Lion Head Mesa serekh

ramesses hummed a light laugh at that; he lifted a pale paw. "drink," he said, the liqueur already burning a hot path from heart to veins to belly to loins. "shall we speak plainly then?" he said. perhaps sugared words were not what she wished.
perhaps her delicate ears needed easier fare. "i am certain you have been told what to expect." he sat back upon the low couch and regarded the fellahin across from him. 
"ask your questions. even if they do not have anything to do with this, at hand." he meant to be gracious, even as his lazuli eyes compelled her closer, to open, to speak.