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[color=21201f]B A S T E T ,   G O D D E S S   O F  P R O T E C T I O N.[/color]
[color=241b18]𝒂 𝒎 𝒎 𝒂  𝒖 𝒃 𝒂 𝒔 𝒕 𝒆 .[/color]
[color=7d694f] 𝒂 𝒎 𝒎 𝒂  𝒖 𝒃 𝒂 𝒔 𝒕 𝒆 .[/color]
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[color=#2e2c2c]..........................             [/color][sub][b][[/b] 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚝'𝚜 𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 [color=241b18]◆[/color] 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚢, 𝚂𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 [b]][/b][/sub][center][sup][sup][sup][sup][sup][sup][sup][sup][sup][sup][sup][sup][sup][sup][img]https://i.imgur.com/MY39Nrd.png[/img][/sup][/sup][/sup][/sup][/sup][/sup][/sup][/sup][/sup][/sup][/sup][/sup][/sup][/sup][/center][indent][indent][color=9c9691][i][sub]She remembers the former Conclave as if it were yesterday --[/sub][/i]

	The invasions and declarations of war, the summoning of sons, husbands, and brothers; weeping dames that clutched madly onto others, lost within throes of anguish and loss, but above all, fear. Bastet had held many a council to those bereft of community and courage, the war stole many of those waiting and wanting, and she [i]felt[/i] their sorrow and looked after their bastard children left fatherless. She muttered prayers; soothing intonations befitting to her maternal figure, wreathed in the kindness her profession and divinity supplied despite all mortal limitations to her god-hood. 

	The air tasted of death and even when the sky bloomed to afternoon gold, there remained a lingering wash of ash that pricked upon her [i]felidae[/i] intuition, left her caramel skin pebbled and rippling with a premonition of what awaited her at the assembly. [i][sub]He's most likely to be there[/sub][/i], a wayward thought supplied, bringing her heart to a flush that rose to her cheeks where a sweater draped gesture rose, cupped against chilled skin and here she breathed soft and slow. Her breath plumed upon the pane of glass casting her reflection back onto her, hazed out by city smog and tainted edges bruised in the smoke. Bastet's apartment was the third floor of a six story complex with an open concept, her wares of perfumes, ointments, balms and paraphernalia of antiques she's collected over the years haphazardly arranged. They're preserved for both beauty and quality, their aesthetics ones of home and a time lost; cats and hawks, serpents and crocodiles, cows and even jackals stationed prettily about her abode. If there's such a canine curiously near her bed, she pays it no mind and instead drapes a throw across pointed ears and a golden wreathed neck more often than not.

	She's stalling for time, she realizes, prying herself away from one of many windows overlooking the bustling roads already populated by earlier risers. Bastet often rose betwixt morning and noon, rarely compelled to rest any longer unless accompanied to bed by another, such creatures of flesh they were, and she was no different. Other times her companions woke her, mewling eagerly among her heels and twining tails around her calves, their yowls often ripe and rich with secrets of night and day. Their eyes were her own and their exotic faces glancing onward from shadow her representatives to both Gods and mortals. Each held a pharaoh's name, the three of them; Khufu, Hatshepsut, and Cleopatra -- each also of an exotic breed. Bastet counts them as her beloved servants and familiars and soothes their eager mewls to please with generous affections and sends them away to do her will. She thought of bringing one with her to the Conclave, but she also doubts any of them would appreciate such felines invading their personal barriers and prying into their sometimes secretive natures.

	[i][sub]Another time,[/sub][/i] she promises silently and is answered with barely perceptible nods.

	Whilst she dresses, her mind wonders. Death soured the dawn, but the day remained, and with it the eternal inquiry of the Colossus' location permeates her musings. Bastet lingered as a mysterious facet to the collections of Gods', her motivations often a hidden intent and her desires cloaked under melancholy and gentle claims. Only her sister, perhaps, knows of her inner workings, and maybe [i]him[/i], but what does he know other than his own faults and vices. Her mind briskly evades his likeness and instead she ponders upon the others of her pantheon. She hasn't seen them for quite sometime, occupied by her clients and visiting their homes or inviting them indoors on her own hospitality. The tea house is but a distant memory now...

	Bastet dresses efficiently, her cosmetics are kohl-lined eyes smudged and spiked lashes, and dabs a delicate perfume upon her nape and wrists. It's something concocted to remind her of [i]home[/i] and reminds herself to fulfill her order for [i]The Jade Jaguar[/i]. Less the owner come calling upon her [i]again[/i]. The woman was a stickler for detail, never quite pleased, beautiful as she is impatient and deadly as many women of these vices are. Bastet procures her mobile not long after, and checks upon her messages briefly to ping one to her sister before exiting her apartment on the sounds of her heels muffled against plush carpeting: [i][color=ffffff][sub]"on my way, see you soon. xo"[/sub][/color][/i].[/color][/indent][/indent]

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[indent][indent][color=9c9691]	She's not quite late, but neither is she early. Already some have arrived and have occupied themselves, so she thinks their names to herself, counting each and adjusts her [url=https://i.imgur.com/E6lCuvL.jpg]long coat[/url] and tumbling locks of braids and twisted ends before she finds Hathor already seated. An air of disturbance toils about her, it's ripe and striking, just as she is visually donned in white with splashes of color. Bastet is careful in her approach, languid and unhurried before she elegantly folds herself to be seated next to her, one leg crossed over the other. The room harbors a rather musty odor to which she is thankful for the waft of perfume that greets her nasal with every move she makes, however nothing could be done for the lingering bits of food or mottled carpeting, such as they are. Though, another glance of the conference room produces the thought of if it's [i]just[/i] the setting. [i][sub]Lovely...[/sub][/i]

	Bastet sweeps her gaze low before she speaks, plunging her glasses down upon the slope of her nose gracefully before tucking them up high on her crown among the chaos of her tresses. She poses her words carefully, knowing full well the temper the boils beneath bronze skin.
	
	[color=7d694f]"I'd ask how you slept, but something tells me it was shit. Nightmares again, love?"[/color]

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[sup][sup][right][color=black]mentions:[@KZOMBI3], [@Icy Hot], [@Akayaofthemoon].[/color][/right][/sup][/sup]