Lion Head Mesa fist & jaw

staying very very vague and there is PP here so lmk if not good!

in the aftermath, khusobek was jovial.

his teeth were a slanted saltwater leer. blood smeared his jaws and chest. the underground maze of the halls had become easier for him to navigate. he clapped a paw around @Zaahira's shoulders in a manner of camaraderie, but did not let it linger.

"ah!" he sighed loudly as they came to the wellspring, gently warm at this time of year, its surface kept pristine by the servants. it swam with fresh blossoms now.

for a moment he thought of summoning the queen's favorite, @Tuna, but threw the idea out. surely she was too invaluable to be spared. and so he turned his thoughts to the new one, @Eset, and it was for her he called.

"fellahin," he said, once he had noisily splashed into the water and settled with a pleased grunt against the opposite stone wall. red sand stained the ripples cascading across the face of the wellspring. "wash us." if zaahira had not come with him then, he would look at her in an expectant manner. it was their right, as mazoi. "afterward we will have wine and meat."

in many ways, he was simple. but a single glance to his hard ice eyes bespoke a darker truth.

He is disgusting.

It is her opinion of all who brandish spilled blood and are roused by violence. She’d never seen his smile until now; a haunting rise of lip over glinting teeth. Ostensibly persuaded only by war.

He speaks, she lowers her eyes. “Yes, my lord.”
Her work is deft, her vacant expression imparting nothing but indifference, afforded by a lifetime of service. She’d known men like him.

Their soiled pelts create islands of rippling red in the clean water. With her mouth she reaches for a cyperus comb, gathered this morning from the river rotundus and circles the edge of the wellspring.

She approaches Zaahira first, positioning herself against her back and lowering her mouth to lather the comb with water before gently pulling it through the soiled strands of tawny fur along her nape.

The job has been done.
If she were lucky, never again would that hemar come to her doorstep, taunt her with false knowledge. The scarlet pearls across her narrow face, and the taste of warm iron lingers on her tongue.
She does not feel guilty, but she feels no need to celebrate, either. The fact that both of the two brothers had come for her, her home, her livelihood, insulted her Queen! 
When Khusobek invites her to the wellspring, she obliges, although she remains silent. Wading into the water, crystal blue now tipped with ruddy crimson, she keeps her distance from him. He orders the fellahin to bathe them, and before she even has the chance to interject, Eset is combing the oiled, dusty fur of her nape.
It feels odd. When she comes here, she asks the fellahin who accompany her to avert their eyes. Was this normal? And to think, she had not felt the touch of a woman since—
Even like this, she is flustered, a rush of blood pooling hot on narrowed cheekbones. You do not have to if you do not wish, she urges, a gentle hum amidst the husky breath that rattles her lungs. I thank you.

eset was obedient in a way that pleased khusobek. he dipped his muscular arms beneath the water as he awaited the servant's attentions, smirking toward zaahira in a way that alluded to her choice in lovers.

were she a man, the mazoi might prevail upon the fire-woman to take this one to her chambers, to lose herself. to forget. hypocrisy on his part, khusobek supposed: no matter how many times the flesh was gratified, the heart lost no hold.

and so he only and openly watched, relaxing in the warm lap of the wellspring.

She cannot see the Mazoi’s face, but she does feel her body- the cave of shoulder as resistance is voiced. The cyperus is dropped, her muzzle lifts. She glances towards the man Khusobek though his grin offers no answers, and without knowing the reason of objection her thoughts turn self-abasing.

“I wish to,” is her assurance. This is her role in Akashingo, it is her work and her debt to the Queen. “Are you displeased? I will call for the Queen’s favored.”

There's anxiety that she is underperforming in her work. If she cannot satisfy the pack’s Mazoi, how can she hope to serve the nobility, to ensure her future here? Her doubts are obstructed by monotonous stone.

Khusobek glowers, a lecherous quality to it. She is thankless, careful to twist her body just enough to where she is turned away.
Women are no show for pig-nosed men.
No, not displeased, she corrects with a soothe, a swivel to her head as she attempts to meet the gaze of the wide-faced fellahin. I do not wish to command you, is all. I will not force your hand. at that, a small grin that could have been considered sheepish. The warmth of her face and wideness of her gaze is clear; blaringly obvious. Toula's sentiment of asking consent from fellahin is one Zaahira wishes to echo. But if you wish to continue, you are welcome to.
She settles back down, a paw coming out from the water to cover the side of her muzzle. How are you liking Akashingo thus far? I hear you are new. A look to Khusobek that says, play nice.

zaahira was quick to amend her words. khusobek near scoffed. fellahin were made to serve, it was their role. they were happy to do so. yet he supposed with such a young and fluff-hearted queen that kindness would spread in a more feminine manner.

he did not care for this blurring of class, but neither was the crocodile displeased. zaahira's looked provoked an eye-roll from the mazoi. "eset, when you are through, bring wine. the other stuff, with the poppy infusion."

khusobek lapsed into quiet now, head leaning back and eyes closing as he sighed a loud sound into the air.

