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Helping out her parents in the market was a daily chore Gwyneth did, but it wasn't so much a chore insomuch as it was a duty. Afterall, even though she was tired at the end of the day, she got the money and food on the table. Back when she had been younger and her mother had been around, Gwyneth was more there as a placeholder, a place where her parents could watch her and her sister as they did their job everyday. While neither her nor Ayala got a formal education, what they did learn was how to be very savvy with buying and selling, when and how to hardline it when a customer was trying to bargain too much, and the most efficient way to sell their wares, or to pick a spot in the merchant's square.
With her mother now gone and her sister working for the Jaffe Bayith however, Gwyneth has had to play a far more active role in helping her father, and as Valence grew older, it was now Gwyneth's turn to be the active one behind the scenes in stocking and rearranging the stock, while her father mostly dealt with customers and communication. It had been difficult at first when Qiana had just passed on, for Gwyneth had been twelve and barely of an age to know how to help her father, but as she grew up, she was quite efficient now.
Still though, she was but fifteen and her concentration was limited. Especially on market day.
Market day was everyday technically, but market day in particular, was one day a month when many of the ships from other kingdoms seem to port in the same span of a week, and many of the people from Lands Afar come peddling their wares. Not that Gwyneth could afford much of it, they could barely afford their evening meal between the little coin they made as a merchant selling fresh produce, and the money her sister sent back regularly, but it didn't hurt to look, did it?
Noticing her curiosity, Valence eventually waved Gwyneth away as the crowds that was looking at their wares ebbed. By now as the sun began to go lower, her father would be packing up their store. They packed up earlier then many others, for they had to return to plow the small field behind the house and ensure they harvest what was to be sold on the morrow, but her father recognized the eagerness in young Gwyneth, and nodded when she finally asked if she could go see.
In her simple outfit of serviceable brown, the young brunette was unremarkable as she wandered the streets, holding her sheer white headscarf around her head, but her eyes sparkled with wonderment as she was awash with the yells of many people, their voice and intonation tinged with foreign tunes as they peddled their wares. Mesmerizing trinkets of colors Gwyneth had never seen before, cloth that seemed to be made of light itself.... would she even, ever get the chance to touch one?
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Helping out her parents in the market was a daily chore Gwyneth did, but it wasn't so much a chore insomuch as it was a duty. Afterall, even though she was tired at the end of the day, she got the money and food on the table. Back when she had been younger and her mother had been around, Gwyneth was more there as a placeholder, a place where her parents could watch her and her sister as they did their job everyday. While neither her nor Ayala got a formal education, what they did learn was how to be very savvy with buying and selling, when and how to hardline it when a customer was trying to bargain too much, and the most efficient way to sell their wares, or to pick a spot in the merchant's square.
With her mother now gone and her sister working for the Jaffe Bayith however, Gwyneth has had to play a far more active role in helping her father, and as Valence grew older, it was now Gwyneth's turn to be the active one behind the scenes in stocking and rearranging the stock, while her father mostly dealt with customers and communication. It had been difficult at first when Qiana had just passed on, for Gwyneth had been twelve and barely of an age to know how to help her father, but as she grew up, she was quite efficient now.
Still though, she was but fifteen and her concentration was limited. Especially on market day.
Market day was everyday technically, but market day in particular, was one day a month when many of the ships from other kingdoms seem to port in the same span of a week, and many of the people from Lands Afar come peddling their wares. Not that Gwyneth could afford much of it, they could barely afford their evening meal between the little coin they made as a merchant selling fresh produce, and the money her sister sent back regularly, but it didn't hurt to look, did it?
Noticing her curiosity, Valence eventually waved Gwyneth away as the crowds that was looking at their wares ebbed. By now as the sun began to go lower, her father would be packing up their store. They packed up earlier then many others, for they had to return to plow the small field behind the house and ensure they harvest what was to be sold on the morrow, but her father recognized the eagerness in young Gwyneth, and nodded when she finally asked if she could go see.
In her simple outfit of serviceable brown, the young brunette was unremarkable as she wandered the streets, holding her sheer white headscarf around her head, but her eyes sparkled with wonderment as she was awash with the yells of many people, their voice and intonation tinged with foreign tunes as they peddled their wares. Mesmerizing trinkets of colors Gwyneth had never seen before, cloth that seemed to be made of light itself.... would she even, ever get the chance to touch one?
Helping out her parents in the market was a daily chore Gwyneth did, but it wasn't so much a chore insomuch as it was a duty. Afterall, even though she was tired at the end of the day, she got the money and food on the table. Back when she had been younger and her mother had been around, Gwyneth was more there as a placeholder, a place where her parents could watch her and her sister as they did their job everyday. While neither her nor Ayala got a formal education, what they did learn was how to be very savvy with buying and selling, when and how to hardline it when a customer was trying to bargain too much, and the most efficient way to sell their wares, or to pick a spot in the merchant's square.
With her mother now gone and her sister working for the Jaffe Bayith however, Gwyneth has had to play a far more active role in helping her father, and as Valence grew older, it was now Gwyneth's turn to be the active one behind the scenes in stocking and rearranging the stock, while her father mostly dealt with customers and communication. It had been difficult at first when Qiana had just passed on, for Gwyneth had been twelve and barely of an age to know how to help her father, but as she grew up, she was quite efficient now.
Still though, she was but fifteen and her concentration was limited. Especially on market day.
Market day was everyday technically, but market day in particular, was one day a month when many of the ships from other kingdoms seem to port in the same span of a week, and many of the people from Lands Afar come peddling their wares. Not that Gwyneth could afford much of it, they could barely afford their evening meal between the little coin they made as a merchant selling fresh produce, and the money her sister sent back regularly, but it didn't hurt to look, did it?
Noticing her curiosity, Valence eventually waved Gwyneth away as the crowds that was looking at their wares ebbed. By now as the sun began to go lower, her father would be packing up their store. They packed up earlier then many others, for they had to return to plow the small field behind the house and ensure they harvest what was to be sold on the morrow, but her father recognized the eagerness in young Gwyneth, and nodded when she finally asked if she could go see.
In her simple outfit of serviceable brown, the young brunette was unremarkable as she wandered the streets, holding her sheer white headscarf around her head, but her eyes sparkled with wonderment as she was awash with the yells of many people, their voice and intonation tinged with foreign tunes as they peddled their wares. Mesmerizing trinkets of colors Gwyneth had never seen before, cloth that seemed to be made of light itself.... would she even, ever get the chance to touch one?
Amenemhat despised his vision being obscured. Somgi of Cairo kept his arms on the shoulders of his teenage son, guiding his footsteps forward in the middle of some Gods-forsaken square in the middle of who-gave-a-shit Judea. He wasn't familiar with the townships, the landmarks, or even the language. Amenemhat was just three years out of Alexandria, and while in that time he'd traveled the sands of Egypt and grown from a boy to a strong young man... This was something else. What was going on? Amenemhat, while not entirely opposed to the idea of surprises, knew that coming from his father, there was nothing good to come of it. Chances are, it was some gift given to him, an inane effort to enthuse Nem in some effort to do... something.
Somgi of Cairo tried. He truly did. The few beatings he'd received in his youth wilted away into memory, but nevertheless, there was nothing left but disregard. A resource was all that the man was to him, a resource he needed to play nice with in order to learn what few secrets were left to reveal. As the young man followed the movements Somgi dictated, he attempted to open his eyes against the blindfold. To no avail, for the scratchy cloth ticked irritation along his lids and forced them back closed. However, it wasn't meant for long.
"Leave the blindfold on for a minute after I finish speaking."
What?
The purpose of this demand seemed superfluous. If Somgi had something to show him, why not simply do it? The wind up to this nonsense was utterly stupid, and he felt his irritation wax further and further until... he felt the hands stray from his shoulders. He felt the shadow of Somgi's presence as the man leaned in to breathe into Nem's ear,
"Find your own way back."
