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It had been nearly two years since Zein had left his patron in Thebes. Well, left was a generous term…she had forced him out. Zein hadn’t been aware that he could become unattractive over time, but he supposed that to some, especially the rich, people were a thing one could discard just as easily as any garment. For Zein believed that over the course of the three years he had spent with her that he had become more attractive. Though he supposed he had also become boring and complacent for the first time in his life. Never knowing any luxury and only the streets his whole life made his time with his patron unfamiliar, but comfortable. Luxury was nice. But so was fame. And Zein was far more interested in fame.
He had slowly been building towards that idea since he had left her service. No longer did he perform in small villages, earning what he could. Now, Zein was about bigger risk and, hopefully, bigger reward. He had stuck to larger cities, though Thebes had worn out its welcome for the time being. It had been both humbling and exciting. These cities reminded in some way of his youth spent on the streets of Israel, though the character of the cities couldn’t be more different. Israel was more subdued, quiet, where everywhere in Egypt was bursting with life. He couldn’t imagine himself anywhere else.
Some days Zein had wondered if he hadn’t missed his chance for fame when some members of the Tempest of Set had noticed him several months before. However, their next destination had been Judea and that was the last place the juggler had wanted to go. He had left some ten years ago and never looked back. His only regret was leaving his cousin behind. Tamar was perhaps the only reason he would return to his homeland. If she would consent to join him in Egypt, it would be worth it. Still, so strong was his aversion to Judea that the thought of joining the circus there turned him off. But he had heard that they were back now…perhaps there was still a chance.
Today found him in a small market in Alexandria—he had made friends with a shopkeeper who gave him a space to perform throughout the day as it brought business to his shop. It was a good arrangement for Zein; fairly profitable and in a high traffic area despite the size of the market. The wares here were of quality that tended to draw the attention of many throughout the city. It was a good place for a juggler of exceptional talent. Well, at least that was how he referred to himself.
The first two performances went well, Zein making corrections as he went along. They were good practice for the evening one—the one that would likely draw the largest crowd. He was trying new things, encouraging audiences to throw him an item in their possession while he was juggling. So far, he hadn’t dropped anything. It was a fun challenge, allowing him to leap about and filter through the audience. He hadn’t yet lifted anything off anyone, but was sure he might pull it off in a different place. Zein didn’t dare do it here for he respected his connection with the shopkeeper too much to ruin it.
Shortly before his performance began, Zein swore he saw some familiar faces, but didn’t have time to place them before he was off, jumping, juggling. A particular favorite of the audience was when he lit some torches, throwing them through the air. This had a wonderful effect as the sun was nearing the horizon, leaving shadows throughout the area. For his final trick, he threw the flames high, flipping quickly to his hands, so that he might catch them with his toes. It was always a bit risky, but he had never done more than singe some of his leg hair. Ah yes, he smiled as he connected with the torches, this was the move for this audience. Moving so that he was now balancing on one hand, Zein juggled the remaining torches between his feet and his hand before catching them all together. He could tell by the expressions that they would be generous with their coin tonight. He had managed to impress them.
Back on his feet, he raised his arms in thanks, before sending the boy he had hired for the day throughout the crowd to collect money. Flush with the joy of performing, Zein once again knew this was meant to be. Now, if only he could do this with a larger audience—that would be wonderful. Maybe there was still a chance for him.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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It had been nearly two years since Zein had left his patron in Thebes. Well, left was a generous term…she had forced him out. Zein hadn’t been aware that he could become unattractive over time, but he supposed that to some, especially the rich, people were a thing one could discard just as easily as any garment. For Zein believed that over the course of the three years he had spent with her that he had become more attractive. Though he supposed he had also become boring and complacent for the first time in his life. Never knowing any luxury and only the streets his whole life made his time with his patron unfamiliar, but comfortable. Luxury was nice. But so was fame. And Zein was far more interested in fame.
He had slowly been building towards that idea since he had left her service. No longer did he perform in small villages, earning what he could. Now, Zein was about bigger risk and, hopefully, bigger reward. He had stuck to larger cities, though Thebes had worn out its welcome for the time being. It had been both humbling and exciting. These cities reminded in some way of his youth spent on the streets of Israel, though the character of the cities couldn’t be more different. Israel was more subdued, quiet, where everywhere in Egypt was bursting with life. He couldn’t imagine himself anywhere else.
Some days Zein had wondered if he hadn’t missed his chance for fame when some members of the Tempest of Set had noticed him several months before. However, their next destination had been Judea and that was the last place the juggler had wanted to go. He had left some ten years ago and never looked back. His only regret was leaving his cousin behind. Tamar was perhaps the only reason he would return to his homeland. If she would consent to join him in Egypt, it would be worth it. Still, so strong was his aversion to Judea that the thought of joining the circus there turned him off. But he had heard that they were back now…perhaps there was still a chance.
Today found him in a small market in Alexandria—he had made friends with a shopkeeper who gave him a space to perform throughout the day as it brought business to his shop. It was a good arrangement for Zein; fairly profitable and in a high traffic area despite the size of the market. The wares here were of quality that tended to draw the attention of many throughout the city. It was a good place for a juggler of exceptional talent. Well, at least that was how he referred to himself.
