Ocean's Breath Plateau scarabs

@Machiavelli! sorry this took me longer than i meant to get up <3 backdated to mar 16

their time beside the sea had appealed to senmut in more ways than he was expecting to realize. the feel of the seaspray upon his face, the touch of sand beneath his paws — and nazli.
the ocean filled his eyes as the prince wandered, truly without task for a time, and wishing that akashingo could already extend here!
pharaoh would enjoy such a sight, he decided.

No worries at all thank you for starting <33

The man had slipped away from the bustling event, seeking solace in the peaceful seclusion of the coast. After a meandering journey, he discovered a tranquil cove tucked away from prying eyes. With a tentative step, Machi waded into the soothing embrace of the cool waters, immersing himself in the gentle ebb and flow of the sea, the scent of life and decay, the sweetness of the wind and brine of the waves, of cool ripples and warm sand.

As the saltwater lapped against his skin, casting dancing patterns with an otherworldly glow, he began cleansing away the remnants of the day. With meticulous care, he splashed and scrubbed at his face, the sparkling powder that adorned his eyelids, a remnant of a demonstration during a trade earlier that day, gradually dissolving under the caress of the shimmering waves.

The man took a step forward, which became two, and then three, until the fur at his chest was submerged in the liquid sapphire, and he was powerless to the push and pull of the tide—not the helpless submission of a dog, but the reverence of a child returning to the mother from which all life sprang.

He allowed himself to be pulled further from the shore, willowy legs slicing through the water and sending up glittering beads of fractured light. With a deep breath, he dove under the waves, the salt stinging his eyes as schools of fish danced around him in colorful eddies.

It was in this manner that time lost all meaning. Machi allowed himself to be carried away by the currents, fully surrendering himself to this new world he found himself in.

When his lungs began to burn more than he could stand, the dove head breached the surf again, rubbing his eyes and blinking away great droplets of saline. He turned to reorient himself with the coast, hoping he had not drifted too far when he was greeted by the sight of a figure on the beach with fur that whipped in the winds like swaths of flame: the Red Priest.

The man turned kelpie dove once again to make his way toward the shore, nose protruding first from beneath the waves, followed closely by crocodilian opal eyes to greet the russet fellow, the fur about his face pooling in hypnotic patterns, swaying gently with the undulation of the tide.

<3

the fellahin remained a mystery to the prince. an intriguing one, to be sure, but a whole soul unseen. they had traveled together, broken their fasts together; perhaps the prince's vague gestures had been answered by this very man.

the brightgem eyes watched, albeit surreptitiously, as the man made his ablutions in the fresh sea. the well-formed body drew his eyes, the ripple of muscular shoulders which slipped to strong back and hips from which the erpa-ha pulled his gaze, but only just.

machiavelli immersed himself into the waters of moontide and was gone beneath its depths for a time almost alarming. viscerally stunning, his form broke from the salt and it was then that they saw one another, the scarlet priest upon the shoreline, the sodden fellahin in its grasp.

indeed, as senmut assumed that machiavelli meant to join him upon the glass-stone sands, he turned, and grasped a soft pelt of deerskin, handing it out to the man. for a moment their roles had shifted; this pleased the prince, and it shone in his eyes, this enjoyment. "you take well to the sea."

His body had been so light in the water, but as he returned to shore, Machi couldn't help but balk at the weight of gravity pulling him down, down, down, anchoring him to reality and away from the colorful aquatic fantasy he was leaving behind. Oh, how he yearned to return to the water's embrace! To regain that truly beautiful grace and fluidity that had so briefly been his.

If he were mer in the waves, then on land, he was more like a bedraggled, drowned rat of a man, with fur clinging to his slender frame like a toddler's crayons doodles to a rented wall.

You're far too generous, your eminence, Machi lauded, flashing Senmut a grin equal parts charm and soggy despair. With a formal nod, he accepted the skin, wrapping it around his shoulders with a flourish, his every movement punctuated by the soft plop-plop-plop of water droplets hitting the ground.

Too dignified to shake himself off like the wet dog that he was, Machi instead cleared his throat, opal eyes darting to the ground before meeting the pretty jade gaze once more. Is there anything I can do for you, excellency? he asked, hoping to divert attention from his less-than-charming state, voice tinged with a hint of humor despite the awkwardness of the situation.

despite his drenched state, machiavelli moved with a grace that was sheened enough to be called polish. for the first time, senmut wondered about the origins of this fellahin, and how he had come to be not a noble, but a servant.

the salt continued down the other's coat in rivulets. at one time, the crimson priest might have thought it rather rude to stare. but perhaps the effect of his rich office had worked upon him, for now he viewed such with the singular focus of an artist gathering muse.

upward flicked the verdant eyes; senmut gathered his ranking once more and stood tall before machiavelli, straight-backed. "indeed there is," he rejoined solemnly.

