CENSORED Version: Click Here
Pili shot Cassie down (re: perp tracking, you sicko, not like that), and sent her packing back to the pyramid even though she found clues.
Maat finally got a ride on the Jahi-Tron, and was pleased to find the service exceeded expectations.
Aten tried to make tacos for an angry Caris (in a cage), but that went south when Totec was all ‘rawr, plasma’ and then Aten had FEELS.
Also Persephone gave Raet the go ahead to do the nasty with her bro (because maybe soul mates or something), and there was a new well.
‘Shit, shit, shit, and double shit with shit on top.’
The doors were warded with garlic; clever bitches…and here he’d been so excited when he realized he’d found where Jahi had been taken.
They’d have been home by sunup, trading manly stories the whole way (actually probably awkward silence because that’s how Jahi rolls). Everyone would’ve freaked out and given him an ‘atta boy.
Hell, there might have even been cake (with a special plasma-fruit cupcake on the side just for him).
But no, because garlic, apparently; he could smell that nasty shit from here, any closer and he might start to feel nauseated.
Pili sighed, “well, fuck me then, I guess.” There was no use in standing around waiting for the morning to burn him to a Pili-crisp, so he headed back to Osiris with his proverbial tail tucked between his legs.
Maybe Tem would have some ideas on how to get around the garlic issue?
How long had it been since his arrival to Apep? A month? Two? Surely it could not yet be three?
“Well, he’s not super young anymore you know, Kenza; don’t older guys have a harder time getting women knocked up?” Maat’s voice was hushed, but carried in through the archway, “like, I heard that sometimes it can even take years for young couples to get pregnant.”
So that was her game; pretend his years were a hindrance to conceiving the child that already grew in her belly. It was not a ruse that would fool the Warden for long.
Kenza brushed past him on her way out, wearing a glare that could curdle milk; he wasn’t certain why she was in such a hurry to see him at the bottom of a pool, but it was clear that she despised him sharing quarters with her Queen.
Jahi: “You will not be able to fool her for much longer, Majesty.”
Maat gasped softly, “you know.”
Jahi: “Yes, Majesty; it is difficult to keep one’s cycle a mystery from the man who shares your bed each night.”
Maat blushed and he cursed the responding rise of heat to his own face; it was growing more difficult to convince himself he wasn’t desirous of her regard. There was a part of him that was even proud he could still perform well enough to make a young woman come undone.
And come undone she did, every night for weeks now (and occasionally during the day as well), since she’d allowed him to stay in her chambers instead of returning to the dungeon; and he did also come undone, much to his shame.
At first he’d tried to lie to himself that he was repulsed by this treacherous woman who had stolen him from his family; but it was only his longing for them that insisted he do so. It became simpler just to close his eyes and picture Tem’s face, though, she began to look back at him with contempt the more he found his bliss between Maat’s thighs.
Maat: “Do you hate me, Jahi?” It was her favourite question.
Jahi: “No, Majesty.”
And he meant it; he’d watched her grow from a bright, precocious child, into a tenacious, lovely young woman. He’d tended her skinned knees, taught her to read, and tutored her in language, maths, and history; he could not hate her.
But he did not love her either, not the way she wished.
Raet came upon the Seer’s brother in the tender hours of a new morning; he’d tied back his raven tresses, wielding a sharpened blade against a block of rough-hewn wood.
The air was crisp that morn, and his bare, tawny, flesh prickled against the unusual coolness, though he did not seem to notice.
The Woodsmith was of a slighter frame than the slaves she’d known; taut and strong, most obviously, and in the flush of youth, but slender like the lithe caracal, he–
Octavia: “Hai fren! Why you staring at the carpenter guy? Is he making you something? He said he’d make me a toy horse, but that’s okay if you want something first.”
Raet: “I wast most assuredly not staring.”
Octavia: “Roffles! You were totes staring.”
Raet: “Wast not.”
Octavia: “LOL, k…so what doing while you’re totes not staring at the carpenter guy? You wanna hang out? Play hide and seek?”
Raet: “Thou dost cheat at hideth and seeketh, do not presume that I dost not knowest; as it is, I am engaged at present in the discourse of the mind.”
Octavia: “Whose mind?”
Octavia: “I don’t think that’s a real word.”
Raet: “‘Tis so.”
Octavia: “If you say so.”
Raet: “I am thine Queen; I makest words as I pleaseth.”
Octiavia: “Yeah, for reals, so hey…maybe we could ask the carpenter guy if he wants to play hide and go seek?!”
Raet: “That ist…” she paused, “dost thou truly think he wouldst?”
Octavia: “Right?! I knew you’d be down! HEY KHAF!”
Khafre: “Hey, what’s up.”
Raet: “OhMineGoddess…didst thou have to yell hist name?”
Octavia: “LOL, it’s cool, he could totes hear what we were saying anyhow.”
Raet: “I dost think thou art mistaken!”
Khafre: “Naw, she’s right, I could totally hear you, you’re standing like 2 meters away…”
Octavia: “Told youuuuuu.”
Raet: “Quieteth, urchin.”
Octavia: “Aren’t you gonna ask him?”
Raet: “I am toiling on the notion presently.”
Octavia: “Buuuuuck, buck, buck…”
Raet: “Cease thine fowl taunts, rapscallion.”
Khafre: “Sure, I’m down.”
Octavia: “Raet and Khafre, sittin’ in a tree, K-I-S–”
Raet: “I shall stuff thee down yon well; do not test mine resolve on the matter.”
The child beamed up at her and was summarily ignored.
Raet: “Ist wouldst not interfere with thine…whittlery?”
Khafre: “That’ll keep.”
Octavia: “Matchmaker guise; nailed it.”
Sorry frens, no deflowering for the flower…yet; Sima-Mighdall needs a Princess, but Raet needs a romance (her novels were very particular about the need for romance before handing over your virtue…even if the dude is super hot and blessed with excessively manly genetics).
I bet he smells good tho; like, wood chips, or something manly like that…wood chips are manly, right?
Speaking of manly…how does posing for a portrait in your underthings while slowly burning to death stack up?
diaper loincloth: “HAPPY SIMMING!”