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Of all the things she could have spent her time drawing, a statue of Iahotep would normally have been one of the last things on her list. But today was unusual. Today, this drawing had purpose. Nenet sat on a bench at the far end of the square, shoulders hunched over a leather bound sketchbook, a thin stick of gray pigment scratched over the surface of the paper. In a laquered black box with its lid flung open, sat on the bench beside her, filled with scattered sticks of vibrantly colored pigment. She was carting around with her a small fortune in art supplies and heedless of the expense. Maybe if she’d known, her colors might be in some sort of order within the box instead of lying in a careless heap.
Her large brown eyes roamed up from the paper to take in the enormous statue of their new king of kings. He was a man whom she’d not really had the chance to meet properly, and hoped she never would. That would involve speaking to royalty in a way she didn’t want to. Perhaps she wouldn’t be here at all, sketching his likeness, except that she’d followed a cat. Her cat, Isis, had escaped the confines of the Saraaya and Nenet hadn’t quite been able to catch her. Already on her way out to draw, Nenet had opted to follow Isis instead, trusting that perhaps the gods were using the cat to guide her in some way.
Isis hadn’t dawdled. Her fluffy little behind had pranced through the streets and stopped right at the feet of Pharaoh’s statue. Isis was curled most decorously between the feet now, head held regally, green eyes mere slits, purring, for all Nenet knew. And no person in the wastan bothered her, either. No one would dream of it. Cats were viewed by all Egyptians, Nenet included, as sacred animals. Thus, Nenet was now sketching the statue of a man she cared very little about.
All at once, a commotion started up at the far edges of the wastan. Nenet glanced up, not sure who started what, but finding people upset with one another. Isis looked on, completely undisturbed. Nenet sat, biting her lower lip, wanting to help in some way but not actually moving to do it. The commotion died down to a dull roar and she looked back down at the drawing. It was done and she was actually kind of proud of it. Putting it between thin sheets of papyrus to keep the pigment in place so that it wouldn’t smudge, she noted the thin, leather bound book deep in her supply bag. The books really could turn up anywhere and this one was not much larger than her hand. It was distinctive with a vibrant green hue.
She couldn’t remember what was in it and as she opened it, she smiled down at the brightly colored, hand painted depictions of plants. Nenet didn’t particularly value the descriptions that accompanied each plant beyond its name and what it did, but she did love the way the plants were drawn and had begun using them as a reference for her own art. Maybe she could add a sort of fanciful flare to her drawing? She took it back out and had the book open beside her, flipping through the pages and not at all watching who was in the square with her.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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Of all the things she could have spent her time drawing, a statue of Iahotep would normally have been one of the last things on her list. But today was unusual. Today, this drawing had purpose. Nenet sat on a bench at the far end of the square, shoulders hunched over a leather bound sketchbook, a thin stick of gray pigment scratched over the surface of the paper. In a laquered black box with its lid flung open, sat on the bench beside her, filled with scattered sticks of vibrantly colored pigment. She was carting around with her a small fortune in art supplies and heedless of the expense. Maybe if she’d known, her colors might be in some sort of order within the box instead of lying in a careless heap.
Her large brown eyes roamed up from the paper to take in the enormous statue of their new king of kings. He was a man whom she’d not really had the chance to meet properly, and hoped she never would. That would involve speaking to royalty in a way she didn’t want to. Perhaps she wouldn’t be here at all, sketching his likeness, except that she’d followed a cat. Her cat, Isis, had escaped the confines of the Saraaya and Nenet hadn’t quite been able to catch her. Already on her way out to draw, Nenet had opted to follow Isis instead, trusting that perhaps the gods were using the cat to guide her in some way.
Isis hadn’t dawdled. Her fluffy little behind had pranced through the streets and stopped right at the feet of Pharaoh’s statue. Isis was curled most decorously between the feet now, head held regally, green eyes mere slits, purring, for all Nenet knew. And no person in the wastan bothered her, either. No one would dream of it. Cats were viewed by all Egyptians, Nenet included, as sacred animals. Thus, Nenet was now sketching the statue of a man she cared very little about.
All at once, a commotion started up at the far edges of the wastan. Nenet glanced up, not sure who started what, but finding people upset with one another. Isis looked on, completely undisturbed. Nenet sat, biting her lower lip, wanting to help in some way but not actually moving to do it. The commotion died down to a dull roar and she looked back down at the drawing. It was done and she was actually kind of proud of it. Putting it between thin sheets of papyrus to keep the pigment in place so that it wouldn’t smudge, she noted the thin, leather bound book deep in her supply bag. The books really could turn up anywhere and this one was not much larger than her hand. It was distinctive with a vibrant green hue.
She couldn’t remember what was in it and as she opened it, she smiled down at the brightly colored, hand painted depictions of plants. Nenet didn’t particularly value the descriptions that accompanied each plant beyond its name and what it did, but she did love the way the plants were drawn and had begun using them as a reference for her own art. Maybe she could add a sort of fanciful flare to her drawing? She took it back out and had the book open beside her, flipping through the pages and not at all watching who was in the square with her.
Of all the things she could have spent her time drawing, a statue of Iahotep would normally have been one of the last things on her list. But today was unusual. Today, this drawing had purpose. Nenet sat on a bench at the far end of the square, shoulders hunched over a leather bound sketchbook, a thin stick of gray pigment scratched over the surface of the paper. In a laquered black box with its lid flung open, sat on the bench beside her, filled with scattered sticks of vibrantly colored pigment. She was carting around with her a small fortune in art supplies and heedless of the expense. Maybe if she’d known, her colors might be in some sort of order within the box instead of lying in a careless heap.
Her large brown eyes roamed up from the paper to take in the enormous statue of their new king of kings. He was a man whom she’d not really had the chance to meet properly, and hoped she never would. That would involve speaking to royalty in a way she didn’t want to. Perhaps she wouldn’t be here at all, sketching his likeness, except that she’d followed a cat. Her cat, Isis, had escaped the confines of the Saraaya and Nenet hadn’t quite been able to catch her. Already on her way out to draw, Nenet had opted to follow Isis instead, trusting that perhaps the gods were using the cat to guide her in some way.
Isis hadn’t dawdled. Her fluffy little behind had pranced through the streets and stopped right at the feet of Pharaoh’s statue. Isis was curled most decorously between the feet now, head held regally, green eyes mere slits, purring, for all Nenet knew. And no person in the wastan bothered her, either. No one would dream of it. Cats were viewed by all Egyptians, Nenet included, as sacred animals. Thus, Nenet was now sketching the statue of a man she cared very little about.
All at once, a commotion started up at the far edges of the wastan. Nenet glanced up, not sure who started what, but finding people upset with one another. Isis looked on, completely undisturbed. Nenet sat, biting her lower lip, wanting to help in some way but not actually moving to do it. The commotion died down to a dull roar and she looked back down at the drawing. It was done and she was actually kind of proud of it. Putting it between thin sheets of papyrus to keep the pigment in place so that it wouldn’t smudge, she noted the thin, leather bound book deep in her supply bag. The books really could turn up anywhere and this one was not much larger than her hand. It was distinctive with a vibrant green hue.
She couldn’t remember what was in it and as she opened it, she smiled down at the brightly colored, hand painted depictions of plants. Nenet didn’t particularly value the descriptions that accompanied each plant beyond its name and what it did, but she did love the way the plants were drawn and had begun using them as a reference for her own art. Maybe she could add a sort of fanciful flare to her drawing? She took it back out and had the book open beside her, flipping through the pages and not at all watching who was in the square with her.
Khufu was out for a walk, or rather he was supposed to be out buying some stuff that Kahi needed back home, but in true Khufu fashion he had gotten distracted and some how managed to find his way to the wastan. What was he doing there? He had absolutely no idea. He had no business there, and he knew that his wife would want him to get the items and then return home, but at the same time, she had to expect that he would likely wander off some where. They had been married long enough that she knew his little quirks by now, and it was rare that he got something done in a straight line. It just wasn’t who he was.
Today though, he would claim that it was fate that he ended up there at the same time as the young woman who sat there drawing. He paused as he spotted her across the wastan, staring.
Except he wasn’t staring at her, he was staring at the green book she had. It was distinctive, and it was familiar and it pulled at his heartstrings and it called to him. He knew what he saw and without a single other thought he walked over there quickly and snatched the book up from where the young woman had it.
He didn’t say a word to her as he inspected it and his suspicions were true. This was it. This was one of the books his father had had. One of the ones that his mother had sold off after he had died, one of the ones that had caused Khufu to run off and join the military out of anger at his mother for daring get rid of the one thing that made him feel that connection to his father.
He closed the book and his hand ran gently down the cover as the memories came back. Him as a boy, sitting on his father’s lap, his father reading to him from this very book, pointing out the words and making his son read them out so he could learn as well. His father had been the reason he had fallen in love with books, and had fallen in love with knowledge and learning. His father had been such a big influence on his life, even if the man had been gone more years of Khufu’s life than he had been alive.
He turned with the book and started to walk away, completely forgetting that someone else had the book and he had essentially stolen it from her, lost in his own memories and the shock of finding the book just out in the open there. He had been searching for the exact tomes that his father had had for years, and he had no luck in finding any of them. And yet here one was, just there when he hadn’t even intended on coming to the wastan that day. Perhaps the Gods had guided him there instead of straight to the market.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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Khufu was out for a walk, or rather he was supposed to be out buying some stuff that Kahi needed back home, but in true Khufu fashion he had gotten distracted and some how managed to find his way to the wastan. What was he doing there? He had absolutely no idea. He had no business there, and he knew that his wife would want him to get the items and then return home, but at the same time, she had to expect that he would likely wander off some where. They had been married long enough that she knew his little quirks by now, and it was rare that he got something done in a straight line. It just wasn’t who he was.
Today though, he would claim that it was fate that he ended up there at the same time as the young woman who sat there drawing. He paused as he spotted her across the wastan, staring.
Except he wasn’t staring at her, he was staring at the green book she had. It was distinctive, and it was familiar and it pulled at his heartstrings and it called to him. He knew what he saw and without a single other thought he walked over there quickly and snatched the book up from where the young woman had it.
He didn’t say a word to her as he inspected it and his suspicions were true. This was it. This was one of the books his father had had. One of the ones that his mother had sold off after he had died, one of the ones that had caused Khufu to run off and join the military out of anger at his mother for daring get rid of the one thing that made him feel that connection to his father.
He closed the book and his hand ran gently down the cover as the memories came back. Him as a boy, sitting on his father’s lap, his father reading to him from this very book, pointing out the words and making his son read them out so he could learn as well. His father had been the reason he had fallen in love with books, and had fallen in love with knowledge and learning. His father had been such a big influence on his life, even if the man had been gone more years of Khufu’s life than he had been alive.
