We took a ride on the lore train to Sim’Caritambo, and learned about how slaves are surprisingly well traveled and that sometimes gods like to come throw their weight around because they are OP and can totally breed a line of kings if they want.
After that we met child sized Princess Kebechet, who is distressingly Maat-ish and doesn’t like her little sister, or brother, or cousin, or pretty much anyone, but still has Grand Plans for her legacy that may or may not involve buying lots of human chattel to serve her 😬
Mosi barely had a moment to wonder where the shirtless man with the advanced cataracts had come from before his world was reduced to a syrupy green haze.
Suddenly, everything ceased to matter; his family, his friends, his research, his libido…all of it faded from existence within the span of a few languid moments, until only one thought remained; obey.
“Drink,” came the command as the wrist was thrust under his nose, veins open and seeping.
Mosi closed his mouth over the wound without hesitation; of course he would drink! It was not possible to do otherwise.
“Slowly,” the man hissed, pulling slightly, as though trying to resist wrenching the limb away, “I’m not a Goddess-damned plasma fruit, boy.”
Mosi wanted to obey the command, but didn’t the man understand? As more and more blood flowed past his lips and down his throat, he began to lose control. It was nectar, sweet, rich, intoxicating nectar; it filled him with warmth, and hunger…and the more he drank, the more he hungered–
“Enough!” The stranger ripped his arm away, grabbing Mosi by the neck as the young man moved to follow the limb.
The hunger was nearly overwhelming, but the iron grip on his scruff kept Mosi from swooning; his heart raced, his lips throbbed, and for a moment all he could do is stand there and yearn.
“Hold still,” the hushed command came on a wave of laboured breathing, and then, miraculously, the hunger abated.
Cool lips pressed against his throat, hesitating for a moment that seemed to stretch into an eternity before at last, the sweetness of pain.
Mosi heard himself groan, as though from far away, and his eyelids grew heavy. The blood in his stomach churned pleasantly against the backdrop of the haze that still permeated his mind; he was so grateful the stranger had chosen him.
“My apologies, I–”
“Take your hands off my son!”
“If I do that, he’ll smack his head,” grumbled the creature.
Anubis scooped the younger man up, “where would you like me to put him?”
“Put him DOWN you monster! And LEAVE; I never want to see your face again!”
“That I do believe, Cassandra, but he’s far too heavy for you to carry…will you drag him inside? Or would you prefer he spend the night out here on the stoop?”
“I’ll figure something out,” her voice shook with rage and sorrow, and the vampire sighed.
“Do not be a fool, woman; let me bring him to his bed, and then I swear to you, I will leave.”
After a few harsh breaths and extensive glaring, Cassie capitulated, but only for the sake of her baby boy’s comfort. She led the monster into her home, and showed him where her son slept.
“How long does he have?” Fresh tears welled up in her eyes; Cassie was no fool, she had a pretty good idea of what had just happened to her child.
“Perhaps a handful of days, perhaps a week…for me it was nearly a fortnight,” for all his gruffness, the creature laid her boy on the bed with care before he straightened and faced her.
“I know this is no consolation, but I am sorry it had to be this way.”
“It didn’t!” She hissed as the tears began to spill over her cheeks, “it never had to be this way you–“
Faster than her eyes could track him, the vampire closed the distance between them and grabbed her roughly, “yes, it did…like it or not, the will of the Goddess cannot be withstood; not by me, nor by him, and especially not by one blasphemous mortal woman!”
Cassie was so startled by his sudden proximity, and the outburst, that all she could do was stare dumbly at him, mouth agape.
Anubis studied her face for a moment, then leaned in and kissed her softly on the cheek. When he spoke, she could hear the sorrow in his voice.
“If you think this story has a happy ending, Cassandra, then you haven’t been paying attention.”
“What the crap, Artemis!” Oly burst into the room like a bug with it’s ass on fire.
“Morning, Cicada; what can I do for you?”
“What the fuck gives you the right to mess with your sister, huh? You know that’s some petty shit, right?”
“Whoa crazytown, slow down; I haven’t done any ‘petty shit’ recently, you’re going to have to refresh my memory.”
“You’re lucky I don’t hit humans,” hissed the poorly dressed moron.
“Use your words, spaz; what did Artemis do wrong…”
“Don’t pretend you’re not responsible for that dream thing!”
“Oh hell no, that is SO not on me; that was ALL Lena, deal with it.”
“She would never have come up with something like that on her own!”
“You, my friend, don’t have very much faith in your girlfriend, do you? Rude.”
“She isn’t my girlfriend, okay? We’re just friends…”
“Whoa, what? I got the impression she wanted to jump your lanky bones…”
“Yeah, okay, maybe she did…”
“Holy shitballs, did you turn her down?!”
“I mean, she’s not my type, okay…”
“So that’s what this is all about!” Scoffed Artemis, “you’re looking for a scapegoat because you had to have an awkward dream version of ‘we’re just friends’ and ‘it’s not you, it’s me’!”
“Okay, I’m sorry; I was out of line,” Oly’s shoulders sagged, “I just…I mean, I always knew she was a bit, er…interested, or something…”
Artemis snorted, “yeah, to put it mildly.”
“I mean, Lena’s my best friend…I love that kid, but I don’t, like, love her, you know?”
“Omg, how did I become your therapist?”
“I know it might not seem like it, but she keeps me from doing the really stupid shit, and she’s the best listener ever, and she’s actually really funny, but, you know, usually by accident…”
“Well, it sounds like you’re into her,” Artemis tried to ignore the petulance in her own voice, “so now that that’s all cleared up…I guess you’ll be leaving–“
Oly glared, “right, because you randomly don’t need me to help you translate the book stuff anymore, huh? Like, suddenly you just had an epiphany and know everything about the Sorcering Tongue.”
“Still butt hurt about that, eh?”
Oly scowled, “look, what’s your problem anyhow?”
“It’s none of your damn business, okay!” Artemis felt a weird rage fill her chest.
Oly’s head tilted slightly for a moment, “I think it is my business a little bit, Artie.”
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, asshole.”
“You sure about that?” The idiot was close now, like, inside the bubble close. Artemis heard her heart beating against her eardrums.
“A hundred percent,” awesome, hiccups; great timing body.
“Don’t,” Artemis heard the plea in her voice, “Lena will kill us.”
“She’ll be mad, yeah, but she’ll deal Artie–”
“Oly, I just–”
“Olympia,” the jackass murmured.
“Oly, it’s short for Olympia; now you’re the only person outside my family who knows,” Oly snorted at the (no doubt) shocked look on her face, “and if you ever fucking say it in my presence, I’ll hex you so hard your mother will get the runs.”
“Threaten me again, sideshow, and I’ll knee you so hard it’ll hurt no matter what you’ve got going on down there.”
Oly grinned, “you wanna find out?”
I made sure to ask around if people would kiss someone wearing Oly’s outfit; 1/1 yes!
Mysterious Woman: “HAPPY SIMMING!!”