Grey

En'jer: Pharaohs of Egypt

Satiah's probably just gonna watch now that she sees what's happened with Amen, esp since Qar's already shown.

I could make her go back, just to make sure the suspicious old man and that priestess are holding up alright. That also works as something I can do. We can have the girls hang out and also want to hang each other.

En'jer: Pharaohs of Egypt

Clearly we should be suspicious of everyone because nobody can betray us if we expect everyone to betray us!

En'jer: Pharaohs of Egypt

Iaret smacks the victor over the back of the head. She is the Pharaoh now.

En'jer: Pharaohs of Egypt

we should totally all fight.

break out into a mass melee in the middle of the palace.

it's a team building exercise, we'll tell them as we slam weapons into each others' vital parts.

people will look on in horror, hoping for the safety of their nation, but when the dust settles, we will have known each other in the most shounen of ways.

and also probably be hospitalized for quite some time.

probably more than five hours.

En'jer: Pharaohs of Egypt

Satiah

Satiah shrugged off Nebet’s response. “Be that as it may, isn’t it better to just be out with it than to have some foreigner - no offense - whispering in his ears? Think of all the rumors, all the chaos that’d cause.” In a way she was speaking from experience. Though it was a bit different in this case. Khay was an old guy and she was a young lady so she could see where those came from; Zamonth was a big burly outlander with an exotic blade, so the potential reaction was a bit more obscure on that account. Maybe they’d think Amen went full Roman and got himself a male concubine. Or maybe they’d call him a spy and enemy of the state before executing him. She nodded to herself. Yes, that last one sounded far more logical.

It was at that point the pharaoh cleared his throat, and gave his firm adjudication. It was also around this point that the crusty old man decided to snipe at her. Satiah drew her hands up, and began counting on her fingers, figuring out where to place Architect Apple on her list if she eventually decided to go berserk. Somewhere between twenty-six and twenty-third, probably.

As she returned her hands to her robes, she heard something that brought a wry smile to her face.

“Well said,” Satiah nodded. The boy, for all his inexperience, at least seemed to have some degree of resolve if he was willing to lay down the law in that manner. It would be a shame to see such a thing washed away by the nuances of bureaucracy, but that was what she was here for, was it not? Besides, if his distaste for titles was indicative of anything, perhaps it wasn’t a lost cause after all. Not that she’d ever considered it one in the first place; anything was possible if you put enough effort into it, and she knew that very well. “Though I wouldn’t go around judging scrolls by their parchment.”

Yeah, she kind of wanted to deck the kid in the face. Just a little bit; not enough to permanently maim him or anything. Besides, though Satiah didn’t count herself as a blood knight by any means, rarely are people as honest - to themselves as much as others - as they are when they’re testing each other’s will on the field of battle; it would be like having a conversation without words, and more cathartic physicality to go around.

Although as much as her pride as a mortal demanded recompense, even without her furious focus she knew that would be suicide with five opponents - many clearly magi - arrayed against her, and not for anything particularly pressing either. The opportunity to pluck the big frog from his little pond and see what mettle the new pharaoh was made of would come in time, whether by her hand or someone else’s.

But first, applying speechcraft. Satiah followed the group into the attached study, and took a seat next to Nebet and across from Amen. Now Satiah was no stranger to giving speeches, but in her experience the reactions had been polarized demographically, save for when she tried to rally her men. In that same set of experience, though, she’d never had to write down her speech; it just came from within - a wholly honest proclamation. To have to sit down and formulate one was a new experience, and one that she would grow to disdain after the first exchange of statements.

Paying attention to Amen instead of the speakers, Satiah noted the signs of inattention and mental claustrophobia. It came as no surprise that he’d left when he did; she’d been in that position before, taking on the legacy of a father. Doubting, and all the turmoil that came with it. For now though, she would remain silent until the pharaoh had departed - though most definitely not for the reason he said. Then, once he was gone, she leaned forward in her seat, hood up, and began to speak.

“Question: are you sure you guys know what you’re doing?” Satiah asked it almost innocently, accompanying the rhetorical question with a sarcastic head tilt. “You’re not just writing a speech for a pharaoh; you’re writing a speech for Amen. Yes, I get it, he is young and inexperienced and needs to show everyone he’s a strong leader somehow and everything you’ve said isn’t wrong factually...but it is wrong in spirit.” She did a diametric gesture with her hands to accompany her explanation.

“Look, I agree with basically every point you’ve all said, I really do, but I think you’re going about it the wrong way. We were given three objectives.” She thrust a fist out and extended her index finger. “One: make it concise.” She extended the middle. “Two: make it insightful.” And finally, she extended her ring. “Three: make it ease concerns.” She lowered her hand. “First is easy, the third’s been covered more or less, but in my perspective, we’ve yet to touch the second, most important one. It’s fair to say that everyone here is invested in Amen’s success, yes?”