He turned with the book and started to walk away, completely forgetting that someone else had the book and he had essentially stolen it from her, lost in his own memories and the shock of finding the book just out in the open there. He had been searching for the exact tomes that his father had had for years, and he had no luck in finding any of them. And yet here one was, just there when he hadn’t even intended on coming to the wastan that day. Perhaps the Gods had guided him there instead of straight to the market.
Khufu was out for a walk, or rather he was supposed to be out buying some stuff that Kahi needed back home, but in true Khufu fashion he had gotten distracted and some how managed to find his way to the wastan. What was he doing there? He had absolutely no idea. He had no business there, and he knew that his wife would want him to get the items and then return home, but at the same time, she had to expect that he would likely wander off some where. They had been married long enough that she knew his little quirks by now, and it was rare that he got something done in a straight line. It just wasn’t who he was.
Today though, he would claim that it was fate that he ended up there at the same time as the young woman who sat there drawing. He paused as he spotted her across the wastan, staring.
Except he wasn’t staring at her, he was staring at the green book she had. It was distinctive, and it was familiar and it pulled at his heartstrings and it called to him. He knew what he saw and without a single other thought he walked over there quickly and snatched the book up from where the young woman had it.
He didn’t say a word to her as he inspected it and his suspicions were true. This was it. This was one of the books his father had had. One of the ones that his mother had sold off after he had died, one of the ones that had caused Khufu to run off and join the military out of anger at his mother for daring get rid of the one thing that made him feel that connection to his father.
He closed the book and his hand ran gently down the cover as the memories came back. Him as a boy, sitting on his father’s lap, his father reading to him from this very book, pointing out the words and making his son read them out so he could learn as well. His father had been the reason he had fallen in love with books, and had fallen in love with knowledge and learning. His father had been such a big influence on his life, even if the man had been gone more years of Khufu’s life than he had been alive.
He turned with the book and started to walk away, completely forgetting that someone else had the book and he had essentially stolen it from her, lost in his own memories and the shock of finding the book just out in the open there. He had been searching for the exact tomes that his father had had for years, and he had no luck in finding any of them. And yet here one was, just there when he hadn’t even intended on coming to the wastan that day. Perhaps the Gods had guided him there instead of straight to the market.
So deeply absorbed in her art was she that Nenet did not notice the man wander into the Wastan. If she had, she’d have noted the immediate strangeness about him. He had a dreamy sort of wanderer’s spirit about him. Something so wholly foreign to nobility. By observing him, one could clearly see his head was far more in Ra’s realm than anywhere here on earth. His clothing was nothing fine enough to indicate that he should be in the Wastan and, if she’d bothered to look up, she’d have noted that he took literally no notice of Iahotep’s statue or the cat at Iahotep’s feet.
By the time she did notice him, his hand was already closing around her book. Nenet jumped, upsetting the pigment sticks so that the ones in her box clattered against each other and the one she had been using rolled off the papyrus and onto the stone ground. A trail of oblong color rolled and in her momentary lapse of grip, the book was plucked as easily out of her hands as if he was gathering eggs from a nest. She blinked, unsure of what to do. The cold grasp of fear loosened little by little and gave way to dumbfounded amazement. Her eyes raked his soft form and she was now coming to the conclusion that he was just some dim commoner.
“H-hey!” she squeaked at the ‘dim commoner’ now turning and walking away with her book. “H-HEY!” her voice was louder this time, though loud for Nenet was not the same as loud for other people. She looked away from him then, realizing there was a choice to be made. The book right now and leave the pigments, or scramble to pick up her art supplies and risk losing the book. Her eyes sought the cat, but Isis was not in the least bit helpful. All her cat did was yawn at her and look away.
Nenet stamped her foot in frustration and gathered up her things, unwilling to leave them to be stolen. No doubt someone would. It would just be her luck that if she did leave these, someone in her family would convince her father that she was careless and he’d cut off her spending on art supplies. That was obviously a no-go, and so she hastily scooped everything into the box, swiped up her papers, and ran after the shlubby thief.
“S-s-s-s-s-s-sttttttt-op-p-p-p r-r-r-r-r-r-right-t ther-re!” she demanded in her firmest voice. Which turned out to be so undercut by the stutter and took so long to say, that in the swath of people she’d suddenly plunged into beneath the arch, she couldn’t immediately locate that jerk.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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So deeply absorbed in her art was she that Nenet did not notice the man wander into the Wastan. If she had, she’d have noted the immediate strangeness about him. He had a dreamy sort of wanderer’s spirit about him. Something so wholly foreign to nobility. By observing him, one could clearly see his head was far more in Ra’s realm than anywhere here on earth. His clothing was nothing fine enough to indicate that he should be in the Wastan and, if she’d bothered to look up, she’d have noted that he took literally no notice of Iahotep’s statue or the cat at Iahotep’s feet.
By the time she did notice him, his hand was already closing around her book. Nenet jumped, upsetting the pigment sticks so that the ones in her box clattered against each other and the one she had been using rolled off the papyrus and onto the stone ground. A trail of oblong color rolled and in her momentary lapse of grip, the book was plucked as easily out of her hands as if he was gathering eggs from a nest. She blinked, unsure of what to do. The cold grasp of fear loosened little by little and gave way to dumbfounded amazement. Her eyes raked his soft form and she was now coming to the conclusion that he was just some dim commoner.
“H-hey!” she squeaked at the ‘dim commoner’ now turning and walking away with her book. “H-HEY!” her voice was louder this time, though loud for Nenet was not the same as loud for other people. She looked away from him then, realizing there was a choice to be made. The book right now and leave the pigments, or scramble to pick up her art supplies and risk losing the book. Her eyes sought the cat, but Isis was not in the least bit helpful. All her cat did was yawn at her and look away.
Nenet stamped her foot in frustration and gathered up her things, unwilling to leave them to be stolen. No doubt someone would. It would just be her luck that if she did leave these, someone in her family would convince her father that she was careless and he’d cut off her spending on art supplies. That was obviously a no-go, and so she hastily scooped everything into the box, swiped up her papers, and ran after the shlubby thief.
“S-s-s-s-s-s-sttttttt-op-p-p-p r-r-r-r-r-r-right-t ther-re!” she demanded in her firmest voice. Which turned out to be so undercut by the stutter and took so long to say, that in the swath of people she’d suddenly plunged into beneath the arch, she couldn’t immediately locate that jerk.
So deeply absorbed in her art was she that Nenet did not notice the man wander into the Wastan. If she had, she’d have noted the immediate strangeness about him. He had a dreamy sort of wanderer’s spirit about him. Something so wholly foreign to nobility. By observing him, one could clearly see his head was far more in Ra’s realm than anywhere here on earth. His clothing was nothing fine enough to indicate that he should be in the Wastan and, if she’d bothered to look up, she’d have noted that he took literally no notice of Iahotep’s statue or the cat at Iahotep’s feet.
By the time she did notice him, his hand was already closing around her book. Nenet jumped, upsetting the pigment sticks so that the ones in her box clattered against each other and the one she had been using rolled off the papyrus and onto the stone ground. A trail of oblong color rolled and in her momentary lapse of grip, the book was plucked as easily out of her hands as if he was gathering eggs from a nest. She blinked, unsure of what to do. The cold grasp of fear loosened little by little and gave way to dumbfounded amazement. Her eyes raked his soft form and she was now coming to the conclusion that he was just some dim commoner.
“H-hey!” she squeaked at the ‘dim commoner’ now turning and walking away with her book. “H-HEY!” her voice was louder this time, though loud for Nenet was not the same as loud for other people. She looked away from him then, realizing there was a choice to be made. The book right now and leave the pigments, or scramble to pick up her art supplies and risk losing the book. Her eyes sought the cat, but Isis was not in the least bit helpful. All her cat did was yawn at her and look away.
Nenet stamped her foot in frustration and gathered up her things, unwilling to leave them to be stolen. No doubt someone would. It would just be her luck that if she did leave these, someone in her family would convince her father that she was careless and he’d cut off her spending on art supplies. That was obviously a no-go, and so she hastily scooped everything into the box, swiped up her papers, and ran after the shlubby thief.
“S-s-s-s-s-s-sttttttt-op-p-p-p r-r-r-r-r-r-right-t ther-re!” she demanded in her firmest voice. Which turned out to be so undercut by the stutter and took so long to say, that in the swath of people she’d suddenly plunged into beneath the arch, she couldn’t immediately locate that jerk.
Khufu was oblivious to her attempts at calling out to him, he wasn’t paying attention in the first place, and she was quiet compared to most people. He was too fascinated by the fact that he had come across one of his fathers books, the books he had been seeking out for the past few years. He hadn’t thought he would find any of them, let alone find one while on a random walk. He hadn’t even planned on coming here today, and yet fate had brought him to that exact spot and to his book.
He wandered slowly through the crowds, staring at the front of the book as if it was the most amazing thing he had ever seen in his life. Which was true in that moment to Khufu. Memories of his beloved father came flooding back to him and he suddenly thought he would never let this book go. There was nothing in the world that could take the book from his grip.
It was then that he realized... where had he even gotten the book from? He stopped his walking and blinked, taking his gaze from the object in his hands for a moment. Had he just... stolen the book from someone? He was fairly certain he had. He turned, his intention to double back to where he had taken the book from and speak with the owner and negotiate terms of sale for the book. He was sure that he could find a price that would be suitable for who ever owned it and he would take this book home tonight and he would store it carefully.
Just no tea parties...
He shuddered a little and the memory of the strange woman with the rare book on poison and what he had to do in order to get that book from her. He would draw the line there.
He made it back to the spot where he remembered seeing the book, and completely missed seeing the person he had likely just taken it from. He looked around, no one sitting there seemed to notice him and the book or think anything was strange about him. He was sure the owner would have called out to him or something if they had been sitting there still, waiting for him to come back with the book.
He frowned a bit.
“Where are you?” He mumbled to himself, his eyes turning to the crowds of people around, trying to find any sign of anyone who might be trying to find him or anything.
It was then that he spotted a small young woman who was storming in his direction.
She must be the one who had the book. What was someone so young doing with a book like this? He had never really known younger people to be interested in such things.
“I believe you may be the one that I have accidentally stolen this book from?” He called out when she was close enough to hear him without him having to yell.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Khufu was oblivious to her attempts at calling out to him, he wasn’t paying attention in the first place, and she was quiet compared to most people. He was too fascinated by the fact that he had come across one of his fathers books, the books he had been seeking out for the past few years. He hadn’t thought he would find any of them, let alone find one while on a random walk. He hadn’t even planned on coming here today, and yet fate had brought him to that exact spot and to his book.
He wandered slowly through the crowds, staring at the front of the book as if it was the most amazing thing he had ever seen in his life. Which was true in that moment to Khufu. Memories of his beloved father came flooding back to him and he suddenly thought he would never let this book go. There was nothing in the world that could take the book from his grip.
