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Days earlier, Miri of Lea had arrived at the Tempest of Set. The family reunion with Raziya had been wonderful—little Ari had been mystified—and Amenemhat assured her that soon, they would all be her family. Miri quite liked that idea. The very first time she laid eyes on Amenemhat, the gods had whispered praise, faint and tinkling. That’s how Miri knew that this was indeed where she ought to be.
Still, she was uncomfortable. Cairo was much hotter than she was used to, and they’d taken away her clothes and given her new ones. The draping, off-white fabric was called a kalasiris, she was told, and though she was smirked at, they had given her a longer, looser fitting outfit, for which she was grateful. The language, too, was difficult. Raziya had tried to teach her a few words here and there throughout her letters, and Miri had found a little immigrant boy to talk with when she was eleven, but the words still felt strange and clumsy in her mouth.
The gods, too, had grown fainter since she arrived. They seemed satisfied enough that she had made it to Egypt, no longer concerned with her further actions. That terrified Miri. She had grown accustomed to their company in the past years. Moments of complete silence were extremely rare and usually left Miri reeling, desperate for the murmuring to start again. If the gods decided to abandon her, too, she would be alone. Raziya had already made friends in the circus: strange, diverse people who included Miri in their conversations but had yet to really connect with her. Ari was wonderful, of course, but too young to really give her the sense of safety and warmth that the gods provided.
Miri had seen the look on Amenemhat’s face when she mentioned that the gods were pleased with her arrival. The confusion, the intrigue, the small, pleased smile the spread across his handsome face. Miri was pleased, too, sure that the smile meant she was special, important enough to stay and serve the circus. But she needed to be interviewed, apparently, to make sure she was healthy. It made sense. Disease running rampant through the tented encampment would be a disaster, after all. And performers needed to be healthy to do their best work. Miri was hoping to be an acrobat. She’d seen them practicing on her very first night and had been enraptured by the graceful way they flew through the air. It was like dancing, or flying, or some wonderful combination. She was small, yes, but her mother often told her she moved like a ghost. Then she would yell and curse because Miri had startled her, but even so. Perhaps the healer would tell her she had the perfect body to fly.
And so on the fourth day, Miri made her way to the medical tent to see the man called Rekhmire. Small and hesitant, she stopped just outside, blazing sun beating down on her head. She had seen him when she arrived. His cold expression frightened her, as well as his towering build. Still, he would tell her if she was healthy. And, if she was lucky, maybe he could even tell her why the gods weren’t speaking as loudly anymore. Perhaps he could help her convince them to come back. “Hullo?” she called out nervously, big eyes piercing the sand like one of the grains could give her the answers, instead. Her voice was just loud enough to be heard, heavy with a Hebrew accent. She thought for a moment, trying to remember the right words. “I’m Miri, the new one. I was told to visit you.”
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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Days earlier, Miri of Lea had arrived at the Tempest of Set. The family reunion with Raziya had been wonderful—little Ari had been mystified—and Amenemhat assured her that soon, they would all be her family. Miri quite liked that idea. The very first time she laid eyes on Amenemhat, the gods had whispered praise, faint and tinkling. That’s how Miri knew that this was indeed where she ought to be.
Still, she was uncomfortable. Cairo was much hotter than she was used to, and they’d taken away her clothes and given her new ones. The draping, off-white fabric was called a kalasiris, she was told, and though she was smirked at, they had given her a longer, looser fitting outfit, for which she was grateful. The language, too, was difficult. Raziya had tried to teach her a few words here and there throughout her letters, and Miri had found a little immigrant boy to talk with when she was eleven, but the words still felt strange and clumsy in her mouth.
The gods, too, had grown fainter since she arrived. They seemed satisfied enough that she had made it to Egypt, no longer concerned with her further actions. That terrified Miri. She had grown accustomed to their company in the past years. Moments of complete silence were extremely rare and usually left Miri reeling, desperate for the murmuring to start again. If the gods decided to abandon her, too, she would be alone. Raziya had already made friends in the circus: strange, diverse people who included Miri in their conversations but had yet to really connect with her. Ari was wonderful, of course, but too young to really give her the sense of safety and warmth that the gods provided.
Miri had seen the look on Amenemhat’s face when she mentioned that the gods were pleased with her arrival. The confusion, the intrigue, the small, pleased smile the spread across his handsome face. Miri was pleased, too, sure that the smile meant she was special, important enough to stay and serve the circus. But she needed to be interviewed, apparently, to make sure she was healthy. It made sense. Disease running rampant through the tented encampment would be a disaster, after all. And performers needed to be healthy to do their best work. Miri was hoping to be an acrobat. She’d seen them practicing on her very first night and had been enraptured by the graceful way they flew through the air. It was like dancing, or flying, or some wonderful combination. She was small, yes, but her mother often told her she moved like a ghost. Then she would yell and curse because Miri had startled her, but even so. Perhaps the healer would tell her she had the perfect body to fly.
And so on the fourth day, Miri made her way to the medical tent to see the man called Rekhmire. Small and hesitant, she stopped just outside, blazing sun beating down on her head. She had seen him when she arrived. His cold expression frightened her, as well as his towering build. Still, he would tell her if she was healthy. And, if she was lucky, maybe he could even tell her why the gods weren’t speaking as loudly anymore. Perhaps he could help her convince them to come back. “Hullo?” she called out nervously, big eyes piercing the sand like one of the grains could give her the answers, instead. Her voice was just loud enough to be heard, heavy with a Hebrew accent. She thought for a moment, trying to remember the right words. “I’m Miri, the new one. I was told to visit you.”
Days earlier, Miri of Lea had arrived at the Tempest of Set. The family reunion with Raziya had been wonderful—little Ari had been mystified—and Amenemhat assured her that soon, they would all be her family. Miri quite liked that idea. The very first time she laid eyes on Amenemhat, the gods had whispered praise, faint and tinkling. That’s how Miri knew that this was indeed where she ought to be.
Still, she was uncomfortable. Cairo was much hotter than she was used to, and they’d taken away her clothes and given her new ones. The draping, off-white fabric was called a kalasiris, she was told, and though she was smirked at, they had given her a longer, looser fitting outfit, for which she was grateful. The language, too, was difficult. Raziya had tried to teach her a few words here and there throughout her letters, and Miri had found a little immigrant boy to talk with when she was eleven, but the words still felt strange and clumsy in her mouth.
