Lion Head Mesa culture shock

for a wild @Zaahira if you have time! if not then AW <333

the war is up and done with. it is time to bring peace and keep its presence heavily protected in the mesa. tuna thought of the warriors who had gone in the name of Toula to scatter the bed of snakes and returned victorious, blood stained, and hungry.

but the one who peaks her interest the most is Zaahira. the fellahin would attempt to find her, in hopes of catching her in a calm but not disturbing moment of stillness within the mesa. the sun is beginning to set, and the orange glow of the red sand brings about a haunting beauty.

!!!! <33333

The mesa is eerily quiet this evening. Or perhaps Zaahira had just gotten used to chaos.
The war has long been over, Greatwater Lake is no longer — but it still feels as if it looms over her head like a great stormcloud. And with the arrival of not one, but two men who she could only assume had come to harass her, Zaahira grew paranoid. Much of her time spent alone, duties done in private; and she had hardly seen the sun since that hemar, as she had not-so-affectionately dubbed him, reared his head.
And this eve, she is returning to her barrack from an afternoon shift in the catacombs when the fellahin is spotted in the form of a bat-eared shadow amongst the halls. Tuna; the one who had welcomed her to the Palace. Oh, what a lovely face to see! It felt as if it had been eons!
Oh, hello, Tuna, she greets, a tired, but warm grin followed by a nod of her head, a slow circle around her small body as she comes to a stop. Arid heat clings to her forehead as her tongue flicks out to run over a lip. walk with me?

the grand warrior comes to greet her with open arms and her magma gaze seemingly calms as it meets with a cocoa brown, melding together like those terry's chocolate oranges. normally, Tuna has learned that formalities are a large part of Akashingo and often greets others by their titles and whatnot, though with the greet of her own name, Tuna likes to think that perhaps her and Zaahira are something like friends. a wag of the tail is clear as she comes to look over her warrior.

"Zaahira," she comes to say politely, "it's good t'ah see yew too, all'n one piece after that uh, event." war never sounds too pleasant to the ears. at the offer to join her, the fellahin happily falls in line just a stride or so behind the woman, hoping to guide her in a general direction towards the outer reaches of the mesa. "a walk's nice this time'a day too." there is a glow within Akashingo, and perhaps in Zaahira too as she strides with pride.

"ah gott'a ask, 'scuse mah rudeness 'n it, but..." she looks towards the other with a curious glint in her deep eyes, "how did it feel marchin' on khaba's an' makin' 'im pay?" she likes to think that the mazoi would revel in the moment of marching over their enemies, after all. Tuna could have begged to be a fly on the wall during the battle and just listening to all that had happened. but in the end, for a lowly fellahin, she could only be happy that they all came home together, alive, in brandishing the glory that is of Toula's reign.

The idea of having servants was one Zaahira still found herself trying to grow accustomed to. Although most fellahin were not of pure wolfblood, or perhaps some had none at all, they were citizens just as much as Zaahira was. The Queen herself was kind to them — never were their hands forced, gratitude always expressed for their services, and the mazoi strived to do the same.
And even still, Tuna, she felt, was special. A confidant, the first person she met when she first arrived to the great palace! A figure of grace and undying loyalty, a honeysuckle sweetness to the backwoods drawl of her voice.
She is sure not to step too far in front of her. The coyote would lead the way, decide where they could head off to, and the pantheress found herself eager to follow. Perhaps some sunlight would do her some good.
Not rude at all, a velvety chuckle, followed by a quick shake of her head. It was peaceful, mostly. Very little fight. We outnumbered the Lake greatly. Perhaps months ago she would have felt odd, referring to the Lake as not a home of her own anymore. But today, she gleams with pride. Akashingo was home. It was... a thoughtful twitch to a black-tipped ear, then. weird, fighting against him. Going back there. Lots of painful memories, yes? And Khaba, his name comes out in a whistle through gritted teeth. tried to deny his crimes at first. So... calmly, too. I am convinced he is a psycho.

the fellahin could be seen taking a breath of relief at the words of the mazoi. no fight, truly? is there ever such an occurrence during a time of war? Khaba could secretly just intelligent enough to know when to give in, or perhaps he just is truly the madman Zaahira claims him to be and just was easily overpowered. Tuna would come to learn this sooner or later if she or the other fellahin are instructed to ensure he lives in the catacombs of the kingdom, though for now, it seems the mazoi are the ones with full hands.

"a'hd think yew'r probably right, Zaahira," she says with a small laugh, "yew can'ever trust some men fully." and Tuna would take this saying to her grave, for to her at times. there are plenty of men that Tuna has met that contradicts this thought, but for the others who leave a bitter taste on her tongue, the coyote prefers to keep the XY species away from her.

speaking of which, it brings up the purpose of their walk. "there's something ah wanted t'ah show yew, if yew'd oblige, Zaahira." Tuna had been careful with the twists and turns they made before feeling a breeze uplift her from the warm evening sun. a large ear flicks towards the sound of the running water for just a moment. "it's just by th'a serpent river over yonder." a point of her nose before a subtle guiding towards the direction, if there is no hesitation by her companion.

