Obscene Symphony

Final Fantasy Crystallum en Absentia

Alexandria Markets

---

Of all the fare in all the places he’d been, the food J’torha was consistently most impressed by was fish. Unavailable back home in the Fabul Desert (short of those gristly, spiky sand-dwelling things that were hardly fit to save a starving man), they were new, exotic, and even five years on never ceased to impress. There were endless varieties, some strong in flavour and some mild, some hardly big enough to chew and some the size of caravans (or even ones that lived in shells), and every locale had their own unique ways of preparing them. Lemon, saffron, butter, cayenne, rosemary, onion, even cinnamon once in that outpost in Bellas; some prepared in cream, some in tomato sauce or fried in oil, some simply roasted on planks or skewered with vegetables—the possibilities really were endless. From the first time he’d tried seafood on his first foray out of Fabul, J’torha had fallen in love, developing an awfully discerning palate and sparing no expense for the best each town had to offer.

That is, when it wasn’t flagrantly overpriced.

“I didn't fall off a chocobo carriage on my way into town, madame,” J’torha chastised loudly, leaning one arm on the stall’s canopy beam and earning an incensed look from the woman sitting behind the market stall, displeased either at the negotiation or the fact that the Seeker’s bulky, rust-coloured cloak—which may or may not have been a scrap from a textile vendor artfully wrapped to hide the raw edges—was blocking the goods from view by passerby. “You know as well as I do that fifty gil for a lousy pipira skewer is highway robbery.”

“I told you, the price of paprika went up when the borders closed!” The saleswoman repeated, crossing her arms. “And if they’re so lousy, you can just take your business elsewhere. My prices are non-negotiable.”

Ugh, great, yet another reason to despise this gods-forsaken city. Honestly, who closed their borders just for a little political tension? J’torha didn’t know a lot about these things, but he was pretty sure an invading army wouldn’t re-route themselves to official ports of entry. And now they had overpriced fish.

For a moment, the two were at a stalemate, J’torha’s mismatched eyes boring into the woman’s, searching for any sign of weakness. But the dame was no novice, and it was clear she wasn’t budging; after a long moment J’torha eventually conceded, dropping his head in defeat and heaving a dramatic sigh. “Fine. I’ll take the perch then, thank you kindly.”

The saleswoman was all smiles as J’torha handed over a much more reasonable sum of gil for his purchase, the tension of their exchange dissipating the moment a deal was struck. Such was market culture, the only fight to the death in which both parties could walk away happy; it was one thing that didn’t seem to change no matter how far one wandered. Somewhere off in the back of his head J’torha noted he must have sounded just like his sire arguing like that, but that ridiculous notion was brushed off with an exaggerated roll of the eyes as he finally departed from the stall.

At least not all was lost. While it certainly wasn’t pipira, the perch he’d purchased was nothing to sneeze at, roasted whole on a stick with crispy skin dripping in butter and blackened with spices. The potent aroma was heady and alluring, and while it wasn’t the kick of heat J’torha had been hoping for today, it was still enticing enough to get him eating as he walked.

Of course, therein lay yet another of Alexandria’s glaring flaws. Namely that somehow, some way, there was nowhere to sit! Honestly, if tavern owners were going to get annoyed about a paying customer hunkering down for an hour or three with a pile of food but no ale, and the merchants were going to throw derisive looks and garbage at a man just for peacefully loitering on the streetside, the very least the city could do was build a couple of benches. Eating on the move was what people did when they were fleeing for their lives, and in J’torha’s opinion, that kind of last resort is what it should have remained.

But of course, nothing in Alexandria could be ideal, so J’torha was stuck wandering the city’s marketplace at a snail’s pace, glancing around half-interested at passing stalls as he attacked his meal. The perch never stood a chance against any hungry feline, let alone one of his size and ferocity, so it didn’t take long to reduce the poor thing to a skeleton and complete the disappointing meal with a dragonfruit pulled from his pack. There, he would have preferred his dinner about three times as large and ideally somewhere he could rest a while after - or ooh, even better, shared with a comely female companion - but at least he had something sweet to finish it off with. But what to do now?