The gods, too, had grown fainter since she arrived. They seemed satisfied enough that she had made it to Egypt, no longer concerned with her further actions. That terrified Miri. She had grown accustomed to their company in the past years. Moments of complete silence were extremely rare and usually left Miri reeling, desperate for the murmuring to start again. If the gods decided to abandon her, too, she would be alone. Raziya had already made friends in the circus: strange, diverse people who included Miri in their conversations but had yet to really connect with her. Ari was wonderful, of course, but too young to really give her the sense of safety and warmth that the gods provided.
Miri had seen the look on Amenemhat’s face when she mentioned that the gods were pleased with her arrival. The confusion, the intrigue, the small, pleased smile the spread across his handsome face. Miri was pleased, too, sure that the smile meant she was special, important enough to stay and serve the circus. But she needed to be interviewed, apparently, to make sure she was healthy. It made sense. Disease running rampant through the tented encampment would be a disaster, after all. And performers needed to be healthy to do their best work. Miri was hoping to be an acrobat. She’d seen them practicing on her very first night and had been enraptured by the graceful way they flew through the air. It was like dancing, or flying, or some wonderful combination. She was small, yes, but her mother often told her she moved like a ghost. Then she would yell and curse because Miri had startled her, but even so. Perhaps the healer would tell her she had the perfect body to fly.
And so on the fourth day, Miri made her way to the medical tent to see the man called Rekhmire. Small and hesitant, she stopped just outside, blazing sun beating down on her head. She had seen him when she arrived. His cold expression frightened her, as well as his towering build. Still, he would tell her if she was healthy. And, if she was lucky, maybe he could even tell her why the gods weren’t speaking as loudly anymore. Perhaps he could help her convince them to come back. “Hullo?” she called out nervously, big eyes piercing the sand like one of the grains could give her the answers, instead. Her voice was just loud enough to be heard, heavy with a Hebrew accent. She thought for a moment, trying to remember the right words. “I’m Miri, the new one. I was told to visit you.”
Rekhmire felt lucky for the first time in a long time. He had no experiments for the first time in a long time, and while he loved experiments when one got bombarded with them one needs a break. And the circus seemed to be having a lucky day at the same time with no injuries, sprains, or minor abrasions. All in all, it was technically the first day off Rekhmire had in years.
Despite that, and how glad he was to have a break, his idea of a good time during that break was to go over his medical journals as well as his fathers. Doing so meant that he could make sure any medical procedures, balms, and methods remained fresh in his mind. And Rekhmire knew he wasn't getting any younger. He had just turned forty nigh on five months ago and he knew that the body started weakening around the late forties.
The better he kept his mind fresh and active, the better he could be prepared for those years. After all, the circus still needed him, and he would serve as their doctor until the very day he died.
He was broken from his self-studies when he heard a voice from outside his tent. "For the love of Set, I should have expected something to go wrong," he muttered to himself, walking towards the flap of the tent, expecting some injured performer or the like. He stopped for a moment when he heard the girl speak again about being new.
He opened the flap of the tent and stared down at the girl behind it. His eyes narrowed slightly as he began mentally examining her before saying, "I see. Well, come in then."
He stepped aside, holding the flap open so the girl could enter the tent before moving over to his tables. He pushed one of the tables, the one that had a bloodstain on it with four straps for wrists and ankles, aside. He then walked over towards his other table which was cleaner and had no straps.
From what he heard, the girl was a volunteer of sorts. He felt that he could do what he needed to do without any issues from the girl and without the need for straps. He waved to the strapless table, before speaking "Sit on the table. You're here to get checked up, right?"
While he was waiting for an answer, he reached over and pulled a thickened papyrus with Egyptian script that was very clearly illegible, though Rekhmire looked at the script as if he understood it completely. "I don't know what you've gone through with anyone else, or if you've seen Amenemhat, but I have a few questions for my personal medical records if you don't mind. It'll give me an idea of your history."
He gave the girl a smile, which on his face didn't come across as gentle as he had intended. Rekhmire didn't genuinely smile often, only about once every ten years or so. So his smile was thin and didn't quite meet his eyes. Altogether it looked about as forced as it could possibly be.
He reached over, grabbing his reed pen, before dipping it in ink, before waiting to see if the girl would allow him to ask his questions. To him, the questions were more than just medical history, though most answers would fill his notes. But there were a few things in there to test if she would be a problem patient in regards to indoctrination. He could twist things how he wanted this session, but it would test which table he would need in future sessions.
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Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Rekhmire felt lucky for the first time in a long time. He had no experiments for the first time in a long time, and while he loved experiments when one got bombarded with them one needs a break. And the circus seemed to be having a lucky day at the same time with no injuries, sprains, or minor abrasions. All in all, it was technically the first day off Rekhmire had in years.
Despite that, and how glad he was to have a break, his idea of a good time during that break was to go over his medical journals as well as his fathers. Doing so meant that he could make sure any medical procedures, balms, and methods remained fresh in his mind. And Rekhmire knew he wasn't getting any younger. He had just turned forty nigh on five months ago and he knew that the body started weakening around the late forties.
The better he kept his mind fresh and active, the better he could be prepared for those years. After all, the circus still needed him, and he would serve as their doctor until the very day he died.
He was broken from his self-studies when he heard a voice from outside his tent. "For the love of Set, I should have expected something to go wrong," he muttered to himself, walking towards the flap of the tent, expecting some injured performer or the like. He stopped for a moment when he heard the girl speak again about being new.
He opened the flap of the tent and stared down at the girl behind it. His eyes narrowed slightly as he began mentally examining her before saying, "I see. Well, come in then."
He stepped aside, holding the flap open so the girl could enter the tent before moving over to his tables. He pushed one of the tables, the one that had a bloodstain on it with four straps for wrists and ankles, aside. He then walked over towards his other table which was cleaner and had no straps.
From what he heard, the girl was a volunteer of sorts. He felt that he could do what he needed to do without any issues from the girl and without the need for straps. He waved to the strapless table, before speaking "Sit on the table. You're here to get checked up, right?"