It was then that he realized... where had he even gotten the book from? He stopped his walking and blinked, taking his gaze from the object in his hands for a moment. Had he just... stolen the book from someone? He was fairly certain he had. He turned, his intention to double back to where he had taken the book from and speak with the owner and negotiate terms of sale for the book. He was sure that he could find a price that would be suitable for who ever owned it and he would take this book home tonight and he would store it carefully.
Just no tea parties...
He shuddered a little and the memory of the strange woman with the rare book on poison and what he had to do in order to get that book from her. He would draw the line there.
He made it back to the spot where he remembered seeing the book, and completely missed seeing the person he had likely just taken it from. He looked around, no one sitting there seemed to notice him and the book or think anything was strange about him. He was sure the owner would have called out to him or something if they had been sitting there still, waiting for him to come back with the book.
He frowned a bit.
“Where are you?” He mumbled to himself, his eyes turning to the crowds of people around, trying to find any sign of anyone who might be trying to find him or anything.
It was then that he spotted a small young woman who was storming in his direction.
She must be the one who had the book. What was someone so young doing with a book like this? He had never really known younger people to be interested in such things.
“I believe you may be the one that I have accidentally stolen this book from?” He called out when she was close enough to hear him without him having to yell.
Khufu was oblivious to her attempts at calling out to him, he wasn’t paying attention in the first place, and she was quiet compared to most people. He was too fascinated by the fact that he had come across one of his fathers books, the books he had been seeking out for the past few years. He hadn’t thought he would find any of them, let alone find one while on a random walk. He hadn’t even planned on coming here today, and yet fate had brought him to that exact spot and to his book.
He wandered slowly through the crowds, staring at the front of the book as if it was the most amazing thing he had ever seen in his life. Which was true in that moment to Khufu. Memories of his beloved father came flooding back to him and he suddenly thought he would never let this book go. There was nothing in the world that could take the book from his grip.
It was then that he realized... where had he even gotten the book from? He stopped his walking and blinked, taking his gaze from the object in his hands for a moment. Had he just... stolen the book from someone? He was fairly certain he had. He turned, his intention to double back to where he had taken the book from and speak with the owner and negotiate terms of sale for the book. He was sure that he could find a price that would be suitable for who ever owned it and he would take this book home tonight and he would store it carefully.
Just no tea parties...
He shuddered a little and the memory of the strange woman with the rare book on poison and what he had to do in order to get that book from her. He would draw the line there.
He made it back to the spot where he remembered seeing the book, and completely missed seeing the person he had likely just taken it from. He looked around, no one sitting there seemed to notice him and the book or think anything was strange about him. He was sure the owner would have called out to him or something if they had been sitting there still, waiting for him to come back with the book.
He frowned a bit.
“Where are you?” He mumbled to himself, his eyes turning to the crowds of people around, trying to find any sign of anyone who might be trying to find him or anything.
It was then that he spotted a small young woman who was storming in his direction.
She must be the one who had the book. What was someone so young doing with a book like this? He had never really known younger people to be interested in such things.
“I believe you may be the one that I have accidentally stolen this book from?” He called out when she was close enough to hear him without him having to yell.
Did he run? He must have been running. That. JERK! Her book was gone forever but nevertheless, she stood on the tips of her toes, trying to look over the heads and shoulders of the people milling around. A deep sigh escaped and she finally fully settled back onto the ground. Ugh! Her hands curled into fists at her sides and she looked down at the lacquered box that she’d set down just at her feet. Inside it was her book with a not finished drawing of a plant and it bothered her that it might never be complete.
And, more than that, how was she even going to explain this? It wasn’t like her parents just forked over their money without questions. They knew full well that there was already a book about plants, so why did she need another? Oh, it’s missing? How did that happen? ‘Some random man came up and stole it!’ Why would he do that? Great question.
Nenet stamped her foot, startling a passerby who glared at her. She glared right back, even going so far as to stick her tongue out like she was seven instead of twenty-two. With an audible “Ugh,” she bent down to pick up her box, completely missing Khufu shuffling past her. Opening the box, she checked that all her supplies were present only to realize she’d forgotten a paint brush. Her favorite one, in fact. It wasn’t particularly special except that the handle of it was carved in such a way as though made specifically for her fingers. Obviously she couldn’t go home without it.
Her cat, Isis, was not that much of a concern. No one would dare steal her and the fluffball knew exactly where she was fed. Besides, Nenet worshiped Bastet just like everyone else and revered Bastet’s creatures with appropriate reverence. She wasn’t going to insist Isis do anything that Isis did not wish to do. The cat was spoiled rotten and purred at Nenet from between the feet of Iahotep’s statue. Nenet shot her cat a look and that was when she spotted Khufu.
AH HA! Back to the scene of the crime! And look at him seeming so baffled and innocent. Ooooo she’d spit fire if she could.
Squaring her slim shoulders, Nenet strode towards him, ready to let him have it but he spoke first, which drew her up short.
“I believe you may be the one that I have accidentally stolen this book from?”
“A-accid-d-dentl-l-ly?” She narrowed her eyes at him, her lip curling, mouth twisting into a displeased mask of confusion. Hadn’t seemed like an accident. He had seemed like a master thief to her!. Choosing his victim when she was at her most vulnerable! Like a true villain. Though, she eyed him head to toe now, assessing his vileness. He seemed a little more...schlubby than she imagined master villains to be. Maybe if he twirled his mustache a little bit and cackled….
She shook her head to clear the image of him doing exactly that and pointed to the book still in his hand. “Th-that-t-t iiiis m-m-m-m-m-min-n-n-ne.” She blushed hard even as her anger soared. The most upset she was, the worse the stutter became. And, of course, the worse her stutter got, the more embarrassed she felt, leading to more upset and worse stuttering. Ugh! Where was Hena? He’d be so useful right now! He might not care a single jot about some silly book but she was positive he wouldn’t stand for a Sheifa to be stolen from. She’d even endure the yelling he would be sure to lob her way afterwards. Alas, she was alone and so she decided to channel Nia instead, because she knew for certain she’d never hold up to her brother’s level of rage.
She cleared her throat and went with a sweeter tone. “Iiiii m-m-m-m-mean-n-n-n th-th-than-n-k yyyouuu for-r r-r-r-r-r-re-et-t-t-urn-ning-g iiit-t-t.”
Nailed it.
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Did he run? He must have been running. That. JERK! Her book was gone forever but nevertheless, she stood on the tips of her toes, trying to look over the heads and shoulders of the people milling around. A deep sigh escaped and she finally fully settled back onto the ground. Ugh! Her hands curled into fists at her sides and she looked down at the lacquered box that she’d set down just at her feet. Inside it was her book with a not finished drawing of a plant and it bothered her that it might never be complete.
And, more than that, how was she even going to explain this? It wasn’t like her parents just forked over their money without questions. They knew full well that there was already a book about plants, so why did she need another? Oh, it’s missing? How did that happen? ‘Some random man came up and stole it!’ Why would he do that? Great question.
Nenet stamped her foot, startling a passerby who glared at her. She glared right back, even going so far as to stick her tongue out like she was seven instead of twenty-two. With an audible “Ugh,” she bent down to pick up her box, completely missing Khufu shuffling past her. Opening the box, she checked that all her supplies were present only to realize she’d forgotten a paint brush. Her favorite one, in fact. It wasn’t particularly special except that the handle of it was carved in such a way as though made specifically for her fingers. Obviously she couldn’t go home without it.
Her cat, Isis, was not that much of a concern. No one would dare steal her and the fluffball knew exactly where she was fed. Besides, Nenet worshiped Bastet just like everyone else and revered Bastet’s creatures with appropriate reverence. She wasn’t going to insist Isis do anything that Isis did not wish to do. The cat was spoiled rotten and purred at Nenet from between the feet of Iahotep’s statue. Nenet shot her cat a look and that was when she spotted Khufu.
AH HA! Back to the scene of the crime! And look at him seeming so baffled and innocent. Ooooo she’d spit fire if she could.
Squaring her slim shoulders, Nenet strode towards him, ready to let him have it but he spoke first, which drew her up short.
“I believe you may be the one that I have accidentally stolen this book from?”
“A-accid-d-dentl-l-ly?” She narrowed her eyes at him, her lip curling, mouth twisting into a displeased mask of confusion. Hadn’t seemed like an accident. He had seemed like a master thief to her!. Choosing his victim when she was at her most vulnerable! Like a true villain. Though, she eyed him head to toe now, assessing his vileness. He seemed a little more...schlubby than she imagined master villains to be. Maybe if he twirled his mustache a little bit and cackled….
She shook her head to clear the image of him doing exactly that and pointed to the book still in his hand. “Th-that-t-t iiiis m-m-m-m-m-min-n-n-ne.” She blushed hard even as her anger soared. The most upset she was, the worse the stutter became. And, of course, the worse her stutter got, the more embarrassed she felt, leading to more upset and worse stuttering. Ugh! Where was Hena? He’d be so useful right now! He might not care a single jot about some silly book but she was positive he wouldn’t stand for a Sheifa to be stolen from. She’d even endure the yelling he would be sure to lob her way afterwards. Alas, she was alone and so she decided to channel Nia instead, because she knew for certain she’d never hold up to her brother’s level of rage.
She cleared her throat and went with a sweeter tone. “Iiiii m-m-m-m-mean-n-n-n th-th-than-n-k yyyouuu for-r r-r-r-r-r-re-et-t-t-urn-ning-g iiit-t-t.”
Nailed it.
Did he run? He must have been running. That. JERK! Her book was gone forever but nevertheless, she stood on the tips of her toes, trying to look over the heads and shoulders of the people milling around. A deep sigh escaped and she finally fully settled back onto the ground. Ugh! Her hands curled into fists at her sides and she looked down at the lacquered box that she’d set down just at her feet. Inside it was her book with a not finished drawing of a plant and it bothered her that it might never be complete.
And, more than that, how was she even going to explain this? It wasn’t like her parents just forked over their money without questions. They knew full well that there was already a book about plants, so why did she need another? Oh, it’s missing? How did that happen? ‘Some random man came up and stole it!’ Why would he do that? Great question.
Nenet stamped her foot, startling a passerby who glared at her. She glared right back, even going so far as to stick her tongue out like she was seven instead of twenty-two. With an audible “Ugh,” she bent down to pick up her box, completely missing Khufu shuffling past her. Opening the box, she checked that all her supplies were present only to realize she’d forgotten a paint brush. Her favorite one, in fact. It wasn’t particularly special except that the handle of it was carved in such a way as though made specifically for her fingers. Obviously she couldn’t go home without it.
Her cat, Isis, was not that much of a concern. No one would dare steal her and the fluffball knew exactly where she was fed. Besides, Nenet worshiped Bastet just like everyone else and revered Bastet’s creatures with appropriate reverence. She wasn’t going to insist Isis do anything that Isis did not wish to do. The cat was spoiled rotten and purred at Nenet from between the feet of Iahotep’s statue. Nenet shot her cat a look and that was when she spotted Khufu.
AH HA! Back to the scene of the crime! And look at him seeming so baffled and innocent. Ooooo she’d spit fire if she could.
