Two Eyes Cenote [ap] A wallflower, mind the thorns

Some late AP/WP threads from me. Loosely backdated. Reigning in my muse here. AW but looking for @Eset in particular. Feel free to prod me if I'm posting in the wrong place.

Beautiful ceremonies, lavish feasts, strong drink, boisterous guests, and attentive staff. It was an event of a lifetime, and he managed to not have missed it. What a lucky man he was, to stay in luxury as a guest.


He hated it.


He didn't hate the ever-so-kind hosts. The newly crowned Pharaoh with newlywed husband. They seemed overjoyed with themselves and their ceremony. It was not lost on him that the halls were open to outsiders for the obviously monumental occasion.

He didn't hate the members of Akashingo. It was blood and sweat that kept the hold thing together. From where he sat he watched fellahin dance through the crowd with serving trays. Guards, mazoi if he recalled correctly, were present with watchful eyes.

He didn't even hate the others guests. Each face he saw held some amount of awe. Even if that mostly was at the prepared food. And even after, there was still a good time to be had. Dancing, singing. There was joy and excitement.


He didn't feel the joy or excitement. That's what he hated.


Briar sat against a wall, spine pressed into a recessed portion of stone. A half-drunk serving of the cactus drink between his paws. It made him feel rotten, or at least more rotten than he already was.

So, he leaned back and observed. The place where the blue and yellow of his eyes met tinted green with envy.

Guests are never difficult to persuade, or in the very least, neutralize. Everyone wants to believe they’re the recipient of some great intrigue, and alcohol makes the rest easy. It is true for socialites as well for the wallflowers.

One such looming figure had stolen the fellahin’s attention. Tall, and scowling, and seemingly determined to have a miserable time.

“I'd not wish to be on the receiving end of that look,” Eset teases as she strolls forward. Her golden eyes lift to peer up at him before flicking down to his drink.

“Not to your taste, my Lord?”

His brooding had been interrupted.

His eyes focused on the small figure of the fellahin as she glided over. A slight knit to his brown as she commented on his expression. With a furtive glance, he observed the general berth given to his corner by other partygoers and staff. He returned his gaze to her to find the gold of her own eyes.

Lord? I'm afraid you've mistaken me for someone else. Briar took a deep breath. Releasing the tension of his brow and unclenching his jaw. His paw lifted, fiddling idly with the edge of the drink. But, to answer your question, no.

It was undeniably sweet. The drink, that was. Yet it reminded him of a juvenile mistake. Tasting the remnants of fruit that had long dropped to the ground. Left in the sun to ferment. He ended up quite sick then.

It must have make him sick now. Surely that was it.

Just doesn't sit right with me, unfortunately.

Eset watches his stiff mannerisms but also the way the coolness of his eyes soften- if only for the briefest of moments.

“Perhaps the palace has something more to your taste: berrywine? Pomegranate? Rosewater?” They are effusive offerings. She anticipates his refusal.

“Perhaps not a drink at all,” her gaze pass from his and into the crowds of attractive faces.

He is offered a different pick of poison in the form of alternate wines. Briar's idle fussing with his current drink ceased and his paw returned to the floor. He was not satisfied, nourished, or hydrated by it. Only left with a faint fog within his mind. A sigh heaved from his chest.

No, I think I've finished for now, thank you. I'll search for water later if that changes.

As her gaze travels away, his remains on her. A guardedness to his eyes as an inkling of suspicion latched onto her following statement. It was vague, open-ended, barely a suggestion. But an insinuation was there. Or so he suspected. He'd rather such things be stated plainly

He voice kept a level tone, Might I ask what you mean by that?

“Dancing, star gazing, senet, a tour of the palace. Muat-riya offers amusements other than drink,” an energy in the words springs but her tail cloaks about her paws as she joins the seated side of the man with the heavy brow.

“Though, so fine a wall it is upon which you lean,” the fellahin enlists the playfulness of her dark-lipped smile and glances back into the compelling contradiction of the stranger’s two-toned eyes.

"I would regret for you to part from it."

He listens. Her answer is enough for him smother the suspicion that picked at his mind, for the moment at least.