While he was waiting for an answer, he reached over and pulled a thickened papyrus with Egyptian script that was very clearly illegible, though Rekhmire looked at the script as if he understood it completely. "I don't know what you've gone through with anyone else, or if you've seen Amenemhat, but I have a few questions for my personal medical records if you don't mind. It'll give me an idea of your history."
He gave the girl a smile, which on his face didn't come across as gentle as he had intended. Rekhmire didn't genuinely smile often, only about once every ten years or so. So his smile was thin and didn't quite meet his eyes. Altogether it looked about as forced as it could possibly be.
He reached over, grabbing his reed pen, before dipping it in ink, before waiting to see if the girl would allow him to ask his questions. To him, the questions were more than just medical history, though most answers would fill his notes. But there were a few things in there to test if she would be a problem patient in regards to indoctrination. He could twist things how he wanted this session, but it would test which table he would need in future sessions.
Rekhmire felt lucky for the first time in a long time. He had no experiments for the first time in a long time, and while he loved experiments when one got bombarded with them one needs a break. And the circus seemed to be having a lucky day at the same time with no injuries, sprains, or minor abrasions. All in all, it was technically the first day off Rekhmire had in years.
Despite that, and how glad he was to have a break, his idea of a good time during that break was to go over his medical journals as well as his fathers. Doing so meant that he could make sure any medical procedures, balms, and methods remained fresh in his mind. And Rekhmire knew he wasn't getting any younger. He had just turned forty nigh on five months ago and he knew that the body started weakening around the late forties.
The better he kept his mind fresh and active, the better he could be prepared for those years. After all, the circus still needed him, and he would serve as their doctor until the very day he died.
He was broken from his self-studies when he heard a voice from outside his tent. "For the love of Set, I should have expected something to go wrong," he muttered to himself, walking towards the flap of the tent, expecting some injured performer or the like. He stopped for a moment when he heard the girl speak again about being new.
He opened the flap of the tent and stared down at the girl behind it. His eyes narrowed slightly as he began mentally examining her before saying, "I see. Well, come in then."
He stepped aside, holding the flap open so the girl could enter the tent before moving over to his tables. He pushed one of the tables, the one that had a bloodstain on it with four straps for wrists and ankles, aside. He then walked over towards his other table which was cleaner and had no straps.
From what he heard, the girl was a volunteer of sorts. He felt that he could do what he needed to do without any issues from the girl and without the need for straps. He waved to the strapless table, before speaking "Sit on the table. You're here to get checked up, right?"
While he was waiting for an answer, he reached over and pulled a thickened papyrus with Egyptian script that was very clearly illegible, though Rekhmire looked at the script as if he understood it completely. "I don't know what you've gone through with anyone else, or if you've seen Amenemhat, but I have a few questions for my personal medical records if you don't mind. It'll give me an idea of your history."
He gave the girl a smile, which on his face didn't come across as gentle as he had intended. Rekhmire didn't genuinely smile often, only about once every ten years or so. So his smile was thin and didn't quite meet his eyes. Altogether it looked about as forced as it could possibly be.
He reached over, grabbing his reed pen, before dipping it in ink, before waiting to see if the girl would allow him to ask his questions. To him, the questions were more than just medical history, though most answers would fill his notes. But there were a few things in there to test if she would be a problem patient in regards to indoctrination. He could twist things how he wanted this session, but it would test which table he would need in future sessions.
The inside of the medical tent hardly put Miri’s nerves at ease. Rekhmire looked far from pleased to see her, stern and calculating as he was. Unfamiliar instruments and jars of strange substances surrounded the pair, and Miri tried not to notice the unpleasant looking straps on the table the healer was clearing away. She spotted, too, a hint of blood before the man obstructed her view and shivered despite the burning Cairo heat.
Please, let me never end up like whoever was here before me, she prayed to the all-too-quiet gods as she hopped onto the cleaner table with minimal difficulty. She was short, yes, but nimble. Miri hoped he would notice; demonstrating her ability to move was essential if she had any hope of joining the miraculous acrobats. “I am, yes,” she murmured, though the formidable man wasn’t listening. She swallowed hard and tried to stay calm, looking down at her lap rather than at him. It hardly helped. The unfamiliar fabric she wore had no decorations to distract her and felt rough and distinctly uncomfortable against her fingertips.
“I haven’t seen much of anyone,” she said quietly, raising her ponderous eyes to look at him after a long moment. “Amenemhat said I should come to visit you once I settled in.” The words felt jumbled in her mouth. Hopefully he wouldn’t think her stupid—Egyptian shared some common sounds with Hebrew, but the words themselves were numerous, and her nerves made some of them evaporate from her head.
“I will tell you anything you wish to know.” Miri wanted, more than anything, to fit in. Being finally reunited with Raziya was not enough. She wanted a community, a home, to feel safe and wanted and maybe even loved. Rekhmire was smiling now, but the expression looked somehow both empty and sinister on his face. Miri returned the look, every bit as forced, though she hoped she pulled it off a little better.
The silence was deafening. And, though she knew he likely wanted to ask specific questions, Miri could not help it. She began to speak—a long, rambling monologue—hazel eyes flickering all around the room, searching for anything. “I grew up in Israel, in a little house by the sea.” She could smell the salt. It was mixed with a darker smell: the rot and the feeling in the pit of her stomach the first time her mother slapped her. “With Raziya and little Arih. Did you meet Arih yet? He’s lovely. So brave.” She could see Raziya getting on the boat with her father, could feel the sobs that wracked her body when she never came home. “And Raziya was dead, because our parents were cruel and didn’t want her anymore, and Arih and me were never quite good enough.”
It was hard, telling the story in a language she only knew pieces of. But she managed. “But then she wrote me a letter and taught me about the circus and Set and all the gods, and I heard them ca-.”
Miri stopped, large eyes widening even further as she stared up at the doctor. She was hugging herself tightly, nearly trembling. She shouldn’t have told him. He would think her crazy. No one would understand—a tiny Judean teenager hearing the Egyptian gods whispering in her ears? No, he would tell Amenemhat and she would be thrown out and left for dead. Where would she go then? “I mean, I thought they were fascinating.” Her voice was scarcely a whisper. He would see right through her. “I am sorry. I should let you ask your questions.”