Once more he surveyed the market, this time from the opposite end, though he still found little of interest. Food vendors? He’d had enough disappointment for one day. Bauble hawkers? Nothing caught his eye. Weapons shops? He’d never been much for aldite, and any cocky little blacksmith’s apprentice trying to get his hands on sharpening fodder would get a kick between the eyes before laying hands on his chakrams. He supposed he could start looking around for another inn, seeing as his ‘first thing in the morning’ plan had transitioned into ‘once it gets a little warmer’ and then ‘sometime after lunch’, but as a pleasant breeze washed through the market, J’torha found himself disenthused with the idea of heading indoors just yet. What to do…

He openly laughed when it finally came to him, amazed he hadn’t thought of it sooner. Dance, obviously! What else could he do? His first few days in Alexandria had received him well enough, with deep-pocketed crowds enthused by exotic art and people, but he’d been so ragged and antsy trying to get out of the city since the borders closed that he’d gone nearly a week without ringing a single bell. Seriously, this closed-borders business had him all mixed up. He shook his head at himself as he broke off in a jog to a modest square at the end of the market; with dinnertime fast approaching, foot traffic was high, and while he wasn’t really hurting for gil, a few more tossed his way would never go unappreciated.

Filled with new vigour at the very prospect, J’torha bounded into the square, sitting himself down on the edge of a fountain at its centre. From his pack he drew a number of accoutrements; loops of jingling pyrite coins were fastened around his wrists and ankles and strings of bells tied around his waist and tail, and once all was secure he jumped up on the fountain’s edge and cast off his cloak, revealing an open blue vest and sash, each trimmed and adorned in eye-catching gold.

Taking what looked like a black stick in each hand, J’torha slid easily into a starting position, holding still a moment to draw a long breath. The hustle and bustle of the square and nearby market faded into silence; after a moment there was only him and the breeze and the sun on his skin, his heart steadying to beat his own perfect rhythm. One, two, three…

Stillness gave way to movement, arms and legs spinning fluidly as the dancer skipped feather-lightly along the edge of the fountain like a leaf skittering in the wind. A deep calm settled into him, and a sense of tranquility permeated the square. A few eyes were drawn, but not too many just yet, though something of a hush did fall around the fountain. Despite it all, a sense of giddy anticipation built up in J’torha’s chest, each graceful, fluid motion laced with barely-contained energy, a hopeful tension just waiting to be released.

Suddenly, an explosion; the ‘sticks’ in J’torha’s hands each whipped open to reveal brightly coloured, shining silk fans. The eye barely had time to catch them before his body whipped into motion, turning and kicking and flipping like a whirlwind, playing at the edge of the fountain on the precipice of falling off. But that wouldn’t happen; no, to the crowd it looked like the dancer on the ledge rode the very air, body no more than a feather in a hurricane as he whirled about, fans opening and closing in rhythm like the plumes of a magnificent bird. They could feel it now, too; the energy of the square rose to match J’torha’s own, eyes drawn of their own accord to the spectacle at the fountain and spirits raising at the heartening display. What began as a wave of bolstered self-assurance intensified to energy and excitement, passing interest in the demonstration turning to awe. There was no music - no sound aside from the flapping of fans and the jingling of coins and bells to the rhythm of J’torha’s dance - but they didn’t need it; every onlooker could feel the beat, and even if their ears wanted for music, their hearts and minds would rise to fill in the rest.

---

_{Enchanting the masses - literally}

Of Blood and Magic

With time to kill, Aaron had taken to aimlessly strolling around campus after his little ‘altercation’ with Ralph, a new and foreign spring in his step and mood significantly lifted after getting the douchebag so satisfyingly riled up. Maybe this was the feeling Max got when he sent the more shy of Eris’ badgering fans running. It’d certainly explain some things; just that short exchange had turned Aaron’s dour mood around so completely that he even found himself humming as he walked, a habit usually reserved for tough cello passages or the odd time Eris got a particularly insufferable pop song stuck in his head.

