Zahra Laughed, A Full Sound That Cracked Through The Night Like A Spark, Unexpected And Honest. It Spilled

armaan (for zahra)

I like you // I love you // You’re one of my best friends // You’re like family // You are family // I dislike you // I hate you // I’d kill you if I got the chance // I want you to like me // I’m scared of you // I would adopt you // I’d date you // I’d sleep with you // I’d marry you // I’m worried about you // You confuse me // You’re annoying // I pity you // I respect you // I trust you // I feel protective of you // I’d invite you with me to parties // I’d lend you my money // I’d borrow your money // You’re good-looking // I’m suspicious of you // I’m hiding something from you // You’re fun // You’re boring // I’m upset with you // You’re nice // You’re mean // I’m envious of you // You’re smart // You’re stupid // I look up to you // I think you’re a better person than me // I think I’m a better person than you // I want to apologize to you // I wish I’d never met you // I never want to forget you // I want to get to know you better

@armaans

even before the woman uttered words regarding what zahra had been doing, it were clear that she suspected her of...something. enough to draw suspicion simply because of who she was speaking to. the dancer understood it, probably would've thought it herself, but she simply wondered why this woman would approach her regarding it. what was the benefit? perhaps halima yronwood was simply a snake in the grass, ready to strike and get a leg up with whatever opportunity presented itself to her. the thought was intriguing, but fleeting. zahra set her sights on attempting to deflect.

it was a poor effort, on her part, however. for in her art her expressions were always right there - right upon the surface of her features. she could not hide it, but she could excuse her flustered nature and heightened emotions with what was occurring now. "i did not even know who she was, perhaps lady fowler does." zahra's tone was flat, even she did not believe it, perhaps she were calling the other's bluff, if it was even that.

she felt a new way of agitation wash over her at the comment made, no doubt to provoke a reaction out of her. zahra, however, was never one to quite react in such heated ways, instead the emotions bared itself, certainly, but then she took it to the dancefloor. she did not quite like the feeling of admitting when one had gotten under her skin, but this woman, was quite close to getting her to do just that.

"courtesan, or lady, the reaction would be all the same." she responded, "we might've, had i chosen to live my life differently." zahra inhaled, letting her frustration release as the breath exited her lips again. "alas, we have very little in common. i can't help, but wonder, what answers you are expecting from me, my lady?"

there was a similarity, halima thought, head cocking brazenly as she took in the features of the the gargalen bastard. something in the way the lashes framed the eyes and the graceful curve of her jaw. she could see the shade of farah gargalen there, the way she had been before a tumble in the dark had closed her own eyes and shattered her own jaw. and despite the fact that halima knew the sound of her kin's death-rattle, she still looked at zahra as though she had something to hide.

because obviously, she did. halima was never certain if people were telling her the truth, but she could certainly spot a lie, and there was no part of her that believed the words zahra spoke carried with them a grain of truth.

"then should i ask lady fowler who you were speaking with?" there was an implicit threat to her tone, an unflinching rigidity that carried with it an undercurrent of a challenge. she had no intention of sharing what she had seen with a fowler, but her words carried with it the suggestion of potential - how easy it would be to ensure word of this was dispersed through court.

"the court is emotional at the moment," she concurred, in a voice completely devoid of said emotion. "i am sure everyone is grateful that you afforded our departed lord jordayne the respect he deserves." the words would almost sound kind, if not for what followed them. "still, seems quite silly to allow a courtesan to provoke such a reaction."

her finger was raised, a tap of the lips. "but then, i forget who i am speaking to. bastards, courtesans, i suppose you probably have some things in common."

a bag was slung over the shoulder of the dancer as she stood within the first minister's solar, no doubt wanting to converse about important dates to come. the stars often foretold what the gods had planned for them, and zahra had spent much of her life studying them under the guidance of her own father. the stars themselves led ships across the seas, and sailors back to their own homes, it was practically in her blood to find herself in a position where many questioned what the very sky itself had paved for them.

the formalities presented by the first minister brought a faint smile to her face, though she tried to play the part of refined lady, zahra had always though the lord of starfall to be incredibly serious in all matters, though she certainly appreciated the effort and niceties. "my lord." she responded.

his next words, however, struck her, and she could not hide the slight widening of her eyes at the observation. of course, she knew why that was, but no one had much such a bold statement. "i have never been compared to her grace, but she is a beautiful woman, so i will certainly take that as a compliment." zahra stated, purposefully being vague. "what dates do you have concerns about, my lord?" she questioned, hand dipping into her bag and pulling out a small journal and charcoal to write them down for future use.