Squaring her slim shoulders, Nenet strode towards him, ready to let him have it but he spoke first, which drew her up short.
“I believe you may be the one that I have accidentally stolen this book from?”
“A-accid-d-dentl-l-ly?” She narrowed her eyes at him, her lip curling, mouth twisting into a displeased mask of confusion. Hadn’t seemed like an accident. He had seemed like a master thief to her!. Choosing his victim when she was at her most vulnerable! Like a true villain. Though, she eyed him head to toe now, assessing his vileness. He seemed a little more...schlubby than she imagined master villains to be. Maybe if he twirled his mustache a little bit and cackled….
She shook her head to clear the image of him doing exactly that and pointed to the book still in his hand. “Th-that-t-t iiiis m-m-m-m-m-min-n-n-ne.” She blushed hard even as her anger soared. The most upset she was, the worse the stutter became. And, of course, the worse her stutter got, the more embarrassed she felt, leading to more upset and worse stuttering. Ugh! Where was Hena? He’d be so useful right now! He might not care a single jot about some silly book but she was positive he wouldn’t stand for a Sheifa to be stolen from. She’d even endure the yelling he would be sure to lob her way afterwards. Alas, she was alone and so she decided to channel Nia instead, because she knew for certain she’d never hold up to her brother’s level of rage.
She cleared her throat and went with a sweeter tone. “Iiiii m-m-m-m-mean-n-n-n th-th-than-n-k yyyouuu for-r r-r-r-r-r-re-et-t-t-urn-ning-g iiit-t-t.”
Nailed it.
Khufu wouldn’t have been intimidated by this young woman in general, but he really wasn’t when she opened her mouth and stuttered so much that he was barely able to catch what she was even saying to him. He had to really focus on what she was trying to say to even understand what she was going on about.
And despite her sudden change from yelling to thanking him for returning the book, his grip tightened on it. He was not going to let this book go. Not now that he had finally found one of them. The memories of his father were all he had left of the man, after his mother had sold these very books to raise her children after the death of her husband.
He was not about to let this one go, thinking there was a chance that this was the only one of the set that he might ever be able to find, as it had taken him this long to find this one.
“I apologize for the abrupt way I took the book, it was not appropriate. My mind was occupied with thoughts of days gone by upon seeing it.” He started, wondering if he could tempt this woman with an offer of other books. She clearly held an interest in them if she was so worried about getting this one back.
“This book once belonged to my father, a good man who was taken from the world when I was still young.” He explained, the truth could be seen in his eyes, how much the book meant to him, how much he wanted to keep it in his possession.
“I would ask that you agree to let me keep it. Though, I will not ask such things without something in exchange. I am not an unfair man. I am a scholar at the royal library. I can trade you for another book perhaps? Or I can pay you. Or I can get you access to the libraries books for a certain amount of time. What will it take for me to leave here with this book and on agreeable terms?” He asked. He had no idea what her motivations would be, what she would want.
There had to be something. Everyone had a price. He just hoped that it was not going to be like his deal with Kesi awhile back. He was not going to ever put on another dress or have another tea party in his life. He’d rather actually run away and steal this book than do that again. His hope was she would be enticed by the idea of accessing other books, perhaps ones that she would not be able to find any where but the library.
He wasn’t above begging for the book if he was being honest. His father had been his hero, his closest friend growing up, and the thought of all the years missed after his passing haunted Khufu every day. The idea that his father never lived long enough to see his son married, nor long enough to meet his grandchildren. He needed this book.
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Khufu wouldn’t have been intimidated by this young woman in general, but he really wasn’t when she opened her mouth and stuttered so much that he was barely able to catch what she was even saying to him. He had to really focus on what she was trying to say to even understand what she was going on about.
And despite her sudden change from yelling to thanking him for returning the book, his grip tightened on it. He was not going to let this book go. Not now that he had finally found one of them. The memories of his father were all he had left of the man, after his mother had sold these very books to raise her children after the death of her husband.
He was not about to let this one go, thinking there was a chance that this was the only one of the set that he might ever be able to find, as it had taken him this long to find this one.
“I apologize for the abrupt way I took the book, it was not appropriate. My mind was occupied with thoughts of days gone by upon seeing it.” He started, wondering if he could tempt this woman with an offer of other books. She clearly held an interest in them if she was so worried about getting this one back.
“This book once belonged to my father, a good man who was taken from the world when I was still young.” He explained, the truth could be seen in his eyes, how much the book meant to him, how much he wanted to keep it in his possession.
“I would ask that you agree to let me keep it. Though, I will not ask such things without something in exchange. I am not an unfair man. I am a scholar at the royal library. I can trade you for another book perhaps? Or I can pay you. Or I can get you access to the libraries books for a certain amount of time. What will it take for me to leave here with this book and on agreeable terms?” He asked. He had no idea what her motivations would be, what she would want.
There had to be something. Everyone had a price. He just hoped that it was not going to be like his deal with Kesi awhile back. He was not going to ever put on another dress or have another tea party in his life. He’d rather actually run away and steal this book than do that again. His hope was she would be enticed by the idea of accessing other books, perhaps ones that she would not be able to find any where but the library.
He wasn’t above begging for the book if he was being honest. His father had been his hero, his closest friend growing up, and the thought of all the years missed after his passing haunted Khufu every day. The idea that his father never lived long enough to see his son married, nor long enough to meet his grandchildren. He needed this book.
Khufu wouldn’t have been intimidated by this young woman in general, but he really wasn’t when she opened her mouth and stuttered so much that he was barely able to catch what she was even saying to him. He had to really focus on what she was trying to say to even understand what she was going on about.
And despite her sudden change from yelling to thanking him for returning the book, his grip tightened on it. He was not going to let this book go. Not now that he had finally found one of them. The memories of his father were all he had left of the man, after his mother had sold these very books to raise her children after the death of her husband.
He was not about to let this one go, thinking there was a chance that this was the only one of the set that he might ever be able to find, as it had taken him this long to find this one.
“I apologize for the abrupt way I took the book, it was not appropriate. My mind was occupied with thoughts of days gone by upon seeing it.” He started, wondering if he could tempt this woman with an offer of other books. She clearly held an interest in them if she was so worried about getting this one back.
“This book once belonged to my father, a good man who was taken from the world when I was still young.” He explained, the truth could be seen in his eyes, how much the book meant to him, how much he wanted to keep it in his possession.
“I would ask that you agree to let me keep it. Though, I will not ask such things without something in exchange. I am not an unfair man. I am a scholar at the royal library. I can trade you for another book perhaps? Or I can pay you. Or I can get you access to the libraries books for a certain amount of time. What will it take for me to leave here with this book and on agreeable terms?” He asked. He had no idea what her motivations would be, what she would want.
There had to be something. Everyone had a price. He just hoped that it was not going to be like his deal with Kesi awhile back. He was not going to ever put on another dress or have another tea party in his life. He’d rather actually run away and steal this book than do that again. His hope was she would be enticed by the idea of accessing other books, perhaps ones that she would not be able to find any where but the library.
He wasn’t above begging for the book if he was being honest. His father had been his hero, his closest friend growing up, and the thought of all the years missed after his passing haunted Khufu every day. The idea that his father never lived long enough to see his son married, nor long enough to meet his grandchildren. He needed this book.
Heat flamed in her cheeks as she watched his expressions change while he attempted to figure out what she was saying. Not that any of his expressions, any squinting he might do, any tilting of his head or narrowing of his eyes, none of those were unusual. Her own family had to do that sometimes. However, she kept her hand out expectantly because once he did understand, he would rectify his mistake. Because that was what good, decent people did.
So when he elected not to immediately grovel and hand her back the book...she was at a bit of a loss.
“I apologize for the abrupt way I took the book, it was not appropriate. My mind was occupied with thoughts of days gone by upon seeing it.”
...uh huh….
“Th-that-t-t’s ok-kay,” she tried but he didn’t seem terribly inclined to listen to her meager attempts at breaking through his stream of words. “B-b-b-but-t-t-”
“This book once belonged to my father, a good man who was taken from the world when I was still young.” She stared at him. And? Oh where was her brother when she needed him? Probably face first in poppy grass, no doubt. That or with some trussed up peasant with large breasts and a tiny brain. But what was this man babbling about?? What did his dead father have to do with this book? So what if his father owned it! He didn’t own it now. Hers did.
“I would ask that you agree to let me keep it.” Her eyebrows shot straight in the air. Keep it? Keep it? How was she supposed to finish her drawings? Did this man have no soul?
”Though, I will not ask such things without something in exchange. I am not an unfair man.”
Nenet actually snorted.
”I am a scholar at the royal library. I can trade you for another book perhaps? Or I can pay you. Or I can get you access to the libraries books for a certain amount of time. What will it take for me to leave here with this book and on agreeable terms?”
Royal Library? Well now there was something! Nenet tried to keep her expression schooled but it was difficult. All that market bartering her brother had had her do had been an absolute waste, though. Hena had made her barter and trade and all that involved keeping the face neutral so that the other person didn’t know when they’d won - except her eyes were wide and round and bright. The word ‘library’ had given her a sort of glow.
“W-w-w-wellll,” she stammered eloquently. “P-p-perh-h-haps,” she stroked her chin. “M-m-m-mayb-b-b-b-be iiffff I c-c-could-d-d c-c-c-com-me an-nd-d-d b-b-b-b-bring a b-b-b-book h-h-hom-me? S-s-s-s-som-m-met-t-t-tim-mes?” Gods if only they could work this out on paper. This was going to go just as well as it always did, she feared. Where the other person sensed an accurate advantage and could just keep speaking until she caved.
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Heat flamed in her cheeks as she watched his expressions change while he attempted to figure out what she was saying. Not that any of his expressions, any squinting he might do, any tilting of his head or narrowing of his eyes, none of those were unusual. Her own family had to do that sometimes. However, she kept her hand out expectantly because once he did understand, he would rectify his mistake. Because that was what good, decent people did.
So when he elected not to immediately grovel and hand her back the book...she was at a bit of a loss.
“I apologize for the abrupt way I took the book, it was not appropriate. My mind was occupied with thoughts of days gone by upon seeing it.”
...uh huh….
“Th-that-t-t’s ok-kay,” she tried but he didn’t seem terribly inclined to listen to her meager attempts at breaking through his stream of words. “B-b-b-but-t-t-”
“This book once belonged to my father, a good man who was taken from the world when I was still young.” She stared at him. And? Oh where was her brother when she needed him? Probably face first in poppy grass, no doubt. That or with some trussed up peasant with large breasts and a tiny brain. But what was this man babbling about?? What did his dead father have to do with this book? So what if his father owned it! He didn’t own it now. Hers did.
“I would ask that you agree to let me keep it.” Her eyebrows shot straight in the air. Keep it? Keep it? How was she supposed to finish her drawings? Did this man have no soul?
”Though, I will not ask such things without something in exchange. I am not an unfair man.”