Then, that presence was gone. Frustration grew all the more palpable as he reached upwards, tearing the blindfold from his eyes. But, it was far too late. Somgi seemed to vanish into the crowd, leaving his son entirely alone. What sort of bullshit was this? Some sort of trial? There was no way Somgi would abandon his son to his fate and yet, it happened. Teeth gnashed against one another as his irritation grew higher and higher. The cloth fell from his fingers, settling on the floor and taking in the dust of Damascus as Amenemhat stepped away. Immediately, he took a deep breath, letting himself find center in the midst of his anger.
Rage will accomplish nothing in the midst of the unknown, he told himself. But, it was easier said than done. He took another breath, finding his chest to rise and fall in a slow rhythm. The sounds around him were unfamiliar, but the purpose of them seemed close enough to home. The bustling of market stalls, the exchange of drivel in a foreign tongue. Hebrew was a strange language, less fluid in his opinion than Coptic, but every so often he heard a word he'd learned. There was, after all, a Judean girl that performed in the circus and his efforts to pry a bit at a time from here were not entirely unsuccessful.
Still... a few words here and there do not make for a conversation.
He understood, intrinsically, the purpose of this exercise. Somgi wanted to find out if his son could be resourceful, if he could use his wits to navigate unfamiliar crowds. Without the capacity to do this, his potential as an heir would be limited. Throw a lamb to the wolves, and see if it becomes one. The practice was a solid one, even if he detested the idea of being quizzed in such a way. Narrowed eyes searched for something that might ground him, to show him the way. The light of Ra beat down on his frame, and Amenemhat approximated the hour by the position of the fiery sphere in the sky.
High above the sky. There is plenty of light to make this trial simple. It will be infinitely more difficult to return home when night falls.
Steps caught the pleated skirt and brought it to bounce around his legs. The custom of Judea was far more modest than Egypt's, and though beneath the shawl that covered his shoulders he was bare it was evident enough that the young man had tried to cover himself up more than the norm. Nonetheless, every step drew eyes towards him, for young men did not often walk with the straight gait that he did. A false smile caught upon his lips, amber hues rotating from person to person. He allowed hismelf, for the moment, to be lost in the wares that passed him by, all up until a young girl that seemed near his gaze caught his attentions.
The false smile seemed to widen a bit further. Despite himself, he caught fixated on the sight of her. Among the beady-eyed, broken faces of the crowd, only hers seemed to hold any kind of life to it. Perhaps, she could be of some use.
"You... girl. Where I?"
Broken Hebrew was the best he could offer her. It was almost an embarrassment.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Amenemhat despised his vision being obscured. Somgi of Cairo kept his arms on the shoulders of his teenage son, guiding his footsteps forward in the middle of some Gods-forsaken square in the middle of who-gave-a-shit Judea. He wasn't familiar with the townships, the landmarks, or even the language. Amenemhat was just three years out of Alexandria, and while in that time he'd traveled the sands of Egypt and grown from a boy to a strong young man... This was something else. What was going on? Amenemhat, while not entirely opposed to the idea of surprises, knew that coming from his father, there was nothing good to come of it. Chances are, it was some gift given to him, an inane effort to enthuse Nem in some effort to do... something.
Somgi of Cairo tried. He truly did. The few beatings he'd received in his youth wilted away into memory, but nevertheless, there was nothing left but disregard. A resource was all that the man was to him, a resource he needed to play nice with in order to learn what few secrets were left to reveal. As the young man followed the movements Somgi dictated, he attempted to open his eyes against the blindfold. To no avail, for the scratchy cloth ticked irritation along his lids and forced them back closed. However, it wasn't meant for long.
"Leave the blindfold on for a minute after I finish speaking."
What?
The purpose of this demand seemed superfluous. If Somgi had something to show him, why not simply do it? The wind up to this nonsense was utterly stupid, and he felt his irritation wax further and further until... he felt the hands stray from his shoulders. He felt the shadow of Somgi's presence as the man leaned in to breathe into Nem's ear,
"Find your own way back."
Then, that presence was gone. Frustration grew all the more palpable as he reached upwards, tearing the blindfold from his eyes. But, it was far too late. Somgi seemed to vanish into the crowd, leaving his son entirely alone. What sort of bullshit was this? Some sort of trial? There was no way Somgi would abandon his son to his fate and yet, it happened. Teeth gnashed against one another as his irritation grew higher and higher. The cloth fell from his fingers, settling on the floor and taking in the dust of Damascus as Amenemhat stepped away. Immediately, he took a deep breath, letting himself find center in the midst of his anger.
Rage will accomplish nothing in the midst of the unknown, he told himself. But, it was easier said than done. He took another breath, finding his chest to rise and fall in a slow rhythm. The sounds around him were unfamiliar, but the purpose of them seemed close enough to home. The bustling of market stalls, the exchange of drivel in a foreign tongue. Hebrew was a strange language, less fluid in his opinion than Coptic, but every so often he heard a word he'd learned. There was, after all, a Judean girl that performed in the circus and his efforts to pry a bit at a time from here were not entirely unsuccessful.
Still... a few words here and there do not make for a conversation.
He understood, intrinsically, the purpose of this exercise. Somgi wanted to find out if his son could be resourceful, if he could use his wits to navigate unfamiliar crowds. Without the capacity to do this, his potential as an heir would be limited. Throw a lamb to the wolves, and see if it becomes one. The practice was a solid one, even if he detested the idea of being quizzed in such a way. Narrowed eyes searched for something that might ground him, to show him the way. The light of Ra beat down on his frame, and Amenemhat approximated the hour by the position of the fiery sphere in the sky.
High above the sky. There is plenty of light to make this trial simple. It will be infinitely more difficult to return home when night falls.
Steps caught the pleated skirt and brought it to bounce around his legs. The custom of Judea was far more modest than Egypt's, and though beneath the shawl that covered his shoulders he was bare it was evident enough that the young man had tried to cover himself up more than the norm. Nonetheless, every step drew eyes towards him, for young men did not often walk with the straight gait that he did. A false smile caught upon his lips, amber hues rotating from person to person. He allowed hismelf, for the moment, to be lost in the wares that passed him by, all up until a young girl that seemed near his gaze caught his attentions.
The false smile seemed to widen a bit further. Despite himself, he caught fixated on the sight of her. Among the beady-eyed, broken faces of the crowd, only hers seemed to hold any kind of life to it. Perhaps, she could be of some use.
"You... girl. Where I?"
Broken Hebrew was the best he could offer her. It was almost an embarrassment.
Amenemhat despised his vision being obscured. Somgi of Cairo kept his arms on the shoulders of his teenage son, guiding his footsteps forward in the middle of some Gods-forsaken square in the middle of who-gave-a-shit Judea. He wasn't familiar with the townships, the landmarks, or even the language. Amenemhat was just three years out of Alexandria, and while in that time he'd traveled the sands of Egypt and grown from a boy to a strong young man... This was something else. What was going on? Amenemhat, while not entirely opposed to the idea of surprises, knew that coming from his father, there was nothing good to come of it. Chances are, it was some gift given to him, an inane effort to enthuse Nem in some effort to do... something.
Somgi of Cairo tried. He truly did. The few beatings he'd received in his youth wilted away into memory, but nevertheless, there was nothing left but disregard. A resource was all that the man was to him, a resource he needed to play nice with in order to learn what few secrets were left to reveal. As the young man followed the movements Somgi dictated, he attempted to open his eyes against the blindfold. To no avail, for the scratchy cloth ticked irritation along his lids and forced them back closed. However, it wasn't meant for long.
"Leave the blindfold on for a minute after I finish speaking."
What?
The purpose of this demand seemed superfluous. If Somgi had something to show him, why not simply do it? The wind up to this nonsense was utterly stupid, and he felt his irritation wax further and further until... he felt the hands stray from his shoulders. He felt the shadow of Somgi's presence as the man leaned in to breathe into Nem's ear,
"Find your own way back."