The first two performances went well, Zein making corrections as he went along. They were good practice for the evening one—the one that would likely draw the largest crowd. He was trying new things, encouraging audiences to throw him an item in their possession while he was juggling. So far, he hadn’t dropped anything. It was a fun challenge, allowing him to leap about and filter through the audience. He hadn’t yet lifted anything off anyone, but was sure he might pull it off in a different place. Zein didn’t dare do it here for he respected his connection with the shopkeeper too much to ruin it.
Shortly before his performance began, Zein swore he saw some familiar faces, but didn’t have time to place them before he was off, jumping, juggling. A particular favorite of the audience was when he lit some torches, throwing them through the air. This had a wonderful effect as the sun was nearing the horizon, leaving shadows throughout the area. For his final trick, he threw the flames high, flipping quickly to his hands, so that he might catch them with his toes. It was always a bit risky, but he had never done more than singe some of his leg hair. Ah yes, he smiled as he connected with the torches, this was the move for this audience. Moving so that he was now balancing on one hand, Zein juggled the remaining torches between his feet and his hand before catching them all together. He could tell by the expressions that they would be generous with their coin tonight. He had managed to impress them.
Back on his feet, he raised his arms in thanks, before sending the boy he had hired for the day throughout the crowd to collect money. Flush with the joy of performing, Zein once again knew this was meant to be. Now, if only he could do this with a larger audience—that would be wonderful. Maybe there was still a chance for him.
It had been nearly two years since Zein had left his patron in Thebes. Well, left was a generous term…she had forced him out. Zein hadn’t been aware that he could become unattractive over time, but he supposed that to some, especially the rich, people were a thing one could discard just as easily as any garment. For Zein believed that over the course of the three years he had spent with her that he had become more attractive. Though he supposed he had also become boring and complacent for the first time in his life. Never knowing any luxury and only the streets his whole life made his time with his patron unfamiliar, but comfortable. Luxury was nice. But so was fame. And Zein was far more interested in fame.
He had slowly been building towards that idea since he had left her service. No longer did he perform in small villages, earning what he could. Now, Zein was about bigger risk and, hopefully, bigger reward. He had stuck to larger cities, though Thebes had worn out its welcome for the time being. It had been both humbling and exciting. These cities reminded in some way of his youth spent on the streets of Israel, though the character of the cities couldn’t be more different. Israel was more subdued, quiet, where everywhere in Egypt was bursting with life. He couldn’t imagine himself anywhere else.
Some days Zein had wondered if he hadn’t missed his chance for fame when some members of the Tempest of Set had noticed him several months before. However, their next destination had been Judea and that was the last place the juggler had wanted to go. He had left some ten years ago and never looked back. His only regret was leaving his cousin behind. Tamar was perhaps the only reason he would return to his homeland. If she would consent to join him in Egypt, it would be worth it. Still, so strong was his aversion to Judea that the thought of joining the circus there turned him off. But he had heard that they were back now…perhaps there was still a chance.
Today found him in a small market in Alexandria—he had made friends with a shopkeeper who gave him a space to perform throughout the day as it brought business to his shop. It was a good arrangement for Zein; fairly profitable and in a high traffic area despite the size of the market. The wares here were of quality that tended to draw the attention of many throughout the city. It was a good place for a juggler of exceptional talent. Well, at least that was how he referred to himself.
The first two performances went well, Zein making corrections as he went along. They were good practice for the evening one—the one that would likely draw the largest crowd. He was trying new things, encouraging audiences to throw him an item in their possession while he was juggling. So far, he hadn’t dropped anything. It was a fun challenge, allowing him to leap about and filter through the audience. He hadn’t yet lifted anything off anyone, but was sure he might pull it off in a different place. Zein didn’t dare do it here for he respected his connection with the shopkeeper too much to ruin it.
Shortly before his performance began, Zein swore he saw some familiar faces, but didn’t have time to place them before he was off, jumping, juggling. A particular favorite of the audience was when he lit some torches, throwing them through the air. This had a wonderful effect as the sun was nearing the horizon, leaving shadows throughout the area. For his final trick, he threw the flames high, flipping quickly to his hands, so that he might catch them with his toes. It was always a bit risky, but he had never done more than singe some of his leg hair. Ah yes, he smiled as he connected with the torches, this was the move for this audience. Moving so that he was now balancing on one hand, Zein juggled the remaining torches between his feet and his hand before catching them all together. He could tell by the expressions that they would be generous with their coin tonight. He had managed to impress them.
Back on his feet, he raised his arms in thanks, before sending the boy he had hired for the day throughout the crowd to collect money. Flush with the joy of performing, Zein once again knew this was meant to be. Now, if only he could do this with a larger audience—that would be wonderful. Maybe there was still a chance for him.