“Yes, my Lord,” a stiff nod acknowledges Khusobek's request.

Then over Zahiira she will linger, the tenderness in the woman's bright twin flames coaxing thoughtful consideration. The Mazoi means kindness, but the fellahin will not rue her menial task, for she is out of the slums and in a palace.

“I serve willingly, my lady,” She promises, a shallow smile curling her lips. Her work will resume, lathering first the Mazoi’s shoulders then down across her chest, massaging away the blood. She keeps an eye on the woman, gauging her pressure discreetly by the look of pleasure on her face.

“Very much,” her response comes clipped between grooming. “Our Queen is lovely. I am proud to be of service to her.” It's an automated answer, though is not untrue.

She lowers her muzzle into the pool and skims it over the wolf’s spine, allowing the warm water to seep into her fur. She grazes her tongue gently beneath her jaw, ridding her pelt of any final trace of war.

Once satisfied with the woman's gleam, she bends beside her, “Is there anything else I can do for you, Mazoi?”

If there was ever a moment to make Zaahira question her attraction to men at all, this would be it.
The young fellahin's words become static as every nerve of the pantheress's body is sparked alight with touch. Gentle, preening lips, the warmth of a woman's mouth; oh, dear, this was becoming embarrassing.
Helplessly weakened and imcredibly still, she murmurs hums in response to her answers. They are vague, automatic, serviceable, and she knows this. She would not press further.
She's asked if there's anything else to do, and all Zaahira can manage is a shake of her head no and a sheepish mumble of You may bring the wine, now, if you please? Her typical hardened expression of composure is replaced with blown pupils and a flatness to her ears. Silently, she prays to every possible God of Akashingo that Khusobek would refrain from commenting.

khu outtieee <3

and why would he say a word? after all, zaahira had commanded the servant's entire attention, and he had seen her soften beneath that touch, and now she was sending the girl away as if he himself did not still sit in the spring!

he scratched his cheek absently, then held up a paw to give another conflicting order. "my fellow mazoi is quite tired, eset," khusobek began conversationally. "take her from the wellspring, back to her quarters. she should rest while she enjoys the palace vintage. i," the man declared, feeling he had scrubbed his own self well enough and hauling from the wellspring, "will find my own wine."

and my own entertainment.

he rolled his shoulders and strode away from them both, amused despite his brief frustration, and leaving a trail of large prints in his wake.

Beyond Zahiira’s breathy ask for wine, the man moves to rise, his sudden vacancy churning the spring’s waters in a tempestuous wake. She nods and averts her eyes, waiting for him to pass from the room. There’s a stirring of hairs at the back of her neck, his dissatisfaction is clear. It does not bode well for her.

But she will release a breath and swiftly return her attention to at least one satisfied Mazoi, Zahiira appears pleased, if not a little shy. Her look softens, and something in her stance will, too.

She will want to suggest that, since he is gone, there would be no rush for Zahiira to leave. But she will do as commanded and offer to help the woman rise from the edge of the wellspring. “Come, I will escort you to your quarters, and I will fetch your wine, my lady.”

we can fade here and move to a new thread if u want? <3

Khusobek's expression had soured, and in his wake, he left a long trail of dragging footprints. Not unlike an alligator crawling from a sewer.
She's left alone with Eset after a bitter order from the fellow mazoi, and at that, Zaahira blows air from her nose in a way that resembled a chuckle. I am sorry if he gives you trouble, Eset. Some are... kinder to fellahin than others. A shift of her shoulders; she hoped she herself would be considered favorable, but Eset's wariness and fervent professionalism is palpable.
She understood why.
Wading up onto the edge of the baths, slender body is given a shake before her tongue begins to run over a silken foreleg. The trembling had subsided somewhat now that there was room between them to breathe, but her eyes remained softened. You are welcome to join me for wine, if you would like. she says, then; not a command, but a request.