She joins him, sitting delicately at his side. His head turns to follow her. A twitch ripples along his flank which he attempts to hide by adjusting how he is seated. Posture straightening and collecting his legs closer to his body.

She teases and a low grumble sounds in his throat. Not that she was wrong, glib or not. It was a nice wall. The cool stone remained in place when he spiraled into his own head. Lingering on how awful he felt did feel better with the wall to lean on. He would have melted into it had he the option.

His gaze traveled to the party's crowd. A lingering resentment smoldered like a dying ember in his chest. There was no one to direct it to, other than himself.

He glanced back to the fellahin. He pitied her, if only for the misfortune it was to be in his company. He was quite the wet blanket of a man.

I'll have to think on that a moment. He would give it a try, but a different thought came to mind than her offer. Perhaps you could answer my question in the meantime. Is this to be Akashingo's new home as opposed to the red sand palace? It was a question he had upon arrival. Not that he ever stepped foot within the mesa itself.

He is tough and silent and she regrets that her nearness presumably ripples his hide. She paces a respectful step away, easing her humor and turning her eyes out into the crowd before them.

“Akashingo will still be the primary residence of Pharaoh and her consort,” she explains, “Muat-riya is intended as a summer palace. A number of us will remain here to keep it when leadership returns to the North.”

“What do you make of the palace?” She asks, gaze meeting his own once more.

He barked out an incredulous laugh. Summer palace?

He collected himself with a slight shake of his head. Had she said winter, the season that they were soon diving into, perhaps the notion would not have been so ridiculous to him. Then again, he thought of encountering the imp woman in the golden sea several months prior. Some people were somehow built for the desert. He could not share that sentiment.

To each their own, I suppose

She was now looking to him again. An earnest inquiry presented to him. He took a deep breath. This one?

His eyes flicked to the party hall. It continued while they were tucked away in the corner. Laughter echoing while stone platters were carried to and fro. He struggled to locate a dour face (he seemed to be unique in that regard). The ceremony itself had been conducted in an open air chamber. Even the brief moment he was introduced to a room delegated as his chambers, there had been furs set on the bed. He hadn't known it a practice before coming to the Teekons.

I've never been in a settlement quite like it before.

His face distorts with a laugh, awakening a great offense in the coywolf who always armed herself in careful neutrality.

Perhaps he means to disparage this place that rises from the desert, a land that’s brown and flat and does not call for attention like a lush woodland nor a range of mountains capped in snow; whose terrains required patience to navigate and whose secrets had to be persuaded from the sands like something fine and sacred.

Perhaps he is here as a witness without knowing the full virtues of the woman he celebrates; a Pharaoh who would end enthrallment, who makes it her purpose to safeguard her people and sever the trammels of history; who asked what she could give where others with her power had sought only to take.

Perhaps he did not understand the significance of his feet as they placed upon the ground of Muat-riya, where on this day a Goddess had ascended.

Perhaps he views this commemoration as a shallow affair.

“Neither have I,” in that much they are agreed, and the fellahin was intent that there would be no other place like it.

“I gather you have traveled quite far to frown at our dancers.”

Briar's perception is a little skewed, lmk if his assumptions are too far-fetched

Briar was not a man skilled at conversation, idle or otherwise. And now when he wasn't watching his step, the conversation shifted much like how the curb of a sidewalk meets the road. The change in her tone was perhaps more subtle, but he lurched over the edge just the same.

That was what she gathered?

Indignation began to boil in his core, bubbling to the surface. His nostrils flared as he vented the heat.

What did she even know about him?

He barbed his tongue as he retorted, Actually, that was the one thing I was just waiting to do all night. Immediately after his eyes found the floor and he swiftly turned away from her. Skin prickling wherever her gaze landed upon him.

He was determined not to look into the crowd again. The bodies losing focus as he searched the distant walls for an exit. Surely he'd be asked to leave, anyway.

As the heat melted away, he was left hollow. Rot gnawing away at the pit of his stomach.

The briefest of glances was thrown her way as he murmured,Sorry.