There were a great deal of reasons for the Tempest of Set to return to Alexandria, always. The first, and most important, was the proximity to the rest of the world. Egypt was by no means isolated, but it wasn't merely the scorching deserts that made it inhospitable to foreigners. There was the natural distate for them, the distrust and general disregard. Particularly for the Greeks, who the kingdom was in constant states of war and tenuous peace with, but also the Jews who shared the continent with them. Enslaved for countless years aeons ago, Amenemhat suspected the long-lasting distate for his people among the Jews was owed to an inability to forget history.
It was almost funny, how the world worked. So bound up in the useless attachment to history that rendered potential inert. But, all the same, he understood that attachment, was wary of it. He went to Judea out of necessity, but abstained from attempting performances in much of the nation. It was a fact that he did not lament, for their interests were decidedly more... tame than the Tempest of Set offered. With scarcely-covered bodies masked in paint, the fascination with the body would not tide over so well. The circus being named after an Egyptian deity did not serve to further the agenda to those fools who believed only in one God.
Amenemhat reveled in Alexandria, for it allowed him the opportunity to peruse wares, be they goods or people, from foreign nations and imbibe into his circus that which made it stronger. It was his eye that made the Tempest of Set what it was, the scrutinizing gaze of his piercing bronze orbs, the meticulous thought that went behind his every decision. And so, it was Amenemhat, and no one else, that joined him in his pursuit. The grandeur of the Tempest of Set operated without him for the time being, the sun too high in the sky for there to be any sort of performance just yet. They'd wait until the sun began to fall before preparations even began, and Nem would be there to apply his paint and usher in his guests well before that.
As he browsed and haggled with merchants, the ringmaster was offered food and drink. Among the merchants, there were many who knew his face and reputation. The circus was a gold mine for those that sought to make a living off consumerism, the volume of people that attended only made better by the fact that in the circus, few cared for money. A place to escape the concerns of the world, the hedonistic people of Egypt indulged freely and Amenemhat sought to exploit that nature. He'd have his laughs, reveling in food and wine, offering empty promises provided that the merchants came to the circus to meet with him. Once he'd made his way through the stalls and had what he needed loaded onto the camel he'd brought with him... he might've been ready to leave.
However, in the midst of the stupor he'd pulled into along the way, Amenemhat found himself intrigued. There was a vaguely familiar performer, his features blurred by his imbibing and the distance. However, the crowd he drew near him was unavoidable. He guided the camel through the way, sifting through the sand as he brushed fingertips along the beast's jawline. He found the rope he used to steer it to follow him and he allowed himself to stop and enjoy the show. First, the foreign man moved mundane baubles through the air, showing dexterity and skill, but that was common enough. Nothing worth more attention than a passing eye. However, he followed by igniting torches and passing them through the air in a display of skill. At last, Zein caught Nem's attentions.
Imbibing some mead he'd brought along in a wine skin, Amenemhat watched, intrigued by the way the crowd followed the rising torches, paying less attention to Zein himself and more to the way that the people, particularly women, around him seemed engrossed in the act. Amenemhat found himself interested, and he drew closer still until the blurred features gained clarity and he recognized the sight of the man before him. It was someone whose progress he'd followed quite closely as the months went on. He hadn't personally given Zein the invitation into the circus the previous time, and blamed his recruiter for their failure to entice the man to joining them on the venture to Judea. But, now? Even inebriated, Amenemhat could lull a starving man into sharing his bread.
An easy smile caught upon the ringmaster's lips as he raised his brow, waiting for the performer to finish his act before he tied off the camel on a nearby stall, paying the merchant a pittance for the trouble before he called out to the juggler,
"You there, I've seen you before. You're Zein, correct? The wandering juggler?"
He'd play his cards close to his chest. To let on too much was to seem overeager and lose a position of power. But to seem too aloof was to send the more skittish souls off into the day without sinking his claws into them.
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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There were a great deal of reasons for the Tempest of Set to return to Alexandria, always. The first, and most important, was the proximity to the rest of the world. Egypt was by no means isolated, but it wasn't merely the scorching deserts that made it inhospitable to foreigners. There was the natural distate for them, the distrust and general disregard. Particularly for the Greeks, who the kingdom was in constant states of war and tenuous peace with, but also the Jews who shared the continent with them. Enslaved for countless years aeons ago, Amenemhat suspected the long-lasting distate for his people among the Jews was owed to an inability to forget history.
It was almost funny, how the world worked. So bound up in the useless attachment to history that rendered potential inert. But, all the same, he understood that attachment, was wary of it. He went to Judea out of necessity, but abstained from attempting performances in much of the nation. It was a fact that he did not lament, for their interests were decidedly more... tame than the Tempest of Set offered. With scarcely-covered bodies masked in paint, the fascination with the body would not tide over so well. The circus being named after an Egyptian deity did not serve to further the agenda to those fools who believed only in one God.
Amenemhat reveled in Alexandria, for it allowed him the opportunity to peruse wares, be they goods or people, from foreign nations and imbibe into his circus that which made it stronger. It was his eye that made the Tempest of Set what it was, the scrutinizing gaze of his piercing bronze orbs, the meticulous thought that went behind his every decision. And so, it was Amenemhat, and no one else, that joined him in his pursuit. The grandeur of the Tempest of Set operated without him for the time being, the sun too high in the sky for there to be any sort of performance just yet. They'd wait until the sun began to fall before preparations even began, and Nem would be there to apply his paint and usher in his guests well before that.