Nenet actually snorted.
”I am a scholar at the royal library. I can trade you for another book perhaps? Or I can pay you. Or I can get you access to the libraries books for a certain amount of time. What will it take for me to leave here with this book and on agreeable terms?”
Royal Library? Well now there was something! Nenet tried to keep her expression schooled but it was difficult. All that market bartering her brother had had her do had been an absolute waste, though. Hena had made her barter and trade and all that involved keeping the face neutral so that the other person didn’t know when they’d won - except her eyes were wide and round and bright. The word ‘library’ had given her a sort of glow.
“W-w-w-wellll,” she stammered eloquently. “P-p-perh-h-haps,” she stroked her chin. “M-m-m-mayb-b-b-b-be iiffff I c-c-could-d-d c-c-c-com-me an-nd-d-d b-b-b-b-bring a b-b-b-book h-h-hom-me? S-s-s-s-som-m-met-t-t-tim-mes?” Gods if only they could work this out on paper. This was going to go just as well as it always did, she feared. Where the other person sensed an accurate advantage and could just keep speaking until she caved.
Heat flamed in her cheeks as she watched his expressions change while he attempted to figure out what she was saying. Not that any of his expressions, any squinting he might do, any tilting of his head or narrowing of his eyes, none of those were unusual. Her own family had to do that sometimes. However, she kept her hand out expectantly because once he did understand, he would rectify his mistake. Because that was what good, decent people did.
So when he elected not to immediately grovel and hand her back the book...she was at a bit of a loss.
“I apologize for the abrupt way I took the book, it was not appropriate. My mind was occupied with thoughts of days gone by upon seeing it.”
...uh huh….
“Th-that-t-t’s ok-kay,” she tried but he didn’t seem terribly inclined to listen to her meager attempts at breaking through his stream of words. “B-b-b-but-t-t-”
“This book once belonged to my father, a good man who was taken from the world when I was still young.” She stared at him. And? Oh where was her brother when she needed him? Probably face first in poppy grass, no doubt. That or with some trussed up peasant with large breasts and a tiny brain. But what was this man babbling about?? What did his dead father have to do with this book? So what if his father owned it! He didn’t own it now. Hers did.
“I would ask that you agree to let me keep it.” Her eyebrows shot straight in the air. Keep it? Keep it? How was she supposed to finish her drawings? Did this man have no soul?
”Though, I will not ask such things without something in exchange. I am not an unfair man.”
Nenet actually snorted.
”I am a scholar at the royal library. I can trade you for another book perhaps? Or I can pay you. Or I can get you access to the libraries books for a certain amount of time. What will it take for me to leave here with this book and on agreeable terms?”
Royal Library? Well now there was something! Nenet tried to keep her expression schooled but it was difficult. All that market bartering her brother had had her do had been an absolute waste, though. Hena had made her barter and trade and all that involved keeping the face neutral so that the other person didn’t know when they’d won - except her eyes were wide and round and bright. The word ‘library’ had given her a sort of glow.
“W-w-w-wellll,” she stammered eloquently. “P-p-perh-h-haps,” she stroked her chin. “M-m-m-mayb-b-b-b-be iiffff I c-c-could-d-d c-c-c-com-me an-nd-d-d b-b-b-b-bring a b-b-b-book h-h-hom-me? S-s-s-s-som-m-met-t-t-tim-mes?” Gods if only they could work this out on paper. This was going to go just as well as it always did, she feared. Where the other person sensed an accurate advantage and could just keep speaking until she caved.
Khufu had no idea how this young woman was going to react to his proposition, but he had figured it would be a good guess that the library would interest her. She seemed the type that loved books, reminding him a little of him in his youth before his father had died and his focus had had to turn to the military in order to help his mother provide for the family. He had forgotten his passion for knowledge until Zoser had come along and reignited it in him. He had never said it to his friend, but he could never thank him enough for bringing him back to the world of knowledge and history.
He was correct in his guess, she seemed to be trying to hide it, but her wide eyes betrayed her excitement at the prospect of having access to the library. He listened closely to make out what she was suggesting. He wondered what caused her stutter? He wanted to study her if he was being honest, to see her day to day, to see if he could figure out the cause of her stutter. But now was not the time nor place to suggest she was something strange to be observed, not if he wanted his father’s book from her.
“I am sure we can come to an arrangement such as that.” He said, the Pharaoh would not notice a book missing once in awhile. The man hardly cared about the library, Khufu couldn’t remember seeing him too often. He could get away with lending a few books out to the young woman, he didn’t foresee Zoser turning that down. Especially not if he explained the situation to him, his best friend knew how much his father had meant to Khufu.
“My name is Khufu.” He stated, realizing he had not actually introduced himself to this young woman that he had accidentally stolen from. He had no idea if she cared about what his name was, but it was only polite for him to provide one. Her stutter was still on his mind, oh how he wanted to figure out the reasoning behind it, and how to fix it. There was a way to fix it, he knew it. It would be quite interesting to figure out that exactly. He wondered if there were any medical texts back at the library that told of similar situations....
“I do not mean to be rude, but may I ask, have you always spoken with such a stutter?” He asked, blurting it out more than anything. He was far too curious to not mention it, his natural curiosity too strong to resist any longer. He figured that the draw of the books in the library would be enough that she would forgive him if his question offended her, and they would still be able to make a deal for his father’s book. Or at least he hoped. Just another gamble he was taking, he was always a fan of games of chance.
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Check out their information page here.
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Khufu had no idea how this young woman was going to react to his proposition, but he had figured it would be a good guess that the library would interest her. She seemed the type that loved books, reminding him a little of him in his youth before his father had died and his focus had had to turn to the military in order to help his mother provide for the family. He had forgotten his passion for knowledge until Zoser had come along and reignited it in him. He had never said it to his friend, but he could never thank him enough for bringing him back to the world of knowledge and history.
He was correct in his guess, she seemed to be trying to hide it, but her wide eyes betrayed her excitement at the prospect of having access to the library. He listened closely to make out what she was suggesting. He wondered what caused her stutter? He wanted to study her if he was being honest, to see her day to day, to see if he could figure out the cause of her stutter. But now was not the time nor place to suggest she was something strange to be observed, not if he wanted his father’s book from her.
“I am sure we can come to an arrangement such as that.” He said, the Pharaoh would not notice a book missing once in awhile. The man hardly cared about the library, Khufu couldn’t remember seeing him too often. He could get away with lending a few books out to the young woman, he didn’t foresee Zoser turning that down. Especially not if he explained the situation to him, his best friend knew how much his father had meant to Khufu.
“My name is Khufu.” He stated, realizing he had not actually introduced himself to this young woman that he had accidentally stolen from. He had no idea if she cared about what his name was, but it was only polite for him to provide one. Her stutter was still on his mind, oh how he wanted to figure out the reasoning behind it, and how to fix it. There was a way to fix it, he knew it. It would be quite interesting to figure out that exactly. He wondered if there were any medical texts back at the library that told of similar situations....
“I do not mean to be rude, but may I ask, have you always spoken with such a stutter?” He asked, blurting it out more than anything. He was far too curious to not mention it, his natural curiosity too strong to resist any longer. He figured that the draw of the books in the library would be enough that she would forgive him if his question offended her, and they would still be able to make a deal for his father’s book. Or at least he hoped. Just another gamble he was taking, he was always a fan of games of chance.
Khufu had no idea how this young woman was going to react to his proposition, but he had figured it would be a good guess that the library would interest her. She seemed the type that loved books, reminding him a little of him in his youth before his father had died and his focus had had to turn to the military in order to help his mother provide for the family. He had forgotten his passion for knowledge until Zoser had come along and reignited it in him. He had never said it to his friend, but he could never thank him enough for bringing him back to the world of knowledge and history.
He was correct in his guess, she seemed to be trying to hide it, but her wide eyes betrayed her excitement at the prospect of having access to the library. He listened closely to make out what she was suggesting. He wondered what caused her stutter? He wanted to study her if he was being honest, to see her day to day, to see if he could figure out the cause of her stutter. But now was not the time nor place to suggest she was something strange to be observed, not if he wanted his father’s book from her.
“I am sure we can come to an arrangement such as that.” He said, the Pharaoh would not notice a book missing once in awhile. The man hardly cared about the library, Khufu couldn’t remember seeing him too often. He could get away with lending a few books out to the young woman, he didn’t foresee Zoser turning that down. Especially not if he explained the situation to him, his best friend knew how much his father had meant to Khufu.
“My name is Khufu.” He stated, realizing he had not actually introduced himself to this young woman that he had accidentally stolen from. He had no idea if she cared about what his name was, but it was only polite for him to provide one. Her stutter was still on his mind, oh how he wanted to figure out the reasoning behind it, and how to fix it. There was a way to fix it, he knew it. It would be quite interesting to figure out that exactly. He wondered if there were any medical texts back at the library that told of similar situations....
“I do not mean to be rude, but may I ask, have you always spoken with such a stutter?” He asked, blurting it out more than anything. He was far too curious to not mention it, his natural curiosity too strong to resist any longer. He figured that the draw of the books in the library would be enough that she would forgive him if his question offended her, and they would still be able to make a deal for his father’s book. Or at least he hoped. Just another gamble he was taking, he was always a fan of games of chance.
Thankfully, he did not jump on the advantage. Instead, he said “I am sure we can come to an arrangement such as that.” Warm relief coursed through her. She’d be more than willing to let go of a plant book if she had unfettered access to SO many others. It was too good a chance to pass up. Truthfully, she very probably could have presented herself inside the Pharaoh's library without him. After all, she was nobility and a Sheifa besides but the problem was that Pharaoh had not extended an express invitation and neither had Queen Hatshepsut. If she did presume herself welcome and found out she was not, the results could be lethal. No, if she was under the protection of the librarian, whom she assumed this man was, then she would no doubt be fine. Or at least her presence could be better explained.
“My name is Khufu.” he said belatedly while she pondered her new future. Nenet’s eyes had wandered away from him into daydreams but they returned now and she blinked. Oh! That was true. They hadn’t exchanged names. So she stuttered out her own name and title, just as wobbly and hard to understand as when she’d been speaking before. Her cheeks flamed. Bunching her kalasiris at her side as she ground out the words, she found her palm was slick with sweat. Much more talking and she was fairly certain she’d run back to her cat.
He considered her for a moment and it was as if she could read his mind. The heat from her cheeks burned down into her neck and chest until she was positively red all over as he said to her complete lack of surprise, “I do not mean to be rude, but may I ask, have you always spoken with such a stutter?”
“Uh...” the articulation, it seemed, was going to continue. How could she explain that, yes, she sort of had always had one, but ever since this business with Sutekh, it’d become nearly impossible to speak and the less she tried to stutter, the worse it had become? That when she’d been much younger, it hadn’t been near this bad?
