’t hesitate to make an example of his daughter if she finally crossed the line.

So she worries the moment Daiyu moves, and she continues to worry for a week as Daiyu is held in isolation. Zahra doesn’t dare to go visit, even if checking in would ease some of the concern, fear of Alexei’s consequences outweighing fear for Daiyu, at least for the moment. Instead, she waits and pretends like Daiyu’s isolation means nothing, an act she’s been performing since she was seventeen. She trades patrol shifts and favors so she just so happens to be free the day of Daiyu’s release and hopes the woman doesn’t do anything stupid to get her isolation extended. There’s no way to finesse that without raising an eyebrow or two.

Zahra waits until ten minutes before patrol change, when the enforcers on evening patrol have left to get to their stations and the ones on morning patrol haven’t returned yet, then takes the opportunity to sneak into Daiyu’s room, a trick perfected when Zahra was nineteen. Her entrance is muffled by the sound of the shower running, so she scans the room to figure out the best place to be that won’t startle Daiyu when she exits the bathroom ( Zahra learned a long time ago that startling Daiyu was not an ideal thing to do ). She’s still debating between two spots when the bathroom door opens, and Zahra turns towards the room’s owner. “Uh, hi,” she says, still standing in the center of the room. Zahra lifts up a packet of one of Daiyu’s favorite snacks that she pocketed during the last raid she’d been on. “I brought you food.”

[dancingshores]

brows rose at the air of confidence that seemed to emit from his very being. zahra did not mind a partner who didn't know the specific steps, only that they had enough rhythm to follow the lead she eventually would take to, but this lord was different and that alone intrigued her. bangles upon her wrist rang softly as her hand gently gripped his own, allowing him to guide her to the dance floor.

"if you are as good a lead as i suspect, then i do believe my success will be owed to you." she replied, a smile finding itself upon her lips as the music began. while zahra felt somewhat out of place amongst the nobles on the dance floor, she also felt entirely in her element. even if those looked at her in curiosity, or perhaps some, in hatred, there was a strange feeling of yearning for eyes upon her, anyways. years of perfecting her craft had certainly created such a desire within her.

the music began and so did the steps, hers delayed by half a second at first as she observed those around her as well as the lord in front of her, before she fell in step with the rhythm. while they initially began across from each other, the dance soon brought them together again, a hand finding itself upon his shoulder, and the other clasped within his own. "i suspect you are a reachman. i hear you are most chivalrous." she also believed that he were not of the west as she did not believe a westerman would dance so publicly with her, those of the so called new valyria despised her, and the vale seemed far to prudish for his type. "though do correct me if i am wrong."

The lady stood out brightly amongst the sea of silken dresses, wearing an attire that clearly indicated her origin. He didn't think he'd intentionally singled her out in the crowd of dancers because she was Dornish, he'd only focused on her because of the vibrant energy she radiated, her graceful motions, and yes, because of how beautiful she looked. Perhaps something unconscious in his mind would remain inevitably drawn to what never was meant to intersect with him and his house.

Gael couldn't deny there was a certain allure to wearing masks, to the questions and the mysteries. And at least for now, the shedding of duty and concerns that existed for the unmasked version of him. He was no actor or performer, but as a playwright, he certainly understood the power of adopting a character. Tonight he was willing to play with those blurring lines and forget the wife who appeared to despise him so.

“I may not be as accomplished a dancer as you are, my lady,” the lord said, easily giving away that he had been observing her move before, “but I do know these dances very well”. It was part of court life in this region and the Reach, and for once, he was grateful he'd been pushed to learn the steps by the tutors employed by his mother and father. And so Gael Hightower held out his hand, a smile and a subtle tilt of his head inviting her to take it. “Worry not, you will outshine us all,” he murmured as she held his hand, and the Master of the Arts led the Dornish beauty to the dancefloor.

[dancingshores]

setting : during the dornish lockdown, this is before amaia sees zahra speaking to a volantene woman ; starter for @opheliafowler

there was a gray aura that seemed to wrap around the golden court of sunspear this day, though it seemed to have been everyday since the night the moon went down. the wound felt as raw as the day she had heard the word's uttered from the princess regent's lips regarding the fate of rashid jordayne. and ever since that day, the dancer who floated about like a kite in the wind had remained utterly still, fixated, as if a storm had rolled over the sunny day that was her normal demeanor, and had not quite cleared. even attempts to move through her grief, at times, only intensified it. and so there were times where feet did not move at all, where the sound of bangles had ceased entirely.

zahra hoped that would change today, was certain the stars had showed her justice and peace would be achieved. it was written wasn't it? she had thought, until what was to be a trial, was suddenly an execution, and the court of sunspear collectively raised a brow at the assumption of their guests. then the prince called for the palace to be locked down, and the dornish court began to engage in intense conversation with those of volantis.

the dancer of salt shore had moved from her father's side, who had uttered words into her ear that sent a shockwave down her spine, eyes unable to stop glancing towards a particular volantene woman, a paramour of one of the lords engaging with the martell prince. hazel hues were still fixated on her when she accidentally bumped into someone.

head pivoted quickly to see the image of ophelia fowler, and an audible sigh left zahra's lips as she kept her gaze fixated on the lady before her now. "sorry." she murmured, bringing her hands to cross in front of her lehenga as discussions around the room began to grow louder. "it seems our guests are unaware of our customs. i'm feeling entirely uneasy about this whole thing." she stated, perhaps wanting to find a sense of commiseration in her feelings.

[adveanture-archived]

i am once again asking for a percildan au 

[ameliascxtt]

Amelia had just finished fixing the table for dinner when there was a knock on the door, and she dropped everything she was doing so quickly that she opened the door for Zahra before the minute passed. “Finally.”, she mused once her good friend appeared in her sight. Catching up over home cooked dinner and wine was a normal thing for them but with how busy the two of them lately, it’s been a while since the last time they had a night like this. She missed it. “I hope you’re hungry because I made us chicken parmesan.” ( @zahratitchen )​