As he browsed and haggled with merchants, the ringmaster was offered food and drink. Among the merchants, there were many who knew his face and reputation. The circus was a gold mine for those that sought to make a living off consumerism, the volume of people that attended only made better by the fact that in the circus, few cared for money. A place to escape the concerns of the world, the hedonistic people of Egypt indulged freely and Amenemhat sought to exploit that nature. He'd have his laughs, reveling in food and wine, offering empty promises provided that the merchants came to the circus to meet with him. Once he'd made his way through the stalls and had what he needed loaded onto the camel he'd brought with him... he might've been ready to leave.
However, in the midst of the stupor he'd pulled into along the way, Amenemhat found himself intrigued. There was a vaguely familiar performer, his features blurred by his imbibing and the distance. However, the crowd he drew near him was unavoidable. He guided the camel through the way, sifting through the sand as he brushed fingertips along the beast's jawline. He found the rope he used to steer it to follow him and he allowed himself to stop and enjoy the show. First, the foreign man moved mundane baubles through the air, showing dexterity and skill, but that was common enough. Nothing worth more attention than a passing eye. However, he followed by igniting torches and passing them through the air in a display of skill. At last, Zein caught Nem's attentions.
Imbibing some mead he'd brought along in a wine skin, Amenemhat watched, intrigued by the way the crowd followed the rising torches, paying less attention to Zein himself and more to the way that the people, particularly women, around him seemed engrossed in the act. Amenemhat found himself interested, and he drew closer still until the blurred features gained clarity and he recognized the sight of the man before him. It was someone whose progress he'd followed quite closely as the months went on. He hadn't personally given Zein the invitation into the circus the previous time, and blamed his recruiter for their failure to entice the man to joining them on the venture to Judea. But, now? Even inebriated, Amenemhat could lull a starving man into sharing his bread.
An easy smile caught upon the ringmaster's lips as he raised his brow, waiting for the performer to finish his act before he tied off the camel on a nearby stall, paying the merchant a pittance for the trouble before he called out to the juggler,
"You there, I've seen you before. You're Zein, correct? The wandering juggler?"
He'd play his cards close to his chest. To let on too much was to seem overeager and lose a position of power. But to seem too aloof was to send the more skittish souls off into the day without sinking his claws into them.
There were a great deal of reasons for the Tempest of Set to return to Alexandria, always. The first, and most important, was the proximity to the rest of the world. Egypt was by no means isolated, but it wasn't merely the scorching deserts that made it inhospitable to foreigners. There was the natural distate for them, the distrust and general disregard. Particularly for the Greeks, who the kingdom was in constant states of war and tenuous peace with, but also the Jews who shared the continent with them. Enslaved for countless years aeons ago, Amenemhat suspected the long-lasting distate for his people among the Jews was owed to an inability to forget history.
It was almost funny, how the world worked. So bound up in the useless attachment to history that rendered potential inert. But, all the same, he understood that attachment, was wary of it. He went to Judea out of necessity, but abstained from attempting performances in much of the nation. It was a fact that he did not lament, for their interests were decidedly more... tame than the Tempest of Set offered. With scarcely-covered bodies masked in paint, the fascination with the body would not tide over so well. The circus being named after an Egyptian deity did not serve to further the agenda to those fools who believed only in one God.
Amenemhat reveled in Alexandria, for it allowed him the opportunity to peruse wares, be they goods or people, from foreign nations and imbibe into his circus that which made it stronger. It was his eye that made the Tempest of Set what it was, the scrutinizing gaze of his piercing bronze orbs, the meticulous thought that went behind his every decision. And so, it was Amenemhat, and no one else, that joined him in his pursuit. The grandeur of the Tempest of Set operated without him for the time being, the sun too high in the sky for there to be any sort of performance just yet. They'd wait until the sun began to fall before preparations even began, and Nem would be there to apply his paint and usher in his guests well before that.
As he browsed and haggled with merchants, the ringmaster was offered food and drink. Among the merchants, there were many who knew his face and reputation. The circus was a gold mine for those that sought to make a living off consumerism, the volume of people that attended only made better by the fact that in the circus, few cared for money. A place to escape the concerns of the world, the hedonistic people of Egypt indulged freely and Amenemhat sought to exploit that nature. He'd have his laughs, reveling in food and wine, offering empty promises provided that the merchants came to the circus to meet with him. Once he'd made his way through the stalls and had what he needed loaded onto the camel he'd brought with him... he might've been ready to leave.
However, in the midst of the stupor he'd pulled into along the way, Amenemhat found himself intrigued. There was a vaguely familiar performer, his features blurred by his imbibing and the distance. However, the crowd he drew near him was unavoidable. He guided the camel through the way, sifting through the sand as he brushed fingertips along the beast's jawline. He found the rope he used to steer it to follow him and he allowed himself to stop and enjoy the show. First, the foreign man moved mundane baubles through the air, showing dexterity and skill, but that was common enough. Nothing worth more attention than a passing eye. However, he followed by igniting torches and passing them through the air in a display of skill. At last, Zein caught Nem's attentions.
