A beautiful early morning sky greets your eyes. The sun was hours away, but you feel bold enough to continue. You, a quiet observer, have arrived at the famous Tamora Ruins of Scidrarnacia to see if their history could offer you more than just tales. But there, amid the ancient stones, is someone who draws your attention more than the ruins ever could.
By the ruins, a muscular woman slumbers peacefully, her skin dark like the rich earth beneath your feet. What shocks you is how her body has little clothing, only adorning a black leather tank top, a golden necklace, leather shorts, and taupe sandals. Her black hair lay unkempt by the sandy earth.
You watch as the tall, muscular woman continues her slumber. A large, straight nose with wide-set nostrils dominates her face, giving her an air of pride even in slumber. As you observe, the woman curls her lips into a smirk of pride, reacting to a vision only she knows.
While there was no moon, the stars in the clear sky more than accommodated for the lack of light. You approach quietly, keeping your footsteps light in the grass. As your sandals press on the earth, the woman moans quietly. You pause, watching the scene before you. The woman is an imposing figure of strength and might. From the amount of garments, you quickly decipher her as a barbarian, perhaps within a tribe of some sort. The statuesque female lies with her legs crossed and her head propped on her arms... much too serene, you think, to stand vigil for so long.
When you least expect it, the muscular lady moves. She twitches her magnificent nose, her cavernous nostrils flaring at an unseen irritant. The muscles of her face tense, and her lips part slightly. You lean closer, fascinated by the odd sight of such a formidable woman caught in a moment of vulnerability.
Intrigued and mischievous, you pluck the longest blade of grass from the earth, the blade looking like the blade of a rapier. The tiny grains of pollen on its sides convince you to make your move. With practiced precision, you crouch near the muscular goddess. With the tool of choice, you slowly bring the pointed tip of the grass blade and brush it on the underside of her nose. As the tip of the grass brushes against her sensitive skin, her face scrunches further in irritation. You can see the muscles in her huge nose quiver as her prominent nostrils flare wide. Your breath—for the briefest of moments - catches in your chest. For a moment, it looks like she might wake.
Thankfully, the muscular woman slumbers.
Emboldened by the sight, you bring your pointer finger and slowly flick the tip of the woman's nose. Her nostrils flare violently at the contact, and before you can retreat--
"Hih--HIH!! HKT'SCHHOOO!"
A sharp, surprised sneeze jolts her from the slumber. Her eyes, a beautiful cerulean, gaze at your presence. As the muscular woman scrubs at her nostrils, the seasoned warrior rises from the earth. But then, all at once, her nose scrunches again, a tickle she can’t suppress.
"Heh... hehh... hHIH!! Hehh'SCHHHHOOO! Hehhh... AESCHHH-SCHHHOOO!!" She sneezes twice, her body jerking with the force of each one. Her breath hitches, and she takes a moment to collect herself, frowning in irritation. The woman gears up for a third, piercing sneeze but manages to pinch the tickle away.
In a gesture of peace, you take an involuntary step back, holding your hands up. With a soft, lilting voice, you address the warrior. "Bless you," you say with a smile. “That was quite the sneeze you have there."
The muscular woman raises a fist to her chest, preparing in the event you hit her. "Wh-" The woman gets in a defensive fighting stance, apparently practiced from years past. Her voice is a husky, honeyed voice, which sounds congested from the sneezes prior. "Who are you? What do you want?"
You chuckle, the sudden tension dissolving as you meet her glare. "I’m a friendly traveler, passing through." You pause, watching her for any sign of hostility. To your surprise, her expression contorts to a grimace as she sneezes again.
"Heh-hehh-HEHHH!! HESZCHHHOOO! Huhh'SCHOO! Htt'KTCHHHOOO!" The sneezes sound like three thunderclaps from a clear sky. The sneezes, loud as they are, make you take one more step back. You can see her irritation creeping to her features as clearly as the daylight. Yet, the woman does not mind nearly as much as you anticipated.
