digipara | killing is overwhelming; dying might just be your thing (rule 63 bakuratem)

killing is overwhelming; dying might just be your thing (rule 63 bakuratem)

[ New moons are Bakura's favorites.

How could they not be? Less light, less sense of being watched over by something ineffable and yet uncaring. And so reliably they appear, cycling through the sky, faithfully permitting the people to mark their calendars by them - as if something regular is, by its mere ordinariness, made more worthy of enshrining.

Bakura sees things differently. The moon always returns, yes. But, like an egg swallowed by a snake, it always disappears, too.

She reappears in the capital, in the palace, on a very special new moon indeed. With all she's learned on her...pilgrimage...it's easy to infiltrate, now, for not even the guards notice the Beautiful Festival of the Valley has obtained a guest who, if not uninvited, was unexpected. After all, what is there to see? One more supplicant, hood up, flowers held in one jeweled hand. If she slouches over she might even trick people into seeing someone other than herself, someone who isn't out of place in a shendyt. She's not built to Egyptian beauty standards, and besides, she likes her new red coat.

Nothing's changed here. She hadn't expected it to. People are still getting drunk off their asses in the name of holiness; people with more power are still trying to figure out how to snatch it from people with less. The boy people once had tried to get Bakura to befriend - let the foundlings stick together! - until he proved to be such a pompous ass she tried to drown him in the lily pond is, true to the stick that's been up his butt since birth, lecturing some peon or other on propriety. Being scolded by the old man who's taken him under his wing.

Bakura is going to kill that old man last.

No, her target is elsewhere, will be somewhere there's no clamor, because she's all about duty now, isn't she, duty and honor and family and nobility, and it's a good thing Bakura hasn't eaten yet because she just might retch (psyche, she thinks it's funny, but in a fashion that makes her want to break shit, which is how most of Bakura's humor goes nowadays). So with that in mind -

Ah. There. Cornered by the administrators who review the year's taxes, doing business even on a holy day, how terrible, surely someone must rescue this captive Princess. Bakura tosses the flowers she's holding onto someone's memorial - she doesn't even know who; these aren't for them, anyway - and slips around from the back.

She's tall for a woman. And the Princess is short. ]

Barley tithes and goatskins! Now this is a party.

[ Her grin is feral, crooked on one side. Nearly slashed through by a scar she hadn't been sporting when she'd snuck out of this very palace, an eternity and yet no time at all ago.

When she sees the administrator's face spasm like he's trying not to notice curdled cheese, it's like she never left! ]

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Got you.

[ It's a purr near Atem's face, close enough to tickle the Royal Ear.

She also tries to step lightly on Atem's foot while she's got the other girl off-balance, just to prove a point. ]

[Shit.

Atem feels like she's just swallowed a hot coal. Warmth starts in her face, then drops down low in her stomach, like a bolt of lighting from the sky to the ground. Only, instead of lightning, it doesn't disappear, it stays there, and, like a fool, her foot gets stepped on. Her shoe's dirty now, she notices distantly, followed by the thought, I've had enough wine. I've become drunk. Her pride stings, and it is much too warm in here.]

You--

[Get it t o g e t h e r. Step 1: pull away! Get distance, to get a clear head! Ankhsunatem leans back, making a polite attempt to get out of the hold. With a burning face, and a smile she puts on that she hopes is gracious, Atem concedes, closing her eyes so her lashes brush the dark paint around them.]

The round goes to you.

H-heh!

[ Bakura snorts, claps Atem on the back before letting her go. ] You're gettin' soft. Do you want the tomb to shut behind you?!

[ Wow, she hasn't said that since....since she was five. Had almost forgotten about it, until being in old, familiar haunts sparked old, familiar memories...

Pfft. Haunts. She's a riot, and only she will ever know. ]

[She lossttttt, ughhhh, she lost and she's sweating and creeping hot embarrassment is crawling across her cheeks, not to mention over her skin everywhere she's been touched.