And the fellahin was right. She gives a hum of tentative agreement, mind wandering to the various men of Akashingo. Akhtar, Senmut, Khusobek, Haizel, Harakhte; some felt less dangerous than others, ranging from harmless to leave one eye open while you sleep. Few felt genuinely trustworthy.
It was strange, too, being a female mazoi. Some men have leering glass eyes that follow her, wine-stained teeth, lips that curve in a lecherous grin; a not very well hidden old-guard sense of disdain for her position. Others are more respectful, dutiful, treat her as if she were no different. She wonders if, perhaps, Akashingo was a much different place before Queen Toula ascended to the throne.
Something to show me? there's a hint of wariness to her voice as they come upon the steppes. It's cool, refreshing; a shudder that licks down her spine when the breeze is felt. She did not remember the last time she had even left the palace grounds, let alone go beyond the river's edge. But she nods anyway. Perhaps this was more important than she thought.

a small hum for a wordless 'yup', and then the two are on their way. there is no mischievous glint in Tuna, no wry smile to offer a bit of comfort that whatever this thing is lacks seriousness. no, Tuna assures herself that Zaahira would soon know why this thing held a deep importance.

thankfully, the duo would not walk far, but up to the outer parts of the mesa where serpent lake flowed into the arid red sands. and resting near the shore, just far enough so that the water may never seep to disturb the soul that lay to rest remained a rather peculiar pile of dirt.

Tuna had tasked herself with its upkeep, sweeping away the bits of rock and unwanted material from its path to keep it clean and presentable. and when she would see what Haizel grew in the gardens, Tuna would snatch a flower or so to lay on this dirt.

the fellahin is still when she brings herself and Zaahira just a few feet away from it, tongue running over her teeth before she comes to search for a calm fiery gaze from the other. "yer Raven," she says softly, knowing that this is the only name Zaahira called her to Tuna, "ah found her 'n tha meada'w, covered in flowers. even in 'er death, she was mighty pretty."

Tuna would come to walk closer to the site, inviting the mazoi to join her if she wished as she comes to sweep a few lonesome pebbles away. "Senmut and ah buried her 'ere, wit'er flowers tew." she looks down for a moment to ensure that everything remained in order and in place for this moment. "ah've kept her restin' place clean, sometimes ah even sit out'ere and keep her company."

she comes to step away now, and perhaps see what Zaahira would make of this. "ah hope you don't mind that we did all'dat fer her." 

upNo one ever prepares you for the first time you see a loved one's remains. There is nothing that possibly could.
The last Zaahira had seen of the maiden was the milkwhite emptiness of her beautiful brown eyes, the stench of iron in the form of rotten blood. She was cold, stiff, ruddy.
But tonight, the orange glow cascades off of the dirt that blankets her skeleton. She doesn't believe it at first, the association of this mound with her Raven. But reality sets in when she sees the same flowers she had picked for her before in little patches that sprout from the lowland grass nearby.
Her grave is well kept, clean; beautiful. Honorable.
You and Senmut did this? she says softly, a glassiness to her tangerine gaze. Oh, wiiiili, I-- she is tentative in her approach, and silently, she reaches out a sullen paw to grace the top of the pile.
Her maiden. Selena.
She is silent for a long while, eyes pressed to a close as she breathes in and out. Akashingo had not known her, but even still, they respected her in death. Honored her with so much more than the Lake would have ever given her.
Her lip trembles, just faintly. I do not know how to thank you.

Selena.

so that is the name of the beautiful raven of the mazoi. there is silence, as in all death, and for many it seems uncomfortable. but often Tuna likes to think that there is peace in all of its crevices and disappointments. 

there is a touch, tentative, loving, stirring. 

"senmut suh'gested it," she comes to say bashfully, "yew'll hafta thank him more than me." fellahin are not usually in a position to be thanked, but for some odd reason, Tuna finds herself in a favorable position with the others of Akashingo. there is yet to be a commanding presence to snub her nose in the dirt.

Tuna comes to sit beside the resting place, leaving enough room for Zaahira to join her on the inside in order to be closer to Selena. and she looks out for a moment, thinking just for a second or so. "ah thought it might'a bring 'ya some comfert, tah know she's'ere and restin'." perhaps amongst the gods and in the eternal valley, or perhaps in the void of nothingness.

"what did yew love about'er?" her soft voices asks. perhaps many would use the word 'like' rather than 'love', but tuna could sense a deeper storm beneath. certainly, this Raven must have done something to ensnare the attention of clementine eyes?

