Lion Head Mesa پنهان snake in the grass

deep in the catacombs; references @Maegi @Midas @Medusa @Tavina - open to anyone though!

jawahir, time and time again, was delegated the role of wet-nurse to babes not of their own blood. those that were born to them had been stolen away; sometimes when the energy possessed them, the hebsut would venture from the catacombs and witness the palace with its flow of bodies.

knowing that the children lived was one thing - catching a glimpse of a daughter hurrying by, or wanting to call out upon glimpsing their rat-bitten son, these were impulses that jawahir had to keep contained. jawahir could gain nothing by knowing them.

their pregnancy weight had shed slowly at first, but when one of the nebet gave birth, a wet-nurse was needed. tavina saw to it that jawahir recieve these pale creatures; so to the catacombs they were given, to jawahir's breast, who waited while they suckled.

he was on a mission to rival james bond; keeping track of the goings-on in the arteries of akashingo, eavesdropping on suspicious conversations and occasionally masterfully following persons of interest if he caught on them the scent of milk.

for he was in search of the pair born to maegi, the children that, once the ceremonies are all done with, would formally be his.

but before such undisprovable legality could be achieved, he needed to at least see their faces.

little squishy baby faces.

( it was completely possible this information would be readily given if he asked, but once he'd formulated his spy plan it seemed a bit awkward to throw it all in the trash )

finally, his efforts bore fruit! he watched the very jewel of the palace as they descended into the catacombs, and after waiting a sufficient amount of time, followed after them.

the place was pleasantly cool, but also extremely dark, and gucci was uncomfortably reminded of what usually happened in horror movie basements.

yet he stealthily advanced.

dogtag tinkling with each step.

world's loudest covert operator.

Feeding these creatures should have brought some kindness out of Jawahir; yet they could not stop thinking of the previous children they had fed with their body.

That their milk had gone to the royal bastards instead of their own offspring was infuriating. Knowing that their perfect figure was now distorted by their previous pregnancy caused resentment within the hebsut, further distilled as they looked upon the children of the broken-faced nebet.

The stillness of the catacombs was broken by the sound of children feeding. The sounds of suction were faint but enough to further annoy Jawahir; but that was not all. Somewhere in the dark and winding corridors of the catacombs was a familiar twinkling sound. Jawahir's tall ears tracked its approach with minor twitches.

Who walks these halls? The jewel demands of the darkness, speaking without care to their own volume. For a moment the children are disturbed and the fellahin feels a wetness spreading warmly against their own underside as well as the squeal of a babe.

With a frustrated huff, Jawahir moves to tuck the offending child closer so that they may re-latch, and grimaces to the feeling as it happens. Their voice is low as it tumbles from them again: Oh, don't complain. Eat and be quiet.

the hebsut's voice down the halls, an infant's squeal, and he knew where to find them.

"a neb, noble jewel!" he called into the dark as his teacup paws carried him to where they had spoken from.

the aroma of milk, and the specific scent he'd come to know as that of newborns, made him giddy.

he could barely make out the hebsut in the dark, but their shape was unmistakable. there were small sounds low to the ground, and gucci stilled.

suddenly feeling unsure.

"ah, ah hope ah ain't disturbin' ya." he spoke in a low voice, accompanied by a short, awkward laugh. "ah jus' seen ya comin' down 'ere, n thought-" a babe made a sound. his ears swiveled.

"...ah jus' wished t' see 'em." in a whisper as he stared into the spot they occupied.

Whether they wanted the milk or not, Jawahir made sure their mouths were full and their noises ceased for a time. The twinkling sound of metal ceased eventually, and they turned their attention to the corridor when the voice rang out; to which they murmured, Shhhh... as sweetly as they could, opposite to how they felt.

Come, come. They are almost full and they will be sleeping soon. And to Jawahir they were both not much to look at. Pale in a sickly way, in the hebsut's eye. Larger than the two bastards that spawned from their own body — they looked more like pharaoh than Nazli or Zakariya and for that Jawahir felt a spike of jealousy.

This was stowed deep in their heart.

he approached carefully, to quiet his dogtag, lips tight. he glanced once up at the coyote, to make sure this was alright.

the catacombs were in permanent shadow, but still their pale pelts shone in the dark, especially as they moved to better latch onto their wet-nurse, pugged snouts making smacking noises.

gucci let out a little gasp. they were twins, he was sure of it. copies of one another. and quite large, too. no doubt they'd surpass him in height faster than the royal litter did.

he felt a sting behind his eyes and raised a paw to cover them. his lips were, against his will, curled in a smile.

"...they's gorgeous." the neb said in a voice wrought with emotion, plumed tail helplessly wagging.

They were wretched thieves of her body.

Milky white like their mother. Now stained in some parts by the dust of the catacombs, which Jawahir did not care to clean away. Mewling or sleeping or drinking or being flatulant, taking time away from things Jawahir would rather do.

Gorgeous. Hardly.

They are sweet things, Jawahir lied with ease. The tiny man's emotions were obvious and the meshkhenet realized they'd found something to entertain themselves with, and pass the time.

What are their names? I was not told, but as the father you have certain honors, hm? This wasn't entirely true either; he was not yet wed to Maegi from what Jawahir understood, but perhaps the neb was too distracted to realize. Jawahir knew their names from what Tavina had said after the passage of children from mother to brood, but that could be a secret.

The boy, then. What are you calling your son? Perhaps he had some ridiculous notion in mind.

it was embarrassing, but his eyes had welled up with warm tears, which he somehow felt in the moment too elated to hide.

he blinked, as to better focus on the jewel and their words to him. he couldn't resist nodding when they agreed.

and then they brought attention to something that had the chihuahua gasp with realisation.

the names! of course! he'd assumed maegi had done it already, but it was likely she was too exhausted and-- ears perked up. 

could it be she left them unnamed for him?

it made his tail rapidly wag.

"ye-yes 'fcourse." he realised he'd been having that emotional journey within himself, although his face clearly described it. "ah- ah haven't had much time t', t' really think but..." 

his tongue flicked out to wet his whiskers as he watched the fat albino potatoes that were to become his children.

"but ah do got a coupla names saved fo'... special circumstance."

the chihuahua again came to stand over the pups, nothing but love and good intention in his eyes.

he set a paw into the pudge of the one that was a boy.

"you shall be..." he choked up with emotion. "...Lionshead Non Ducor Dolce." 

the christening paw moved to the daughter. "and ya, Lionshead Luctor Et Gabbana."

tossing aside restraint he gathered his large offspring into his arms, digging his muzzle and outright bawling into the space between them.

"buh- but ah- ahma c-call ya dolly n gabbyyyy."