Lion Head Mesa shaduf [m]

"sit."
ramesses' voice was a soft knelling in the semi-dark. he indicated the pelts across from him. 
"like this." a berry lifted with tongue, crushed against flat teeth; the juice trickled down the inside of his throat. "they have been fermented in a storeroom."
tone wandering, conversational. 
his grin, widening. charles remained scuffed and scarred. his eyes were hardened amber in the half-light. he was at once both the soft and retiring thing who the divine one had first met and half-tarnished in his own right.
ramesses felt the old possessiveness rising to thrum in his blood along the berries. to take charge would be to eliminate and conquer his own time as servant; never, never had he been that. but charles was the binding tie between the life he had led and the life he had wanted. laughable to think that one day he had meant to humble himself.
"you have found akashingo at a time of transformation."
another berry, slowly chewed.
"what are your wants now, charles?"