Campus was buzzing—right, the other students had been given the night off—but predictably, Aaron was left alone, exempt as he was from getting caught up in slow-walking crowds or accosted for stories from the practical. By now, he didn’t even bat an eye; in fact, he’d long stopped noticing the hush that tended to follow him or the ease at which he could navigate a crowd. Like he’d noted long before, ostracization had its advantages.

It came as a shock, then, when the footsteps he heard approaching behind him failed to pass him by. His humming stopped short as the two mages flanked him, a wary tension coiling in his chest as they kept pace, not breaking off or passing as everyone else always had before.

Aaron had almost convinced himself he was reading too far into the situation when the one to his right with the thermos piped up, looking like he’d been rehearsing his little proposition in the mirror all night. Aaron didn’t know whether to be surprised or suspicious, and settled on something in between, regarding the man with a questioning look. Him, Aaron “Retriever” Starag, intimidating? Max would get a laugh out of that. Maybe it really was the sword, though he hadn’t been able to carry Dawn in almost a month. It might be possible that someone of his pedigree could come off as a little unapproachable to mages of lower standing, but he’d have to admit the thought never really crossed his mind. Especially not lately, seeing as a Starag who didn’t serve royalty wasn’t all that much of a Starag at all. Or, so the Princess would apparently have him believe.

That thought soured his mood a bit, but he was too distracted by his bizarre and improbable situation to worry about it for the moment. This mage and his friend seemed to have been keeping an eye on him for a while—unless it was really just that obvious when he was on assignment, which was always—and he’d confess he wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or a little violated. Above all, it was frankly just surprising that anyone who wasn’t Varis paid any more attention to him than the occasional strange look or tawdry rumour—aside from Ralph, of course, who seemed to dedicate a downright flattering volume of time and energy to hating his guts.

“We’ve been interested in asking you over for a while!”

“Have you now?” Aaron couldn’t help himself, drawling sarcastically as he turned to the mage on his left. The poor guy looked like he wanted nothing to do with this, like he’d been dragged along on the thermos one’s adventure with little to no say in the matter. “I can tell.”

Turning back to the bouncy one, Aaron stopped walking, crossing his arms. “I don’t suppose Ralph put you up to this, did he?” he only half-joked. He wouldn’t put it past the frozen little prick to set him up for something humiliating after getting his ego bruised.

_{Feeling out the situation with Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Thermos}

Obscene's Scratchpad

Hider

With time to kill, Aaron had taken to aimlessly strolling around campus after his little ‘altercation’ with Ralph, a new and foreign spring in his step and mood significantly lifted after getting the douchebag so satisfyingly riled up. Maybe this was the feeling Max got when he sent the more shy of Eris’ badgering fans running. It’d certainly explain some things; just that short exchange had turned Aaron’s dour mood around so completely that he even found himself humming as he walked, a habit usually reserved for tough cello passages or the odd time Eris got a particularly insufferable pop song stuck in his head.

Campus was buzzing—right, the other students had been given the night off—but predictably, Aaron was left alone, exempt as he was from getting caught up in slow-walking crowds or accosted for stories from the practical. By now, he didn’t even bat an eye; in fact, he’d long stopped noticing the hush that tended to follow him or the ease at which he could navigate a crowd. Like he’d noted long before, ostracization had its advantages.

It came as a shock, then, when the footsteps he heard approaching behind him failed to pass him by. His humming stopped short as the two mages flanked him, a wary tension coiling in his chest as they kept pace, not breaking off or passing as everyone else always had before.