Nenet looked off to the side, her eyes following a camel as it let out a wildly loud fart which made the poor woman who’d been following near to its rear stumble backward. “W-w-w-w-w-w-well,” Nenet wrung her hands, still watching the woman cough and stick out her tongue like she’d actually eaten the fart. Maybe she had. “M-m-m-m-m-my b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-broth-th-th-th-ther-r-r-r,” ...oh this was just NOT going to work. She looked about his person and finally stuttered out the question of did he have any paper? She felt sure she could explain all of this so much better and faster if she could just write it down for him. That’d spare her the humiliation and him the confusion and agitation of trying to listen to her talk.
Nenet was never so acutely aware of her stutter as with strangers. Especially kind ones. Kind ones were the worst because she was sure, if she met his eye, she might see pity. She hated pity. Words like ‘broken’ and ‘can’t help it’ and ‘not like you’ were thrown around at home so often that she’d started avoiding even her parents. She was a person. Not a thing to be mended.
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Thankfully, he did not jump on the advantage. Instead, he said “I am sure we can come to an arrangement such as that.” Warm relief coursed through her. She’d be more than willing to let go of a plant book if she had unfettered access to SO many others. It was too good a chance to pass up. Truthfully, she very probably could have presented herself inside the Pharaoh's library without him. After all, she was nobility and a Sheifa besides but the problem was that Pharaoh had not extended an express invitation and neither had Queen Hatshepsut. If she did presume herself welcome and found out she was not, the results could be lethal. No, if she was under the protection of the librarian, whom she assumed this man was, then she would no doubt be fine. Or at least her presence could be better explained.
“My name is Khufu.” he said belatedly while she pondered her new future. Nenet’s eyes had wandered away from him into daydreams but they returned now and she blinked. Oh! That was true. They hadn’t exchanged names. So she stuttered out her own name and title, just as wobbly and hard to understand as when she’d been speaking before. Her cheeks flamed. Bunching her kalasiris at her side as she ground out the words, she found her palm was slick with sweat. Much more talking and she was fairly certain she’d run back to her cat.
He considered her for a moment and it was as if she could read his mind. The heat from her cheeks burned down into her neck and chest until she was positively red all over as he said to her complete lack of surprise, “I do not mean to be rude, but may I ask, have you always spoken with such a stutter?”
“Uh...” the articulation, it seemed, was going to continue. How could she explain that, yes, she sort of had always had one, but ever since this business with Sutekh, it’d become nearly impossible to speak and the less she tried to stutter, the worse it had become? That when she’d been much younger, it hadn’t been near this bad?
Nenet looked off to the side, her eyes following a camel as it let out a wildly loud fart which made the poor woman who’d been following near to its rear stumble backward. “W-w-w-w-w-w-well,” Nenet wrung her hands, still watching the woman cough and stick out her tongue like she’d actually eaten the fart. Maybe she had. “M-m-m-m-m-my b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-broth-th-th-th-ther-r-r-r,” ...oh this was just NOT going to work. She looked about his person and finally stuttered out the question of did he have any paper? She felt sure she could explain all of this so much better and faster if she could just write it down for him. That’d spare her the humiliation and him the confusion and agitation of trying to listen to her talk.
Nenet was never so acutely aware of her stutter as with strangers. Especially kind ones. Kind ones were the worst because she was sure, if she met his eye, she might see pity. She hated pity. Words like ‘broken’ and ‘can’t help it’ and ‘not like you’ were thrown around at home so often that she’d started avoiding even her parents. She was a person. Not a thing to be mended.
Thankfully, he did not jump on the advantage. Instead, he said “I am sure we can come to an arrangement such as that.” Warm relief coursed through her. She’d be more than willing to let go of a plant book if she had unfettered access to SO many others. It was too good a chance to pass up. Truthfully, she very probably could have presented herself inside the Pharaoh's library without him. After all, she was nobility and a Sheifa besides but the problem was that Pharaoh had not extended an express invitation and neither had Queen Hatshepsut. If she did presume herself welcome and found out she was not, the results could be lethal. No, if she was under the protection of the librarian, whom she assumed this man was, then she would no doubt be fine. Or at least her presence could be better explained.
“My name is Khufu.” he said belatedly while she pondered her new future. Nenet’s eyes had wandered away from him into daydreams but they returned now and she blinked. Oh! That was true. They hadn’t exchanged names. So she stuttered out her own name and title, just as wobbly and hard to understand as when she’d been speaking before. Her cheeks flamed. Bunching her kalasiris at her side as she ground out the words, she found her palm was slick with sweat. Much more talking and she was fairly certain she’d run back to her cat.
He considered her for a moment and it was as if she could read his mind. The heat from her cheeks burned down into her neck and chest until she was positively red all over as he said to her complete lack of surprise, “I do not mean to be rude, but may I ask, have you always spoken with such a stutter?”
“Uh...” the articulation, it seemed, was going to continue. How could she explain that, yes, she sort of had always had one, but ever since this business with Sutekh, it’d become nearly impossible to speak and the less she tried to stutter, the worse it had become? That when she’d been much younger, it hadn’t been near this bad?
Nenet looked off to the side, her eyes following a camel as it let out a wildly loud fart which made the poor woman who’d been following near to its rear stumble backward. “W-w-w-w-w-w-well,” Nenet wrung her hands, still watching the woman cough and stick out her tongue like she’d actually eaten the fart. Maybe she had. “M-m-m-m-m-my b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-broth-th-th-th-ther-r-r-r,” ...oh this was just NOT going to work. She looked about his person and finally stuttered out the question of did he have any paper? She felt sure she could explain all of this so much better and faster if she could just write it down for him. That’d spare her the humiliation and him the confusion and agitation of trying to listen to her talk.
Nenet was never so acutely aware of her stutter as with strangers. Especially kind ones. Kind ones were the worst because she was sure, if she met his eye, she might see pity. She hated pity. Words like ‘broken’ and ‘can’t help it’ and ‘not like you’ were thrown around at home so often that she’d started avoiding even her parents. She was a person. Not a thing to be mended.
Khufu didn’t think it would be an issue, getting this girl access to the books that were available at the library. As long as none were wrecked or stolen. Not that he would give her access to the rare books, but she didn’t need to know that either. She could be content thinking she had access to all that the library had to offer, when in reality she would only have access to a small number of what they had there. That part of the deal, she didn’t have to be aware of, and it was better for him if she wasn’t aware of it. She could happily borrow the books in the common collection for years without even knowing that she was limited.
Then she introduced herself and something clicked. Of course she was a Sheifa. He had thought she looked vaguely familiar to him, and now he knew why. For the past ten or so years, he had been good friends with her father, and about two years ago, he had become friends with her sister Nia as well.
Khufu did not mention such things though, not knowing if it would be intimidating for her at all knowing that he knew her father so well. He wasn’t sure if this situation would turn into a friendship between them or not. If it did, he would reveal to her then his connections with her family. If not, there was no harm done as they likely wouldn’t see each other beyond if she visited the library as intended.
Her stutter seemed to get worse as she tried to answer his question about her stutter. He wondered if nerves were a reason for her stutter. It could be completely psychological, brought on by her own mind trying to hold her back for what ever reason. He was even more curious now if he was being honest.
Then she was asking for some paper, and he shook his head.
“I’ll meet you back at the bench you were at when I took the book.” He said, then he turned and disappeared into the crowd. He was determined to learn about her, to hear her story. He didn’t have paper on him, but he was certainly going to find some. Khufu was a slave to his curiosity most times, and this most certainly was one of those times.
He returned to the bench where they had first met a few moments later, paper in hand so she could write her replies to him and he could learn.
He sat on the bench and held the paper out to her, eager to get her started writing so he could find out what she had to say about her stutter.
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Khufu didn’t think it would be an issue, getting this girl access to the books that were available at the library. As long as none were wrecked or stolen. Not that he would give her access to the rare books, but she didn’t need to know that either. She could be content thinking she had access to all that the library had to offer, when in reality she would only have access to a small number of what they had there. That part of the deal, she didn’t have to be aware of, and it was better for him if she wasn’t aware of it. She could happily borrow the books in the common collection for years without even knowing that she was limited.
Then she introduced herself and something clicked. Of course she was a Sheifa. He had thought she looked vaguely familiar to him, and now he knew why. For the past ten or so years, he had been good friends with her father, and about two years ago, he had become friends with her sister Nia as well.
Khufu did not mention such things though, not knowing if it would be intimidating for her at all knowing that he knew her father so well. He wasn’t sure if this situation would turn into a friendship between them or not. If it did, he would reveal to her then his connections with her family. If not, there was no harm done as they likely wouldn’t see each other beyond if she visited the library as intended.
Her stutter seemed to get worse as she tried to answer his question about her stutter. He wondered if nerves were a reason for her stutter. It could be completely psychological, brought on by her own mind trying to hold her back for what ever reason. He was even more curious now if he was being honest.
Then she was asking for some paper, and he shook his head.
“I’ll meet you back at the bench you were at when I took the book.” He said, then he turned and disappeared into the crowd. He was determined to learn about her, to hear her story. He didn’t have paper on him, but he was certainly going to find some. Khufu was a slave to his curiosity most times, and this most certainly was one of those times.
He returned to the bench where they had first met a few moments later, paper in hand so she could write her replies to him and he could learn.
He sat on the bench and held the paper out to her, eager to get her started writing so he could find out what she had to say about her stutter.
Khufu didn’t think it would be an issue, getting this girl access to the books that were available at the library. As long as none were wrecked or stolen. Not that he would give her access to the rare books, but she didn’t need to know that either. She could be content thinking she had access to all that the library had to offer, when in reality she would only have access to a small number of what they had there. That part of the deal, she didn’t have to be aware of, and it was better for him if she wasn’t aware of it. She could happily borrow the books in the common collection for years without even knowing that she was limited.
Then she introduced herself and something clicked. Of course she was a Sheifa. He had thought she looked vaguely familiar to him, and now he knew why. For the past ten or so years, he had been good friends with her father, and about two years ago, he had become friends with her sister Nia as well.
Khufu did not mention such things though, not knowing if it would be intimidating for her at all knowing that he knew her father so well. He wasn’t sure if this situation would turn into a friendship between them or not. If it did, he would reveal to her then his connections with her family. If not, there was no harm done as they likely wouldn’t see each other beyond if she visited the library as intended.
Her stutter seemed to get worse as she tried to answer his question about her stutter. He wondered if nerves were a reason for her stutter. It could be completely psychological, brought on by her own mind trying to hold her back for what ever reason. He was even more curious now if he was being honest.
Then she was asking for some paper, and he shook his head.
“I’ll meet you back at the bench you were at when I took the book.” He said, then he turned and disappeared into the crowd. He was determined to learn about her, to hear her story. He didn’t have paper on him, but he was certainly going to find some. Khufu was a slave to his curiosity most times, and this most certainly was one of those times.
He returned to the bench where they had first met a few moments later, paper in hand so she could write her replies to him and he could learn.
He sat on the bench and held the paper out to her, eager to get her started writing so he could find out what she had to say about her stutter.