Senmut. From what little Zaahira had gathered of the Erpa-ha, he did not seem the type to do such a thing; at least not for someone who would have been considered an enemy. A humble gesture, one of great compassion. Perhaps there was more to him than met the eye.
But you maintain it, you said, yes? she is quick to retort with a lighthearted flicker. That is very kind of you, Tuna. You deserve just as many thanks as he. A wispy smile before she shuffles alongside the coyote woman, willowy legs tucked neatly in a poised sit beside her tryst's remains.
Oh, how she longed to touch her again.
She's asked what she loved about her. Love is not a word she had ever thought to use to describe how she felt for her; Zaahira did not think of herself as a lover. What defined love? And in due time, what she felt for Selena could have been that. But she spent more time loving her memory than she did her physical presence.
Still, she had many things to say.
She was very sweet. Would not have hurt a fly, very gentle. She thought fondly of the spirits and spoke to them often. Very pretty eyes, the intelligent kind of brown that sparkle when she looked to you. A gentle lover. She was kind to me. It's then that Zaahira's forehead sinks down to touch the hardened dirt. Khaba did not like her gentleness. Punished her for it. Ordered for her to be attacked and watched as that fucking chelb did it. I tried so hard to stop her, Tuna, I--
In, out. In, out. In, out. Hardly was she even aware of the tears that darken her cheeks.
I hate him. I hate that girl, and I do not know where she is. She was not in Greatwater when we attacked. Khaba is paying his price, but I want her to pay too.

at the question of maintaining it, there is a soft nod from the fellahin. it did not take much effort since she worked more in the beginning to rid the place of weeds, large abnormalities, and other nonsense that would displease the eye. the praise and thanks is met with a kind smile as her large ears swivel to hear the tale spun from zaahira.

and for a moment, tuna is taken back to her days as a child. she and her siblings would sit and listen to their bedtime story, yawning and fighting to stay awake to get to the best part. while love stories were not a common choice for children, there has always been a yearn inside tuna to know what that feeling is like. "she soun's like mah typ'a laydee" she would say warmly, a small toothy grin beneath her lips.

but the story takes a turn, as they all seem to do. and when she comes to see the change in zaahira, the girl comes to gently place her paw atop her friend's, letting her know that she was there. there is not much she can do to help with the feelings that continue to storm within orange eyes. for a moment, tuna says nothing to allow time to recollect the pieces.

"that uh," what was the word zaahira just said? "chehlb, will haft'a answer tew yer teeth, then. we'll bleed'er dry." it is not a promise of action that is perhaps wanted, but it is hope that justice may come one day. if allowed, tuna would come to reach and offer a soft, comforting brush of her muzzle against zaahira's chocolate cheeks upon the notice of her tears.

"but fer now," a cast towards the sky which began to shift colors, "ah'd rest. yer raven walks in'tha land of the reeds, and ah know that someday, yew'll 'ave'er again." for her and herself only, tuna could only hope. perhaps osiris keeps an eye on her soul in the afterlife.

Zaahira talks, Tuna listens. It is all she could ever ask from her.
Right now, they are not fellahin and mazoi; they are friends, they are two women lamenting the loss of another. And there is little Tuna could do to ease the pain — there is little anyone at all could do. But the people of Akashingo are intelligent. They are compassionate at their cores, Zaahira believes; and what more could you want when you are up against a wall?
She was my type of lady, too, she laments, a sullen, half-broken laugh that pushes from her lungs.
Tuna's reach for her paw is noticed. She returns it with a soft squeeze.
Chelb, she repeats, distracted for the moment by her attempt at pronouncing the word, a roundness to her eyes. it is Arabic. My mother's tongue. It means dog, in a bad way. A silly insult, really.
But reality is brought back to her all too soon.
You are right, a grimace. but I think I will have to speak to Senmut about her. What to do, if she returns. I cannot imagine she would leave so easily after killing for that wretched man. Unless she is more evil than I thought.

"even as'a insult, it soun's lovely. at mah house, we just would say 'tu puta madre!'  to get our poin' across." though perhaps that didn't work considering any insult to a mother remained the same for all the siblings -- all of them came back to the same mother who had no problems pushing her kids' noses in the dirt.

Zaahira would perhaps not rest on this subject, though Tuna has no reason to stop her. to lose anything is to experience grief, though the coyote has no knowledge on the death of a lover. there is no way she can understand the hole that continues to dig in Zaahira's heart. all she can do is slow down the process, if given the chance.

"we'll never know," she comes to say with a sigh, "but yew should do what makes yew happiest." if it brings comfort to the mazoi, then tuna sees no reason to stand in the way. "do yew... want me tah leave yew alone with her for a minute? ah know is' been a lil since yew saw 'er." privacy to mourn the dead, privacy to cry without judgement, if there was any at least.

she would sweep away if so, but if not, then perhaps remain until Zaahira stirred for something else.

last from me <333 i loved this so much, thank u!!!! ;; <3

Tu puta madre? Zaahira mouths it, although the syllables don't quite seem to fit inside her mouth. You have strange language, Tuna, a laugh, then; which she so desperately needed.
The coyotegirl offers time alone; comforts her with a honeysuckle drawl. Zaahira does not accept or deny, for she herself did not know what exactly she wanted. You may do whatever you wish.
Whether or not Tuna stays, she would fall into a curl with her knees tucked up to her barrelled chest, paws clasped together. A prayer to Osiris is whispered before her eyes flutter to a close and her head is rested against packed dirt. Here, she would remain — wishing, hoping that Selena can see how deeply she was cared for, even by those who did not know her in life.
Tuna's paw is given a squeeze of thanks, either way.