the sun will rise with my name on your lips
Home is no refuge, and the streets are nearly as bad. Basil kicks a door closed behind them, cutting off the outraged squawks of relatives and their 'retainers' alike. Change comes inelegantly to some and the Azhade are no exception. It is not the first time, nor the last time, that Basil will slam the door in their cousin's face in favor of sequestering themself in the house's gardens— nor will they apologize for it when their cousin's visits are scarcely more than ambushes.
Once within the garden, the quietude is oppressive, all trickling water and date palms, that sets the Kathiawari more on edge. It is just such a facade— they feel as though they are an actor on a set, no more in control of their life than a thespian of the script.
They take to the streets, slipping out of sight from their still-raging cousin and his gaggle of liveried servants, in an uncharacteristically stealthy maneuver. The snows have scarcely thawed from the blizzards that plagued the desert and, shivering, Basil almost regrets their decision. Thankfully, there was a tea shop not far from their house that was almost as good as home, even when they were considered something of a pariah by a third of the Day Court and most of the Azhade family.
The door tinkles merrily as they enter, greet both the warmth and the smiling host, and gratefully recline on the proffered rug. Their low table is small, in the center of the room where guests are frequently joined by strangers, but a brazier is nearby and that is all Basil will ask for until their hot mint tea arrives with a freshly made crepe arabique. Then, maybe, the only desire will be good company, extra honey, and perhaps a little shisha for the room's hookah.
cause everything will change tonight