Aaron had almost convinced himself he was reading too far into the situation when the one to his right with the thermos piped up, looking like he’d been rehearsing his little proposition in the mirror all night. Aaron didn’t know whether to be surprised or suspicious, and settled on something in between, regarding the man with a questioning look. Him, Aaron “Retriever” Starag, intimidating? Max would get a laugh out of that. Maybe it really was the sword, though he hadn’t been able to carry Dawn in almost a month. It might be possible that someone of his pedigree could come off as a little unapproachable to mages of lower standing, but he’d have to admit the thought never really crossed his mind. Especially not lately, seeing as a Starag who didn’t serve royalty wasn’t all that much of a Starag at all. Or, so the Princess would apparently have him believe.

That thought soured his mood a bit, but he was too distracted by his bizarre and improbable situation to worry about it for the moment. This mage and his friend seemed to have been keeping an eye on him for a while—unless it was really just that obvious when he was on assignment, which was always—and he’d confess he wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or a little violated. Above all, it was frankly just surprising that anyone who wasn’t Varis paid any more attention to him than the occasional strange look or tawdry rumour—aside from Ralph, of course, who seemed to dedicate a downright flattering volume of time and energy to hating his guts.

“We’ve been interested in asking you over for a while!”

“Have you now?” Aaron couldn’t help himself, drawling sarcastically as he turned to the mage on his left. The poor guy looked like he wanted nothing to do with this, like he’d been dragged along on the thermos one’s adventure with little to no say in the matter. “I can tell.”

Turning back to the bouncy one, Aaron stopped walking, crossing his arms. “I don’t suppose Ralph put you up to this, did he?” he half-joked. He wouldn’t put it past the frozen little prick to set him up for something humiliating after getting his ego bruised.

_{Feeling out the situation with Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Goggles}

Final Fantasy Crystallum en Absentia

_{J’torha has one gold eye (left) and one red eye (right), a trait his tribe considered lucky. He generally dresses in brightly coloured, loose-fitting clothes that allow for plenty of movement and attractive flourish, and is fond of beads, bells, bangles - really anything that attracts attention to motion. One might notice his matching scars on either cheek, but they’re the one topic J’torha’s more likely to shy away from.}

Name

J’torha Tia

Race

Miqo’te - Seeker of the Sun

Age

23

Class

Dancer

Place of Origin

Fabul Desert

Personality

J’torha knows a little about a lot of things and a lot about little; plainly speaking, he’s not an expert at much outside of singing, dancing, flirting and making merry, unless you also count boring things like tribal hunting tactics or eking out an existence in the harsh Fabul desert. Generally happiest when all eyes are on him - even at his own expense - his airy confidence tends to stray into cockiness, and he doesn’t see much beyond the moment, often blind to the consequences of his hastily-decided actions. Like as not, that can end poorly when his urge to push the envelope overrides his common sense, but he offsets his occasional bad luck with an insufferable ‘could have been worse’ attitude, rarely taking much of anything seriously.

Backstory

J’torha had a relatively normal upbringing, as Fabul Seekers are concerned. Born into an average-sized nomadic tribe with a strong and level-headed nunh, J’torha spent his childhood roaming a long-established migratory path through the rough of the Fabul desert, stopping off at small outposts and settlements every now and then and hunting for food and other valuable trading materials in between.

As soon as he could walk, he was difficult to keep still; among other antics, he was notorious for running off in the direction of anything that caught his eye, danger or obstacles be damned. The letting-off of rambunctious energy that his mother prayed for as he grew never quite arrived, and even as a teen when he became as proficient a hunter as any of his sisters, his penchant for getting himself into trouble was a regular headache - both for his mother, and the nunh himself. Stopping off at outposts did nothing to curb his appetite for adventure, either; in fact, the only habit of his that changed with time was that he eventually stopped chasing mice and butterflies and started chasing comely maidens instead.

In the rare moments when he wasn’t letting his lower head do all the thinking, J’torha found himself entranced by performing. Whether it be watching a busker in a town they’d stopped off at, listening to a well-told story in a pub, or even regaling his own mother and sisters with stories and songs, J’torha couldn’t get enough. The eyes of spectators focused on him, the excited questions, the clapping, the showmanship - it was all intoxicating, enough to turn a teenaged Miqo’te into an insufferable showboat, eager to show anyone and everyone anything that might possibly draw out a reaction. Granted, it did have the side effect of turning an already devil-may-care teen into an outright daredevil, but in J’torha’s eyes, the risk was always worth the reward of a striking tale to tell.