Then, that presence was gone. Frustration grew all the more palpable as he reached upwards, tearing the blindfold from his eyes. But, it was far too late. Somgi seemed to vanish into the crowd, leaving his son entirely alone. What sort of bullshit was this? Some sort of trial? There was no way Somgi would abandon his son to his fate and yet, it happened. Teeth gnashed against one another as his irritation grew higher and higher. The cloth fell from his fingers, settling on the floor and taking in the dust of Damascus as Amenemhat stepped away. Immediately, he took a deep breath, letting himself find center in the midst of his anger.
Rage will accomplish nothing in the midst of the unknown, he told himself. But, it was easier said than done. He took another breath, finding his chest to rise and fall in a slow rhythm. The sounds around him were unfamiliar, but the purpose of them seemed close enough to home. The bustling of market stalls, the exchange of drivel in a foreign tongue. Hebrew was a strange language, less fluid in his opinion than Coptic, but every so often he heard a word he'd learned. There was, after all, a Judean girl that performed in the circus and his efforts to pry a bit at a time from here were not entirely unsuccessful.
Still... a few words here and there do not make for a conversation.
He understood, intrinsically, the purpose of this exercise. Somgi wanted to find out if his son could be resourceful, if he could use his wits to navigate unfamiliar crowds. Without the capacity to do this, his potential as an heir would be limited. Throw a lamb to the wolves, and see if it becomes one. The practice was a solid one, even if he detested the idea of being quizzed in such a way. Narrowed eyes searched for something that might ground him, to show him the way. The light of Ra beat down on his frame, and Amenemhat approximated the hour by the position of the fiery sphere in the sky.
High above the sky. There is plenty of light to make this trial simple. It will be infinitely more difficult to return home when night falls.
Steps caught the pleated skirt and brought it to bounce around his legs. The custom of Judea was far more modest than Egypt's, and though beneath the shawl that covered his shoulders he was bare it was evident enough that the young man had tried to cover himself up more than the norm. Nonetheless, every step drew eyes towards him, for young men did not often walk with the straight gait that he did. A false smile caught upon his lips, amber hues rotating from person to person. He allowed hismelf, for the moment, to be lost in the wares that passed him by, all up until a young girl that seemed near his gaze caught his attentions.
The false smile seemed to widen a bit further. Despite himself, he caught fixated on the sight of her. Among the beady-eyed, broken faces of the crowd, only hers seemed to hold any kind of life to it. Perhaps, she could be of some use.
"You... girl. Where I?"
Broken Hebrew was the best he could offer her. It was almost an embarrassment.
Without her mother, Valence had been far more lax in terms of what Gwyneth wore, but he always ensured her body was covered. Afterall, if she was discovered, the Council of Elder's would not be happy and with their meagre income, there was no way in which her father would be able to afford the hefty fine. Not to mention, her sister worked in the Jaffe, and while Ayala did not tell anyone of her familial connections outside (her employer's just assumed she was an orphan), it would not do to put her sister in a difficult situation should it come to it. So the least Valence and Gwyneth always did was ensured whatever their actions could not put Ayala in a tight spot.
So the brunette held her unassuming dress to her body, her headscarf tied over her head as she wandered and stared in amazement at the many trinkets. Some were in colours Gwyneth didn't even know existed, and at fifteen, she was just beginning to want the nicer colors or bolts of fabric. Of course, they were all just dream's as there was no way she'd be able to afford a new one. Ninety-percent of her wardrobe was simply her sister or mother's old dresses, and even the one new dress she got every year for the pilgrimage of Sukkot for the New Year's, her father bought the cheapest bolt they could afford - which was usually in boring dirt colors again. But they could always use more money for food, so Gwyneth wasn't about to complain.
Not at all paying attention, Gwyneth meandered and had almost ran into someone before she realized a voice addressed her. Turning in surprise, the brunette momentarily frowned, surprised at the foreign lilt ihn the male's voice. Having never even left Damascus in her life, and only having heard of what lay outside the lands of Judea via stories she overheard from merchants and visitors as they gossiped, her eyes shone with wonderment and it took her awhile before she answered.
"Damascus. Market?" she replied, suddenly at a loss. How did one converse with someone who didn't know how to speak her language? Did he even understand what she had said? But he was smiling, so she couldn't be that far off, right. Cocking her head, Gwyneth found herself staring, even if it may be rude. It didn't occur to the fifteen-year old, and she was now fixated on her curiosity that someone who was possibly not Judean at all was now speaking to her. "Who are you? Where do you come from? Do you need help?" she asked in a flurry, forgetting the other may or may not understand her.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Without her mother, Valence had been far more lax in terms of what Gwyneth wore, but he always ensured her body was covered. Afterall, if she was discovered, the Council of Elder's would not be happy and with their meagre income, there was no way in which her father would be able to afford the hefty fine. Not to mention, her sister worked in the Jaffe, and while Ayala did not tell anyone of her familial connections outside (her employer's just assumed she was an orphan), it would not do to put her sister in a difficult situation should it come to it. So the least Valence and Gwyneth always did was ensured whatever their actions could not put Ayala in a tight spot.
So the brunette held her unassuming dress to her body, her headscarf tied over her head as she wandered and stared in amazement at the many trinkets. Some were in colours Gwyneth didn't even know existed, and at fifteen, she was just beginning to want the nicer colors or bolts of fabric. Of course, they were all just dream's as there was no way she'd be able to afford a new one. Ninety-percent of her wardrobe was simply her sister or mother's old dresses, and even the one new dress she got every year for the pilgrimage of Sukkot for the New Year's, her father bought the cheapest bolt they could afford - which was usually in boring dirt colors again. But they could always use more money for food, so Gwyneth wasn't about to complain.
Not at all paying attention, Gwyneth meandered and had almost ran into someone before she realized a voice addressed her. Turning in surprise, the brunette momentarily frowned, surprised at the foreign lilt ihn the male's voice. Having never even left Damascus in her life, and only having heard of what lay outside the lands of Judea via stories she overheard from merchants and visitors as they gossiped, her eyes shone with wonderment and it took her awhile before she answered.
"Damascus. Market?" she replied, suddenly at a loss. How did one converse with someone who didn't know how to speak her language? Did he even understand what she had said? But he was smiling, so she couldn't be that far off, right. Cocking her head, Gwyneth found herself staring, even if it may be rude. It didn't occur to the fifteen-year old, and she was now fixated on her curiosity that someone who was possibly not Judean at all was now speaking to her. "Who are you? Where do you come from? Do you need help?" she asked in a flurry, forgetting the other may or may not understand her.
Without her mother, Valence had been far more lax in terms of what Gwyneth wore, but he always ensured her body was covered. Afterall, if she was discovered, the Council of Elder's would not be happy and with their meagre income, there was no way in which her father would be able to afford the hefty fine. Not to mention, her sister worked in the Jaffe, and while Ayala did not tell anyone of her familial connections outside (her employer's just assumed she was an orphan), it would not do to put her sister in a difficult situation should it come to it. So the least Valence and Gwyneth always did was ensured whatever their actions could not put Ayala in a tight spot.
So the brunette held her unassuming dress to her body, her headscarf tied over her head as she wandered and stared in amazement at the many trinkets. Some were in colours Gwyneth didn't even know existed, and at fifteen, she was just beginning to want the nicer colors or bolts of fabric. Of course, they were all just dream's as there was no way she'd be able to afford a new one. Ninety-percent of her wardrobe was simply her sister or mother's old dresses, and even the one new dress she got every year for the pilgrimage of Sukkot for the New Year's, her father bought the cheapest bolt they could afford - which was usually in boring dirt colors again. But they could always use more money for food, so Gwyneth wasn't about to complain.
Not at all paying attention, Gwyneth meandered and had almost ran into someone before she realized a voice addressed her. Turning in surprise, the brunette momentarily frowned, surprised at the foreign lilt ihn the male's voice. Having never even left Damascus in her life, and only having heard of what lay outside the lands of Judea via stories she overheard from merchants and visitors as they gossiped, her eyes shone with wonderment and it took her awhile before she answered.