Eset’s absolutely is too so never any worries! thank you so much for this thread squeaks, I’m so so sorry about the late late late reply. I know Briar is out of game, if you want we could wrap here or I will keep it open in case you wanted to return with him. So so sorry again for dropping the ball!
There in his face breathes just enough regret and agitation for Eset to soften, ever so lightly, beneath the perplexing jewel-toned gaze. She sets aside her determination to prove a point and tilts her face up at him, “I think it’s too beautiful an evening for quarrels.”

“Perhaps you will dance and I shall frown at you from the wall, hm?” She presses her spine into the cool wall in mock-petulance.

“Or, perhaps you would do me the honor of having this dance, my lord,” she faces him now,  paw on offer, tail in a playful sway at her hocks and lips swelling into kindly amusement.

No worries! I am so happy to have been able to have this thread with you. Thank you so much for the thread, Tazi! <3

He makes no comment at her conclusion. Allowing his silence to communicate his agreement while he focused on locating the closest hallway. It was easy to put his foot in his mouth, and it would be just as easy to leave with the other three. Afterwards, he would hide away some place to stew in silence without dragging others down with him.

In seconds she would tell him to get lost and he would be halfway out the door. Not a question asked. She would continue on with her evening with a more worthy guest that could spare her more than a wry laugh and several worry lines.

Exit route secured, he wills himself off the wall (which was hard to do at this point). He steals one last look in her direction, assessing how her expression to determine how poor of a conversationalist he made.

There is no hiding the bewilderment on his face when she continued to speak idly instead of spurring him towards the door. That was a prerequisite to shamefully whisking himself away, wasn't it?

Processing this development was slow work. I don't— She leaned against the wall beside him. Why would I dance? Wait now, was she mimicking him? He blinks and finds her in front of him. Hand extended to him: to take.

He found himself staring at it, lump forming in his throat.

Wasn't he a nuisance? An eyesore sitting in the corner to dampen anyone's mood like a lingering rain cloud? Hadn't he just upset her? Insulted her? He still didn't fully grasp the cause for offense but he did cause it, rotten thing that he was.

Why ask him to stay?

His expression fell. Eyes turning to her, searching for the answer. He could ask. Turn the thoughts into words and verbalize them for any sense of clarity.

He couldn't. Instead, his ears splayed slightly. I don't...I've never danced before.

His eyes fell to her outstretched paw again. His own lifted, not quite meeting hers.

I— He swallowed the lump in his throat. Allowing the palace chatter to fill his ears. There was the laughter again. The songs. In the periphery there were the smiling faces. People that were enjoying themselves when he wasn't... Well. He could pretend, couldnt he?

When he met Eset's gaze once again he had fashioned a loose, if not somewhat uncertain, smile. I guess, I'm willing to learn. He gently closed his hand upon hers. If you're willing to teach me.

It was not often that he was extended a hand in any capacity. This one, well, this one he would take.

;; <333 thank YOU

for the ~vibes~ lmao

“Never?” She repeats in question, though his reservation spoke for him and the confession by no means surprises her. What does, however, is his willingness to try. So stone-faced was her companion that she had assumed he’d rather gather rocks than step into the crowd. He was kind enough to oblige her, and Eset, who’s doubt of his general behavior, found herself warming.

She takes his given hand and guides him out onto the floor, passing through throngs of beautiful couples, joining and unjoining in one long circular gambol. This was a desert round dance, and the fellahin knew the choreography well. Every step was in keeping with the lyrical pulse, every dip and every turn in precise coordination with one’s partner.  It was the type of repetitive minuet one engaged in for the sake of gentility; all together as monotonous as a day’s labor could be. She glances up into the man’s tawny complexion, pulled taut by an obvious discomfort. It would not be particularly difficult to teach him this dance- neither would it be of any particular joy.

Eset drops her hand and begins to rock her hips, not in keeping with any rhythm. When the other couples circle around, she spins herself recklessly. When they pass, she prances in place. When they slow into synchronized dips, the fellahin raises her dark limbs languidly and sways like a flame…

In the next, she curvets! Erratically, smoothly- abrupt, wild! Through every vein her blood burns hotly, licking down her limbs, and lifting her resolutely as she leaps. The surge of radiance grows stronger, her's is a dance of anger and wrath and half-forgotten hungers expressing in feral undulations. The coywolf knows she looks absurd- mad! But it's such a lovely madness.

