[ She walks her Elin to the racing line in an even pace, whisper breathless prayers to it - for speed, for grace, for steadiness, words murmured in Marathi that the symbiote translates through - even if she knows all of that will come for herself, and despite it being explained that these things really aren't alive - well, she figures it can't hurt, can it, to treat it well? The warm brush of her fingers over its metal side. But it's a slow work, and she doesn't do well in her own thoughts when she's a half breadth on the edge of her adrenaline, but kept in and kept back, as to whoever has joined her for the walk out, she passes the reigns to the creature. ]

For a moment, if you would.

[ She hooks her foot to stirrup and pushes up effortless into the saddle. Stretching herself forward to settle in. Settling comfortably for now, rather than in the line she'll need to be when the race starts.

Then she leans forward to take the reigns again. ]

[ The high from racing - even if not winning, can't be sure until Servillia is done her part - is infectious in its brightness, even if it is like go from cold water into blazing heat where she switches from the enhanced state of the Blackwater in her veins where the world goes slippery smooth - to when she finally tags off to Servillia: a riot of colour in full swing. All of herself reaching out, like one torch lit to another, and then to another, and to another. The few people that come up to either help her dismount seem to catch it too, and her mind is loud. Trumpet loud and blazing in each inhale and exhale. The trumpets of elephants as Chandeliers swing from their tusks. The shot of canons that split the air apart as each breath stings as it comes back into her lungs. She had raced and raced well to all of her ability and right now: that was enough. Her concern about the vampires of the hive, of being so far from her home, her endless, endless wars is gone, and in the small group she has gathered around her as she winds her way back from her portion of the race, seem to feel it too.

In fact they seem to feel it very much. A merry band of followers - even if they don't last long, for a minute, they are as blazingly as brilliant as she is in elation, and it spreads to the few that come up to her.

- And then at once, she crashes. The riding high emotion is shoved back underwater like falling from a great height and she's left unbearably numb to herself, and her little group at once seems to fade away from her and she pushes through the rest of it in a dulled confusion.

Someone just found out their powers. ]

[ She's lucky that the deadened sensation fades from her, but not back to that impossible elation, more settled back to herself, more aware, of the sweat cooled on her skin, the dust she's breathed in even through the veils, that stiffling stiffness and - she can't smell good at all right now.

Gets back to her tent, and her plan is relatively simple, once she is there. She gets one (1) bucket of water. Sheds her too many layers, top and all. Winding instead a long wrap of material comfortably over herself - hides whatever she needs it too, if not the old scars, the things that that blackwater couldn't completely take away. The exit wound through her right shoulder, above heart and lung, the scratch of something at her side. Used to, now, as she dips her hands in first, flicks them off and brings them up to her neck to wipe across her skin. One savouring second of cool water to pushed hard body. Then to her braid, unravelling it with quick fingers. Flicking it out in a yank that is more practical than indulgent.

Then unceremoniously tips herself forward, head straight into the water. Thrusting her fingers into her hair against her scalp. Then when she pulls up and back, it's with a happy, content sigh. Better, much better. Back in her own skin again. ]

[ Got an idea? Go crazy! ]