"Damascus. Market?" she replied, suddenly at a loss. How did one converse with someone who didn't know how to speak her language? Did he even understand what she had said? But he was smiling, so she couldn't be that far off, right. Cocking her head, Gwyneth found herself staring, even if it may be rude. It didn't occur to the fifteen-year old, and she was now fixated on her curiosity that someone who was possibly not Judean at all was now speaking to her. "Who are you? Where do you come from? Do you need help?" she asked in a flurry, forgetting the other may or may not understand her.
Judea was a strange place.
He'd always thought it, but the fact that a young woman stood in front of him with such a lovely face but utterly covered body merely reinforced the notion. From slave to pharaoh, all of Egypt brandished their bodies unabashedly, eager to drink in the sight of another. It was as natural as breath, to let the light of Ra kiss one's flesh in one moment, then let mortal lips do the same in the next. Though Amenemhat of the Tempest of Set couldn't speak to plentiful experience in the matter, he could hear the custom as he passed through the caravan that made up his father's circus. From his father himself and the numerous whores he solicited, to the performers of the circus drinking one another in to better familiarize themselves... the body was just another means of familiarizing oneself with the world.
So, Judea was a strange place. And it had nothing to do with the language he barely spoke or the marketplace that was brought to life with unfamiliar sights and sounds. Curiosity, however, kept him rooted in place. It was, perhaps, a greedy intrigue. While Amenemhat could not speak to his father's virtues or agree with his methods, the man had a keen and very much self-serving eye. He would not come to a place that was diametrically opposed to the sensual nature of his profession if there was nothing to imbibe that made it stronger. Was it the fabric the people wore? Were their animals better? Curious, the young man reached forward. Intent upon grasping at the fabric that hung from her arms, he realized what he was doing and stayed his hand.
People don't like being touched by strangers, he reminded himself. The young Amenemhat wasn't so attuned to people as he might've liked. Inquisitive, intelligent, but quite at a loss in front of another person, the idea of placing himself in another's position was an irksome one. However, he lowered his hand to his side, listening to the girl's answer. The name of the place meant nothing to him, but the strange word afterwards... He tried to remember the familiarity it bore to him, amber eyes taking a somewhat vacant expression as the voice of Somgi of Cairo spoke in different tones, different times and places in the tongue he didn't know.
It has to mean some sort of marketplace. Just based on how busy this Gods-forsaken place is, I could've figured that out on my own. A lovely girl, but useless.
He didn't narrow his eyes as he might've liked to. He didn't dismiss her or excuse himself. He needed more answers. Or better still, an escort. Getting lost in the sea of people and the distraction that was offerings that he had no way of buying was no way forward.
"Who are you? Where are you from? Do you need help?"
She spoke in a mess of jumbled syllables that meant less and less to him as they fled from her pretty, full lips. But, nevertheless, he paid careful attention. A familiar word in each sentence, a declarative one that he'd heard both his father and his associate exchange over and over. A pronoun? You.
She's asking me questions, obviously.
Just by the tone, he knew that much. But, she was asking him questions about him. Did people do that? Was it normal to ask a stranger that one cared nothing for and would never see again anything about themselves? He tilted his head, trying to analyze the rest of her words, configuring them in different ways as if they might yield a different result by being mixed up.
This sucks, he realized. The cruelty of Somgi of Cairo was a horribly irksome thing.
What a fucking asshole, he went on just as the words clicked in his head.
The logical questions would have to be regarding identity...
"Amenemhat. Alexandria," the heavily accented words emerged. Simple answers to questions that took entirely too long for him to come to a conclusion about. Language was a fickle thing and he resolved at once to never be so foolish as to overlook Hebrew again.
"I market? I circus. Where?"
One of the few words he did know, he could at least bring up the Tempest of Set. Surely, the caravan that was stopped outside of Damascus wasn't so small as to go unnoticed. Perhaps the girl knew about the circus.
This character is currently a work in progress.
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Judea was a strange place.
He'd always thought it, but the fact that a young woman stood in front of him with such a lovely face but utterly covered body merely reinforced the notion. From slave to pharaoh, all of Egypt brandished their bodies unabashedly, eager to drink in the sight of another. It was as natural as breath, to let the light of Ra kiss one's flesh in one moment, then let mortal lips do the same in the next. Though Amenemhat of the Tempest of Set couldn't speak to plentiful experience in the matter, he could hear the custom as he passed through the caravan that made up his father's circus. From his father himself and the numerous whores he solicited, to the performers of the circus drinking one another in to better familiarize themselves... the body was just another means of familiarizing oneself with the world.
So, Judea was a strange place. And it had nothing to do with the language he barely spoke or the marketplace that was brought to life with unfamiliar sights and sounds. Curiosity, however, kept him rooted in place. It was, perhaps, a greedy intrigue. While Amenemhat could not speak to his father's virtues or agree with his methods, the man had a keen and very much self-serving eye. He would not come to a place that was diametrically opposed to the sensual nature of his profession if there was nothing to imbibe that made it stronger. Was it the fabric the people wore? Were their animals better? Curious, the young man reached forward. Intent upon grasping at the fabric that hung from her arms, he realized what he was doing and stayed his hand.
People don't like being touched by strangers, he reminded himself. The young Amenemhat wasn't so attuned to people as he might've liked. Inquisitive, intelligent, but quite at a loss in front of another person, the idea of placing himself in another's position was an irksome one. However, he lowered his hand to his side, listening to the girl's answer. The name of the place meant nothing to him, but the strange word afterwards... He tried to remember the familiarity it bore to him, amber eyes taking a somewhat vacant expression as the voice of Somgi of Cairo spoke in different tones, different times and places in the tongue he didn't know.
It has to mean some sort of marketplace. Just based on how busy this Gods-forsaken place is, I could've figured that out on my own. A lovely girl, but useless.
He didn't narrow his eyes as he might've liked to. He didn't dismiss her or excuse himself. He needed more answers. Or better still, an escort. Getting lost in the sea of people and the distraction that was offerings that he had no way of buying was no way forward.
"Who are you? Where are you from? Do you need help?"
She spoke in a mess of jumbled syllables that meant less and less to him as they fled from her pretty, full lips. But, nevertheless, he paid careful attention. A familiar word in each sentence, a declarative one that he'd heard both his father and his associate exchange over and over. A pronoun? You.
She's asking me questions, obviously.
Just by the tone, he knew that much. But, she was asking him questions about him. Did people do that? Was it normal to ask a stranger that one cared nothing for and would never see again anything about themselves? He tilted his head, trying to analyze the rest of her words, configuring them in different ways as if they might yield a different result by being mixed up.
This sucks, he realized. The cruelty of Somgi of Cairo was a horribly irksome thing.
What a fucking asshole, he went on just as the words clicked in his head.
The logical questions would have to be regarding identity...
"Amenemhat. Alexandria," the heavily accented words emerged. Simple answers to questions that took entirely too long for him to come to a conclusion about. Language was a fickle thing and he resolved at once to never be so foolish as to overlook Hebrew again.
"I market? I circus. Where?"
One of the few words he did know, he could at least bring up the Tempest of Set. Surely, the caravan that was stopped outside of Damascus wasn't so small as to go unnoticed. Perhaps the girl knew about the circus.
Judea was a strange place.
He'd always thought it, but the fact that a young woman stood in front of him with such a lovely face but utterly covered body merely reinforced the notion. From slave to pharaoh, all of Egypt brandished their bodies unabashedly, eager to drink in the sight of another. It was as natural as breath, to let the light of Ra kiss one's flesh in one moment, then let mortal lips do the same in the next. Though Amenemhat of the Tempest of Set couldn't speak to plentiful experience in the matter, he could hear the custom as he passed through the caravan that made up his father's circus. From his father himself and the numerous whores he solicited, to the performers of the circus drinking one another in to better familiarize themselves... the body was just another means of familiarizing oneself with the world.