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The inside of the medical tent hardly put Miri’s nerves at ease. Rekhmire looked far from pleased to see her, stern and calculating as he was. Unfamiliar instruments and jars of strange substances surrounded the pair, and Miri tried not to notice the unpleasant looking straps on the table the healer was clearing away. She spotted, too, a hint of blood before the man obstructed her view and shivered despite the burning Cairo heat.
Please, let me never end up like whoever was here before me, she prayed to the all-too-quiet gods as she hopped onto the cleaner table with minimal difficulty. She was short, yes, but nimble. Miri hoped he would notice; demonstrating her ability to move was essential if she had any hope of joining the miraculous acrobats. “I am, yes,” she murmured, though the formidable man wasn’t listening. She swallowed hard and tried to stay calm, looking down at her lap rather than at him. It hardly helped. The unfamiliar fabric she wore had no decorations to distract her and felt rough and distinctly uncomfortable against her fingertips.
“I haven’t seen much of anyone,” she said quietly, raising her ponderous eyes to look at him after a long moment. “Amenemhat said I should come to visit you once I settled in.” The words felt jumbled in her mouth. Hopefully he wouldn’t think her stupid—Egyptian shared some common sounds with Hebrew, but the words themselves were numerous, and her nerves made some of them evaporate from her head.
“I will tell you anything you wish to know.” Miri wanted, more than anything, to fit in. Being finally reunited with Raziya was not enough. She wanted a community, a home, to feel safe and wanted and maybe even loved. Rekhmire was smiling now, but the expression looked somehow both empty and sinister on his face. Miri returned the look, every bit as forced, though she hoped she pulled it off a little better.
The silence was deafening. And, though she knew he likely wanted to ask specific questions, Miri could not help it. She began to speak—a long, rambling monologue—hazel eyes flickering all around the room, searching for anything. “I grew up in Israel, in a little house by the sea.” She could smell the salt. It was mixed with a darker smell: the rot and the feeling in the pit of her stomach the first time her mother slapped her. “With Raziya and little Arih. Did you meet Arih yet? He’s lovely. So brave.” She could see Raziya getting on the boat with her father, could feel the sobs that wracked her body when she never came home. “And Raziya was dead, because our parents were cruel and didn’t want her anymore, and Arih and me were never quite good enough.”
It was hard, telling the story in a language she only knew pieces of. But she managed. “But then she wrote me a letter and taught me about the circus and Set and all the gods, and I heard them ca-.”
Miri stopped, large eyes widening even further as she stared up at the doctor. She was hugging herself tightly, nearly trembling. She shouldn’t have told him. He would think her crazy. No one would understand—a tiny Judean teenager hearing the Egyptian gods whispering in her ears? No, he would tell Amenemhat and she would be thrown out and left for dead. Where would she go then? “I mean, I thought they were fascinating.” Her voice was scarcely a whisper. He would see right through her. “I am sorry. I should let you ask your questions.”
The inside of the medical tent hardly put Miri’s nerves at ease. Rekhmire looked far from pleased to see her, stern and calculating as he was. Unfamiliar instruments and jars of strange substances surrounded the pair, and Miri tried not to notice the unpleasant looking straps on the table the healer was clearing away. She spotted, too, a hint of blood before the man obstructed her view and shivered despite the burning Cairo heat.
Please, let me never end up like whoever was here before me, she prayed to the all-too-quiet gods as she hopped onto the cleaner table with minimal difficulty. She was short, yes, but nimble. Miri hoped he would notice; demonstrating her ability to move was essential if she had any hope of joining the miraculous acrobats. “I am, yes,” she murmured, though the formidable man wasn’t listening. She swallowed hard and tried to stay calm, looking down at her lap rather than at him. It hardly helped. The unfamiliar fabric she wore had no decorations to distract her and felt rough and distinctly uncomfortable against her fingertips.
“I haven’t seen much of anyone,” she said quietly, raising her ponderous eyes to look at him after a long moment. “Amenemhat said I should come to visit you once I settled in.” The words felt jumbled in her mouth. Hopefully he wouldn’t think her stupid—Egyptian shared some common sounds with Hebrew, but the words themselves were numerous, and her nerves made some of them evaporate from her head.
“I will tell you anything you wish to know.” Miri wanted, more than anything, to fit in. Being finally reunited with Raziya was not enough. She wanted a community, a home, to feel safe and wanted and maybe even loved. Rekhmire was smiling now, but the expression looked somehow both empty and sinister on his face. Miri returned the look, every bit as forced, though she hoped she pulled it off a little better.
The silence was deafening. And, though she knew he likely wanted to ask specific questions, Miri could not help it. She began to speak—a long, rambling monologue—hazel eyes flickering all around the room, searching for anything. “I grew up in Israel, in a little house by the sea.” She could smell the salt. It was mixed with a darker smell: the rot and the feeling in the pit of her stomach the first time her mother slapped her. “With Raziya and little Arih. Did you meet Arih yet? He’s lovely. So brave.” She could see Raziya getting on the boat with her father, could feel the sobs that wracked her body when she never came home. “And Raziya was dead, because our parents were cruel and didn’t want her anymore, and Arih and me were never quite good enough.”
It was hard, telling the story in a language she only knew pieces of. But she managed. “But then she wrote me a letter and taught me about the circus and Set and all the gods, and I heard them ca-.”
Miri stopped, large eyes widening even further as she stared up at the doctor. She was hugging herself tightly, nearly trembling. She shouldn’t have told him. He would think her crazy. No one would understand—a tiny Judean teenager hearing the Egyptian gods whispering in her ears? No, he would tell Amenemhat and she would be thrown out and left for dead. Where would she go then? “I mean, I thought they were fascinating.” Her voice was scarcely a whisper. He would see right through her. “I am sorry. I should let you ask your questions.”
He could tell that the girl, Miri, was uncomfortable in the status of his tent. He watched as her eyes seemed to drift over towards the various strange, and sometimes disgusting ingredients and concoctions lining his shelves. However, despite her discomfort, Rekhmire did not care. It was not his job to make patients happy about his space. His job was to heal them. Their happiness did not factor into that.
He shook his head as she told him that she hadn't seen anyone. Typical. Leave him to deal with everything. "Well, I suppose it's lucky that I can take care of most everything myself."
