translators up and running smoothly, he fixes the pharaoh with a half-assed scowl: 'you done fussin' over your food yet? we ain't got any'a your cultural stuff, m'sorry. you're kinda---outta your element, so to speak.'
‘ come on, you jest! this isn’t edible. ’ sun-kissed hand motions, wrist bending towards arrangement and displeasure bound in countenance. lips purse, chin canting upwards with forged regality despite height’s difference. he disliked the advantage! chest swelling, shoulders rigid. why had he grown so tall? ‘ – hmph. it does not matter, anyway. i don’t eat. ’ brows pinch above lifted eyes. ‘ nor will i be dictated to. ’ one hand’s fingers pluck at anonymous metal pinned to nemes. ‘ explain this … – device to me. ’