Thankfully the level of embarrassment she was suffering couldn’t get much worse (she assumed). His departure was abrupt but then, she was beginning to expect nothing less from him. After all, when he’d stolen the book, he’d come, he’d seen, he’d gone. So now they’d talked, he ordered her away, and he left. Nenet fully believed that he’d come back, though, because of the way his face had shone with determination. Picking up her art supplies, she turned away, barely noticing the crowd that she had to jostle through.
How was she going to explain Sutekh? Their family’s shame seemed never to end and though it had nothing to do with her, she still bore social responsibility for it. Groaning to herself, Nenet crossed beneath the high arch that separated the square from the more crowded rabble. She stopped in front of the statue of Iahotep but she wasn’t looking up at the pharaoh’s likeness. She was looking at her own cat who was nestled between the statue’s feet.
Reaching out, she brushed her fingers along Isis’s puffy white head. The cat lifted her head so that Nenet’s fingers scratched below the feline’s chin. Nenet could feel the vibrations in Isis’s throat and smiled a little. As soon as she withdrew her hand, Isis stood and stretched, her back arching up and then slunk forward, both legs extended back in an equally long stretch. Then the cat purruped and followed Nenet back to the bench where the girl sat and dutifully waited for Khufu.
She fiddled with the hem of her kalasiris but dropped it the second he reentered the square. True to his word, he’d brought papyrus and a writing utensil with him. Nenet accepted these things and put them on her lap but was stuck on how to proceed. How...and what should she say? Of course, she could lie and the longer she sat there, indecisive, the more she felt like her stutter now extended to her hands, too, where they trembled a little. Sutekh was someone she tried to not even think about most of the time because when she did, she was pretty sure that blood might trickle out of her chest from her broken heart.
Finally, finally, she began to write. Deciding to start at the beginning, she detailed briefly her parent’s wonderful marriage, her mother’s uncompromising moral standing, her own happy childhood and of her siblings, how she’d loved Sutekh best. She made sure to write that her stutter had always been there but...much less. The odd word or two when she got nervous but if she was fine, it hadn’t been there at all. As she’d grown, though, faced with the cruel realities of having a father who didn’t even appear to much know her name, a mother who was as hard as she was beautiful...with two sisters and a little brother who were mean as snakes, that her stutter had steadily increased.
Then, the killing blow: the finding out that Sutekh was only a half sibling - the son of her mother and not her father. The horrible night Sutekh had been cruelly turned out. How she felt his missing presence in the family like a gaping wound that no one talked about. She finally unburdened to this stranger that she’d been so cowardly as to not even go to visit Sutekh and that when she’d finally gotten up her courage to speak to him on the very day that the army had shipped out, fate had seen to it that they’d missed each other. He might die thinking she hated him and how she could barely stand herself anymore.
And suddenly, unwanted and unnoticed by her until they were huge blotches on the page, tears began to pour down her face. She thrust the paper into Khufu’s lap, unable to continue with this and unsure where this overwhelming wave of emotion had bubbled up from but she wanted it gone. It was smearing her kohl and making her small face an absolute mess.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Thankfully the level of embarrassment she was suffering couldn’t get much worse (she assumed). His departure was abrupt but then, she was beginning to expect nothing less from him. After all, when he’d stolen the book, he’d come, he’d seen, he’d gone. So now they’d talked, he ordered her away, and he left. Nenet fully believed that he’d come back, though, because of the way his face had shone with determination. Picking up her art supplies, she turned away, barely noticing the crowd that she had to jostle through.
How was she going to explain Sutekh? Their family’s shame seemed never to end and though it had nothing to do with her, she still bore social responsibility for it. Groaning to herself, Nenet crossed beneath the high arch that separated the square from the more crowded rabble. She stopped in front of the statue of Iahotep but she wasn’t looking up at the pharaoh’s likeness. She was looking at her own cat who was nestled between the statue’s feet.
Reaching out, she brushed her fingers along Isis’s puffy white head. The cat lifted her head so that Nenet’s fingers scratched below the feline’s chin. Nenet could feel the vibrations in Isis’s throat and smiled a little. As soon as she withdrew her hand, Isis stood and stretched, her back arching up and then slunk forward, both legs extended back in an equally long stretch. Then the cat purruped and followed Nenet back to the bench where the girl sat and dutifully waited for Khufu.
She fiddled with the hem of her kalasiris but dropped it the second he reentered the square. True to his word, he’d brought papyrus and a writing utensil with him. Nenet accepted these things and put them on her lap but was stuck on how to proceed. How...and what should she say? Of course, she could lie and the longer she sat there, indecisive, the more she felt like her stutter now extended to her hands, too, where they trembled a little. Sutekh was someone she tried to not even think about most of the time because when she did, she was pretty sure that blood might trickle out of her chest from her broken heart.
Finally, finally, she began to write. Deciding to start at the beginning, she detailed briefly her parent’s wonderful marriage, her mother’s uncompromising moral standing, her own happy childhood and of her siblings, how she’d loved Sutekh best. She made sure to write that her stutter had always been there but...much less. The odd word or two when she got nervous but if she was fine, it hadn’t been there at all. As she’d grown, though, faced with the cruel realities of having a father who didn’t even appear to much know her name, a mother who was as hard as she was beautiful...with two sisters and a little brother who were mean as snakes, that her stutter had steadily increased.
Then, the killing blow: the finding out that Sutekh was only a half sibling - the son of her mother and not her father. The horrible night Sutekh had been cruelly turned out. How she felt his missing presence in the family like a gaping wound that no one talked about. She finally unburdened to this stranger that she’d been so cowardly as to not even go to visit Sutekh and that when she’d finally gotten up her courage to speak to him on the very day that the army had shipped out, fate had seen to it that they’d missed each other. He might die thinking she hated him and how she could barely stand herself anymore.
And suddenly, unwanted and unnoticed by her until they were huge blotches on the page, tears began to pour down her face. She thrust the paper into Khufu’s lap, unable to continue with this and unsure where this overwhelming wave of emotion had bubbled up from but she wanted it gone. It was smearing her kohl and making her small face an absolute mess.
Thankfully the level of embarrassment she was suffering couldn’t get much worse (she assumed). His departure was abrupt but then, she was beginning to expect nothing less from him. After all, when he’d stolen the book, he’d come, he’d seen, he’d gone. So now they’d talked, he ordered her away, and he left. Nenet fully believed that he’d come back, though, because of the way his face had shone with determination. Picking up her art supplies, she turned away, barely noticing the crowd that she had to jostle through.
How was she going to explain Sutekh? Their family’s shame seemed never to end and though it had nothing to do with her, she still bore social responsibility for it. Groaning to herself, Nenet crossed beneath the high arch that separated the square from the more crowded rabble. She stopped in front of the statue of Iahotep but she wasn’t looking up at the pharaoh’s likeness. She was looking at her own cat who was nestled between the statue’s feet.
Reaching out, she brushed her fingers along Isis’s puffy white head. The cat lifted her head so that Nenet’s fingers scratched below the feline’s chin. Nenet could feel the vibrations in Isis’s throat and smiled a little. As soon as she withdrew her hand, Isis stood and stretched, her back arching up and then slunk forward, both legs extended back in an equally long stretch. Then the cat purruped and followed Nenet back to the bench where the girl sat and dutifully waited for Khufu.
She fiddled with the hem of her kalasiris but dropped it the second he reentered the square. True to his word, he’d brought papyrus and a writing utensil with him. Nenet accepted these things and put them on her lap but was stuck on how to proceed. How...and what should she say? Of course, she could lie and the longer she sat there, indecisive, the more she felt like her stutter now extended to her hands, too, where they trembled a little. Sutekh was someone she tried to not even think about most of the time because when she did, she was pretty sure that blood might trickle out of her chest from her broken heart.
Finally, finally, she began to write. Deciding to start at the beginning, she detailed briefly her parent’s wonderful marriage, her mother’s uncompromising moral standing, her own happy childhood and of her siblings, how she’d loved Sutekh best. She made sure to write that her stutter had always been there but...much less. The odd word or two when she got nervous but if she was fine, it hadn’t been there at all. As she’d grown, though, faced with the cruel realities of having a father who didn’t even appear to much know her name, a mother who was as hard as she was beautiful...with two sisters and a little brother who were mean as snakes, that her stutter had steadily increased.
Then, the killing blow: the finding out that Sutekh was only a half sibling - the son of her mother and not her father. The horrible night Sutekh had been cruelly turned out. How she felt his missing presence in the family like a gaping wound that no one talked about. She finally unburdened to this stranger that she’d been so cowardly as to not even go to visit Sutekh and that when she’d finally gotten up her courage to speak to him on the very day that the army had shipped out, fate had seen to it that they’d missed each other. He might die thinking she hated him and how she could barely stand herself anymore.
And suddenly, unwanted and unnoticed by her until they were huge blotches on the page, tears began to pour down her face. She thrust the paper into Khufu’s lap, unable to continue with this and unsure where this overwhelming wave of emotion had bubbled up from but she wanted it gone. It was smearing her kohl and making her small face an absolute mess.
Khufu sat there and waited for her to start writing, he assumed that she was trying to figure out what she wanted to say. Khufu wasn’t dumb, he had of course heard about the oldest Sheifa son, who turned out not to be a Sheifa at all. He had also seen the man skulking around the palace when Khufu had been there on official business. He was interested to know though, what her brother had to do with her stutter. They sat for awhile in silence, the world moving around them as Khufu tried to decide if he should say anything or if he should wait there silently.
He read over her shoulder as she wrote, too curious to wait and read when she was done writing. He read of her family, most of which he already knew. Her family wasn’t exactly unknown, a lot of their affairs were out in the open, as were their personalities. He had heard a lot about them through nobles that visited the library.
And then she was crying and suddenly he felt extra awkward. What should he do? What was appropriate to do? He looked around, as if he was looking for someone to help him some how. Help with what? He wasn’t sure abut that. How did one help someone who was crying?
How had he gone from accidentally stealing a book to sitting here awkwardly with a crying young woman who was far richer and far more important than the scholar who sat beside her.
He reached over and patted her shoulder gently, and maybe a bit awkwardly. He didn’t know what to do beyond that. He discovered that her stutter was out of nervousness, that it wasn’t a natural thing, it was something to do with her personality, who she was. But now he didn’t know how to handle the emotions that he had brought out of her.
The only crying woman that he had ever dealt with had been his wife, and even then, she was never that emotional of a person.
He cleared his throat a little, dropping his hand back down.
“I’m sure he doesn’t think you hate him. If you were as close as you say you were, then he would know you well enough to understand why you didn’t visit, right?” He said, to him that sounded logical. If they were that close, he would understand her that way surely.
He shifted a little.
“I uh.. I have to get back to work. We have some new books coming in, and I have to be there to check and sort them.” He said. It wasn’t entirely wrong, that was really happening, but he was lying about having to be there. He just... didn’t know what to do to comfort her, and really didn’t want to make this worse. He figured the best thing he could do for both of them would be to take himself out of the situation entirely, before he made this worse.