He watched as the girl entered into a rant about her personal history. It was all very sordid, but Rekhmire simply did not care. Every slave, every performer, everyone comes with some sort of backstory. Some reasons to come. Oft times it was darker than most. Some sort of tragedy leading up to their joining the circus. It is, after all, these types of people who are drawn to the chaos that the circus has dedicated itself to, whether or not they are aware of that or not.
It was at her next words, that he leaned in slightly, his curiosity piqued. "Heard?"
He would certainly ask about that later. "Hmm," he jotted down a few notes from her personal history, before continuing, "You're right. Your personal history has no bearing on this."
He glanced his eyes up and down her body before jotting down something, "Approximately 3 and four-tenths cubits tall." Rekhmire glanced up once more, noting the nimbleness he had seen earlier. Perhaps not performer level, but with enough work, perhaps.
He jotted another note down before raising his head to look at her. "You said you have family. One, in particular, you're close with. Is that going to affect your work, physically or mentally?" Rekhmire had to stop himself from chuckling. Her own rant could now be used against her, and if she answered the question truthfully, he might be able to figure out whether that tie might affect the indoctrination process, allowing him to figure out how to get around it.
"In addition to that, do you have any history with any sort of opioids? Anything that might affect your health and performance?" Once again, a clever question that could simply be seen as a way of making sure her performance would be as good as it possibly could. However, under the surface, he wanted to make sure she wasn't able to identify the effects of opium and be able to fight against it better than the average person.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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He could tell that the girl, Miri, was uncomfortable in the status of his tent. He watched as her eyes seemed to drift over towards the various strange, and sometimes disgusting ingredients and concoctions lining his shelves. However, despite her discomfort, Rekhmire did not care. It was not his job to make patients happy about his space. His job was to heal them. Their happiness did not factor into that.
He shook his head as she told him that she hadn't seen anyone. Typical. Leave him to deal with everything. "Well, I suppose it's lucky that I can take care of most everything myself."
He watched as the girl entered into a rant about her personal history. It was all very sordid, but Rekhmire simply did not care. Every slave, every performer, everyone comes with some sort of backstory. Some reasons to come. Oft times it was darker than most. Some sort of tragedy leading up to their joining the circus. It is, after all, these types of people who are drawn to the chaos that the circus has dedicated itself to, whether or not they are aware of that or not.
It was at her next words, that he leaned in slightly, his curiosity piqued. "Heard?"
He would certainly ask about that later. "Hmm," he jotted down a few notes from her personal history, before continuing, "You're right. Your personal history has no bearing on this."
He glanced his eyes up and down her body before jotting down something, "Approximately 3 and four-tenths cubits tall." Rekhmire glanced up once more, noting the nimbleness he had seen earlier. Perhaps not performer level, but with enough work, perhaps.
He jotted another note down before raising his head to look at her. "You said you have family. One, in particular, you're close with. Is that going to affect your work, physically or mentally?" Rekhmire had to stop himself from chuckling. Her own rant could now be used against her, and if she answered the question truthfully, he might be able to figure out whether that tie might affect the indoctrination process, allowing him to figure out how to get around it.
"In addition to that, do you have any history with any sort of opioids? Anything that might affect your health and performance?" Once again, a clever question that could simply be seen as a way of making sure her performance would be as good as it possibly could. However, under the surface, he wanted to make sure she wasn't able to identify the effects of opium and be able to fight against it better than the average person.
He could tell that the girl, Miri, was uncomfortable in the status of his tent. He watched as her eyes seemed to drift over towards the various strange, and sometimes disgusting ingredients and concoctions lining his shelves. However, despite her discomfort, Rekhmire did not care. It was not his job to make patients happy about his space. His job was to heal them. Their happiness did not factor into that.
He shook his head as she told him that she hadn't seen anyone. Typical. Leave him to deal with everything. "Well, I suppose it's lucky that I can take care of most everything myself."
He watched as the girl entered into a rant about her personal history. It was all very sordid, but Rekhmire simply did not care. Every slave, every performer, everyone comes with some sort of backstory. Some reasons to come. Oft times it was darker than most. Some sort of tragedy leading up to their joining the circus. It is, after all, these types of people who are drawn to the chaos that the circus has dedicated itself to, whether or not they are aware of that or not.
It was at her next words, that he leaned in slightly, his curiosity piqued. "Heard?"
He would certainly ask about that later. "Hmm," he jotted down a few notes from her personal history, before continuing, "You're right. Your personal history has no bearing on this."
He glanced his eyes up and down her body before jotting down something, "Approximately 3 and four-tenths cubits tall." Rekhmire glanced up once more, noting the nimbleness he had seen earlier. Perhaps not performer level, but with enough work, perhaps.
He jotted another note down before raising his head to look at her. "You said you have family. One, in particular, you're close with. Is that going to affect your work, physically or mentally?" Rekhmire had to stop himself from chuckling. Her own rant could now be used against her, and if she answered the question truthfully, he might be able to figure out whether that tie might affect the indoctrination process, allowing him to figure out how to get around it.
"In addition to that, do you have any history with any sort of opioids? Anything that might affect your health and performance?" Once again, a clever question that could simply be seen as a way of making sure her performance would be as good as it possibly could. However, under the surface, he wanted to make sure she wasn't able to identify the effects of opium and be able to fight against it better than the average person.
Though her heart was beating painfully hard, Miri could not help but admire Rekhmire a little bit. He was matter of fact with every word he spoke, cold and calculating and rarely revealing even a hint of emotion. She herself, by contrast, was close to falling apart. She would not survive if he deemed her unfit to stay with the circus. Miri held on to each of his words, translating them painstakingly in her head, searching for any hint of how his decision might fall.
As she feared, the doctor appeared interested in her communication with the gods. Mercifully, he did not press the issue, though Miri was still very much on guard. She could feel his gaze dissecting her, searching for flaws and defects and weaknesses. Worse still, she did not know how to answer his questions. She loved her siblings very much, but she could not imagine how that love would possibly impact whatever job she was given. What could her work possibly do that would result in harm to them? “No, it will not affect me,” she said at last, hoping her thick accent would cover any uncertainty. It was hard to gauge what he wanted to learn from such a question. Would she abandon little Arih, or harm him, if the circus asked her to? That was probably it. They wanted devotion, and for everyone to be a family. But Arih would be part of the circus, too, so why would she ever have to hurt him? She wanted more than anything to be a member of the family, with her brother and sister beside her. If Amenemhat told her to hurt her brother… the girl truthfully did not know what she would do.