The robed vizier paused for effect.

“Exactly. This is the chance for everyone to know who Amen is, but what I’ve heard so far is a bunch of heartless politics." Going into this meeting, she didn't think she'd get so into it, but at some point this had become a matter of principle for her.

"Even worse than a liar is a puppet, because at least the liar is staying true to himself,” Satiah continued, unhesitatingly, “Look at the past; what you’ve got put down is just the same speech as last time and the time before, rewritten for a different pharaoh in a different time.” Satiah made purposeful eye contact with her compatriots. “Yeah, sure, okay, change is painful and frightening, but think about it this way: isn't the apathy of the kingdom is far worse? Change is like medicine: bitter, but required for healing. If the status quo is never switched up, everyone'll lose faith and hope and all the things that make people care, and Amen’s time as a ruler will have been over long before he’s given his rites and tossed in a crypt.” She shrugged. “But, hey, what worth is ruling anyway? Rulers will come and go, but a leader, a real leader? A person the people can look at and say ‘That is who I would follow into the jaws of Apep’? Now that is something to strive towards, but you don't usually get that by sticking to the rules.”

The not-so-humble attended leaned back and rested her hands in her lap, nearing the conclusion of her tangental rant. “Basically, don’t have him try to please everyone,” Satiah said, “Because it’s like wine and water; put ‘em together and all you get is a shitty drink. And anyhow, who should matter more: a bunch of shifty old men clinging to power before the Duat takes them, or the people he’s to serve? But whatever the case, his priorities in this speech should be his alone, not ours.”

Stretching her arms out and yawning, she pointed a thumb at Zamonth and added, “Though I don’t think I should be the one talking about conveying the values that live in Amen's heart.” After a short seated stretching exercise, she stood. “But anyway, that’s just my two silvers on this nonsense. I’m sure all you politically-minded folk can take it from here; so gonna go take a walk around the grounds in the meantime. I’ll be back before the five hours’re up; try not to forget what I said.”

And with that, Satiah left the stuffy room, and began hunting for the pharaoh.

Tokyo Ghoul ∑ [Reboot]

Takumi Minamoto - Kokoro
Third Ward, Sakura Clinic, Fourth Floor

---

“Okay then,” he nodded, looking back at Hana and then back to Miyako. Quieter, he said: “I’m Takumi and, for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re completely lying.”

For now, there was nothing Takumi could do but that - give words of encouragement and an introduction. But even though he’d said he believed her, there was a pervasive wrongness about Miyako, different from the wrongness surrounding Itsuki. A beating drum on the edge of perception, rather than a high tide that becomes a tempest. Nevertheless, he was inclined to believe her; she didn’t seem to be lying to him. At least not to his face. But the Garden wasn’t supposed to interview witnesses or gather evidence; they were supposed to assess the information, and clean up the mess.

And by his assessment, nothing she’d said necessarily contradicted anything he’d seen thus far; ergo, he would trust her for now.

Not that it particularly mattered; all of the responsibility of determining what was to happen fell on the shoulder’s of Hana, regardless of what he, personally, thought. It was her home, so it was only right that she be allowed to make the call for whatever happened. But although this was not the CCG by any respects, Takumi was feeling vaguely disgruntled, like an Investigator who’d just gotten their ownership rights redacted by a superior.

“Huh?”

From out of nowhere, Rin had decided to rest her head on Takumi’s shoulder, which turned his attention away and was very cute, but unpleasant in a very specific way.

He crinkled his nose at her stench in such close proximity. Still, he gently patted her on the head, and leaned against her in kind. “Oh. Hey Rin. Yeah that's fine. Just go ahead and take a nap now, because you...” Takumi said, before whispering conspiratorially in a tone firm and cheerfully stern. “...Are getting a shower later, even if I have to throw you there myself!”

He patted her on the head again, and let her slink off to rest in the back of the room. A momentary respite that he was sure she deserved. If not for anything she’d done earlier, then for what was to come later. Because that was almost as smelly as Itsuki, with none of the acceptable excuses he had.

Not that Itsuki would be any better off if Takumi had the authority to make it happen. Curses, to be a younger brother more self-conscious (not in that way) than the older one…! Maybe he could get Hana to help him out - call it a security issue or something.

Though that implied Itsuki was allowed to stay, but he’d been... acceptable. Too quick to kill, too much of a threat, but Takumi’s heart went out to the guy. If he was in the same situation - seeing his family all bloodied by a former enemy - he’d probably be the same way. He blinked a few times, and stared at the wallpaper.

’Maybe that family,’ he thought, before shaking even the barest concept of that thought from his head. There were other things he had to think about; that was not a top priority. That was one of his bottommost priorities at the time. He turned to the scene, where Hana was finally giving her adjudication on the most pressing issue at hand.