So, Judea was a strange place. And it had nothing to do with the language he barely spoke or the marketplace that was brought to life with unfamiliar sights and sounds. Curiosity, however, kept him rooted in place. It was, perhaps, a greedy intrigue. While Amenemhat could not speak to his father's virtues or agree with his methods, the man had a keen and very much self-serving eye. He would not come to a place that was diametrically opposed to the sensual nature of his profession if there was nothing to imbibe that made it stronger. Was it the fabric the people wore? Were their animals better? Curious, the young man reached forward. Intent upon grasping at the fabric that hung from her arms, he realized what he was doing and stayed his hand.
People don't like being touched by strangers, he reminded himself. The young Amenemhat wasn't so attuned to people as he might've liked. Inquisitive, intelligent, but quite at a loss in front of another person, the idea of placing himself in another's position was an irksome one. However, he lowered his hand to his side, listening to the girl's answer. The name of the place meant nothing to him, but the strange word afterwards... He tried to remember the familiarity it bore to him, amber eyes taking a somewhat vacant expression as the voice of Somgi of Cairo spoke in different tones, different times and places in the tongue he didn't know.
It has to mean some sort of marketplace. Just based on how busy this Gods-forsaken place is, I could've figured that out on my own. A lovely girl, but useless.
He didn't narrow his eyes as he might've liked to. He didn't dismiss her or excuse himself. He needed more answers. Or better still, an escort. Getting lost in the sea of people and the distraction that was offerings that he had no way of buying was no way forward.
"Who are you? Where are you from? Do you need help?"
She spoke in a mess of jumbled syllables that meant less and less to him as they fled from her pretty, full lips. But, nevertheless, he paid careful attention. A familiar word in each sentence, a declarative one that he'd heard both his father and his associate exchange over and over. A pronoun? You.
She's asking me questions, obviously.
Just by the tone, he knew that much. But, she was asking him questions about him. Did people do that? Was it normal to ask a stranger that one cared nothing for and would never see again anything about themselves? He tilted his head, trying to analyze the rest of her words, configuring them in different ways as if they might yield a different result by being mixed up.
This sucks, he realized. The cruelty of Somgi of Cairo was a horribly irksome thing.
What a fucking asshole, he went on just as the words clicked in his head.
The logical questions would have to be regarding identity...
"Amenemhat. Alexandria," the heavily accented words emerged. Simple answers to questions that took entirely too long for him to come to a conclusion about. Language was a fickle thing and he resolved at once to never be so foolish as to overlook Hebrew again.
"I market? I circus. Where?"
One of the few words he did know, he could at least bring up the Tempest of Set. Surely, the caravan that was stopped outside of Damascus wasn't so small as to go unnoticed. Perhaps the girl knew about the circus.
This interaction was making Gwyneth wish more and more, that she had been born in a family that allowed her the leisure of being educated. She had always been fascinated by the different languages that was available. The truth was, she hadn't even been exposed to different languages until she started helping her parents in the market, but the moment she did, it felt like new world to Gwyneth. She had never imagined there were other people beyond the border of Damascus, or Judea. She knew there were five other cities, and she knew there were slight differences in accents when she spoke with a customer from say Israel or Jerusalem, but she always found herself confused when customers from say Egypt, Greece, or even the odd Bedoan who stumbled upon their place, although that was far rarer.
Of course, then there were the actions and mannerisms of other's. Occasionally she would see women who came from Egypt, or so her sister whispered to her, and their lack of clothing covering their body was disturbing to Gwyneth, who had been raised to always cover as much skin as she could, and to avoid being touched by those of the opposing gender.
Instinctively when the curious boy she had addressed reached out, Gwyneth had shied away, and then remembered he probably did not know the culture of their own, and took no offense even as she tried to gauge why he was alone in the market with no one as his escort. Luckily, at least the other had the sound of mind to speak slowly, something which Gwyneth had forgotten in her sudden curiosity for the stranger.
Catching the accented words, the brunette faintly remembered the word Alexandria. Had she not heard her mother refer to it as a 'place in Egypt' before, she would've confused it as being the male's name. So instead, Gwyneth conclude his name would be 'Amenemhat' instead - although the syllables got themselves twisted even as she mentally tried to pronounce it. Amnemat? Anemhat? "Gwyneth." she murmured simply in return.
Was he asking if he was in a market? And what was a.... cir-cus? Gwyneth found herself testing out that weird syllable on her tongue to herself, finding it a foreign word. Had she ever heard of such a word before? Ooh, but there had been a rumor going on about a mysterious caravan outside of Damascus. The Council of Elders had reportedly went to see it, but had not told them of anything to worry out. Yet the people of Damascus were predisposed to worry, and that they did. Her father had even gone to the extent of warning his two daughters to not seek the curious people of the caravan out. Was this a person from there?
"Caravan? Outside." she murmured, pausing for a moment and then couldn't resist but ask. "You here for something? Buy? Things?"
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This interaction was making Gwyneth wish more and more, that she had been born in a family that allowed her the leisure of being educated. She had always been fascinated by the different languages that was available. The truth was, she hadn't even been exposed to different languages until she started helping her parents in the market, but the moment she did, it felt like new world to Gwyneth. She had never imagined there were other people beyond the border of Damascus, or Judea. She knew there were five other cities, and she knew there were slight differences in accents when she spoke with a customer from say Israel or Jerusalem, but she always found herself confused when customers from say Egypt, Greece, or even the odd Bedoan who stumbled upon their place, although that was far rarer.
Of course, then there were the actions and mannerisms of other's. Occasionally she would see women who came from Egypt, or so her sister whispered to her, and their lack of clothing covering their body was disturbing to Gwyneth, who had been raised to always cover as much skin as she could, and to avoid being touched by those of the opposing gender.
Instinctively when the curious boy she had addressed reached out, Gwyneth had shied away, and then remembered he probably did not know the culture of their own, and took no offense even as she tried to gauge why he was alone in the market with no one as his escort. Luckily, at least the other had the sound of mind to speak slowly, something which Gwyneth had forgotten in her sudden curiosity for the stranger.
Catching the accented words, the brunette faintly remembered the word Alexandria. Had she not heard her mother refer to it as a 'place in Egypt' before, she would've confused it as being the male's name. So instead, Gwyneth conclude his name would be 'Amenemhat' instead - although the syllables got themselves twisted even as she mentally tried to pronounce it. Amnemat? Anemhat? "Gwyneth." she murmured simply in return.
Was he asking if he was in a market? And what was a.... cir-cus? Gwyneth found herself testing out that weird syllable on her tongue to herself, finding it a foreign word. Had she ever heard of such a word before? Ooh, but there had been a rumor going on about a mysterious caravan outside of Damascus. The Council of Elders had reportedly went to see it, but had not told them of anything to worry out. Yet the people of Damascus were predisposed to worry, and that they did. Her father had even gone to the extent of warning his two daughters to not seek the curious people of the caravan out. Was this a person from there?
"Caravan? Outside." she murmured, pausing for a moment and then couldn't resist but ask. "You here for something? Buy? Things?"
This interaction was making Gwyneth wish more and more, that she had been born in a family that allowed her the leisure of being educated. She had always been fascinated by the different languages that was available. The truth was, she hadn't even been exposed to different languages until she started helping her parents in the market, but the moment she did, it felt like new world to Gwyneth. She had never imagined there were other people beyond the border of Damascus, or Judea. She knew there were five other cities, and she knew there were slight differences in accents when she spoke with a customer from say Israel or Jerusalem, but she always found herself confused when customers from say Egypt, Greece, or even the odd Bedoan who stumbled upon their place, although that was far rarer.
Of course, then there were the actions and mannerisms of other's. Occasionally she would see women who came from Egypt, or so her sister whispered to her, and their lack of clothing covering their body was disturbing to Gwyneth, who had been raised to always cover as much skin as she could, and to avoid being touched by those of the opposing gender.
Instinctively when the curious boy she had addressed reached out, Gwyneth had shied away, and then remembered he probably did not know the culture of their own, and took no offense even as she tried to gauge why he was alone in the market with no one as his escort. Luckily, at least the other had the sound of mind to speak slowly, something which Gwyneth had forgotten in her sudden curiosity for the stranger.