Atem folds her arms -- it is absolutely a protective wrapping-arms-around-yourself self-soothe disguised as closed-off body language, it's not as powerful as she'd like to make it look -- and shuts her eyes. She'll accept it with grace, with dignity befitting her station. After all, she's not the Pharaoh; she won't win every time.]

I did warn you I was an out of practice dancer.

[Stop flushing. The flush is just the wine. That's it.

She needs to go lie down somewhere cool. Maybe the gardens, the ones her apartments open onto -- there's an artificial pond dug there that sounds very good right now.]

I didn't mean the dancing.

[ Oh, poor Princess, you are so undone by one widdle loss, you pitiful thing! Do you need your close childhood companion to assist you?

Bakura steals (hah! ...no, she will not stop finding herself funny, if you can't laugh at the world it might as well just crush you) a glance around. Everyone is trying not to notice them. Trying not to kick up a fuss. Well, fuck all that. ]

I'm already bored. Let's split, darling damsel.

[ She offers an arm for Atem to support herself against, playing up this whole "being a Princess makes you useless" thing. Needle that pride. Needle it. That face....that expression...

Bakura craves more. ]

[Atem likes to win wherever she can. It's very nearly caused some international diplomatic incidents, when an Amurrite or Hittite person of note thought they could outplay her, out-ride her, out-shoot her, and wagers were made, and she didn't hold back. Of all the medicines she's ever swallowed, her own pride is the most hateful thing, and Atem's forced to do it for the sake of others' status far more often than she likes.

She didn't even throw this one because her father told her to!!!

So, Bakura's supporting arm is rejected. Atem leans away!]

I'm not that drunk.

[And she was going to leave without Bakura. Get some space, clear her head of the wine, lick what's not a wound so much as an unpleasant scratch, and stop feeling so jittery. But...it really is just a scratch, and Bakura's back after so long -- does Atem really want to end the reunion just yet? She's being silly. Yes, of course it's okay if Bakura comes with her.]

But, yes...let's go. It's much too warm in here.

[She's going to step through the courtiers and officials and priests and partiers, headed for the door.]

Of course.

[ Grinning like a jackal, Bakura bows to the royal command. Which does not stop her from grabbing another decanter of wine with one hand and an entire basket of bread with another.

She smirks at the servants while she does so. ]

Priestess's prerogative. We're gonna make an offering.

[ To the god that is Bakura, King of Thieves, that is.

Anyway, where you headed, Your Ladyshipfulness? ]

[Out into the courtyard. Being in the open air is already an improvement; the sun's down, and night isn't normally Atem's favorite time, but she appreciates the cool air on her face, cutting easily through the light linen she wears. She pauses, just a moment, to let the flush fade a little bit, to take in the night-sounds and look up at what stars can be seen in spite of the torches and braziers lit at intervals. There's a lot of them, since there's no moon tonight.

Whew. She's glad to be out of that party.

It would have been more proper to stick around longer, but...she wasn't having fun, anyway. No sooner had the last name on the ancestral record left her lips then she was accosted about temple business...

On the other side of this courtyard is the part of the palace that's closed off to everyone but the royal family, separated by a wall that has a high balcony and windows for public appearances, and one door with two guards to keep anyone who doesn't belong out. The Pharaoh lives here, when he stays in this palace, and so do all present wives and daughters. That's their destination, but Atem's gonna take a second here to breathe air that's not so close, that's not been full of people for hours and collect herself. She's clearly got her eye on the guarded door, though; it's apparent that they're headed for home.]

[ Oh, we're running. Bakura sees how it is. Back to a world of safety, of no scrutiny; back to the coddled cradle. And yet...There's a pause. A delay. Second thoughts, Highness? Realizing the view's sharper, out here?

She takes advantage of Atem's dawdling to catch up, thrusting the basket of bread at the other woman. ] Eat up. Can't drink on an empty stomach.

[ Unless you are, apparently, named "Bakura", because she takes another swig of wine. Homecomings, to a place that was never home....