| @dancingshores | | setting :: her faces freaks him out, he demands to know why. | | banter length |

Baashir wanted to talk to her about dates, it was why he called her there and set up this meeting but it wasn't going to work. He looked at her and he felt a strange since of familiarity and discomfort. The first time he glimpsed her, he couldn't recall when, he recalled turning and walking away from her and wondering why she had Myriam's face and now she couldn't be avoided. She was apart of court. She was in their court and it would be rude to ignore a member of court these days. No longer was he Myriam's personal guard, he was the first minister. The bridge between those around them and the stewardess or the little princess.

"Lady Sand." Baashir looked at her, studied her, watched her closely. He didn't think that was her title but the conservative Dornish lord would never feel comfortable with such familiarity. He already felt stranger speaking to her in a solar where only the two of them stood there, sat in a space as unmarried people. It made him feel ... it was hard to understand. Hard to work with.

"You have the same face as Princess Myriam Allyrion and I don't understand why. Do you know you share her face?" He furrowed his brow as he took a seat, he gestured to the chair in front of him. He didn't mean to start so bluntly but he needed to clear the air. Perhaps she would say the looked nothing alike, she would be a liar but he would let it pass. Or, or she also saw it and would pretend to not see it.

"Oh, and dates. I have questions about dates..."

as the dance concluded zahra flashed a grin to the young lord who had accompanied her, though she had no clue what his name was at this moment in time, she already decided she quite liked him, and would enjoy conversing with him more this evening. of course, just as quickly as the thought fluttered into her mind, the glass shattered with the sound of clapping from the lady ruqaiyah dayne herself observing nearby.

round eyes looked from the lady, back to her partner for a moment as the exited the dance floor, she gave a subtle nod of thanks, and hoped perhaps he could see her intentions to find him again when she were done, though she had a feeling she would be occupied for some time, and so she let the idea of reconciling with the other fade from mind as she offered ru a sweet smile, zahra's more genuine than the lady's before her, but she could see right through the other woman's facade. it were hardly being disguised.

zahra had known the other for quite some time, of course not in any personal way. she recalled the ladies callous nature, in the tor she were entirely unapproachable, so she thought, and yet she had recalled how farah seemed to grow on her, at least so it seemed, before that fateful day.

the dancer allowed ruqaiyah to lead her away, though she would not have fought it, anyways. despite her court-appointed position, despite her status in dorne not being seen as lowly as most of the continent, she knew house dayne's ideaologies were different, the westerlands views were different, even if she wanted to protest, she had no ground here. and yet, she would not have, even if she did. for that was simply the nature of zahra sand, to let the winds take her and face the next moment in her life in stride.

"i apologize, had i known you were in search of me, i would not have taken to the dance floor." she replied, simply, feeling a flush of frustration prickling at her cheeks and eyes, hopefully hidden by the mask upon her face. zahra gestured to a seating area, just out of the great hall, a quieter place for conversations to be heard "is there something you are concerned about?"

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."

the dancer of salt shore sat with her back to the fire, her silhouette outlined in gold as she met her friend's gaze. she could feel the weight of the unspoken stretching between them, as tangible as the heat on her skin. myriam’s words hung in the air, sharp and deliberate, cutting through the quiet like a blade. she hadn't expected the evening to bring the weight of such a conversation, but looking at the babe sleeping soundly in the other's arms, she knew why myriam's heart pulled her towards a solution, towards peace.

zahra took a slow breath, her fingers brushing idly against the fabric of her tunic. “you’re right,” she said, her voice calm but threaded with something heavier. “volantis is a labyrinth of power plays and hidden motives. the wrong move could cost us more than we can afford.” she leaned forward slightly, her eyes reflecting the firelight. “but the right one… that could change everything.”

she leaned forward now, resting her elbows on her knees, her fingers loosely intertwined. the volantene woman—their mother—was a risk zahra couldn’t fully calculate. she had seen firsthand how that woman moved through the tangled web of politics, manipulating the threads to her advantage. bringing her into this could open doors, yes, but it could also pull them into her orbit, where trust was currency and loyalty a fleeting thing.

but myriam wouldn’t let this go. zahra knew her well enough to see the resolve beneath the questions, the quiet determination in the set of her jaw. if zahra tried to divert her, it would only deepen the cracks forming between them.