Catching the accented words, the brunette faintly remembered the word Alexandria. Had she not heard her mother refer to it as a 'place in Egypt' before, she would've confused it as being the male's name. So instead, Gwyneth conclude his name would be 'Amenemhat' instead - although the syllables got themselves twisted even as she mentally tried to pronounce it. Amnemat? Anemhat? "Gwyneth." she murmured simply in return.
Was he asking if he was in a market? And what was a.... cir-cus? Gwyneth found herself testing out that weird syllable on her tongue to herself, finding it a foreign word. Had she ever heard of such a word before? Ooh, but there had been a rumor going on about a mysterious caravan outside of Damascus. The Council of Elders had reportedly went to see it, but had not told them of anything to worry out. Yet the people of Damascus were predisposed to worry, and that they did. Her father had even gone to the extent of warning his two daughters to not seek the curious people of the caravan out. Was this a person from there?
"Caravan? Outside." she murmured, pausing for a moment and then couldn't resist but ask. "You here for something? Buy? Things?"
Amenemhat's education within the circus was not centralized to the learning of languages. He'd learned Greek while in Alexandria, finding it to his tastes well enough and yet... he scarcely had a reason to use it. Three civilizations existed within Africa and yet none of them shared a common tongue. It was difficult to see himself becoming a leader without the ability to communicate with them all. And yet, his father saw none of the need to bring Amenemhat to an understanding of Hebrew. He suspected the man knew the language. Otherwise, why would they be here at all? It was enough to set the young man further on edge, his eyes nearly rolling out of their sockets at the audacity of it all.
He expects me to succeed him and doesn't lay bare the tools necessary to do so. Is he stalling my development? Does he see my maturity as a threat?
It was an asinine thing, though... perhaps not entirely. The idea of the circus turning towards Amenemhat was not outside of the realm of possibility. Somgi of Cairo was beginning to grow lax in his responsibilities, such as the very one that he had with Nem. Grooming a successor was a task meant to be arduous, to build up the future generation to ensure the prosperity of one's legacy far into the future. And yet... it was half-hearted. Pitiable. Amenemhat resented his father's incompetence, but... was it incompetence and not fear? He'd investigate it further, intent upon setting himself on the path to understanding the circus in a way that, perhaps, Somgi would find distasteful.
It doesn't matter. I should see the Tempest of Set as my own and not my father's. It is my inheritance, and I will not see it squandered.
The thought remained staunch in his mind even as he looked over the woman in front of him. She seemed just as confused as him, lost in the midst of it all. The barrier between languages was not one-sided, which made it all the more difficult to traverse. Ordinarily, Amenemhat would find the challenge amusing, but in the midst of being abandoned in the middle of a sea of people...
A massive herd of sheep, moving to and fro in their routine, guided by the shepherd of law and order.
It was so horribly dull. But, this girl... this Gwyneth, she could be of use to him. She seemed pure-hearted, charitable in a land that ignored people of Nem's nationality. It was a fitting reaction, both hers and the rest. He only needed one to care and assist him. He offered a smile, carefully weaving it to disguise the disdain brewing within as he nodded. Caravan was something he could understand. She asked shorter questions, allowing Nem to pick out the words he understood. At the notion of buying things he shook his head.
"No buy. Money, but not need. I need..." he took his time to identify the term, meandering about in his skull for the term for 'home' before he decided to go to something he could say
"Caravan. I go. You take?"
He needed her guidance and offered yet another placating smile, an expression that sought to wear down the muscles in his jaw. Amenemhat did not often smile, for he saw little need in the creation of such an ill facade.
However, whatever works to accomplish the task at hand. I'll yell at father about it when I get back.
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Amenemhat's education within the circus was not centralized to the learning of languages. He'd learned Greek while in Alexandria, finding it to his tastes well enough and yet... he scarcely had a reason to use it. Three civilizations existed within Africa and yet none of them shared a common tongue. It was difficult to see himself becoming a leader without the ability to communicate with them all. And yet, his father saw none of the need to bring Amenemhat to an understanding of Hebrew. He suspected the man knew the language. Otherwise, why would they be here at all? It was enough to set the young man further on edge, his eyes nearly rolling out of their sockets at the audacity of it all.
He expects me to succeed him and doesn't lay bare the tools necessary to do so. Is he stalling my development? Does he see my maturity as a threat?
It was an asinine thing, though... perhaps not entirely. The idea of the circus turning towards Amenemhat was not outside of the realm of possibility. Somgi of Cairo was beginning to grow lax in his responsibilities, such as the very one that he had with Nem. Grooming a successor was a task meant to be arduous, to build up the future generation to ensure the prosperity of one's legacy far into the future. And yet... it was half-hearted. Pitiable. Amenemhat resented his father's incompetence, but... was it incompetence and not fear? He'd investigate it further, intent upon setting himself on the path to understanding the circus in a way that, perhaps, Somgi would find distasteful.
It doesn't matter. I should see the Tempest of Set as my own and not my father's. It is my inheritance, and I will not see it squandered.
The thought remained staunch in his mind even as he looked over the woman in front of him. She seemed just as confused as him, lost in the midst of it all. The barrier between languages was not one-sided, which made it all the more difficult to traverse. Ordinarily, Amenemhat would find the challenge amusing, but in the midst of being abandoned in the middle of a sea of people...
A massive herd of sheep, moving to and fro in their routine, guided by the shepherd of law and order.
It was so horribly dull. But, this girl... this Gwyneth, she could be of use to him. She seemed pure-hearted, charitable in a land that ignored people of Nem's nationality. It was a fitting reaction, both hers and the rest. He only needed one to care and assist him. He offered a smile, carefully weaving it to disguise the disdain brewing within as he nodded. Caravan was something he could understand. She asked shorter questions, allowing Nem to pick out the words he understood. At the notion of buying things he shook his head.
"No buy. Money, but not need. I need..." he took his time to identify the term, meandering about in his skull for the term for 'home' before he decided to go to something he could say
"Caravan. I go. You take?"
He needed her guidance and offered yet another placating smile, an expression that sought to wear down the muscles in his jaw. Amenemhat did not often smile, for he saw little need in the creation of such an ill facade.
However, whatever works to accomplish the task at hand. I'll yell at father about it when I get back.
Amenemhat's education within the circus was not centralized to the learning of languages. He'd learned Greek while in Alexandria, finding it to his tastes well enough and yet... he scarcely had a reason to use it. Three civilizations existed within Africa and yet none of them shared a common tongue. It was difficult to see himself becoming a leader without the ability to communicate with them all. And yet, his father saw none of the need to bring Amenemhat to an understanding of Hebrew. He suspected the man knew the language. Otherwise, why would they be here at all? It was enough to set the young man further on edge, his eyes nearly rolling out of their sockets at the audacity of it all.
He expects me to succeed him and doesn't lay bare the tools necessary to do so. Is he stalling my development? Does he see my maturity as a threat?
It was an asinine thing, though... perhaps not entirely. The idea of the circus turning towards Amenemhat was not outside of the realm of possibility. Somgi of Cairo was beginning to grow lax in his responsibilities, such as the very one that he had with Nem. Grooming a successor was a task meant to be arduous, to build up the future generation to ensure the prosperity of one's legacy far into the future. And yet... it was half-hearted. Pitiable. Amenemhat resented his father's incompetence, but... was it incompetence and not fear? He'd investigate it further, intent upon setting himself on the path to understanding the circus in a way that, perhaps, Somgi would find distasteful.
It doesn't matter. I should see the Tempest of Set as my own and not my father's. It is my inheritance, and I will not see it squandered.
The thought remained staunch in his mind even as he looked over the woman in front of him. She seemed just as confused as him, lost in the midst of it all. The barrier between languages was not one-sided, which made it all the more difficult to traverse. Ordinarily, Amenemhat would find the challenge amusing, but in the midst of being abandoned in the middle of a sea of people...
A massive herd of sheep, moving to and fro in their routine, guided by the shepherd of law and order.