....Atem got pretty, while Bakura was away. She almost wants to say "Atem grew up", but, it is against the righteous order of things to lie. "Up" is not a direction in which Akhnamkhanon's daughter has ever grown. Just...within. There's a weight to that gaze now.

Bakura wants to feel it pressing down on her, and then, to crush it right back. ]

...thanks.

[She takes it, pulls a piece out, and rips a mouthful off with her teeth. This is how Atem's always chewed her bread: not even palace food can completely avoid getting grit in it, so she breaks it off in hunks and works it gently in her mouth. When she's got two hands free, she'll do it much more delicately with her fingers, but with the basket occupying one, it's just, bread ripping time.

It's probably because Bakura is here that Atem keeps thinking about the time they ran a gauntlet through the traps in an old nobleman's tomb, just to see if they could. If Atem's slowed down enough that Bakura can step on her foot, she'd probably be dead if she tried it now. The tomb door closing behind her, indeed.

Bakura's out there having adventures, staying sharp, only getting stronger, and Atem's dealing with petty squabbles over granary measurements and reciting the same prayers over and over and over to gods whose statues look dead to her, without the excuse of youth anymore to explain outbursts and challenges and bad behavior and pride. Is this it? Is this how it's going to be, until she becomes the wife of the next pharaoh? If she gets too old to be a good prospect, this very likely could be her life until she dies. Empty prayers to dead stone and audit reports.

Ugh.]

I see it isn't stopping you!

[She pulls a loaf of bread out of the basket and presses it to Bakura's chest, near the collarbone. Take it or leave it, beloved companion.]

Here, a cut of the spoils. We're going to the gardens, to get in the water. I need to wash the air in there off of me.

[ Bakura never refuses food. She shifts the basket and snatches up the bread, tearing off her own hunk - using her back teeth to rip, instead of the front. The result is somewhat bestial, but, whatever, she doesn't give a shit. ]

Aren't we persnickety.

[ Not that she doesn't get it, on some level. Awful party. Fucking terrible. Full of boring people doing boring things because the boring traditions told them they boring should. People who accept the "natural order".

People who don't get there's nothing natural about it. ]

Edited 2021-11-02 11:15 (UTC)

I've been breathing bad air!

[She heads off in the direction of the door through the private-palace wall, her heavier cloak billowing behind her, the white linen of her dress floating around her ankles. The guards to either side of the door don't question her, even with her guest. The stone gives way to a courtyard, filled with trees and plants, blending in with the plants and animals painted in vibrant color on the stone walls. In the very middle is a pond, and it's this that Atem heads for. She drops her purple cape beside its edge, hikes up her skirts, and wades in, step by careful step.

Doors leading to apartments are closed at intervals along the painted walls; they're all closed and quiet, with no lamplight behind them. Atem and Bakura left the party early.]

Like you know what that is.

[ It's a grumble. So low she doubts Atem can hear it, especially with her hanging slightly back to lope at a pace she sets, not the one set by Her Majesteriness.

And when she sees Atem being all cautious with the pond.....H-heh. Maybe she's already drunk. Or maybe this is her childhood friend, and she may as well be a child when she can, before what needs doing rips everything apart, even if Bakura will miss none of it, except maybe for herself, because she highly doubts she's gonna make it out of what she plans unscathed.

Really, she's avenging herself, too. Avenging the life she lost in a village of people like her, people undaunted by locked doors and bad air. ]

Wha-hooooo!!!

[ All of this is to say that Bakura puts down everything she's carrying and jumps into the damn pond. If she happens to splash the Princess, OOPS! ]

[Oh, it hits the princess, all right. She was in the water up to her thighs, and the water that doesn't swell up to her waist is splashed in her face and hair.

She's not completely soaked, but very nearly. Her hair, which has been Like That since the ruling Pharaoh took the Millennium Puzzle away from her when she'd borrowed it as a child, doesn't go flat -- but the front-pieces cling to her face, and her eye makeup smears all the way down her cheeks. She's still for a moment, in mild shock.]