after a brief moment, she sighed, her eyes flickering back to the fire. "if memory serves me right, she seemed to be a favored paramour amongst them,” she said finally, her voice low but steady. “she sees more than most, and she knows how to use it. people like her… they deal in power, not kindness. if we involve her, we have to be prepared for the cost.”

her hands tightened slightly as she glanced at myriam. “but clarity is something we can’t afford to ignore. i’ll get her name,” zahra said, her tone carefully neutral. the fire popped again, sending a small burst of sparks into the air. zahra leaned back slightly, her face shadowed. not every door that opens should be walked through. the words formed in her mouth, but never made a sound, only uttered in her mind as the babe began to stir again. zahra used the moment to redirect the conversation, a hand reaching towards inaaya, fingertips gently brushing her hair.

"you did so well, myri-jaan. she's so beautiful." she looked up at her friend, now, her didi. "we'll find peace again, for her. for leila."

❂

the firelight danced across the polished floor, reflecting faintly in myriam’s wine-dark eyes as she listened to zahra speak. the comet burned in her mind, as vivid as it was in the sky, a reminder of both possibility and peril. a sign of change, she thought, her lips pressed into a thin line. but change for whom? and at what cost? zahra’s voice was steady, measured, but myriam could feel the tension threading beneath her words. there was something unspoken there, a careful avoidance that pricked at myriam’s senses. she had known zahra long enough to read her silences as well as her speech, and tonight they spoke louder than the fire between them.

or was she overthinking it? was she overthinking everything? did she just wish to appear as though she understood something of the greater political sphere?

“volantis is always complicated,” myriam said finally, her voice low but sharp, like the edge of a blade hidden in silk. “their alliances are as tangled as their politics, and their promises as slippery as sand through fingers. but you’re right. we cannot act rashly, not with so much at stake. our people are defending our order...perhaps even pushing into it.” she briefly remembered the conversation she and ryon wyl had so many months ago, where he had showed her a map. nightsong, had been circled. he wanted it.

“that volantene woman, the one with the bright eyes.” myriam repeated, glancing toward zahra, her expression thoughtful. “she was sharp, wasn’t she? shrewd. i remember thinking she could see through a person with just one look.” a faint smile ghosted across her lips, tinged with something darker. “but you’re right—people like her always have their own agendas. if we approach her, we do so carefully. no promises, no commitments.”

can she even be trusted? the question lingered in her mind like a stone in her gut. the volantene woman might have information they needed—routes, connections, whispers of plans across the sea—but myriam knew better than to believe help would come without a price. her fingers tightened slightly on the chair. “still… she may offer us clarity. even if not her help.”

but even as she spoke, myriam couldn’t shake the feeling that zahra knew more than she was saying. there was a distance in her friend tonight, a shadow of something hidden. what are you not telling me, zahra? the thought came unbidden, but myriam pushed it aside. there were already too many secrets between them—and too little trust to uncover them now. "can you get me her name?"

the golden lord’s words elicited a gentle laugh from zahra. lady he called her though she would not correct him. she found it fun when people did not really know who she was or how she fit into place. it made interactions like this somewhat more genuine. “seems simple enough.” zahra stated, as she leaned slightly back into her seat, hues watching as each card fell and was flipped upon the table until the lord ultimately lost his round.

“ah, what a shame. your coffers must be nearly drained.” zahra quipped in jest as hazel gaze shifted to the other lord now, quietly watching as he played his round. “gods, you have all the luck, huh?”

the dealer turned to zahra now and dealt her two cards: a jack of spades and six of hearts. fingers tapped upon the table as she contemplated her next move. should she not try, she would for certain lose. “hit.” she decided confidently, and her final card was revealed.

it was a five of clubs.

“congratulations my lady, you’ve achieved a blackjack.” the dealer stated, shifting the coins to her side of the table as zahra gave a few claps of her hands. “well it was either try again, or lose for certain, right?” she flashed a beaming smile in the direction of each at the table. “i can see why you lords could play this game all night, that was thrilling.”

@nicholaslannisters

"Lady Zahra," Nicholas said with a wide grin, tilting his head in greeting. He waited until she had taken her seat upon the empty chair before settling again himself. Nicholas leaned over, clapping Percival on his shoulder before giving it a firm, almost excited shake. What was it about the captain, that attracted so many stormy individuals? The mysterious northern woman, Leo Lefford, and now a star-spangled knight and dark beauty.

