Lion Head Mesa con[m]igo

gucci let himself relax, the clawing at his fur reminiscent of the scratches he'd receive in the lap of his Ma. 

"well, ah think by that y'all are much better than nebs like mahself n good mistah crawfetha." he let out a soft sigh as the girl scratched a good spot on his neck. "this place would nat run if it weren't for y'all fe-la-heen and your hardworkingness n good manners." his eyes were lidded with pleasure as his back was cleaned, and as the claws went lower his right leg kicked.

he turned around, leaning backwards against the rocky edge of the natural pool. he observed the fellahin now. in his mind he called her a girl, but she seemed a woman, albeit one of lithe, almost adolescent build. he wondered something. 

"... say, if it ain't impolite t' ask, how'd you come ta akashigo?" (he stressed the wrong syllables in his pronunciation and softened the "i" into non-existence) "ah mean, ah don't think none o' the persons here are related, 'spect them children born to the pharaoh, so ah wonder where your family is."

he paused.

"again, if it ain't too private a thing to share."