Things changed quickly for him when he came of age. Striking out on his own shortly after his nameday with the ever-original goal of amassing his own harem and starting a new tribe, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that J’torha’s gotten a little… side-tracked. Filled as he is with wanderlust and finally free to pursue a life outside of hunting, he’s clamoured to every destination he could beg, borrow, or steal to get to and tried his hand at every skill, profession, and strange-look-attracting hobby that’s crossed his path. About a year into his wandering he was fortunate enough to cross paths with a dancing troupe, and after some negotiating, some flirting, and a little begging, he managed to convince them to take him on as an apprentice. He traveled with them for a while, quickly moving up the ranks from assistant to instrumentalist to dancer in his own right, and attracted spectators and coin alike with his performances (and if he could line his pockets a little thicker by obliging the wealthy lady eyeing him up from the back, all the better). But of course, once he’d acquired his skills and begun to sharpen them, his wanderlust could no longer be sated by routine troupe touring, and he struck out on his own again as a solo act, doing his best to learn new songs and dances to add to his repertoire in every locale he passed through.

Today he finds himself in Alexandria, chafing under the pressure of the newly-closed borders. Out of options to entertain himself stuck in one place and unwilling to give crossing out of the city illegally another go (as it turns out, that garrison’s a lot quicker than they look) he’s turned to the Hunter’s Guild as a last resort, hopeful he can shake a few hands and slay a few shrews and be out of the city by the end of the fortnight.

Obscene's Scratchpad

_{J’torha has one gold eye (left) and one red eye (right), a trait his tribe considered lucky. He generally dresses in brightly coloured, loose-fitting clothes that allow for plenty of movement and attractive flourish, and is fond of beads, bells, bangles - really anything that attracts attention to movement. One might notice his matching scars on either cheek, but they’re the one topic J’torha’s more likely to shy away from.}

Name

J’torha Tia

Race

Miqo’te - Seeker of the Sun

Age

23

Class

Dancer

Place of Origin

Fabul Desert

Personality

J’torha knows a little about a lot of things and a lot about little; plainly speaking, he’s not an expert at much outside of singing, dancing, flirting and making merry, unless you also count boring things like tribal hunting tactics or eking out an existence in the harsh Fabul desert. Generally happiest when all eyes are on him - even at his own expense - his airy confidence tends to stray into cockiness, and he doesn’t see much beyond the moment, often blind to the consequences of his hastily-decided actions. Like as not, that can end poorly when his urge to push the envelope overrides his common sense, but he offsets his occasional bad luck with an insufferable ‘could have been worse’ attitude, rarely taking much of anything seriously.

Backstory

J’torha had a relatively normal upbringing, as Fabul Seekers are concerned. Born into an average-sized nomadic tribe with a strong and level-headed nunh, J’torha spent his childhood roaming a long-established migratory path through the rough of the Fabul desert, stopping off at small outposts and settlements every now and then and hunting for food and other valuable trading materials in between.

As soon as he could walk, he was difficult to keep still; among other antics, he was notorious for running off in the direction of anything that caught his eye, danger or obstacles be damned. The letting-off of rambunctious energy that his mother prayed for as he grew never quite arrived, and even as a teen when he became as proficient a hunter as any of his sisters, his penchant for getting himself into trouble was a regular headache - both for his mother, and the nunh himself. Stopping off at outposts did nothing to curb his appetite for adventure, either; in fact, the only habit of his that changed with time was that he eventually stopped chasing mice and butterflies and started chasing comely maidens instead.