First sentence in, and Takumi figured that it could’ve gone worse. But it could also have gone a whole lot better. It was worrying, dismissing the girl’s words as outright lies, but he would wait, see, and hope for the best above all. The problem here was that he couldn’t find anything empirically wrong about what Hana had said. Miyako did, in fact, do all of those things. But she wasn’t in the right mind? No, the mind was different, subjective and unknowable. She could have been lying, but… Beh, this introspection wasn’t getting him anywhere. Continue watching.

And then he heard something which made his blood run cold, his breathing hitch, and a sudden deathly stillness pervade his being. But it wasn’t the fact that she’d mentioned the fact his own kin were hunting him. No, he’d gotten over that quickly - even if it hadn’t helped the issue. What got him was the diction, the word choice, the maddened rambling. And at that point, Takumi knew he had to speak.

“Hana,” he said with a surprising adamancy, even going so far as to omit the honorific, “I think you need to calm down. You’re getting a bit heavy on the absolutes there. If she’s anything like Itsuki, I’m sure she’s more capable than she seems.” He looked over his shoulder at Rin, Itsuki, and finally Hana, who seemed to him even madder than when she’d attacked Miyako. A thought in the back of his head realized comparing her to Itsuki was probably not the best decision, but he pushed that aside.

“...Besides people who dehumanize others and talk about masterpieces and pride and righting a corrupt world with science are usually the same that...” Takumi shook his head, his resolve vanishing as his urge to ignore the past grew. “Eugh. Sorry, sorry. Just... Yeah. It’s just rhetoric. Sorry. Don’t worry about me I’m... I’m good.” He didn’t want to think Hana was anything like that. She could see the path her intentions were leading her, right?

"Don't get me wrong I agree we should help her with her kakuja problem," he blurted, then pursed his lips, intent on staying silent until he could be silent no longer. Which was only a second or two.

“...But, ehh, I’m still worried. About you. You might go off the deep end if you start seeing ghouls and people as tools, and it’s just revenge in general isn’t a super good motivation insofar as reasons for helping others goes,” he warned, nervously wringing his hands together. He suddenly raised his hands up, trying to just move past it all with nary a breath in his lungs. “Okay. Ignore. Dropping the issue now. Dropping the issue. Your house. Hotel. Clinic. Your rules.”

He paused, realizing the greater meaning behind her statement, just as he tried to cast it from his mind.

“Wait a sec... Does that mean we’re keeping her around? Does that mean we’re helping her with her problem, too?” he looked to the girl, “Erm. What is your problem?” He realized the connotations behind that statement, and began backpedaling immediately. “What I mean to say is: what is the problem by which you attempted to go here to find help for? Because that’s important, yeah?"

En'jer: Pharaohs of Egypt

Satiah

The flames flickered, casting shadows upon the sandstone walls and their golden adornments. Concealed beneath the edge of a darkened hood, eyes of clay, imperceptibly inattentive, watched the shadows dance. Unconcerned with the trivialities of this ceremony or the impending political drivel, Satiah’s disciplined mind wandered on a flight of fancy, shaping the amorphous blobs within the mind's eye into something more entertaining:

Animal shapes.

Like that one, the one cast by the young priestess, whose loose sleeves and long, smooth hair made her silhouette look vaguely like a bird. Or that of the physician’s, whose satchel and stave evoked the ears and trunk of an elephant, if you squinted hard enough. Satiah’s own shape was far less dramatic; the tall mass of robery evoked a mountain or a blob - nothing as striking as a beast. A decent set-piece for the imaginary, makeshift play that was forming in her mind.

From deep within her robes, a hand emerged, index finger tucked, thumb and pinky spread - a perfect canine shadow puppet to accompany the other players. As they began making their way towards a different chamber, led there by the ex-concubine Iaret, Satiah bobbed and turned her hand, filling her mind with fake, poorly characterized dialogue as the shadows played out.

This did not stop when they entered the boy pharaoh’s chambers, but it did stop when that stuffy old architect - whose shadow had been cast as a cobra in her little puppet show - slithered towards the teen, to use his snake tongue to hiss a purposefully crafted introduction, and a politically-minded warning against the influence of others. Satiah frowned and shook her head. Those damned courtiers, always trying to do something or another to move themselves up in the world. It wasn’t anything unexpected, granted, but it was annoying nonetheless - the guy didn’t even introduce himself first!