Miri’s mind was spinning, and the gods weren’t there to reassure or guide her. She needed to be careful. Thankfully, the doctor’s next question was simple. Opioids were a sort of drug, if the word was what she thought. And so Miri looked at him once more, managing to keep her voice steady this time. “Drugs? No, sir, never. A clear head was always best near my parents.” Of course, her head was far from clear with nearly a dozen surplus voices rustling around, but the gods were not drugs. They were holy and miraculous. A clear head might be better, but Miri knew she was lucky to have been chosen to be the gods’ voice. It would be foolish to wish them gone. No, if anything, Miri wished their voices would grow stronger and clearer, so she could better interpret their wills.
She looked down again, the silence deafening. Like her, it seemed the doctor did not like to waste air on random words. Miri liked to listen to the whispers in her head, which required a special kind of quiet, but without the whispers, the world seemed huge and terrifying. She wanted to say something, anything, but her mouth remained closed, her eyes trained on the carpeted floor. Rekhmire had already made it clear that her own stories had no place in this interview, so she would not speak. Miri needed this to work. It was a gnawing feeling in the depths of both her stomach and her heart. An aching, painful, burning sensation to belong. And she had no clue as to whether she was failing.
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Though her heart was beating painfully hard, Miri could not help but admire Rekhmire a little bit. He was matter of fact with every word he spoke, cold and calculating and rarely revealing even a hint of emotion. She herself, by contrast, was close to falling apart. She would not survive if he deemed her unfit to stay with the circus. Miri held on to each of his words, translating them painstakingly in her head, searching for any hint of how his decision might fall.
As she feared, the doctor appeared interested in her communication with the gods. Mercifully, he did not press the issue, though Miri was still very much on guard. She could feel his gaze dissecting her, searching for flaws and defects and weaknesses. Worse still, she did not know how to answer his questions. She loved her siblings very much, but she could not imagine how that love would possibly impact whatever job she was given. What could her work possibly do that would result in harm to them? “No, it will not affect me,” she said at last, hoping her thick accent would cover any uncertainty. It was hard to gauge what he wanted to learn from such a question. Would she abandon little Arih, or harm him, if the circus asked her to? That was probably it. They wanted devotion, and for everyone to be a family. But Arih would be part of the circus, too, so why would she ever have to hurt him? She wanted more than anything to be a member of the family, with her brother and sister beside her. If Amenemhat told her to hurt her brother… the girl truthfully did not know what she would do.
Miri’s mind was spinning, and the gods weren’t there to reassure or guide her. She needed to be careful. Thankfully, the doctor’s next question was simple. Opioids were a sort of drug, if the word was what she thought. And so Miri looked at him once more, managing to keep her voice steady this time. “Drugs? No, sir, never. A clear head was always best near my parents.” Of course, her head was far from clear with nearly a dozen surplus voices rustling around, but the gods were not drugs. They were holy and miraculous. A clear head might be better, but Miri knew she was lucky to have been chosen to be the gods’ voice. It would be foolish to wish them gone. No, if anything, Miri wished their voices would grow stronger and clearer, so she could better interpret their wills.
She looked down again, the silence deafening. Like her, it seemed the doctor did not like to waste air on random words. Miri liked to listen to the whispers in her head, which required a special kind of quiet, but without the whispers, the world seemed huge and terrifying. She wanted to say something, anything, but her mouth remained closed, her eyes trained on the carpeted floor. Rekhmire had already made it clear that her own stories had no place in this interview, so she would not speak. Miri needed this to work. It was a gnawing feeling in the depths of both her stomach and her heart. An aching, painful, burning sensation to belong. And she had no clue as to whether she was failing.
Though her heart was beating painfully hard, Miri could not help but admire Rekhmire a little bit. He was matter of fact with every word he spoke, cold and calculating and rarely revealing even a hint of emotion. She herself, by contrast, was close to falling apart. She would not survive if he deemed her unfit to stay with the circus. Miri held on to each of his words, translating them painstakingly in her head, searching for any hint of how his decision might fall.
As she feared, the doctor appeared interested in her communication with the gods. Mercifully, he did not press the issue, though Miri was still very much on guard. She could feel his gaze dissecting her, searching for flaws and defects and weaknesses. Worse still, she did not know how to answer his questions. She loved her siblings very much, but she could not imagine how that love would possibly impact whatever job she was given. What could her work possibly do that would result in harm to them? “No, it will not affect me,” she said at last, hoping her thick accent would cover any uncertainty. It was hard to gauge what he wanted to learn from such a question. Would she abandon little Arih, or harm him, if the circus asked her to? That was probably it. They wanted devotion, and for everyone to be a family. But Arih would be part of the circus, too, so why would she ever have to hurt him? She wanted more than anything to be a member of the family, with her brother and sister beside her. If Amenemhat told her to hurt her brother… the girl truthfully did not know what she would do.
Miri’s mind was spinning, and the gods weren’t there to reassure or guide her. She needed to be careful. Thankfully, the doctor’s next question was simple. Opioids were a sort of drug, if the word was what she thought. And so Miri looked at him once more, managing to keep her voice steady this time. “Drugs? No, sir, never. A clear head was always best near my parents.” Of course, her head was far from clear with nearly a dozen surplus voices rustling around, but the gods were not drugs. They were holy and miraculous. A clear head might be better, but Miri knew she was lucky to have been chosen to be the gods’ voice. It would be foolish to wish them gone. No, if anything, Miri wished their voices would grow stronger and clearer, so she could better interpret their wills.
She looked down again, the silence deafening. Like her, it seemed the doctor did not like to waste air on random words. Miri liked to listen to the whispers in her head, which required a special kind of quiet, but without the whispers, the world seemed huge and terrifying. She wanted to say something, anything, but her mouth remained closed, her eyes trained on the carpeted floor. Rekhmire had already made it clear that her own stories had no place in this interview, so she would not speak. Miri needed this to work. It was a gnawing feeling in the depths of both her stomach and her heart. An aching, painful, burning sensation to belong. And she had no clue as to whether she was failing.