You....!

[And then, swinging her arm through the water in a wide arc, Atem splashes as much water as she can muster up directly into Bakura's face.]

[ Bakura doesn't even try to dodge this assault. She lets it splatter all over her face, laughing. ]

H-hahahahahaha!!!!!!

[ - Shit, some of it went up her nose -

She snorts, and shaking her head out like a dog to get the drops out of her eyes, backhands a wave back towards Atem. DOWN WITH THE MONARCHY!

Splash fight? ]

[This time, Atem gets her arm up in time to shield her face. The gauntlet's been thrown. The lots have been cast.

Splash fight.

It is messy, silly, and makes a lot of noise; it's a good thing no one's trying to sleep in the apartments around the courtyard. The sounds Atem makes are grunts of effort as she gives it her all, cries of horror as water goes into her nose or ears, or laughter -- at a well-placed splash on either side, or just the absurdity of it all. She's going to fight until she's tired out, and her muscles give way; if Bakura keeps it up, Atem will start to slow down, being the one of the two with less physical endurance.]

[ Oh, Bakura is so keeping it up - and when she thinks she sees her opponent faltering, tired from laughter and giddiness and the relief of not being at that stupid party any more, perhaps of being Atem and not the High Priestess anymore - she pounces, aiming to tackle Atem down into the water.

It would be so easy, she realizes. So easy, while Atem's guard is down like this, and she's having fun. Bakura wouldn't even have to bring out Diabound. Just hold her down, keep holding her down, and -

But it wouldn't be enough. Wouldn't make up for everything she's learned, everything she's remembered. Her people have suffered for fifteen years. She's not about to let their tormentors off easy with a single night.

Not about to let Atem slip away before Bakura's stolen all of her.

So she shoves Atem down into the water, and grins at her through it, Bakura in the air with Atem's sight blurred, Bakura the one who can see clearly - but once she's made her point, she'll let the Princess up. And keep staring at her. And grinning.

In her exhilaration, she even looks fond. ]

[She doesn't have enough air. Atem's muscles are already burning when Bakura pushes her down and holds her under, and she breathes out half her air in surprise when Bakura doesn't let her back up.

What? What's she doing? Surely this isn't a murder attempt. Bakura wouldn't. They're friends. This is a joke, surely...

(Drowning's a cursed way to go. Usually, it's in the Nile. Fall into the wrong part, and your body is lost forever, impossible to preserve, part of the teeming masses that rely on the charity of Hathor to cling to any kind of existence in eternity.)

But Atem's body wouldn't be lost, if she died here. She'd be found, and it'd be clear what had happened. This has to be a joke. Bakura will let her up.

She kicks, hard, at Bakura's shin, with the last strength in her muscles, a flash of temper more than a real struggle for her life. It may or may not actually connect.

--and then she's up, gasping for air, coughing the pondwater out of her nose and throat, feeling like someone's stuck a poker up there and scrambled her brains. Atem squints at Bakura, wearing that stupid, affectionate look.]

You're not -- koff koff! -- not very funny.

[ Bakura points at Atem. ] Wrong. I'm hilarious. It's your judgment that sucks.

[ Never mind the whole living embodiment of ma'at thing. The only royal verdict that matters is the King of Thieves'.

She lounges against the side of the pond, not letting up on her stare. Even the finest cloth the Two Lands have to offer can't keep itself from clinging all over a short stack gone for a dip, huh. Weird to think that this tiny stick of a Princess, with her little round head and her littler rounder breasts and her outsized pout, carries that much fire within her.

Time to plunder it. ]

I've been gone too long if you're losing your sense of humor.

[Her nasal cavities are still burning, her makeup is running down her face, and she feels like she's spit up half the pool, and Bakura is still staring at her. Atem doesn't feel particularly ashamed of her linen's state; a fine weave means translucence, it's not a secret what her tits look like, and she and Bakura have bathed together plenty, but for some reason, that stare feels like sun on skin that's been out of the shade too long already. It puts heat under her flesh the same way wine does, and Ankhsunatem sinks down into the pond to douse it, all the way down to her chin. The cool water does exactly what she was hoping it would do when she left the party; this is better, this is good.