Imbibing some mead he'd brought along in a wine skin, Amenemhat watched, intrigued by the way the crowd followed the rising torches, paying less attention to Zein himself and more to the way that the people, particularly women, around him seemed engrossed in the act. Amenemhat found himself interested, and he drew closer still until the blurred features gained clarity and he recognized the sight of the man before him. It was someone whose progress he'd followed quite closely as the months went on. He hadn't personally given Zein the invitation into the circus the previous time, and blamed his recruiter for their failure to entice the man to joining them on the venture to Judea. But, now? Even inebriated, Amenemhat could lull a starving man into sharing his bread.
An easy smile caught upon the ringmaster's lips as he raised his brow, waiting for the performer to finish his act before he tied off the camel on a nearby stall, paying the merchant a pittance for the trouble before he called out to the juggler,
"You there, I've seen you before. You're Zein, correct? The wandering juggler?"
He'd play his cards close to his chest. To let on too much was to seem overeager and lose a position of power. But to seem too aloof was to send the more skittish souls off into the day without sinking his claws into them.
Zein had one eye trained on the boy he had hired, watching him move throughout the crowd. It was only once the youngster had returned with his coin that he could completely relax, storing his coins away carefully, not before tossing the boy his wages. He had done well tonight; enough so that he could remain comfortable in his current dwelling for another week or two. Zein hated to move homes so often within one city, though he was not unused to it. At least he wasn’t sleeping on the streets like he had as a boy. However, it wasn’t usually his lack of coin that caused him to move, rather a misunderstanding with the ever-revolving women in his life. Sometimes he did not want to be found again and so a move was necessitated.
His performance over, the crowd was beginning to disperse. Zein gave a few smiles to some regulars and a few more smiles to some pretty women, but the voice of a man calling out his name garnered all of Zein’s attention. Spotting the figure that approached, he had to stop himself from displaying a look of complete shock. He knew this man, though was surprised to hear that this man also knew him. He had garnered the attention of some from the Tempest of Set, but hadn’t been approached by their leader himself.
With all thoughts of the beautiful women in the crowd vanished, Zein nodded, giving a little flourishing bow befitting of a performer. Seeing no need to impress this man with his chest and arms, Zein reached for his tunic, pulling it over his head, covering some of the sweat that encased his body from the performance and the heat of the torches. He didn’t mind showing off his looks, but as the day began to cool, so would the sweat on his skin. A top helped mitigate that and as there were no ladies to impress…
Zein shook his head inwardly. Even now, with an important figure in front of him, he couldn’t help but think of women. Vanquishing that from his mind for the time being, he gave the famous ringmaster a smile and nod.
“Yes, I am Zein, though I am surprised my name is so well known in a city that is not my own,” he responded, his Judean accent feint, dulled by so many years in Egypt. He couldn’t pretend not to be proud of the fact that he had been recognized, for it was a goal he had been reaching towards in earnest ever since he had left Thebes. It had been a truer goal longer than that.
“What did you think of the performance?” he asked, curious for the ringmaster’s opinion. Was he impressed? Zein had not heard of any other performers juggling fire with their feet lately, but he could have missed it. In his ambition to be a great performer, Zein was willing to try nearly anything. Did that pay off? Well, that was yet to be seen.
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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Zein had one eye trained on the boy he had hired, watching him move throughout the crowd. It was only once the youngster had returned with his coin that he could completely relax, storing his coins away carefully, not before tossing the boy his wages. He had done well tonight; enough so that he could remain comfortable in his current dwelling for another week or two. Zein hated to move homes so often within one city, though he was not unused to it. At least he wasn’t sleeping on the streets like he had as a boy. However, it wasn’t usually his lack of coin that caused him to move, rather a misunderstanding with the ever-revolving women in his life. Sometimes he did not want to be found again and so a move was necessitated.
His performance over, the crowd was beginning to disperse. Zein gave a few smiles to some regulars and a few more smiles to some pretty women, but the voice of a man calling out his name garnered all of Zein’s attention. Spotting the figure that approached, he had to stop himself from displaying a look of complete shock. He knew this man, though was surprised to hear that this man also knew him. He had garnered the attention of some from the Tempest of Set, but hadn’t been approached by their leader himself.
With all thoughts of the beautiful women in the crowd vanished, Zein nodded, giving a little flourishing bow befitting of a performer. Seeing no need to impress this man with his chest and arms, Zein reached for his tunic, pulling it over his head, covering some of the sweat that encased his body from the performance and the heat of the torches. He didn’t mind showing off his looks, but as the day began to cool, so would the sweat on his skin. A top helped mitigate that and as there were no ladies to impress…
Zein shook his head inwardly. Even now, with an important figure in front of him, he couldn’t help but think of women. Vanquishing that from his mind for the time being, he gave the famous ringmaster a smile and nod.
