Notes: A small tangential lore because I wanted to. Not related to Thanatos yet, these three- well, read and you’ll see.
Pings: @jollyroger-fr, @fusefr, @hellkite-fr, @kattafr, @archaic-fr, @mask-fr
It’s not the yelling that wakes him, but the book thrown his way which hits him squarely in the face.
Pawah grunts in pain, unhappily roused from his slumber as he blindly pushes the novel away. It lands on his leg with a thump. He fumbles, groping in the dark for his glasses and finding nothing.
“You said-“
“I didn’t say anything, you shitty excuse for a prince!”
“You clearly said-”
“Fuck off!”
He blinks, the beginnings of a tension headache threatening to knock against the inside of his skull. As he reaches up to rub his temples, his thumb pushes into his glasses. He drags them down from the top of his head and onto the bridge of his nose. They’re smeared, but it’s good enough for now. He kicks the soft blanket away reluctantly, and begins to pull on his boots as the bickering continues.
“It’s not a big deal, Eko. I’m just surprised-“
“Shut up!”
“Eko-“
She storms into view with a snarl on her lips, matched to the froze snarl of the beast whose fur she wears, their fangs shadowing her temple. A lace bow and flower have been attached to her right horn; something Pawah himself bought for her. He takes the glasses from his face and rubs the edge of the blanket over the lens.
It only smears them more.
“Pawah! Tell his high horse-ness to stop talking to me,” Eko demands as she stands nearby, arms crossed over her chest. She blows hair from her face- strands with a crystalline sheen, they sing like wind chimes as they brush against one another. Whilst her face has been contorted by anger, there’s still an ageless beauty to her. Pawah thinks this with some regret as he finishes lacing his boots, and sets the book down on the ground.
“Mhm,” he mutters, reaching behind him to pull his overcoat on.
“Don’t hum! Tell him where to stick his-“
“I’m not judging, so please calm down.”
Horakhty stands in the mouth of the cave- their residence for the night- and holds that same ageless beauty. He looks the part, as he always done, so lavished in platinum and gold and draped with the ceremonial jewellery of a prince of light. It’s a lie, Pawah sees it in the mischievousness of his eyes, the way he holds his tone like the sharp edge of a sword.
“I just want my coffee,” Pawah says, voice rough from sleep and annoyance. “Stop yelling.”
Eko opens her mouth to continue her rant, but vulnerability flashes in her brown eyes and her mouth shuts with a click. To Pawah’s mixed surprise and gratitude, she takes his gloves and hat from beside his bedroll and hands them to him before she stalks past Horakhty.
She sticks her tongue out at him.
He returns the gesture before pacing over with a daintily offered hand.
“My liege,” Pawah drawls, dripping with sarcasm as he takes the offered hand.
“It’s a lovely morning,” Horakhty offers, entirely nonplussed. “Warm and dry.”
“Wonderful,” Pawah offers, monotone.
As always, Horakhty pretends he cannot tell that Pawah does not care, and Pawah pretends to care with the least effort possible. It was exhausting at first, but now it is routine.
Pawah adjusts his sloping hat, and pushes his glasses up his nose with the joint of his index finger.
“Shall we go? I would hate to deprive you of your coffee,” Horakhty says, not waiting for an answer as he strides out of the cave.
It’s quite a nice cave, currently filled with their possessions. The trio of them are quite well off it’s true, but are unable to settle down, lest their conquests catch up with them. Pawah wouldn’t mind- he always wanted to see the world- but he glares at how both Horakhty and Eko have left their possessions strewn about as if a tornado has blown through it. Not to mention the disturbing number of empty bottles of alcohol- wine and rum and others with labels that have been scratched out.
“I’m not their butler,” Pawah gripes to himself, “I won’t do it.”
He wonders who he is trying to convince.
“Are you coming?” Horakhty calls, voice devoid of impatience- and therefore dripping with it. Pawah gets at least some level of satisfaction from that. He dusts himself down and slings his bag onto his shoulder as he leaves, shielding his eyes from the glare of the cresting sun.