“Bless you,” you say once more, the tone of hostility absolving itself. With a more sincere tone, you address the sneezing woman. "You’re going to catch a cold if you stay out here too long."
The woman snorts in a way that dismisses your concern. "Cold?" she says with an inquisitive but defiant lilt, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. “I am too strong to catch an illness. I can't possibly catch a cold here!” A defensive approach? Very well. The woman's hostility mildly returns but dies out after the yell.
You raise an eyebrow, intrigued by her boastful arrogance. "Then perhaps I should leave you to your... sneezing.”
She glares at you, the muscles in her jaw tensing. “What’s your name?” she asks, her tone sharp, as if testing you.
You can’t help but grin at her challenge. “Greer,” you reply, your voice light and teasing. “You shall join me... if you are up for a challenge.”
Her nostrils flare again, but this time, it’s not from an impending sneeze. She raises an eyebrow, blue eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Join you? Why would I?"
Before the woman says anything more, another series of loud sneezes rips through her, catching her off guard. “Hehh... HASSHHHOOO! Hehh... Hrrrzchh-SCHOOO! AEESCH-SHHOOO! Heh... heh... HEHH!! ARRZCH-SHHOOO!" The sneezes are powerful, shaking her whole body, and for the first time, she looks genuinely uncomfortable. She tries to rub at her large nose, but it ends in a spraying "Hahhh-SSHHOOOO!" instead.
"Goodness, bless you." You say once again, your tone taking on a hint of concern. "Are you sure you are well? It sounds like you are coming down with something, dear." The 'dear' in the exchange is genuine, your eyes showing a genuine sign of an apology for disturbing her peace.
"Sick! I never get sick!" The muscular woman retorts, her generous chest heaving. You notice the slight trembling in her stance, the way her hand hovers near her nose, as if she might be preparing for another fit of sneezes. However, she clears her throat, standing tall. "I’m Metztli," she says with a proud snarl, “Chieftainess of the Kayange Tribe."
"Metztli," you say, your voice warm but still teasing, “you might want to think about getting out of the cold for a bit. It would shatter me to see the Chieftainess of the Kayange Tribe laid low by a cold."
Metztli glares at you for a long moment, nostrils twitching as if battling another sneeze. Finally, she snorts, an almost imperceptible smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I've no use for such kindness. If you insist, fine. I'll tolerate your company."
You grin, taking a step back but not too far. "It’s a deal, Chieftainess."
Before you can turn to leave, you see her generous nostrils flaring widely. When you least expect it, another sneeze rips through Metztli—one final, forceful "Huhh... Attt'SCHHHOOOO!!" And you can tell... the adventure is just beginning.
mean to everyone but me trope in the context of blessings. everyone else gets death glares and deep grumbles if they dare acknowledge the notion of The Devil Incarnate sneezing. you get soft, sniffly words of gratitude and squinting eyes that just beg for a hand on their forehead
when a splendidly unspectacular set of stifled sneezes is ruined by a) drained, panting sighs in between that betray their congestion as much as the dulled consonants in their demurrals re: Needing To Sneeze b) conspicuous shivers that run from the pitiful hand clamping their nose shut to a shoulder that could’ve been dislocated from the sheer force of The Sneezes They Need c) the slimy strings that connect this fabric to that unfortunate patch of skin and seem to dance around until They Need To Sneeze Again or d) all of the above. also have they progressed from smothering their sneezes into silence to letter d because even the most stubborn of noses subconsciously crave attention re: their suffering. much to consider.
someone who’s well aware of the mess they make after every sneeze and reflexively swipes their still-running nose across their sleeve, leaving a lengthy trail of damp fabric in its wake. it's certainly a less fashionable look for them, but considering the alternative would be letting all that stream down their face...
consider someone so protective of their glasses that, in the event of a debilitating sneezing fit, both their hands are dedicated to keeping said glasses soundly atop their nose. no regard is given towards what comes out of said nose.