"I may be bleeding gold, my friend, but bleeding for a lady makes any outcome much more enjoyable." His words were met with another thunderous laugh as he released the Valeman, and the Heir of Lannisport tossed a hand up to a servant to indicate another round be brought to their gambling table.

"The game is Blackjack." The servant floated over as he explained the rules, setting the drinks upon the table. The dealer that ran the table nodded his greeting to the new participant, and quickly dealt Zahra into the game. "Twenty-one or bust, my lady." Nicholas said, his thick eyebrows waggling as he took a heavy sip from his cup.

His voice humorous, but the truth was, Percival Templeton had been busting him nearly broke.

Nicholas turn came first, and as the dealer flipped a six of hearts and a Jack of spades face up in front of him. "Sixteen," he said, and Nicholas couldn't help but groan. Already, the odds weren't in his favor.

"Hit, or stay?" The dealer asked. Nicky knew he should stay, wait it out and try for some luck. But with the arrival of their new opponent, he waggled his eyebrows again instead. "Hit."

The dealer flipped his card over, revealing an eight of diamonds. "24, my lord. Bust."

Nicholas slammed his hand down on the table, making the chips jump upon the surface. His face twisted in mock annoyance, before his loud laugher returned again, and he tossed his gold coins upon the table. "Another bloody wound…" @percival-templeton

slender fingers let the parchment that hazel hues had just scanned over roll back into the position in which is was given to her, the smooth paper being placed upon a table near the doors of her chamber. there was quiet instruction to the pageboy awaiting outside her doors, an indication of her acceptance of such an invitation. a feeling of satisfaction came over her, though such parchment did not come entirely as a surprise, truth be told. it was not the words they spoke earlier in the evening that gave way to her intuition, rather, the tone that hung over them the entirety of their conversation.

adorned in the same golden lehenga, the soft sound of clinking anklets could be heard as she made her way down the hall of the wing set aside for the dornish court within highgarden. though the hour was late, and the hall mostly quiet, few others passed her on her way to the lord of yronwood’s chambers. hazel orbs seemed to fixate on the path in front of her, a habit she often found herself taking to within her very art - for when she had her mind set to one thing, it would take much to stop her.

a shimmer of gold approached the large oak doors, and after a quick knock she was let within the room. chestnut waves swayed back and forth as she entered, the very steps she took almost giving way to the natural rhythm of her body. her lips tugged upwards in a smile now. though her features remained playful as they ever were, there now held some predatory look within her eyes, the slightest dilation of one’s pupils as she looked upon the lord now, but one would need to be close to notice such a thing.

it begged the question of whether she was the predator, or the prey - something she had wondered earlier in the evening, and perhaps fell into being the latter given she had waltzed into his trap. though she were not some meek mouse in the clutches of a feline. there was enough of a hint in her eyes that indicated she, too, could be the cat, though she would not say he were the mouse, either.

thoughts played in her mind as she stepped further in, though still some paces from the other. the slight tilt of her head causing dark tresses to pour to one side of her shoulder, framing the same side of her face. “armaan.” she spoke now, his name rolling off of her tongue as a coy smile played upon her features, a slight dimple appearing upon her cheek. “kya aap chaahate hain ki main aapako in kakshon kee seema ke bheetar bulaoon?" ( is that what you wish me to call you within the confines of these chambers? ) a drop in formalities, his letter implied. it seemed clear there was no need for them here.

who: @dancingshores what: a note sent to zahra sand following armaan's departure from the wedding festivities of king cedric tyrell and lady illya oakheart. this is set following their interaction, currently in thread form.

Send a page before you make your way to my bedchambers.

The guards will know you are coming.

Keep the gold lehenga on.

Armaan

there was not a room that zahra could walk in and not become acquainted with someone, in this instance, it was many someone's. though she much preferred dorne to any other region of the realm, the dancer very much enjoyed the presence of people, and in these circumstances, one's she could learn much from. she found the culture of others to be fascinating, if not to realize how much she preferred and loved everything about her own, from the music, to the food, to, frankly, the very people themselves.

she wasn't quite sure how she managed to find herself in the center of a circle that formed, perhaps it was to prove a point, or to simply give in to the pleads of reachmen to grace them with one dance. zahra did not really care either way, she enjoyed any opportunity to showcase her craft.

and so there she was, golden silks of her lehenga flowing about her, like waves within the sea. there was a faraway tune playing, but the sounds of bangles gave way to her own melody within the song. chestnut curls seemed to float about her in their own beat, and in her mind she was transported, as she often found happening when the room around her became nothing more than an assortment of lights and colors. a small grin played at her lips as she made her final spin, hands that were raised up slowly falling back down to her sides as the small audience that had formed gave their applaud.

a familiar figure suddenly approached her, though it did not seem so sudden. she had caught sight of him earlier in the evening, recalling a time that seemed not so long ago when she visited the halls of yronwood. she was young then, and found herself quite absorbed with the handsome lord. much had happened since then, and suddenly that time of her life seemed to be within another century entirely.