She reaches for her partner boldly, dropping her head back with bouts of fierce laughter. “Come on, there are no rules to this dance!” She urges breathlessly following the motion of his eyes, “do the first thing that comes to mind!”

He could be certain- he’d have no chance at being a bigger fool than she.

please forgive my text walls

The regret is almost immediate as she takes him from the safety of the wall; her hand his only tether within unfamiliar waters. The dance floor is a blur of movement. While the choreography may be known to Eset, it is a foreign language to him. Broad gestures made the letters, measures steps the grammar, and graceful swings the sweeps of a pen upon paper. All recognizable as a message—a physical embodiment of song—but one that could not be discerned by his own eyes.

His ears splayed slightly, two-toned eyes shifting between Eset and the dancers that glided by. The whole event reminiscent of schooling fish; the way couples parted and rejoined whilst traveling around the circle. Individual thought coalesced into uniform movement. Stalling meant collision, and he is nearly swept away until Eset stood firm and claimed her own space on the floor. Commanding her own rhythm within the structured flow of the round dance, much to his surprise—and dismay.

He wishes that he had finished his drink. That he maintained his commitment to the cold stone wall in the shadows of a corner only to slink off to a dark, lonely chamber to sleep off the buzz.

But Eset laughs as she pulls for him to join her, and through his uncertainty there is a resurgence in the same envy from moments prior. The joy. The laughter. How terribly he wished to feel the same. How deeply he believed he could not. The self-loathing as he continued to waste this woman's time. Oh, but he had already taken her hand. Then he could commit to trying. He would commit to trying.

Wildfire eyes rose to meet his and he motioned for her to continue, he would be there.

Her's is a dance of anger and fire. There is comfort in both, so he would strive to keep the little desert flame from being doused by the current of gentility. And while strive he did, he was still operating on rusted joints and stilted limbs. To tend of fire is not without risk: a well-fed blaze can crackle and spit embers to smolder those closest. Briar was not coordinated enough to keep from being underfoot as she leapt or from misjudging her path as she spun. Still, he would suffer the burns to allow for her to glow.

His arm would aid her into her spins until he felt comfortable enough to spin with her. He would—attempt to—steer clear of her paws with each jump until he could marginally match her footwork. He was bumbling about in comparison, and perhaps he would have learned faster had he watched his own paws. But he kept his gaze high to meet her own. He was trying for her, he really was.

your wall of text is phenomenal

This was no wolf-dance. Soon he moved too as just-fed flames sprung from ignition. He was fire. What else could burn so hotly from those enkindled eyes, and enact itself about his lighted face with such intensity?

It follows him, step for step, jumping more swiftly when he falters, purring at his shoulders and licking on the ends of feet.

Eset’s flames coil with his own and they are two no longer but a single blaze in the center of the dance. Transcending form, transcending words. In her eyes written by the flashing reflections of passersby she sang to him. 

I am suffering just like you.

And somehow in all the chaos of the spinning world her suffering was comforted by his.

Their hands burned brighter. There was no flesh; only flame.

sweats as this reply is over a month due

His efforts are received. Her moves become known and he recognizes the patterns. His steps steadying, enlightened by a new pace. Paws flying to avoid the grasp of flame. His eyes do not leave her. Engulfed by the wildfire kept within her gaze, he allows himself to be swept away.

The passersby fall away from his vision. Their presence known through a base spatial awareness. Sideline chatter is far away in his ears. The round dance song is soon lost in favor for the crackle of fire. Through it, Eset speaks to him.

I am suffering just like you.

It is the love misery has for company. Through this, wounded beings find peace through shared sorrow. A balm to the soul. Together in this dance there was comfort; he felt it too.

They are attuned to the same rhythm, acting as one. A wildfire raging across the floor. There is only a need to burn brightly. After all, no blaze considers the end once there is nothing left to burn.