In the rare moments when he wasn’t letting his lower head do all the thinking, J’torha found himself entranced by performing. Whether it be watching a busker in a town they’d stopped off at, listening to a well-told story in a pub, or even regaling his own mother and sisters with stories and songs, J’torha couldn’t get enough. The eyes of spectators focused on him, the excited questions, the clapping, the showmanship - it was all intoxicating, enough to turn a teenaged Miqo’te into an insufferable showboat, eager to show anyone and everyone anything that might possibly draw out a reaction. Granted, it did have the side effect of turning an already devil-may-care teen into an outright daredevil, but in J’torha’s eyes, the risk was always worth the reward of a striking tale to tell.

Things changed quickly for him when he came of age. Striking out on his own shortly after his nameday with the ever-original goal of amassing his own harem and starting a new tribe, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that J’torha’s gotten a little… side-tracked. Filled as he is with wanderlust and finally free to pursue a life outside of hunting, he’s clamoured to every destination he could beg, borrow, or steal to get to and tried his hand at every skill, profession, and strange-look-attracting hobby that’s crossed his path. About a year into his wandering he was fortunate enough to cross paths with a dancing troupe, and after some negotiating, some flirting, and a little begging, he managed to convince them to take him on as an apprentice. He traveled with them for a while, quickly moving up the ranks from assistant to instrumentalist to dancer in his own right, and attracted spectators and coin alike with his performances (and if he could line his pockets a little thicker by obliging the wealthy lady eyeing him up from the back, all the better). But of course, once he’d acquired his skills and begun to sharpen them, his wanderlust could no longer be sated by routine troupe touring, and he struck out on his own again as a solo act, doing his best to learn new songs and dances to add to his repertoire in every locale he passed through.

Today he finds himself in Alexandria, chafing under the pressure of the newly-closed borders. Out of options to entertain himself stuck in one place and unwilling to give crossing out of the city illegally another go (as it turns out, that garrison’s a lot quicker than they look) he’s turned to the Hunter’s Guild as a last resort, hopeful he can shake a few hands and slay a few shrews and be out of the city by the end of the fortnight.

Obscene's Scratchpad

Name: J’torha Tia
Race: Miqo’te - Seeker of the Sun
Age: 25
Class: Dancer
Place of Origin: Fabul Desert
Personality:
Backstory:

Mitra J'torha
Blaike J'torha
Avaddon J'torha

Obscene's Scratchpad

Hider

Scion: Children of Light

@Dead Cruiser What are the accommodations inside the pyramids like, if we choose to board with them?

Scion: Children of Light

Radaam let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding as the Magus finally spoke, hardly a trace of his severe exterior tainting his attitude toward his students—for now, at least. He answered the Magus’ address with an acknowledging smile (which was probably weaker than he intended) and a nod, breaking away from the Sorcerer’s gaze with a few butterflies still settling in his stomach.

Khaemtir seemed none the worse for wear, if the strange attempt at a huddle was anything to go by. Being around the boy really was like trying to walk through tangled river grass, but at least he meant well. Judging by the game plan he laid out, it seemed that Khaemtir had impressed him into his little posse, but Radaam supposed he wasn’t one to refuse. There was really no need to be so skittish; no one was any different just because someone hung a chain of gold around their neck, and beyond that, they weren’t brickmaker’s son and aristocrat-in-the-making anymore. As soon as they donned their white cloaks, they were students, colleagues even. Hell, maybe even rivals, if that turned out to be the way of it. Even if this wasn’t his best school of magic, and even if Radaam wasn’t the most competitive type.

Banter over messengers aside—Radaam seriously doubted one could even find his home, and he wasn't eager to advertise it to his wealthy new acquaintances anyway—introducing his family to Khaemtir’s was a surprising prospect, but then again, it really probably shouldn't have been. Given the back-and-forth he had with his tutelary as he walked away, it was easy to guess that Khaemtir’s mother was probably the overbearing type. Fair enough; his own parents would probably be happy to speak with the families of his colleagues, and be even happier to hear he was actually making friends. Radaam never saw that as an issue—it wasn’t like he was a loner or anything—but his mother had often chided him about standing more like a statue in a room than a guest. Zahra had enough outgoing vigour for the both of them in his opinion, but this at least would assuage his mother’s concerns.