"you may begin by drying the sea from your coat before you catch an illness," now played the finish, and the prince dared a vague teasing to enter his expression. "or, you will permit me to do it,"and he stepped forward to take hold of the deerskin once more, feeling the cold moisture which hovered in the air around machiavelli.

I'm really enjoying this thread <3 sorry this one isn't as good as the past two sob

The man couldn't help but sense the weight of Senmut's gaze upon him, the intensity palpable even without meeting it directly, even then he would not dare steal his own look at the prince beside him.

Instead, he met the other's stare only with a slight teasing smile playing at his lips. Would that please you? Machi asked, arching his back ever so slightly to press his shoulders into the soft deerskin.

The dove-coated fellahin was well-aware of the role he played, his body instinctively knowing how to assist the prince in this task. Familiar with the art of being primped and preened, he stood before Senmut with an air of expectancy, resembling more of a doll awaiting its turn to be pampered and adorned than a living man.

all of ur posts have been excellent! <3 im enjoying it too!

a corner, lifted to smooth droplets of the sea from one fair shoulder, and his own breath met the thin, tiny tendrils of steam which raised from the soaked coat. whisked to withers, down the straight spine; lingering deliberately, and daringly in a manner unlike the quiet priest, upon the pleasant curvature of pale hips.

with more brisk devotion to the other side; second shoulder, toweled; and now senmut had returned to his first position before machiavelli, facing into the pleasing face and sponging the last streams of salt from the finely formed chest.

at last, the sodden deerskin dropped to the sands of moontide's shore.

"already i am pleased," the erpa-ha assured, leading the fellahin gently higher, just away from the lap of the waves. "tell me. were you praying just now, beneath the waters?"

<333

The sensation of the man's closeness sent a shiver down Machi's piebald coat, causing his fur to stand on end as if reaching out for the subtle brush of the priest's breath. As Senmut paused, Machi held his own breath, glittering eyes darting back, anticipation dancing in their depths.

But then, as quickly as it had come, the moment passed, and the tension dissipated like mist under the morning sun. Machi relaxed, his fur settling back into place as Senmut moved on, completing his work.

At last, dried and fluffed, Machi met the man's gemstone gaze with a coy smile, and eyes half-lidded. I must confess, Erpa-ha, I had nearly forgotten how delightful it is to be the one on the receiving end of such tender care, he murmured with a soft chuckle, you must allow me the pleasure of returning the favor sometime soon.

As he followed a step behind the prince, Machi allowed himself a brief moment out of Senmut's sight to admire the handsome figure beneath the white-capped coat, and the authoritative grace that punctuated his movements. As the sound of Senmut's voice reached his ears once more, Machi quickly refocused his attention, red-brown ears perking up as he listened intently to the man's words.

Hm? I suppose you might call it that, he mused, However, whether it would truly qualify depends entirely on one's definition of what constitutes a prayer, would it not?

"i agree," the priest rejoined, warming more to their subject. "a prayer can take many forms. sometimes it is a song. sometimes it is wordless. sometimes it is only knowing the golden light of the sun or the cool depths of the sea, and feeling the gratitude that is ours to bear the gods."

the idea of machiavelli attending him elsewhere was a pleasure that almost lit his face to burning; he allowed the lingering, heavy-lidded gaze to speak for itself, and to say that the fellahin was beneath most poignant consideration.

perhaps it was the sea breeze! perhaps it was this wild place! he did not know; only that it worked upon he and his flesh and his appetites, which had begun to expand and hunger.

"so, do not think of the prayer's shape," senmut went on a moment later, feeling the air of the sea play across his wet arms, his soaked feet, "think only of the prayer. did you pray, machiavelli," and there was an air of teasing to him again, a gilded challenge which wove in and out of his gaze.

It was a familiar game the two played, one Machi had experienced more often than he cared to count, yet this time, he found himself thoroughly enjoying it. The prospect of flustering the poised and eloquent prince elicited a mischievous grin, adding what could almost be described as a spark of excitement to the piebald man's demeanor.

With a thoughtful hum resonating in his throat, Machi inclined his head slightly, a devilish glint dancing in his gaze as he addressed the priest. Would you like it if I had been? he asked finally, opaline gazed fixed upon emerald.

I must confess, Your Highness, prayer has never been my forte, he continued, I tried many a god and found grace in none of them. The response was honest, if not what he thought Senmut might like to hear. Although, the fellahin added, a teasing tone underlying his words as he brushed past the man, I have been known to excel in acts of worship.