“Yes, I am Zein, though I am surprised my name is so well known in a city that is not my own,” he responded, his Judean accent feint, dulled by so many years in Egypt. He couldn’t pretend not to be proud of the fact that he had been recognized, for it was a goal he had been reaching towards in earnest ever since he had left Thebes. It had been a truer goal longer than that.
“What did you think of the performance?” he asked, curious for the ringmaster’s opinion. Was he impressed? Zein had not heard of any other performers juggling fire with their feet lately, but he could have missed it. In his ambition to be a great performer, Zein was willing to try nearly anything. Did that pay off? Well, that was yet to be seen.
Zein had one eye trained on the boy he had hired, watching him move throughout the crowd. It was only once the youngster had returned with his coin that he could completely relax, storing his coins away carefully, not before tossing the boy his wages. He had done well tonight; enough so that he could remain comfortable in his current dwelling for another week or two. Zein hated to move homes so often within one city, though he was not unused to it. At least he wasn’t sleeping on the streets like he had as a boy. However, it wasn’t usually his lack of coin that caused him to move, rather a misunderstanding with the ever-revolving women in his life. Sometimes he did not want to be found again and so a move was necessitated.
His performance over, the crowd was beginning to disperse. Zein gave a few smiles to some regulars and a few more smiles to some pretty women, but the voice of a man calling out his name garnered all of Zein’s attention. Spotting the figure that approached, he had to stop himself from displaying a look of complete shock. He knew this man, though was surprised to hear that this man also knew him. He had garnered the attention of some from the Tempest of Set, but hadn’t been approached by their leader himself.
With all thoughts of the beautiful women in the crowd vanished, Zein nodded, giving a little flourishing bow befitting of a performer. Seeing no need to impress this man with his chest and arms, Zein reached for his tunic, pulling it over his head, covering some of the sweat that encased his body from the performance and the heat of the torches. He didn’t mind showing off his looks, but as the day began to cool, so would the sweat on his skin. A top helped mitigate that and as there were no ladies to impress…
Zein shook his head inwardly. Even now, with an important figure in front of him, he couldn’t help but think of women. Vanquishing that from his mind for the time being, he gave the famous ringmaster a smile and nod.
“Yes, I am Zein, though I am surprised my name is so well known in a city that is not my own,” he responded, his Judean accent feint, dulled by so many years in Egypt. He couldn’t pretend not to be proud of the fact that he had been recognized, for it was a goal he had been reaching towards in earnest ever since he had left Thebes. It had been a truer goal longer than that.
“What did you think of the performance?” he asked, curious for the ringmaster’s opinion. Was he impressed? Zein had not heard of any other performers juggling fire with their feet lately, but he could have missed it. In his ambition to be a great performer, Zein was willing to try nearly anything. Did that pay off? Well, that was yet to be seen.
Amenemhat, of course, studied the bodies of men and women. Not out of a visceral intrigue, but to see how useful the marked curves and toned musculature proved to aiding in what they did. Motion and how it applied directly to make him money was, after all, a relevant course of study. Zein seemed built for this sort of profession, a finely wrought specimen that radiated the sort of charisma needed for a solo performer to flourish against the odds of competition and, of course, the looming head of the circus. In Nem's opinion, it was fallacy for people to support this sort of independent work. But, the circus couldn't be everywhere, so it could be forgiven.
Sometimes.
More than once, Amenemhat worked to rid the streets of performers when his circus was in town. Particularly, those foolish people who deemed it appropriate to create a show nearby the circus grounds themselves. Some found themselves mysteriously missing, others their possessions burned or scattered throughout the desert. It just depended on the performer's visibility. In the end, the fine thread between mayhem and damage to the self needed to be needled.
Zein, for all that he was, was competition. He traveled just as the circus did, but not on the same route. More than once, Amenemhat had seen the performer, heard tell of his name, and while he'd been reached out to in the past, there was the unfortunate conflict of interests. Whatever it was, Zein did not wish to return to Judea and so... Nem didn't apply further pressure. Indirectly, it had been, but now that the opportunity presented itself once again, he wouldn't let some other hand lose out on the boon that was adding a relatively well-known performer to his ranks.
There were faint signs to Zein's ancestry, not merely in his cadence, but in his face. He had the look of a Judean, and while that might've turned him off to some, it didn't apply to Amenemhat. Many of his performers were foreign novelties, either brought up as slaves within or hired on just like he wanted with Zein. The performance he'd just seen was... certainly something. Juggling with one's feet was not commonly seen period, let alone with flames licking at the soles and heat working at undermining the efforts altogether. He was reminded, vaguely, of Delia. The circus' den-mother would certainly have a time in putting Zein up to shape.
He wondered, between them, who was better.
It was a test he was keen to put to practice, but priorities were in order.
"The names of performers carry far enough as is. For someone like myself, it is a requirement to know my competition."
A chuckle escaped his lips, a shrug of the shoulders accompanying the sentiment before he added,
"It's difficult for me to see performers who offer something my people cannot. Regardless, it was a fine performance."