Speaking of which, he probably should find his parents. His mother was almost certainly on eggshells waiting for a chance to shower him in praise, and his father’d been beaming more than Radaam had ever seen when they left the house this morning. Radaam himself wasn’t sure how he felt about all the fawning, but it was only fair to give them their chance. His stomach was calming, too, which meant in the wake of upset, it was getting more demanding. Figuring sooner was wiser than later, he opted to dive into the crowd much like Khaemtir had done, looking out for his parents above the heads of the other banquet-goers and helping himself to some interesting-looking fruit along the way.

_{Striking out like a loner for the moment, reflecting on @Achronum’s antics.}

---

While Radaam struggled with his newfound popularity, a much smaller Esi skirted around between banquet-goers and wandering musicians, taking in the foreign sights, smells and sounds with wide eyes and an even wider grin. With Toruk wrapped around her arm and shoulder like a watchful (if easily distracted) guardian, Zahra practically bounced between the tables, snatching a taste of anything and everything that looked or smelled exotic, mindless of the looks of shock from people not expecting a stick of an arm covered in half-melted flesh to reach between them for confections.

Several scraps were thrown to cats loitering under tables in the process and Toruk was tossed more grapes than Radaam would ever allow him in a week, but it was unlikely anyone but the critters would notice; to Zahra’s eye, the bounty of the banquet was as endless as it was colourful, a parade of plenty the girl had scarcely ever seen. Not that she was accustomed to hunger, either—her parents always made sure there was enough to go around—but the sheer variety and scale impressed upon even a girl as young as herself that no expense could have been spared in the name of celebrating the young novices (or whatever they were called).

Toruk snuck into a satchel or two as they perused, Zahra rarely giving more than a giggle in response and waving for the snake to come back to her when it was time to stop being nosy and look around some more. Once or twice she spotted her parents through the crowd, but other than giving a wave, she always kept carefully out of reach. Short of making sure they were still around, Zahra had no intention of getting corralled back in so quickly; there was far too much exploring to be had! She’d never seen so many fancy people in such fancy clothes—the students in cloaks that shimmered like shiny white fish, women with hairstyles that looked impossible and dripped with gems, people with so much gold on their arms she could hardly believe they could still lift their cups—it was all so exciting! It was like they were from another land completely, like they’d come down from the shining silver tower she always saw in the distance and brought little pieces of it with them for decoration.

And that wasn’t all; the people didn’t just dress differently, but they looked different too! There was that scary-looking man that Radaam had gone to with hair and skin the colour of sour milk, and a woman near him with green hair! There were people with skin that was as light as sand and as dark as soot, and one with eyes that glowed like embers; it was like they were all painted figurines, each more outlandish than the last. But best of all were the animals. Radaam called them “tutors” or something and said that they weren’t real animals because they needed a sorcerer’s help to be born, but Zahra loved them all the same. It took all she could not to get hung up on each one, but then again, the next always seemed even more interesting!

As she scanned the crowd for what to look at next, Zahra’s eyes fell on a flash of… pink! At first she thought it was a hat or maybe a turban, but upon closer inspection, she was delighted to find it was a boy’s hair, and then even more delighted to see none other than a hawk sitting on his shoulder! In a cute little scarf no less! Eyes wide, Zahra snatched a piece of rarely-cooked meat from a table and bounded over to the pink-haired stranger, eyes on the hawk the whole way. Her neighbour the falconer could never get his bird to wear clothes; maybe this boy knew the secret.

Holding the meat up as high as she could in her free hand, Zahra quietly whistled to the bird, just as her neighbour had taught her. Impatient, she also tugged on the boy’s cloak much like she had Radaam’s, keeping her hand outstretched with the hawk's gift but beaming up at the boy when he turned.