"i believe you." whether it was for the pursuit of a pantheon or the interest in machiavelli's bended knee, senmut did not elaborate. his heart leapt a little when the fellahin's body connected with his.

beneath the cold-wet fur, warming due to his own efforts, the skin was warm. lithe, that of a cat lying in dappled sunlight. if he had mind of a jungle, he would have imagined the brilliant fire held in those cut-gem eyes gleaming from forest shadows.

"of course it pleases me when you worship," senmut offered back. he settled upon the sand, paying no mind to the grains which now clung to his underbelly and elbows. "i am simply a priest beneath the title of prince."

he could not take his eyes from the uptucked waist, the clasping cascade of venetian red and burnished sienna against the polished alabaster.

senmut did not understand when his eyes had been opened to such beauty.

"which gods have you served?" let him lead them both back to a path less tempting, a priest smoothing jeweled hands over an altar.

If the priest sought to steer the conversation away, Machi would oblige, albeit with a twinge of disappointment. However, he could make due, he supposed, with the simple opportunity of prolonging their interaction.

Consideration flickered across Machi's features as he pondered seating himself opposite Senmut, only to dismiss the notion with a grimace at the prospect of sand entwined in his coat. He glanced towards the discarded skin, but swiftly dismissed the notion; while he doubted the prince would take offense at such trivial matters, he saw no need to test the boundaries of their blooming rapport.

Ah, a simple question with a needlessly complex answer. All of them, and yet none, Machi replied, his tone tinged with a touch of resignation as he continued to stand rather awkwardly. The majesty of Ra is no less familiar to me than that of Helios, or Surya.

I shan't bore you with, Machi paused, catching himself before his tone could grow too somber, tragic backstories, he continued, injecting a brighter note into his voice as he waved a paw dismissively, for it is a tale oft told and seldom appreciated.

Nevertheless, I daresay there are few deities whose names would elude my recognition, he added with a grin and self-deprecating chuckle, attempting to recover the lighter mood.

helios. surya. Ra. he noticed machiavelli led with what was known to akashingo, and admired this lithe slight of tongue that he did not think would have caught his notice had he been born royal. the graceful fellahin remained standing, and at last he rolled to his own feet with a laugh.

"shall we move further, toward the forest?" senmut encouraged, gesturing to the sprawl of sequoias which climbed a small rise. "such magnificent trees, and among them you might feel free to tell me such anguishing tales," he teased. "it strengthens my priestly heart." an invitation, and if the fellahin should demur, the holy man would neither press nor comment.

"i am not well versed in all there is to know," the erpa-ha went on. "to study the gods is to remain always in a state of ignorance, and this must be accepted as truth by every hem and hemet."

but he preached! the prince grew self-conscious, and looked away warmly to their surroundings. "i have spoken at length of my interests," he jested in a self-deprecating tone as his eyes returned to the perfection of machiavelli's countenance. "i wish to be silent while you tell me your own."

If you'd like, Eminence, Machi responded, falling into step behind Senmut with a sense of quiet reverence. They truly are remarkable, he agreed softly, pondering his companion's offer.

It was a moment before the man spoke again in quiet reflection, Real knowledge is to know the extent of one's ignorance, his voice a near whisper. My mother shared those words with me once, when I was but a boy, He paused, a wistful smile playing upon his lips. Young and foolish, I fancied myself the center of the universe, arrogantly convinced of my own infallibility.

I engaged in an argument over a subject I knew naught about, blindly clinging to my supposed intellect. Oh, I was clever indeed, believing I could speak no wrong, His gaze wandered between the towering trees, lost in a reverie of distant memories.

Needless to say, I was swiftly proven mistaken, and the truth stung worse than any blow I had received, he admitted with a disparaging chuckle. I stormed to my mother in a fit of indignation, demanding vengeance for those who dared to challenge me! How could I, all-powerful whelp that I was, be ignorant of anything?

But, Machi continued, his voice softening with remembrance, she sat me down and offered me a piece of her wisdom. 'Little Highness,' —or some equally endearing moniker— 'Tha' claims to know everythin', yet does tha' know th' best way to catch a hare?' he recounted with a wry smile.

'Of course not!' I exclaimed, my pride wounded. 'That is the task of a servant!' Machi met Senmut's emerald gaze with a grin, before continuing his recounting, 'Then, tha' doesn't know everythin' by tha' own admittance! True knowledge lies in understandin' t'breadth of tha' ignorance.