It was so horribly dull. But, this girl... this Gwyneth, she could be of use to him. She seemed pure-hearted, charitable in a land that ignored people of Nem's nationality. It was a fitting reaction, both hers and the rest. He only needed one to care and assist him. He offered a smile, carefully weaving it to disguise the disdain brewing within as he nodded. Caravan was something he could understand. She asked shorter questions, allowing Nem to pick out the words he understood. At the notion of buying things he shook his head.
"No buy. Money, but not need. I need..." he took his time to identify the term, meandering about in his skull for the term for 'home' before he decided to go to something he could say
"Caravan. I go. You take?"
He needed her guidance and offered yet another placating smile, an expression that sought to wear down the muscles in his jaw. Amenemhat did not often smile, for he saw little need in the creation of such an ill facade.
However, whatever works to accomplish the task at hand. I'll yell at father about it when I get back.
Had her father seen her actions, it was highly likely that Valence would have been outraged. He had always stressed upon his two girls to never speak to strangers, a behavior of Judeans he had inherited and intended to pass on to his daughters. Her parents found strangers dangerous, highly volatile, and feared their daughter's being taken away. Gwyneth's fascination with the unknown and what lay beyond the walls had been Qiana's woe as she had been growing up, and now becoming her father's headache.
Luckily for Gwyneth, her father had allowed her to be alone, for had it been with her father, they definitely would not be having this exchange, confusing as it may be with the barrier of language.
Why were most of her countrymen so afraid of strangers anyhow? That part, Gwyneth really did not grasp. They were fascinating, and many times Gwyneth had found herself eagerly listening to the gossiping ladies as they had met some Grecian or another, or even some visiting Egyptian soldier or a wandering Bedoan tribe. The stories they had were fascinating, their mannerisms and habits even more so. Young as her mind may be, Gwyneth never even thought of what could happen if someone stole her away, merely what she could learn from them.
Even listening to the halting conversation the odd looking man she presumed was Egyptian speak, Gwyneth frowned, but a spark of interest glimmered in the depths of her hazel gaze. He wasn't here to buy things. He needs a.... caravan? Last Gwyneth checked, they didn't sell those here, and her brows furrowed together in a slightly perplexed manner, before realization dawned in her gaze.
"Oh! You want to go to the caravan?" she exclaimed, forgetting for a moment he did not speak her language that just spilled out of lips. She could bring him, she supposed, but Gwyneth had also never really travelled that far by herself before. Usually, she kept within the boundaries of Damascus, and the caravan she had mentioned seemed to be rumored to be parked outside. Valence would likely flip a switch if he heard his youngest daughter so far away..... but she was being helpful, right? Wasn't that what Yahweh always taught them?
Waving a hand, she hoped she seemed convincing enough as Gwyneth led him through the throngs of people at the market and stores, before darting down a forgotten alleyway. Of course, she could bring him pass the regular streets, but it being a weekend, there was far too many people, and she didn't want to risk a friend of her parents seeing her. So instead, Gwyneth brought the stranger down alleyways and quiet back streets, before finally emerging on the edge of her birth city. Through the main entrance, one could see the expanse of the flatlands and in the distance, the snowy caps of the Sheleg mountains.
Once there, despite breathless, Gwyneth turned to the man with a pleased smile as she gestured at the exit, obviously glad she had managed to bring him to where she assumed he wanted to go.
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Jul 13, 2020 14:34:48 GMT
Posted In One Short Day on Jul 13, 2020 14:34:48 GMT
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Had her father seen her actions, it was highly likely that Valence would have been outraged. He had always stressed upon his two girls to never speak to strangers, a behavior of Judeans he had inherited and intended to pass on to his daughters. Her parents found strangers dangerous, highly volatile, and feared their daughter's being taken away. Gwyneth's fascination with the unknown and what lay beyond the walls had been Qiana's woe as she had been growing up, and now becoming her father's headache.
Luckily for Gwyneth, her father had allowed her to be alone, for had it been with her father, they definitely would not be having this exchange, confusing as it may be with the barrier of language.
Why were most of her countrymen so afraid of strangers anyhow? That part, Gwyneth really did not grasp. They were fascinating, and many times Gwyneth had found herself eagerly listening to the gossiping ladies as they had met some Grecian or another, or even some visiting Egyptian soldier or a wandering Bedoan tribe. The stories they had were fascinating, their mannerisms and habits even more so. Young as her mind may be, Gwyneth never even thought of what could happen if someone stole her away, merely what she could learn from them.
Even listening to the halting conversation the odd looking man she presumed was Egyptian speak, Gwyneth frowned, but a spark of interest glimmered in the depths of her hazel gaze. He wasn't here to buy things. He needs a.... caravan? Last Gwyneth checked, they didn't sell those here, and her brows furrowed together in a slightly perplexed manner, before realization dawned in her gaze.
"Oh! You want to go to the caravan?" she exclaimed, forgetting for a moment he did not speak her language that just spilled out of lips. She could bring him, she supposed, but Gwyneth had also never really travelled that far by herself before. Usually, she kept within the boundaries of Damascus, and the caravan she had mentioned seemed to be rumored to be parked outside. Valence would likely flip a switch if he heard his youngest daughter so far away..... but she was being helpful, right? Wasn't that what Yahweh always taught them?
Waving a hand, she hoped she seemed convincing enough as Gwyneth led him through the throngs of people at the market and stores, before darting down a forgotten alleyway. Of course, she could bring him pass the regular streets, but it being a weekend, there was far too many people, and she didn't want to risk a friend of her parents seeing her. So instead, Gwyneth brought the stranger down alleyways and quiet back streets, before finally emerging on the edge of her birth city. Through the main entrance, one could see the expanse of the flatlands and in the distance, the snowy caps of the Sheleg mountains.
Once there, despite breathless, Gwyneth turned to the man with a pleased smile as she gestured at the exit, obviously glad she had managed to bring him to where she assumed he wanted to go.
Had her father seen her actions, it was highly likely that Valence would have been outraged. He had always stressed upon his two girls to never speak to strangers, a behavior of Judeans he had inherited and intended to pass on to his daughters. Her parents found strangers dangerous, highly volatile, and feared their daughter's being taken away. Gwyneth's fascination with the unknown and what lay beyond the walls had been Qiana's woe as she had been growing up, and now becoming her father's headache.
Luckily for Gwyneth, her father had allowed her to be alone, for had it been with her father, they definitely would not be having this exchange, confusing as it may be with the barrier of language.
Why were most of her countrymen so afraid of strangers anyhow? That part, Gwyneth really did not grasp. They were fascinating, and many times Gwyneth had found herself eagerly listening to the gossiping ladies as they had met some Grecian or another, or even some visiting Egyptian soldier or a wandering Bedoan tribe. The stories they had were fascinating, their mannerisms and habits even more so. Young as her mind may be, Gwyneth never even thought of what could happen if someone stole her away, merely what she could learn from them.
Even listening to the halting conversation the odd looking man she presumed was Egyptian speak, Gwyneth frowned, but a spark of interest glimmered in the depths of her hazel gaze. He wasn't here to buy things. He needs a.... caravan? Last Gwyneth checked, they didn't sell those here, and her brows furrowed together in a slightly perplexed manner, before realization dawned in her gaze.
"Oh! You want to go to the caravan?" she exclaimed, forgetting for a moment he did not speak her language that just spilled out of lips. She could bring him, she supposed, but Gwyneth had also never really travelled that far by herself before. Usually, she kept within the boundaries of Damascus, and the caravan she had mentioned seemed to be rumored to be parked outside. Valence would likely flip a switch if he heard his youngest daughter so far away..... but she was being helpful, right? Wasn't that what Yahweh always taught them?
Waving a hand, she hoped she seemed convincing enough as Gwyneth led him through the throngs of people at the market and stores, before darting down a forgotten alleyway. Of course, she could bring him pass the regular streets, but it being a weekend, there was far too many people, and she didn't want to risk a friend of her parents seeing her. So instead, Gwyneth brought the stranger down alleyways and quiet back streets, before finally emerging on the edge of her birth city. Through the main entrance, one could see the expanse of the flatlands and in the distance, the snowy caps of the Sheleg mountains.
