Hair dripping with water, clothes damp and sticking to her like a second skin Zehra sat beside a small pond in an empty courtyard. The ground around the majority of space was bone dry but the ten feet around the fae lady was saturated. She had tried. She had pushed herself to the near edge of exhaustion, trying to in one desperate attempt to push her own natural magic as a draven of the night court to conjure a semblance of a storm. The pathetic grey cloud had rumbled briefly, small enough to cover her head, and then released a momentary downpour in one square meter of space. It had soaked her and her alone in a matter of seconds, and then, losing her balance, she'd fallen ass-end into the small pool. For Timur, for Phina, her siblings -- for Emilios, Zehra tried her own magic, and this was its now pitiful result. It left her limbs heavy, barely able to keep herself aloft, let alone try to pull up the boots she'd emptied of water. Hearing the sound of approaching footsteps, Zehra could not snap to attention. "Gah, damn it all," Zehra griped as she dropped her boot, glancing over to the sound. "Do not ask, but - could you - pick - up my boot - I -" Zehra stated breathlessly, fighting to stay upright, awake, and keep from falling only the small distance backward into the pond. Breath was ragged, and while it would be a hilarious sight, the lady of the night court needed the approaching figure.