She was always quick-witted, my mother, He mused, a flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks as he recalled the exchange with a humorous shake of his head. Forgive me, I fear this tale may not be as enthralling as tales of sorrow, but it is one I hold dear nonetheless, he apologized, his gaze dropping to the forest floor. But alas, such terrible stories are not easily shared, especially with one who bears the dual mantle of holy priest and noble prince, The fellahin added with a rueful smile.

After a moment's pause, Machi summoned his courage once more. If I may be so bold, perhaps we could regale each other with tales of woe over a shared meal sometime. Somewhere quiet, with less chance of prying ears, he proposed, not bothering to hide the note of hope in his tone. There's nothing quite like good food and wine to ease difficult conversations and find humor in the horrific, wouldn't you agree?

the invitation was taken at once, smoothed with proverbial hand. "i agree that there is a pleasant ease in such things. i shall be pleased to be an attendant at your table, save that such a meal is truly shared."

he did not revel in submission.

a sweetened irony, then, to discover that sensibility had been no liar once more; little highness, a prince fallen to the place of a servant.

he had been taught correctly, directed back to a path suitable, and humbled, despite the artful shifting of limb and feature. wind played in the high, high branches of the sequoia forest.

"i was born a fellahin," senmut rejoined to the self-deprecation of machiavelli. "the everyday story, the formative moment that turned your mind into what it is now, such things have always intrigued me more than the prolific or the grandiose. the gods are known in these still moments of smallness."

the emerald eyes searched, a youthful shyness climbing the high scarlet cheekbones.

It will be arranged the moment it is desired, The man responded, his voice low as to conceal some of the enthusiasm that lapped at its edges.

Senmut's words echoed through Machiavelli's mind like a bell tolling in the depths of his consciousness, each syllable carrying a weight that settled upon him with a sting. Though the Red Priest couldn't possibly know, Machi felt the weight keenly. Perhaps, he thought bitterly, the gods held too much sway in shaping the clay of his mind.

Machi was slow to notice the faint flush creeping across Senmut's cheeks, lost in contemplation. Yet, when their eyes met, he quickly averted his gaze, feeling the warmth of embarrassment spreading to his own face.

With a moment's pause, he smoothed down the fur on his chest, or perhaps more accurately, allowed the heat in his ears to dissipate, before speaking once more, It appears you've taken to nobility as effortlessly as a fish to water, Your Highness. I must confess, that comes as quite a surprise to me, He remarked, his tone carrying a note of admiration. If I might ask, how did a fellahin rise to the title of Prince?

senmut had few reasons to come to muat-riya, only one, truly. but fellahin had all sorts of business which demanded they travel. yet could not the same be said of priests? he would think upon this, not yet knowing that the royals of his home would ask for something which commanded such from him.

"i find myself more spoiled from day to day, machiavelli," senmut rejoined with a wry grin, and then his face smoothed into the serene look of one who remembers.

"my father and mother were very poor. born poor. lived poor. i myself was born into a very large family already, in a nome so far from the eye of pharaoh that i do not think he knew we fellahin existed. i suppose i had some early eye for numbers. my mother and father took me to the temple of our locality and paid a small wealth for the priests to take me as their own, to make a we'eb of me, to teach me the skill of a scribe."

"they loved me, so they gave me up to a better life. i have not seen them since i left our province as a boy. the vizier of the time caught sight of me, and the rest is as you may know. i served seti as a laborer in that province. i served ramesses as a scribe. i served makono as a priest, and it was our pharaoh now who made me hereditary prince. for me, the gods have always intervened. it is why i am happy to know my life and my ka belong already to their whim."

a pause, searching; "how is a royal deposed to servitude?"

His companion listed man names, some that sounded familiar, others that he would note to inquire about later. He listened to the man's story with a wistful smile, the bell's reverberations echoing through his mind.

I must confess, Eminence, I find myself somewhat envious of your blessings, though it brings me joy to learn of the prestige you've cultivated, he responded, his voice touched with admiration. Ambition is indeed a quality to be admired.

Ah, no, dear me, I wasn't of royal descent, the man hastened to clarify, his ears flicking forward in surprise. Not by blood, at any rate... I never knew my father, and my mother was a half-breed—hardly the stuff of nobility.

I ascended to what one might loosely term aristocracy solely because the man who took us in took a liking to me. Together, he and I were able to build our own little kingdom, Machi explained, his expression caught between nostalgia and a shadow of pain.

As for how I arrived in the desert, he paused, turning to his companion with a devilish smirk. I daresay you'll have to pry that tale from me over dinner, won't you? He asked cheekily, daring a playful nudge of the red priest's shoulder.

And what of you, Highness? Machi inquired, his tone thoughtful. Have you ever considered returning to your family's embrace? Perhaps to showcase the fruits of their sacrifice?