The pout, though, goes nowhere, as immovable as Atem's need to have the last word. Her eyes flick over to Bakura, sullenly noting the effortlessness, the power in her build. Unfair, that Bakura can have both. That she can be born a woman, and go where she likes, and have that kind of strength, as well as the clever nimbleness that let her get through tombs when they were small.]

My sense of humor's fine. It's your jokes that are bad!

[She's put out, but not truly angry. The water's relaxing. Now that her head's not under the surface, she feels safe in it, held by it, her dress floating around her like an underwater plant.]

Now you're just recursive.

[ Which, this smile implies, she's going to take as another victory.

Bakura reaches for the wine, still in grabbing distance on the shore, and takes a swig. Wades over to offer it to Atem. ]

Drink up. You'll get cold.

[ Heavens forbid the most important woman in the Two Lands so much as shiver in discomfort. ]

Everything's recursive.

[She takes the wine. The jug half-sinks in the water in front of her, so that Atem can tip it into her mouth without raising herself from the water, her chin so low the ripples lap at it. Her voice echoes inside the jug.]

Days and nights and years and regencies, it's all the same, over and over and over.

[Every year, the same festivals. Every year, performing the same rituals, asking the gods to bless the flood and growing and harvest, knowing the metal bodies of the gods are cold and hollow and false. The same kings, the same living Horus, born and dead and born again from himself. She's a part of the cycle, too. She'll be married to the next king, unless she's already too old by the time her father dies and retires to the priesthood instead, just like what would have happened if she'd been born twenty years earlier, or forty, or sixty.

She takes a gulp of wine with a glug.]

I envy you.

Hrmph.

[ Dampen down the ire at that - it's the intended response from the target, can't let the grudge get in its own way! - play it calm, play it cool, set the trap. Bakura runs a hand through her hair, wet bangs spiking and separating and highlighting her scar. You know, the proof she's seen shit, and Atem hasn't? What a coincidence.

...Damn, it would have been fun to have Atem along for that adventure; the real Atem, the Atem she's hoping to let loose before even that Atem has to die for the sins of her father, her father and the whole fucking dynasty. The Atem to whom a curse is a challenge to crack, to whom the world is a game. The stakes are higher than that Atem can imagine, but damn, does she have fun!

Funny Atem, who believes the world is just. Who wants to do the right thing.

Perhaps the right thing will be turning on her own father, once she knows. Ah....It's not the chill night air that gives Bakura a shiver.

Bakura sidles closer, offering body heat in this trying time. Offering a soft murmur, a shoulder to vent on, an escape. ]

D'you know the real difference between me an' you?

[Atem's response is dry, but not as dry as she'd like it to be. It's meant to be Saharan, but the quiet, intimate mood, her own inebriated honesty, and the low-volume tone she takes due to the proximity make it land softer, friendlier.]

Shirts?

[The water's warmer coming from around Bakura. Now that Ankhsunatem's cooled off, it feels nice. The closeness feels nice. The seriousness, for as long as it lasts, does too. Bakura really was missed, by her, if by no one else.]

[ The remark gets half a smirk, and a fleeting (and unexamined) thought that perhaps garments, too, are something of which the King of Thieves should divest her target. One step at a time. ]

This.

[ Her thumb now strokes the noble hairline, along where the crown of the Two Lands would one day sit, were the Princess a Prince. ]

You've let them build a trap in your mind.

[ Her thumb trails down, tracing the life pulsing in along Atem's neck. There's another spot it would be so easy to press, and - but no. Not yet.

Savor. ]

I can spring you.

killing is overwhelming; dying might just be your thing (rule 63 bakuratem)

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gets tagblocked, then listens to one (1) rica line and is suddenly fine

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