Lion Head Mesa asilifelis

At the very, very least, it was nicer here than on the road. Mayet contented her time with drink once again, happy to return to that groove of her life.

Even now, with the day sore on her paws and her body leaned against the stone wall of her quarters, she chewed idly at a fermented fruit. Her eyelashes were dipped low, her posture relaxed.

Yeah, this was much better than that damn merchant and his caravan. She hoped the desert chewed them up and spit them right back out.

yoink

careful with that shit. it'll fuck you up.
akashingo, as izaiah had come to learn, was somehow always bustling with new faces. he had been quickly dethroned of his fresh meat title, and now found himself peeking down a corridor and staring at a rather peculiar woman.
first impressions were a valuable thing, and now the boy found himself questioning the one this girl gave him. he watches her with a leveled gaze, letting silence hang over their heads before he then says, matter-of-factly, you're new too.

GASPS

’s kinda the point, ain’t it?

The man who walked into her room was a dark creature, with the slanted features of a servant. She rolled her body, still laid on the floor, and gave him a lazy sort of smile.

Yeah. Bought and paid for. The fruit she chewed on splattered between her tongue and the roof of her mouth, red liquid dripping between her teeth.

Maathorneferure. But most call me Mayet.

before long, your blood will be made of that stuff. and then you'll feel sorry.
izaiah could not help but allow his eyes to rove over the imposing figure she carried. she was obviously in good shape for a woman of her stature — he could not understand why one would seek to destroy it. the trained part of him tells him to yap about safe consumption of fermented substances (which, in his eyes, was only when partaking in communion), but he soon quiets as he realizes just how quickly this woman could silence him.
he settles rather uncomfortably beside her. izaiah, he offers his own name, allowing it to spill from his tongue almost proudly. allow me to guess. you're a soldier?

Her answer, a half hearted shrug, was as dismissive as they came. Her half-lidded gaze watched the man settle beside her, stiff and unsettled, and she felt her lips twitch over her teeth in a smile.

Got it, didn’t ya. Smart cookie. How’d you guess, is it because I’m a big gal, or because we’re in the barracks? Her brow arched, raising one paw to flap up and down at the man.

Well, Izaiah, adopting lofty tone in a similar manner as his own to say his name, let me guess, you’re a healer of some kind. They’re the only ones who care how much I drink.