"mainne aapakee nigaraanee ke bina kaee jagahon par nrty kiya hai." (i have danced many places without your watchful eye.) a half-smirk tugged up at the corners of her mouth, her spirited, independent nature somewhat taking over for a moment. "yadi aap chaahen to dekhane ke lie aapako kisee bahaane kee aavashyakata nahin hai." (you need no excuse to watch if you'd like.) her not returning to the center, however, as another tune began to play gave her answer for her, and the crowd began to disperse.

"it is nice to see you, lord yronwood."

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?) 

the sun filtered through trailing vines above the arbor, dappling the pale stone in shifting patterns of gold and green. the morning had yet to turn hot, but there was a hum in the air, of politics dressed in garden silks, of laughter that didn’t quite reach the eyes. zahra sand walked quietly, her steps unhurried, her silks a soft whisper behind her.

she noticed jalabhar before he spoke, poised beneath the shade like he was waiting for someone—or nothing at all. the way his eyes moved reminded her of sand cats in the dunes: still, but never truly still.

“you speak like someone who’s been keeping score,” she said, approaching slowly, voice as light as the breeze. “peace as a game… i wonder how many people forget they’re playing.”

she didn’t stand too close. instead, she found a low stone ledge nearby and brushed her hand along it before sitting. not presuming, just… present. she didn’t meet his eyes right away. instead, she let her fingers graze the carved edge of the low stone ledge before she sat, her bangles chiming softly as she adjusted the fall of her skirts. careful. calm. on the surface, she was only being polite. friendly, as anyone might be. but beneath it, her heart fluttered.

he knew her name. not hers, but myriam’s. but what else came with that knowledge?

“it’s hard to tell, sometimes,” she went on lightly, “who’s here to bloom and who’s here to root.” her gaze flicked back to him, curious. “but you already know, don’t you? you strike me as someone who sees more than most."

what: open starter where: the reach event

The scent of crushed mint and warm stone clung to the air in Highgarden’s upper court, where fountains whispered and butterflies floated lazily through shafts of morning light. There were no banners flaring, no horns blaring—just the hum of strategy disguised as civility, ideas wrapped in sweet wine and rose-scented diplomacy.

Jalabhar Mooton stood beneath the arch of a marble arbor, wine cup cradled loosely in one hand, his other resting lightly atop the pommel of his walking stick—not for need, but for style. He wore rich burgundy, white-gold thread curling like rivers across his chest and cuffs, dark silk trousers tucked into polished boots.

His eyes were moving constantly—watching, not just looking. He noted who entered the courtyard, who avoided whom, who drank too quickly, and who smiled too long. Beneath the surface of progress and peace, he could feel it—ambition with teeth. And he liked it. This was the battlefield he craved.

"Funny thing about peace," he murmured, more to the air than to anyone present. "Folk tend to forget it’s just another kind of game. Quieter, aye—but the stakes? Still sharp."

setting: when the campus announces the alumni are snowed in for at least the foreseeable future, zahra, who is normally energized by socialization, finds herself a bit more agitated due to the presence of a certain someone who's she's found herself having complicated feelings for ; @myriamas

context: that someone is armaan lol

blizzard wear did not suit her, zahra preferred the garments she wore freely in california, the sun on her tan skinned golden rings upon her fingers shining in the sunlight instead of hidden by gloves. that alone, had already put her in a mood, but across the room with all the chatter, she caught glimpses of armaan yronwood, occassionally looking her way too, but also, towards a popstar in their midst.

she spotted myriam and quickly jumped up from her seat, whilst one of the bartenders wasn't looking she snagged a bottle of red and held it within the coat draped over her arm. "myri!" she called to the other, approaching her. "i need to talk, and drink, and talk. come with me?" she gestured to the wine grasped in her other hand.