It only took a glance at the girl's face to see that she was nervous. It only took half a glance at Rekhmire's to see that he knew and simply did not care enough to calm her down. He'd been working for the circus in an official capacity for twenty-five years now. He'd tormented untold numbers in medical experimentation, what those in higher-up positions called punishment.
He nodded silently, pretending to jot down notes as the girl spoke once more. He had the feeling that she wasn't being entirely truthful. It mattered not to him, he had the information he needed. Her family member might provide a small obstacle but no more than that. "That's good. We like our performers to be in perfect shape physically and mentally. Distractions can lead to accidents."
He chuckled lightly though the action didn't meet his face in any which way. "And accidents lead to visits to my office. And the vocal majority would tell you that you would not want that."
He moved quickly on from that line of dialogue, instead of turning with interest to her other response to his questioning. "No history of drug use. And you're being entirely honest? You just might be too pure for Egypt."
He jotted down a quick note, make sure to reference the fact that he wouldn't need to do as much with this particular patient. Indoctrination would most likely be a breeze. Unless she was especially less than honest with the question of her family, he could see this being finalized within just a week or two.
"Before I enter the mental part of this examination, I do want to state that while you are not quite up to par for our standard performers, this does not mean you do not have hope. With enough training, you might just make it here. I recommend that if you do get approved, that you take your training and practice very seriously."
He turned back to his notes before flipping the parchment over to a prior piece of papyrus. "Now when you said them earlier you were referring to the gods, correct?" He paused for a moment before setting down his notes. If it hadn't been for his own research years ago into mental phenomena he would not even be hearing out this line of dialogue.
"What makes you certain what you're hearing are gods? Do they name themselves, or are the voices generic?"
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It only took a glance at the girl's face to see that she was nervous. It only took half a glance at Rekhmire's to see that he knew and simply did not care enough to calm her down. He'd been working for the circus in an official capacity for twenty-five years now. He'd tormented untold numbers in medical experimentation, what those in higher-up positions called punishment.
He nodded silently, pretending to jot down notes as the girl spoke once more. He had the feeling that she wasn't being entirely truthful. It mattered not to him, he had the information he needed. Her family member might provide a small obstacle but no more than that. "That's good. We like our performers to be in perfect shape physically and mentally. Distractions can lead to accidents."
He chuckled lightly though the action didn't meet his face in any which way. "And accidents lead to visits to my office. And the vocal majority would tell you that you would not want that."
He moved quickly on from that line of dialogue, instead of turning with interest to her other response to his questioning. "No history of drug use. And you're being entirely honest? You just might be too pure for Egypt."
He jotted down a quick note, make sure to reference the fact that he wouldn't need to do as much with this particular patient. Indoctrination would most likely be a breeze. Unless she was especially less than honest with the question of her family, he could see this being finalized within just a week or two.
"Before I enter the mental part of this examination, I do want to state that while you are not quite up to par for our standard performers, this does not mean you do not have hope. With enough training, you might just make it here. I recommend that if you do get approved, that you take your training and practice very seriously."
He turned back to his notes before flipping the parchment over to a prior piece of papyrus. "Now when you said them earlier you were referring to the gods, correct?" He paused for a moment before setting down his notes. If it hadn't been for his own research years ago into mental phenomena he would not even be hearing out this line of dialogue.
"What makes you certain what you're hearing are gods? Do they name themselves, or are the voices generic?"
It only took a glance at the girl's face to see that she was nervous. It only took half a glance at Rekhmire's to see that he knew and simply did not care enough to calm her down. He'd been working for the circus in an official capacity for twenty-five years now. He'd tormented untold numbers in medical experimentation, what those in higher-up positions called punishment.
He nodded silently, pretending to jot down notes as the girl spoke once more. He had the feeling that she wasn't being entirely truthful. It mattered not to him, he had the information he needed. Her family member might provide a small obstacle but no more than that. "That's good. We like our performers to be in perfect shape physically and mentally. Distractions can lead to accidents."
He chuckled lightly though the action didn't meet his face in any which way. "And accidents lead to visits to my office. And the vocal majority would tell you that you would not want that."
He moved quickly on from that line of dialogue, instead of turning with interest to her other response to his questioning. "No history of drug use. And you're being entirely honest? You just might be too pure for Egypt."
He jotted down a quick note, make sure to reference the fact that he wouldn't need to do as much with this particular patient. Indoctrination would most likely be a breeze. Unless she was especially less than honest with the question of her family, he could see this being finalized within just a week or two.
"Before I enter the mental part of this examination, I do want to state that while you are not quite up to par for our standard performers, this does not mean you do not have hope. With enough training, you might just make it here. I recommend that if you do get approved, that you take your training and practice very seriously."
He turned back to his notes before flipping the parchment over to a prior piece of papyrus. "Now when you said them earlier you were referring to the gods, correct?" He paused for a moment before setting down his notes. If it hadn't been for his own research years ago into mental phenomena he would not even be hearing out this line of dialogue.
"What makes you certain what you're hearing are gods? Do they name themselves, or are the voices generic?"
“The vocal majority would tell you that you would not want that.” The tiniest shiver ran down Miri’s spine as she glanced once more in the direction of the blood-stained table. It was not hard to concoct reasons why one would not wish to visit Rekhmire. He was cold and clinical and clearly did not care the slightest bit about feelings. Unless, of course, they affected a performer’s ability to do their job. Miri thought of her own mental turmoil and blinked slowly, trying to keep the growing anxiety at bay. He could see right through her and she knew it.
She nodded again to confirm her lack of drug use. She had seen a drug-crazed wanderer in the streets at home once and had no desire to make such a public fool of herself. Control was necessary, always.
Not up to par? How dare he insult you? cackled Anubis, and Miri tried not to wince. Rekhmire’s words only served to emphasize her greatest fears. The gods had chosen her by mistake. She was weak and small and insufficient for their higher purposes. And yet, she yearned desperately for a chance to prove herself. She could prove him wrong. She could prove them all wrong. “I will,” she murmured, meeting the doctor’s eyes this time. Quiet and respectful seemed best, but her waxing and waning pride could not avoid assuring him that she could, in fact, prove useful.