This character is currently a work in progress.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Khufu sat there and waited for her to start writing, he assumed that she was trying to figure out what she wanted to say. Khufu wasn’t dumb, he had of course heard about the oldest Sheifa son, who turned out not to be a Sheifa at all. He had also seen the man skulking around the palace when Khufu had been there on official business. He was interested to know though, what her brother had to do with her stutter. They sat for awhile in silence, the world moving around them as Khufu tried to decide if he should say anything or if he should wait there silently.
He read over her shoulder as she wrote, too curious to wait and read when she was done writing. He read of her family, most of which he already knew. Her family wasn’t exactly unknown, a lot of their affairs were out in the open, as were their personalities. He had heard a lot about them through nobles that visited the library.
And then she was crying and suddenly he felt extra awkward. What should he do? What was appropriate to do? He looked around, as if he was looking for someone to help him some how. Help with what? He wasn’t sure abut that. How did one help someone who was crying?
How had he gone from accidentally stealing a book to sitting here awkwardly with a crying young woman who was far richer and far more important than the scholar who sat beside her.
He reached over and patted her shoulder gently, and maybe a bit awkwardly. He didn’t know what to do beyond that. He discovered that her stutter was out of nervousness, that it wasn’t a natural thing, it was something to do with her personality, who she was. But now he didn’t know how to handle the emotions that he had brought out of her.
The only crying woman that he had ever dealt with had been his wife, and even then, she was never that emotional of a person.
He cleared his throat a little, dropping his hand back down.
“I’m sure he doesn’t think you hate him. If you were as close as you say you were, then he would know you well enough to understand why you didn’t visit, right?” He said, to him that sounded logical. If they were that close, he would understand her that way surely.
He shifted a little.
“I uh.. I have to get back to work. We have some new books coming in, and I have to be there to check and sort them.” He said. It wasn’t entirely wrong, that was really happening, but he was lying about having to be there. He just... didn’t know what to do to comfort her, and really didn’t want to make this worse. He figured the best thing he could do for both of them would be to take himself out of the situation entirely, before he made this worse.
Khufu sat there and waited for her to start writing, he assumed that she was trying to figure out what she wanted to say. Khufu wasn’t dumb, he had of course heard about the oldest Sheifa son, who turned out not to be a Sheifa at all. He had also seen the man skulking around the palace when Khufu had been there on official business. He was interested to know though, what her brother had to do with her stutter. They sat for awhile in silence, the world moving around them as Khufu tried to decide if he should say anything or if he should wait there silently.
He read over her shoulder as she wrote, too curious to wait and read when she was done writing. He read of her family, most of which he already knew. Her family wasn’t exactly unknown, a lot of their affairs were out in the open, as were their personalities. He had heard a lot about them through nobles that visited the library.
And then she was crying and suddenly he felt extra awkward. What should he do? What was appropriate to do? He looked around, as if he was looking for someone to help him some how. Help with what? He wasn’t sure abut that. How did one help someone who was crying?
How had he gone from accidentally stealing a book to sitting here awkwardly with a crying young woman who was far richer and far more important than the scholar who sat beside her.
He reached over and patted her shoulder gently, and maybe a bit awkwardly. He didn’t know what to do beyond that. He discovered that her stutter was out of nervousness, that it wasn’t a natural thing, it was something to do with her personality, who she was. But now he didn’t know how to handle the emotions that he had brought out of her.
The only crying woman that he had ever dealt with had been his wife, and even then, she was never that emotional of a person.
He cleared his throat a little, dropping his hand back down.
“I’m sure he doesn’t think you hate him. If you were as close as you say you were, then he would know you well enough to understand why you didn’t visit, right?” He said, to him that sounded logical. If they were that close, he would understand her that way surely.
He shifted a little.
“I uh.. I have to get back to work. We have some new books coming in, and I have to be there to check and sort them.” He said. It wasn’t entirely wrong, that was really happening, but he was lying about having to be there. He just... didn’t know what to do to comfort her, and really didn’t want to make this worse. He figured the best thing he could do for both of them would be to take himself out of the situation entirely, before he made this worse.
She noticed him shifting awkwardly beside her but she couldn’t seem to get it together. Somehow this conversation had gone horribly sideways but in a way, it was relieving to vent her feelings. Because Nenet didn’t go to court all that much, or really speak to many people, she didn’t know that their family’s business was apparently common knowledge and would have been embarrassed to find that it was. How crass. Of course, Sutekh was known, but the rest...She’d have thought that they would have hidden things better.
When Khufu gave her shoulder a little pat pat, she sniffled and wiped her nose, side eyeing him. Honestly? She looked like a nightmare. Kohl running down her face and her nose brilliant red from crying. But he seemed kind, even if he looked more nervous than she was. Nenet straightened up and did what she could to wipe the makeup out from beneath her eyes. “S-s-s-s-s-or-r-r-r-r-r-r-r--r-rr-y-y,” she stumbled over the apology and then laughed a little inside a hiccup. Her stupid, stupid stutter.
“I’m sure he doesn’t think you hate him. If you were as close as you say you were, then he would know you well enough to understand why you didn’t visit, right?” Khufu’s question made a certain amount of sense but, of course, the opposite of that was if they were so close, heaven and earth couldn’t and shouldn’t keep her away, right? But Nenet didn’t want to get into semantics so she just smiled and nodded, sniffling still.
“I uh.. I have to get back to work. We have some new books coming in, and I have to be there to check and sort them.” She nodded again, feeling like her head was just a ball, bobbing up and down on a current of conversation. Nenet waved him off, feeling weird for now having some sort of friendship with a book thief. When he was gone, she sighed to herself and finished wiping off her makeup.
That could have gone worse, she thought to herself. If I burst into flames, maybe. That’d have been worse… She gathered up her supplies and went to Iahotep’s statue to pick up her cat Isis. Nuzzling into the cat’s fur, she pulled away and widened her eyes. Black smudges covered her cat’s neck. Well...ugh. Apparently she still looked frightful. There was nothing for it but to get home as quickly as possible and hide forever. That was the only option.
The walk home was uneventful and soon, Nenet was back in her own room, in front of her vanity and removing the travesty of ruined makeup. Swallowing hard, she peered at her reflection. She’d write to her brother. They might not be able to see each other...but she’d write. Repair some of that damage. Khufu was right - she needed not to assume the worst...
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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She noticed him shifting awkwardly beside her but she couldn’t seem to get it together. Somehow this conversation had gone horribly sideways but in a way, it was relieving to vent her feelings. Because Nenet didn’t go to court all that much, or really speak to many people, she didn’t know that their family’s business was apparently common knowledge and would have been embarrassed to find that it was. How crass. Of course, Sutekh was known, but the rest...She’d have thought that they would have hidden things better.
When Khufu gave her shoulder a little pat pat, she sniffled and wiped her nose, side eyeing him. Honestly? She looked like a nightmare. Kohl running down her face and her nose brilliant red from crying. But he seemed kind, even if he looked more nervous than she was. Nenet straightened up and did what she could to wipe the makeup out from beneath her eyes. “S-s-s-s-s-or-r-r-r-r-r-r-r--r-rr-y-y,” she stumbled over the apology and then laughed a little inside a hiccup. Her stupid, stupid stutter.
“I’m sure he doesn’t think you hate him. If you were as close as you say you were, then he would know you well enough to understand why you didn’t visit, right?” Khufu’s question made a certain amount of sense but, of course, the opposite of that was if they were so close, heaven and earth couldn’t and shouldn’t keep her away, right? But Nenet didn’t want to get into semantics so she just smiled and nodded, sniffling still.
“I uh.. I have to get back to work. We have some new books coming in, and I have to be there to check and sort them.” She nodded again, feeling like her head was just a ball, bobbing up and down on a current of conversation. Nenet waved him off, feeling weird for now having some sort of friendship with a book thief. When he was gone, she sighed to herself and finished wiping off her makeup.
That could have gone worse, she thought to herself. If I burst into flames, maybe. That’d have been worse… She gathered up her supplies and went to Iahotep’s statue to pick up her cat Isis. Nuzzling into the cat’s fur, she pulled away and widened her eyes. Black smudges covered her cat’s neck. Well...ugh. Apparently she still looked frightful. There was nothing for it but to get home as quickly as possible and hide forever. That was the only option.
The walk home was uneventful and soon, Nenet was back in her own room, in front of her vanity and removing the travesty of ruined makeup. Swallowing hard, she peered at her reflection. She’d write to her brother. They might not be able to see each other...but she’d write. Repair some of that damage. Khufu was right - she needed not to assume the worst...
She noticed him shifting awkwardly beside her but she couldn’t seem to get it together. Somehow this conversation had gone horribly sideways but in a way, it was relieving to vent her feelings. Because Nenet didn’t go to court all that much, or really speak to many people, she didn’t know that their family’s business was apparently common knowledge and would have been embarrassed to find that it was. How crass. Of course, Sutekh was known, but the rest...She’d have thought that they would have hidden things better.
When Khufu gave her shoulder a little pat pat, she sniffled and wiped her nose, side eyeing him. Honestly? She looked like a nightmare. Kohl running down her face and her nose brilliant red from crying. But he seemed kind, even if he looked more nervous than she was. Nenet straightened up and did what she could to wipe the makeup out from beneath her eyes. “S-s-s-s-s-or-r-r-r-r-r-r-r--r-rr-y-y,” she stumbled over the apology and then laughed a little inside a hiccup. Her stupid, stupid stutter.
“I’m sure he doesn’t think you hate him. If you were as close as you say you were, then he would know you well enough to understand why you didn’t visit, right?” Khufu’s question made a certain amount of sense but, of course, the opposite of that was if they were so close, heaven and earth couldn’t and shouldn’t keep her away, right? But Nenet didn’t want to get into semantics so she just smiled and nodded, sniffling still.
“I uh.. I have to get back to work. We have some new books coming in, and I have to be there to check and sort them.” She nodded again, feeling like her head was just a ball, bobbing up and down on a current of conversation. Nenet waved him off, feeling weird for now having some sort of friendship with a book thief. When he was gone, she sighed to herself and finished wiping off her makeup.
That could have gone worse, she thought to herself. If I burst into flames, maybe. That’d have been worse… She gathered up her supplies and went to Iahotep’s statue to pick up her cat Isis. Nuzzling into the cat’s fur, she pulled away and widened her eyes. Black smudges covered her cat’s neck. Well...ugh. Apparently she still looked frightful. There was nothing for it but to get home as quickly as possible and hide forever. That was the only option.
The walk home was uneventful and soon, Nenet was back in her own room, in front of her vanity and removing the travesty of ruined makeup. Swallowing hard, she peered at her reflection. She’d write to her brother. They might not be able to see each other...but she’d write. Repair some of that damage. Khufu was right - she needed not to assume the worst...