But before anything could be said, Satiah felt the thumping of heavy feet and a new shadow cast upon the stone. A big fellow, easily bigger than her, whose blade jutted out like the fin of a shark. By his statements, Satiah determined that that was an apt assessment - at least more apt than comparing the physician to an elephant head, and the priestess of Anubis to a bird. Despite his intimidating form however, she didn't find any need to confront him outright. Rather, the exact opposite. Simply put, the arrival of the shark - Zamonth - was adding spice to this droll conference. Where there seemed to be a hopelessly routine progression of events, there was now a deviation, a conflict. And if there was anything about conflict, it bred character - or so she'd been taught. As a result, the strategist decided against interfering, and instead silently watched it unfold, getting a good grasp of the people gathered around her. Then, when all had settled, for the first time all day, sound came from the military vizier:

“Pfft.”

Satiah shuddered with stifled laughter, loose robes shifting with each chuckle. “You all speak so timidly; you really are suited to be viziers,” she commented. Her tone was blithe and unyielding, an utterly shameless vulgarity ill fit for the lips of someone in such a position. “You know, it’s a poor adviser who can’t speak their mind. Just tell Architect Apple that he’s being an asshole and that he should suck it up and let the big the guy into our little club. At least he has a backbone.” A single hand came out, gesturing to Amenhotep. “The boy clearly wants to - not that the large one is letting up - and it isn’t us that makes the rules around here.”

For some reason, that last phrase sounded a bit more forceful in tone.

“But whatever happens, happens. Just make sure you do it without reservation, kid.” Satiah pulled her hood down. Notably, she didn't bow, but instead gave a little wave before tucking her hands back into her robes. “I’m Satiah, a former slave representing the affairs of the military in your court. Don’t let the title mislead you - I’ve done plenty of militarying in my day, and you’ll find my platoon has a pretty high survival rate,” she puffed her chest out proudly. “I’m here to make sure your army and navy are in top shape, your populace is well-attended to, and that nobody walks in, kills you in your sleep, and starts their own dictatorial rule.”

That middle one wasn’t official in any respect of the word, but Amenhotep wouldn’t know that. Besides, with all these viziers focused on laws and gods and pretty buildings, someone had to promote the interests of the people this nation was built upon.

"I would also like to point out that your friend’s assumptions about my combat performance are flawed and that I am more than capable of teaching or sparring with you, or beating a desert monster into submission before it-” She air-quoted the next part. “-‘drags me into the Nile River, drowns me and devours my limbs while I scream and choke’ which is quite hard if I'd already drowned, but that's not the point."

En'jer: Pharaohs of Egypt

Alrighty looks like a good start already. Just gonna finish up dinner and work on a post.

Fire Embem: Arise

Cassio's a drama queen yeah.

Fire Embem: Arise

Cassio
Sacred Temple Ignis / @BlazeGamma@AluminumDude

---

Cassio stared into empty space, lost in thoughts and completely, utterly alone.

(This was, of course, disregarding the two others who had been transported to the temple with him, but they were basically dead, laying around in some ancient ruin like corpses, so it was okay.)

They say that the first stage of grief is denial. Cassio had seen it in the bearing of amputee soldiers, consigned to a life of hopeless peasantry. He’d seen it in the eyes of widows, their lovers too frail to save. And now, for the first time, he understood it cerebrally, but not yet literally. That ill-tempered old hag couldn’t have gone down so easily. Cassio wouldn’t allow such a thing; he was the one who was supposed to be the end of her, not some asshole with a mask, questionable facial hair, and a retinue of fools and his kinsmen. This had truly been a terrible day, to say the least, and now he was in this strange land with nobody to accompany him.

(One of the bodies in his peripheral cried out and began to move on his own in very un-corpse-like fashion, but that was besides the point.)

Indeed, a wholly unpleasant feeling this was, to be alone. Not even his horse was here to accompany him on this perilous journey! The poor thing was probably having a terrible time at the hands of some uncivilized insurgent, manning her reigns with such brutish incompetence. Perhaps it would die. Perhaps he would die, and some measure of karmic balance return to this lonely world.

(He registered that one move over to the other, shaking her awake, but Cassio was content to pretend that didn’t happen. They may have not been dead, but philosophically speaking, were they not all simply walking dead?)

Unfortunately, in the midst of wallowing in self-pity, a shadow crossed him. Not the spectre of death, but that fiery haired gent, who was trying to touch him.

“Nonono. By the gods, that’s all wrong; clean yourself before you handle a body,” Cassio raised a finger, conveying his sobriety and stopping Aaron from shaking him awake, “If I were injured I may have caught some ancient disease from the stones of this redundant and ostentatiously named temple.”

The horseless troubadour got to his feet and dusted himself off. Then he picked up the twin staves laying at his side: Heal and Freeze.

“Now that we’ve established equal lucidity and proper first-aid conduct, let us find this artifact that our adulterous king was so kind to send us off for,” he tapped one of his staves against the ground, “Then we can get to the fun stuff: murdering, torturing, or otherwise inflicting grievous bodily harm on some insurgents. My staves want blood! ...But not in the usual fashion."