Then came the part Miri dreaded most of all. Ooh, this will be interesting, quipped Set, and the gods settled down to listen. “The gods, yes.” Hazel eyes continued to flicker between her lap and the doctor as her nerves wavered. “They each have separate voices and tones, as you would expect. Set likes uncertainty and dissention, Nephthys fills my dreams, Sekhmet is…” Miri gulped as a sternness filled her head, listening. “…often disappointed in my lack of combativeness. She requires that I become more confident.”
Her eyes found a spot on the tent just behind Rekhmire’s left ear. She held to that spot. Her head was fuller than usual, but Hathor urged her on. She could not serve them if their presence was not known.
“They tell me things that I would not otherwise know.” Thoth whispered muffled knowledge, and Miri knew what to say. “Like that you did not mourn your father, who would never have mourned you.” The spot on the tent seemed to swim. She could not look away. “I know they are the gods because they are more than I could possibly conjure up on my own. They are power and knowledge and they have commanded me to serve them. They whisper to me every waking moment.”
Miri hesitated. She would wait to see how he reacted before posing a question of her own. He might throw her out, tell Amenemhat she was not worthy after all. Label her as crazy and leave her in the streets to beg and rot with her delusions. But if he didn’t… he was cold, yes, but had a deep abiding knowledge. He might know how to bring the gods back in full force. Though, if they didn’t want to…
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“The vocal majority would tell you that you would not want that.” The tiniest shiver ran down Miri’s spine as she glanced once more in the direction of the blood-stained table. It was not hard to concoct reasons why one would not wish to visit Rekhmire. He was cold and clinical and clearly did not care the slightest bit about feelings. Unless, of course, they affected a performer’s ability to do their job. Miri thought of her own mental turmoil and blinked slowly, trying to keep the growing anxiety at bay. He could see right through her and she knew it.
She nodded again to confirm her lack of drug use. She had seen a drug-crazed wanderer in the streets at home once and had no desire to make such a public fool of herself. Control was necessary, always.
Not up to par? How dare he insult you? cackled Anubis, and Miri tried not to wince. Rekhmire’s words only served to emphasize her greatest fears. The gods had chosen her by mistake. She was weak and small and insufficient for their higher purposes. And yet, she yearned desperately for a chance to prove herself. She could prove him wrong. She could prove them all wrong. “I will,” she murmured, meeting the doctor’s eyes this time. Quiet and respectful seemed best, but her waxing and waning pride could not avoid assuring him that she could, in fact, prove useful.
Then came the part Miri dreaded most of all. Ooh, this will be interesting, quipped Set, and the gods settled down to listen. “The gods, yes.” Hazel eyes continued to flicker between her lap and the doctor as her nerves wavered. “They each have separate voices and tones, as you would expect. Set likes uncertainty and dissention, Nephthys fills my dreams, Sekhmet is…” Miri gulped as a sternness filled her head, listening. “…often disappointed in my lack of combativeness. She requires that I become more confident.”
Her eyes found a spot on the tent just behind Rekhmire’s left ear. She held to that spot. Her head was fuller than usual, but Hathor urged her on. She could not serve them if their presence was not known.
“They tell me things that I would not otherwise know.” Thoth whispered muffled knowledge, and Miri knew what to say. “Like that you did not mourn your father, who would never have mourned you.” The spot on the tent seemed to swim. She could not look away. “I know they are the gods because they are more than I could possibly conjure up on my own. They are power and knowledge and they have commanded me to serve them. They whisper to me every waking moment.”
Miri hesitated. She would wait to see how he reacted before posing a question of her own. He might throw her out, tell Amenemhat she was not worthy after all. Label her as crazy and leave her in the streets to beg and rot with her delusions. But if he didn’t… he was cold, yes, but had a deep abiding knowledge. He might know how to bring the gods back in full force. Though, if they didn’t want to…
“The vocal majority would tell you that you would not want that.” The tiniest shiver ran down Miri’s spine as she glanced once more in the direction of the blood-stained table. It was not hard to concoct reasons why one would not wish to visit Rekhmire. He was cold and clinical and clearly did not care the slightest bit about feelings. Unless, of course, they affected a performer’s ability to do their job. Miri thought of her own mental turmoil and blinked slowly, trying to keep the growing anxiety at bay. He could see right through her and she knew it.
She nodded again to confirm her lack of drug use. She had seen a drug-crazed wanderer in the streets at home once and had no desire to make such a public fool of herself. Control was necessary, always.
Not up to par? How dare he insult you? cackled Anubis, and Miri tried not to wince. Rekhmire’s words only served to emphasize her greatest fears. The gods had chosen her by mistake. She was weak and small and insufficient for their higher purposes. And yet, she yearned desperately for a chance to prove herself. She could prove him wrong. She could prove them all wrong. “I will,” she murmured, meeting the doctor’s eyes this time. Quiet and respectful seemed best, but her waxing and waning pride could not avoid assuring him that she could, in fact, prove useful.
Then came the part Miri dreaded most of all. Ooh, this will be interesting, quipped Set, and the gods settled down to listen. “The gods, yes.” Hazel eyes continued to flicker between her lap and the doctor as her nerves wavered. “They each have separate voices and tones, as you would expect. Set likes uncertainty and dissention, Nephthys fills my dreams, Sekhmet is…” Miri gulped as a sternness filled her head, listening. “…often disappointed in my lack of combativeness. She requires that I become more confident.”
Her eyes found a spot on the tent just behind Rekhmire’s left ear. She held to that spot. Her head was fuller than usual, but Hathor urged her on. She could not serve them if their presence was not known.
“They tell me things that I would not otherwise know.” Thoth whispered muffled knowledge, and Miri knew what to say. “Like that you did not mourn your father, who would never have mourned you.” The spot on the tent seemed to swim. She could not look away. “I know they are the gods because they are more than I could possibly conjure up on my own. They are power and knowledge and they have commanded me to serve them. They whisper to me every waking moment.”
Miri hesitated. She would wait to see how he reacted before posing a question of her own. He might throw her out, tell Amenemhat she was not worthy after all. Label her as crazy and leave her in the streets to beg and rot with her delusions. But if he didn’t… he was cold, yes, but had a deep abiding knowledge. He might know how to bring the gods back in full force. Though, if they didn’t want to…