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

[shegypt]

[ 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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[shegypt]

[ In the face of this incontrovertible proof, the mighty thief heaves....

A sigh. Not a sigh of defeat. The sigh a scribe might sigh when dealing with an uneducated laborer. One cannot expect the other, given their position in life, to operate upon the same plane, and yet - interaction proves tiring. ]

And that's why I'm sayin' the trap's in your head.....

[ Dipping her hands down beneath the water, she tries to hoist Atem up in her arms. Fine. Okay. She will do this the brutal way, the way she'd always kinda figured she would, because she's gonna scream if she keeps it to herself much longer. ] Close yer eyes.