Once there, despite breathless, Gwyneth turned to the man with a pleased smile as she gestured at the exit, obviously glad she had managed to bring him to where she assumed he wanted to go.
Gwyneth, or whatever her name was, seemed keen to rattle off in a quick sentence that he couldn't have understood even if she spoke it slower. The distaste, for his own powerlessness in this situation, for the machinations of Somgi of Cairo, and for the fact that foreign words spilled from pretty lips... All of it served to form a cocktail of frustration within the young man that had little outlet. After all, this Gwyneth girl was proving useful despite her insistence on speaking quicker than he could understand, or her inability to speak Coptic. If there was anything that was of benefit to this experience, it was that he would wring his father for the opportunity to learn Hebrew.
He'll never hear the end of it, he assured himself, nearly hissing in the moment of dislike that welled within. Amenemhat had never liked his father. Every time they spoke, he took a berating tone, as if the experience of speaking to him was some sort of privilege. Then, he said nothing of consequence. And on top of it all, there was the violence and the utter disregard for the family that was his own. No, Somgi of Cairo lived for himself and while his intentions in educating Nem were, most likely, well-intended, the execution was a disturbing precedent for the future.
Amenemhat did not understand the girl, but she did wave a hand, as if to lead him onward and out of the Damascus merchant stores, onward to another destination. Hopefully, it was the circus. The Jews were not often known for their duplicitous natures, and this girl, while somewhat flighty with her words, seemed well-intended. He followed along without speaking. He kept pace next to her, easily following along as his gaze caught along the curiosities within the merchant stalls. If he had the mind, he'd stop around and peruse. But, the frustration that rose higher and higher only had him reeling for the opportunity to shove his father to the ground for his devil-may-care attitude.
Once Gwyneth led the way to the outskirts of the city, there was no sense of familiarity. He'd been blindfolded all throughout the way to this place, but... he could figure it out from here if he needed to. The circus was not predictable to outsiders looking in, but Amenemhat spent the past three years. The routes, tactics, and movements of the Tempest of Set were becoming more and more familiar to him. Pleased by the woman's efforts at assisting him, the Egyptian decided to take hold of her hand. It was, by Judean standards, most likely a daring thing, or even presumptuous. He took her hand and sought to bring it to his lips, uncaring of the possible slap of repercussion that might arise from it.
However the result ended, he'd reach into deep pocket of the coin purse at his waist, which was tied around his shoulder and left to shake against his leg with every movement. He took a trio of coins and place them in her palm before he said,
"Thank. Nice girl. Bother no more."
The Egyptian took a long moment to admire the somewhat vapid (to him) young woman before he sought to turn away from her and take his leave. He'd inconvenienced her enough.
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Jul 28, 2020 11:57:25 GMT
Posted In One Short Day on Jul 28, 2020 11:57:25 GMT
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Gwyneth, or whatever her name was, seemed keen to rattle off in a quick sentence that he couldn't have understood even if she spoke it slower. The distaste, for his own powerlessness in this situation, for the machinations of Somgi of Cairo, and for the fact that foreign words spilled from pretty lips... All of it served to form a cocktail of frustration within the young man that had little outlet. After all, this Gwyneth girl was proving useful despite her insistence on speaking quicker than he could understand, or her inability to speak Coptic. If there was anything that was of benefit to this experience, it was that he would wring his father for the opportunity to learn Hebrew.
He'll never hear the end of it, he assured himself, nearly hissing in the moment of dislike that welled within. Amenemhat had never liked his father. Every time they spoke, he took a berating tone, as if the experience of speaking to him was some sort of privilege. Then, he said nothing of consequence. And on top of it all, there was the violence and the utter disregard for the family that was his own. No, Somgi of Cairo lived for himself and while his intentions in educating Nem were, most likely, well-intended, the execution was a disturbing precedent for the future.
Amenemhat did not understand the girl, but she did wave a hand, as if to lead him onward and out of the Damascus merchant stores, onward to another destination. Hopefully, it was the circus. The Jews were not often known for their duplicitous natures, and this girl, while somewhat flighty with her words, seemed well-intended. He followed along without speaking. He kept pace next to her, easily following along as his gaze caught along the curiosities within the merchant stalls. If he had the mind, he'd stop around and peruse. But, the frustration that rose higher and higher only had him reeling for the opportunity to shove his father to the ground for his devil-may-care attitude.
Once Gwyneth led the way to the outskirts of the city, there was no sense of familiarity. He'd been blindfolded all throughout the way to this place, but... he could figure it out from here if he needed to. The circus was not predictable to outsiders looking in, but Amenemhat spent the past three years. The routes, tactics, and movements of the Tempest of Set were becoming more and more familiar to him. Pleased by the woman's efforts at assisting him, the Egyptian decided to take hold of her hand. It was, by Judean standards, most likely a daring thing, or even presumptuous. He took her hand and sought to bring it to his lips, uncaring of the possible slap of repercussion that might arise from it.
However the result ended, he'd reach into deep pocket of the coin purse at his waist, which was tied around his shoulder and left to shake against his leg with every movement. He took a trio of coins and place them in her palm before he said,
"Thank. Nice girl. Bother no more."
The Egyptian took a long moment to admire the somewhat vapid (to him) young woman before he sought to turn away from her and take his leave. He'd inconvenienced her enough.
Gwyneth, or whatever her name was, seemed keen to rattle off in a quick sentence that he couldn't have understood even if she spoke it slower. The distaste, for his own powerlessness in this situation, for the machinations of Somgi of Cairo, and for the fact that foreign words spilled from pretty lips... All of it served to form a cocktail of frustration within the young man that had little outlet. After all, this Gwyneth girl was proving useful despite her insistence on speaking quicker than he could understand, or her inability to speak Coptic. If there was anything that was of benefit to this experience, it was that he would wring his father for the opportunity to learn Hebrew.
He'll never hear the end of it, he assured himself, nearly hissing in the moment of dislike that welled within. Amenemhat had never liked his father. Every time they spoke, he took a berating tone, as if the experience of speaking to him was some sort of privilege. Then, he said nothing of consequence. And on top of it all, there was the violence and the utter disregard for the family that was his own. No, Somgi of Cairo lived for himself and while his intentions in educating Nem were, most likely, well-intended, the execution was a disturbing precedent for the future.
Amenemhat did not understand the girl, but she did wave a hand, as if to lead him onward and out of the Damascus merchant stores, onward to another destination. Hopefully, it was the circus. The Jews were not often known for their duplicitous natures, and this girl, while somewhat flighty with her words, seemed well-intended. He followed along without speaking. He kept pace next to her, easily following along as his gaze caught along the curiosities within the merchant stalls. If he had the mind, he'd stop around and peruse. But, the frustration that rose higher and higher only had him reeling for the opportunity to shove his father to the ground for his devil-may-care attitude.
Once Gwyneth led the way to the outskirts of the city, there was no sense of familiarity. He'd been blindfolded all throughout the way to this place, but... he could figure it out from here if he needed to. The circus was not predictable to outsiders looking in, but Amenemhat spent the past three years. The routes, tactics, and movements of the Tempest of Set were becoming more and more familiar to him. Pleased by the woman's efforts at assisting him, the Egyptian decided to take hold of her hand. It was, by Judean standards, most likely a daring thing, or even presumptuous. He took her hand and sought to bring it to his lips, uncaring of the possible slap of repercussion that might arise from it.
However the result ended, he'd reach into deep pocket of the coin purse at his waist, which was tied around his shoulder and left to shake against his leg with every movement. He took a trio of coins and place them in her palm before he said,
"Thank. Nice girl. Bother no more."
The Egyptian took a long moment to admire the somewhat vapid (to him) young woman before he sought to turn away from her and take his leave. He'd inconvenienced her enough.