Lia stared at the dish in front of her, the smell of it mixing with her memories in the ether of the room, to tempt and torment her. She made a small sound in her throat, hoping the chef took that involuntary moan as a thank you. She stared up at the table and offered a small smile.
" This is the dish my Grandmother Tal would make me as a child when I was sick with fire-fever." Lia's tattoos pulsed at the memory of the last time her grandmother made it for her. She had just had another round of horrific training with the elders and pushed herself to hard. Control was her weak point when it came to her fire, and the elders wanted her to push as much of her fire out into the dunes to see if she could exhaust herself with the hopes of diminishing her power to a manageable level. She had stood out in the Saadian dunes for 3 days straight. Scorching heat was no stranger to Lia's life, and in those days she had turned a 5 miles patch of sand into glass before the fire-fever kicked in and left her weak and crawling into her grandmothers hut. Tal got to work, lovingly bathing Lia in cold water stored in deep holes dug into the sand. Then she made the spicy chicken, using the hottest peppers known to only grow in Saadia, with the hopes of sweating out the last dregs of her power that turned against her. That night when Lia had finally fallen into a fitful sleep and Tal went to lay down herself, Lia's Tattoos began to pulse for the first time. What started out as small tribal tattoos that she had gotten with the rest of her age group as they matured, began to elongate themselves. They grew rapidly around her body, twisting and curving in on itself until it frenzied and met together in a giant swirl surrounding her belly button, while also encircling half of her face. The tattoos began giving off heat, and Lia began to smolder on the tent floor. When she woke the next morning it was to a burnt canvas floor that gave way to a solid glass outline of Lia's body and her new angry red markings. After that morning, when the Elders saw what she had done to the dunes and the new markings, everyone had shunned her. Except Tal. Everyone was petrified Lia would set fire to the maanam tent. That she would kill the camels beneath her if she road them, that she would kill if anyone touched her. And she didn't not believe them.
Lia's bright eyes looked over at Masters, her hands shaking slightly at the memory.
" Well, I grew up in the Saadian Dunes, a small remote region of the Sa'andahar nation. But I doubt I need to tell you that. I have lived a nomad life for 73 years. We traveled frequently, offering security services, trades for goods, hired help, anything we could do around the market bazaars to bring home things for the tribe. I only left because Saadia could no longer help me, or contain me. What do you wish to know?" Lia tugged her lip ring into her mouth once more. That had been the longest she had spoken since leaving the small market room with Samir. She shoved some vegetables into her mouth, bypassing the utensils for her hands. Her eyes flicked over to the other woman and a small grin peeked out from her full mouth. It seems she wasn't the only one to prefer using her hands. She knew the marrow tasted good, soft and just a tiny bit gritty. She popped the vegetables into her mouth one at a time, picked apart the chicken into bite sized pieces, and hoped she could stop the urge to bring the bowl up to her lips, upturning the contents into her open mouth. She had had no learning in formal table manners, and frankly she used the cultural divide to continue how she wanted to eat regardless of the company. She may not have had a formal education but Lia was intelligent, crafty, and a little bit of a wrecking ball. If eating with her was necessary, the least of someones concern would be how she ate. The danger came when she opened her mouth and began talking. Blunt honesty was a nasty habit of hers that got her into more than a few fights. It was all well and good until she actually got angry. Her markings pulsed on her face, remembering a few of those said fights. Lia tightened her fist so that her nail broke the skin on the fleshy part of her palm just enough to let loose a drop of blood, and refocused on the meal.
