Lion Head Mesa leave me in the dark

She knew her father was only trying to help, but Medusa was no extrovert. And she hated to serve the Crown Prince, even if it was a compliment. It was not Makono she hated, it was being in the company of any that she did not decide to entertain. And being forced into that whole thing. Medusa was used to the hustle and bustle of life around the palace, but kept to the catacombs with @Midas when she could help it. 

He seemed to understand. 

Medusa tolerated few, and liked even less. 

She appreciated the lessons of Tavina at least. Those she was always sure to be present at; it was where @Gucci often found her more than anyplace else, as she had gotten quite good at holing away in the secret spots of the catacombs. And the Gods knew her father could fit in them, but he seemed to respect her need for alone time (and alone time together with Midas). 

It was why she liked him, at least. And she knew his efforts came from a good place. 

But as she grew, she had begun to outgrow many of those fissures and secret places; it meant more exploring was needed to be done. With her, she carried a bone @Toula had brought her that the Amiirad had thought she would like. Toula was too bright a light, but provided Medusa with what she imagined the sun felt like. Toula... she tolerated, and this bordered on liking with the gift of the bone. 

She would not test toxic things on the Amiirad. 

And of course there was Midas that she liked, too. The shortlist was the list. 

Medusa had high hopes that no one would approach her. She would prefer to be left alone, with her toxic stores. Which she then headed to.

the children of the noble gucci were dark and reserved and feral in a way that senmut had not thought of the man.

their manners were proper and all knew of them, of course, but the priest had yet to discover for himself these guarded talents.

he was a full priest now. and as such, the red light of his coat shone as he delved into the catacombs. "nebet?" he said softly, eyes straining. why the children preferred such dreary corridors he could not know! but he wished this wisdom and it was why he waited now.

Medusa heard a word, a name; whatever it was, she did not claim it. She stopped mid stride to look at the priest, correcting him with an impatient tch and a sharply enunciated: Medusa, The way of things here was all that Medusa knew, but she was not one for formality. 

Do first, feel later. And now she felt a little nervous to think she might have corrected the wrong person, perhaps, and that her tone might be seen as disrespectful rather than merely speaking to her own preference. Would that get Midas, or her father, in trouble...? 

She sucked in a breath and tacked on, ...please. That is my name. She could not see the one that had spoken to her, and she had half a mind to abandon this encounter and dive into the paths that she knew. But she wanted to be sure she had corrected whatever error might be perceived, if any, in the event that her father was spoken to about her manners. 

For Medusa was mannerly when she needed to be. But by her lonesome, or with Midas, she was simply herself. A ghoulish, gremlin of a girl. And so she tucked her head and crouched to pass through some orifice to face... 

A man she had seen plenty, to be sure. But getting to know others was not her strong suit. His name was lost upon her. His teachings were interesting, but... well, she had not found an area she could apply them. Whether for lack of interest or for lack of motivation, who was to know? Not Medusa, who hardly did any internal deep dives. It was all very surface level for her. 

In the darkness Medusa stood in front of him now, comfortable in the quiet (she did not think of the way in which this might be unsettling). She watched him, only wondering for what reason he might have called to her.

the child who materialized from the the gloom was touched by the gods. her coat was the flawless ivory of precious stone far beneath the eye of Ra; she was marked by a pale rose upon various points. and her eyes were were the hue any reverent artist would use to endow a work with the color of waters. of life.

he bowed his head to her. "medusa." senmut was bound to oblige at once but the honorific slipping off his tongue was odd. foreign. wrong. it was not for him to question aloud. he had a sense of her power in this space, a wisping unseen aura which seemed to search him in the dark silence.

"i came to see if you would like instruction upon the god Osiris, Pharaoh of the Under-earth," the hem said at last, straightening before her pale ankh-eyes.

He was not angry. 

That was a relief. She felt she could quit this scene sooner rather than later. He would not run to tell her father that she was a disappointment. 

His next inquiry was one that made her softly sigh, looking over her shoulder to where her plants were. And then she looked back to him, feeling she knew the answer to the question she would soon voice. Did my papa send you to ask this? Medusa asked, believing it so. To spend time with others by learning more made perfect sense. But few came to her otherwise, unless they were assigned to. 

She should not resent that fact. But it would be nice if one were to approach her of their own wish to.

the young hem shook his head. he caught the scent of plants here, cultivated in the dark. "i have never met you, noble one. but i am told you are skilled. i wanted to speak with you myself."

and he had wanted to invite her to the surface, but as it were, it may have been too harsh for her light eyes.

"i am senmut."

So it was his own decision. 

Why would you want to teach me of Osiris? she asked then, curious. Osiris. It was not a name she was unfamiliar with, if only because Toula had spoken so much of Iset and Osiris both. Medusa was less inclined to speak, though did enjoy to listen. Though she could learn as much as the fellahin, Medusa far preferred her solitude to gossip. 

But she did enjoy stories, and though Toula talked (and sang) a lot at least the things she had to say were interesting. Since she was also under the tutelage of Tavina, their paths had crossed much. 

Toula's stories were romantic. Iset had saved Osiris. Or... something like that. 

Senmut spoke of Osiris being a Pharaoh of the Underworld. Ramesses was Pharaoh. She could not imagine such a man needing saving.

"He is the god of the underworld." senmut smiled softly and gestured to the quarters kept by the noble young woman.

"i had thought perhaps you meant to take after His image."

here the electric green eyes studied her. "what do you know of the Dead King?" the priest asked at last, and plainly, wanting to know how much of akashingo ran in those pale veins.

The priest... did he insult her, or compliment her with that statement? Medusa could not tell, and was not clever enough to determine it. Bandying words was not her strong point... but then, nothing was quite yet. Even in the front she wished to excel in, the trail and error often left her wounded.

Strange that words might wound in a different ways. That she feel anything at all to what might have just been an observation. She was a creature of dark places, after all... though it was not necessarily a choice. 

Perhaps it was design, then. Perhaps these stories were worth some sort of listen. Then she might have someone to blame for not being able to enjoy the sun like all the rest seemed to. Morning worship... now that felt an insult! 

I should know more, Medusa answered, my mind often is elsewhere during lessons. Here, really, and even still she pondered what she might concoct today. She ought to show Tavina. 

But... he had gained her interest. But today that all can wait, because perhaps it would be good to know more of him, she offered something of an olive branch here, to let him know she did not mean to insult. Because it was important to him, and the priest was an important person.

senmut sensed a softening in her words. not niceties. not playacting. not even softness was the word, not truly. it was more that medusa had slid back the proverbial eye-hatch on the locked doors of her dark keep, slid it back, and inched the iron-bound portal open a little.

he settled himself with the straight-backed grace of a scribe. senmut had been this first. 

"Osiris judges the dead." his green eyes kept themselves on her. "do you deal with death, or only darkness?" for they were different, and senmut could sense no energy of sacrifices to blood gods even in these dim rooms.

The dead. 

Interesting. 

How does he judge them? she wondered. Was it Osiris who would decide where she went in the end? ...The end. It was not something she thought of very often. 

Darkness, she answers, revealing more of herself all the while. It was darkness that comforted her. Death... well, truth be told, she had never thought of death. She was a child still, and she had never contended with the gravity of mortality before.

"he weighs their heart against their deeds with the god Thoth, Anubis, Hennefer, Ammut, and Ma'at. the heart is weighed against the Feather of Ma'at. if the heart is light, they will enter the Land of Reeds."

"but if it is not, then the heart is given to Ammut, to tear apart with Her sharp teeth."

senmut smiled.