Added with the fact that Zein was a particularly well-sought after male... It brought Amenemhat to the notion that he had to have him in the circus. Performers like Feiyan and Delia had their propensity for enticing males with the movements of their bodies. They were finely wrought and swelled the income of the circus by the virtue of their existence. But, there were more than merely men to be tempted. Women, single or otherwise, also had command over coin, particularly the noblewomen that were so eager for entertainment to carry on their otherwise droll lives.
Egypt was a place of decadence, and sex sold in a way that nothing else could.
"If I'm not mistaken, you've been offered a place in my circus before, Zein. If you'd like, let's find some mead and see if the stars have aligned to add you to our roster."
It was as polite of a request as Nem was capable of making. Zein could prove an asset that was, as of yet, unexplored. Jugglers came and went in the circus, but one at this particular level could not be ignored or let to languish alone on the streets, hobbling for coins.
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Amenemhat, of course, studied the bodies of men and women. Not out of a visceral intrigue, but to see how useful the marked curves and toned musculature proved to aiding in what they did. Motion and how it applied directly to make him money was, after all, a relevant course of study. Zein seemed built for this sort of profession, a finely wrought specimen that radiated the sort of charisma needed for a solo performer to flourish against the odds of competition and, of course, the looming head of the circus. In Nem's opinion, it was fallacy for people to support this sort of independent work. But, the circus couldn't be everywhere, so it could be forgiven.
Sometimes.
More than once, Amenemhat worked to rid the streets of performers when his circus was in town. Particularly, those foolish people who deemed it appropriate to create a show nearby the circus grounds themselves. Some found themselves mysteriously missing, others their possessions burned or scattered throughout the desert. It just depended on the performer's visibility. In the end, the fine thread between mayhem and damage to the self needed to be needled.
Zein, for all that he was, was competition. He traveled just as the circus did, but not on the same route. More than once, Amenemhat had seen the performer, heard tell of his name, and while he'd been reached out to in the past, there was the unfortunate conflict of interests. Whatever it was, Zein did not wish to return to Judea and so... Nem didn't apply further pressure. Indirectly, it had been, but now that the opportunity presented itself once again, he wouldn't let some other hand lose out on the boon that was adding a relatively well-known performer to his ranks.
There were faint signs to Zein's ancestry, not merely in his cadence, but in his face. He had the look of a Judean, and while that might've turned him off to some, it didn't apply to Amenemhat. Many of his performers were foreign novelties, either brought up as slaves within or hired on just like he wanted with Zein. The performance he'd just seen was... certainly something. Juggling with one's feet was not commonly seen period, let alone with flames licking at the soles and heat working at undermining the efforts altogether. He was reminded, vaguely, of Delia. The circus' den-mother would certainly have a time in putting Zein up to shape.
He wondered, between them, who was better.
It was a test he was keen to put to practice, but priorities were in order.
"The names of performers carry far enough as is. For someone like myself, it is a requirement to know my competition."
A chuckle escaped his lips, a shrug of the shoulders accompanying the sentiment before he added,
"It's difficult for me to see performers who offer something my people cannot. Regardless, it was a fine performance."
Added with the fact that Zein was a particularly well-sought after male... It brought Amenemhat to the notion that he had to have him in the circus. Performers like Feiyan and Delia had their propensity for enticing males with the movements of their bodies. They were finely wrought and swelled the income of the circus by the virtue of their existence. But, there were more than merely men to be tempted. Women, single or otherwise, also had command over coin, particularly the noblewomen that were so eager for entertainment to carry on their otherwise droll lives.
Egypt was a place of decadence, and sex sold in a way that nothing else could.
"If I'm not mistaken, you've been offered a place in my circus before, Zein. If you'd like, let's find some mead and see if the stars have aligned to add you to our roster."
It was as polite of a request as Nem was capable of making. Zein could prove an asset that was, as of yet, unexplored. Jugglers came and went in the circus, but one at this particular level could not be ignored or let to languish alone on the streets, hobbling for coins.
Amenemhat, of course, studied the bodies of men and women. Not out of a visceral intrigue, but to see how useful the marked curves and toned musculature proved to aiding in what they did. Motion and how it applied directly to make him money was, after all, a relevant course of study. Zein seemed built for this sort of profession, a finely wrought specimen that radiated the sort of charisma needed for a solo performer to flourish against the odds of competition and, of course, the looming head of the circus. In Nem's opinion, it was fallacy for people to support this sort of independent work. But, the circus couldn't be everywhere, so it could be forgiven.
Sometimes.
More than once, Amenemhat worked to rid the streets of performers when his circus was in town. Particularly, those foolish people who deemed it appropriate to create a show nearby the circus grounds themselves. Some found themselves mysteriously missing, others their possessions burned or scattered throughout the desert. It just depended on the performer's visibility. In the end, the fine thread between mayhem and damage to the self needed to be needled.
Zein, for all that he was, was competition. He traveled just as the circus did, but not on the same route. More than once, Amenemhat had seen the performer, heard tell of his name, and while he'd been reached out to in the past, there was the unfortunate conflict of interests. Whatever it was, Zein did not wish to return to Judea and so... Nem didn't apply further pressure. Indirectly, it had been, but now that the opportunity presented itself once again, he wouldn't let some other hand lose out on the boon that was adding a relatively well-known performer to his ranks.