“Are you a hawk family?” she asked the obvious question first, rocking on the balls of her feet.

_{Bothering @Scribe of Thoth}

Scion: Children of Light

It was good to see that Khaemtir’s tutelary took the invasion of privacy in stride, but in Radaam’s opinion, she was too accommodating. It would be a cold noon in Photep before Toruk learned to ask before he acted, and while his little forays were usually harmless, he needed to learn he couldn’t carry on however he pleased in the Pyramids of Heka like he could at Udebtekhat.

Snakes couldn’t quite emote, but Radaam couldn’t miss the smug twinkle in Toruk’s eye at the hippo’s comparatively gentle chastising. “Zahra has you spoiled,” Radaam muttered, releasing the viper to slither back up his arm and under his cloak.

He looked back up as Ishara spoke to Khaemtir like an old friend, nodding in acknowledgement to her greeting. Radaam could feel Toruk’s pleased squirming at the mention of her tutelary - or lack thereof - and while he didn’t share the viper’s vanity, he was just as surprised. He was pretty sure Khaemtir referred to Ishara as a ‘prodigy’ of Pesedjet, hadn’t he? Radaam had imagined the vaunted students of Pesedjet to excel in every way, and now to learn a ‘prodigy’ among them had been outdone by… well, him, left him even more confused than before. Sure, he was a bit ahead of his class at Udebtekhat, but he’d been led to believe Pesedjet was on a completely different plane.

Khaemtir spoke before Radaam could inquire further, and he realized the boy must have misunderstood him. That he’d call one of the most anticipated events of the year ‘reasonably sized’ sounded strange enough, but was he really not even a little awed at his acceptance itself? Actually, maybe not; it only later occurred to Radaam that a boy of his status might really not be surprised. As a graduate of Pesedjet with a family in high standing, he may very well have expected to be summoned by the best of the best.

That wasn’t much comfort as Khaemtir continued on about a world he didn’t recognize, though he had to admit some amusement at the ‘curse of aristocracy’. Radaam wasn’t ignorant enough to think that wealth did away with all problems, but he couldn’t help but inwardly smirk at the idea of aristocrats trudging through a hard day of talking and eating only to go home to talk and eat some more.

Khaemtir left to meet their new master, and Radaam was ready to follow when a tug on his cloak stole his attention. He turned to see Zahra, apparently having slipped their parents and looking uncharacteristically shyly up at him, though by the look of it the meek facade was just about ready to crack.

Crossing his arms, Radaam raised an eyebrow at her. “And just what do you want?”

Zahra’s expression contorted as she tried valiantly to hold her look, but in seconds her little battle was lost and her face split back into a smile. “Can I take Toruk to see the banquet? Please?” she asked eagerly, bouncing on the balls of her feet with her hands twined in front of her.

Radaam shook his head in mock disappointment. “You’re not even going to congratulate me first?”

“I congratulated you at home!” Zahra protested, though a laugh came soon after. “Da said if we repeat ourselves too much it’ll all go to your head.”

Raising an eyebrow, Radaam had to concede to a grin. “You should keep that in mind when you’re pampering Toruk,” he gently chastised, though he did oblige, outstretching his arm and allowing Toruk to slither readily onto Zahra’s. He’d admit he wasn’t sure about setting the viper loose on the banquet, but he was pretty attached to Zahra (as creatures were to those who fed them treats) and given how quickly he’d started causing trouble, maybe it was wise to have him a bit farther away from the Magi when they met. At any rate, he could summon him back if he needed him.

Zahra lit up, holding her arm out excitedly and giving a very pleased Toruk a kiss on the head. “Thank you thank you thank you!” she squealed, throwing her arms around Radaam’s waist before taking off back into the crowd. “I promise I won’t let him steal anything!”

Radaam’s smile turned pained at the sound of that, but he chose to believe she was exaggerating and instead turned to face the dais, eager to see how Magus Dagon handled Khaemtir before he approached himself.

_{@Achronum @Crusader Lord}