There were faint signs to Zein's ancestry, not merely in his cadence, but in his face. He had the look of a Judean, and while that might've turned him off to some, it didn't apply to Amenemhat. Many of his performers were foreign novelties, either brought up as slaves within or hired on just like he wanted with Zein. The performance he'd just seen was... certainly something. Juggling with one's feet was not commonly seen period, let alone with flames licking at the soles and heat working at undermining the efforts altogether. He was reminded, vaguely, of Delia. The circus' den-mother would certainly have a time in putting Zein up to shape.
He wondered, between them, who was better.
It was a test he was keen to put to practice, but priorities were in order.
"The names of performers carry far enough as is. For someone like myself, it is a requirement to know my competition."
A chuckle escaped his lips, a shrug of the shoulders accompanying the sentiment before he added,
"It's difficult for me to see performers who offer something my people cannot. Regardless, it was a fine performance."
Added with the fact that Zein was a particularly well-sought after male... It brought Amenemhat to the notion that he had to have him in the circus. Performers like Feiyan and Delia had their propensity for enticing males with the movements of their bodies. They were finely wrought and swelled the income of the circus by the virtue of their existence. But, there were more than merely men to be tempted. Women, single or otherwise, also had command over coin, particularly the noblewomen that were so eager for entertainment to carry on their otherwise droll lives.
Egypt was a place of decadence, and sex sold in a way that nothing else could.
"If I'm not mistaken, you've been offered a place in my circus before, Zein. If you'd like, let's find some mead and see if the stars have aligned to add you to our roster."
It was as polite of a request as Nem was capable of making. Zein could prove an asset that was, as of yet, unexplored. Jugglers came and went in the circus, but one at this particular level could not be ignored or let to languish alone on the streets, hobbling for coins.
Zein raised an eyebrow at the fact that he might be considered competition to the great circus of Amenemhat. He was simply a roving street performer, attempting to make his coin the only way he knew how. Yes, he prided himself on his performances and always offered his fans something new to ogle over, but he came with no great prestige. Zein was a performer attempting to make his way in this world, just as everyone else was. He simply had more fun doing so than most—or at least most in the homeland he had left behind.
To be thought of as competition was quite flattering, though Zein didn’t let himself fall to such compliments. The very fact that it was Amenemhat himself addressing him, not some member of his circus, boded very well for the juggler. He knew he was in for some flattery during this conversation, but would not let it get to his head. Though he could already feel himself fluttering a bit with excitement, the after rush of adrenaline from his performance not helping to calm him in any way.
In a way, the ringmaster’s praise was something Zein had been longing to hear. He didn’t get much in the way of constructive criticism, except when he was performing with others – and that wasn’t too often. Although Amenemhat didn’t offer any criticism, his admission was just as valuable to the performer. If there had been no one at the circus that could do as he did, then perhaps there was a place for Zein there.
“I’m sad to hear you don’t yet have such a performer among your group,” he responded, a wry smile on his face. Oh, he would be catered to just now, and would certainly hear what the ringmaster had to say. He knew it was rare to be approached in such a way. Zein had been asked some months back if he would join the circus, but upon hearing that their next destination was Judea, he declined. It wasn’t as though he wasn’t interested, but he wasn’t prepared to return to his long-forgotten homeland. Zein harbored intense feelings for Judea, most of which were not positive. On top of that, he had an intense guilt. If he returned and did not seek out his cousin, what kind of person was he?
Naturally, the juggler wasn’t prepared to face such feeling under any circumstances, even if it meant passing up a chance to perform with the great Tempest of Set. He had assumed that would be the end of it—they wouldn’t offer more than once. However, this was a clear challenge to his assumptions. Rather than giving up, they had sent their ringmaster to try and convince him. It was flattering to say the least.
“You’re not and I would,” he responded simply to Amenemhat’s next statements. “Come, I know of a place not too far.” It was conveniently also the place where he was residing for the time being, so he wouldn’t have to lug all of his equipment around for the evening. Quickly, the juggler gathered the rest of his tools and set off with the ringmaster towards the tavern and inn a few streets away. It was quieter there than on the main thoroughfare, but that did not mean it was any less inhabited. A runner boy greeted them at the door, offering to take Zein’s equipment for a coin. This was Zein’s trusted place in Alexandria, so he sent the boy off with a tip before leading Amenemhat to the tavern.
The room was lively, though not so boisterous that they couldn’t hear each other. A serving girl was there and gone with their orders, Zein opting for some food as well. His performance, while well practiced, was also quite exerting. It wasn’t easy to do what he did.
“It's unfortunate to hear about your dearth of excellent jugglers,” he said wryly, a hint of a smile on his face. The ringmaster had essentially admitted the same, so he felt comfortable to mention in. “How can I help?”
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Zein raised an eyebrow at the fact that he might be considered competition to the great circus of Amenemhat. He was simply a roving street performer, attempting to make his coin the only way he knew how. Yes, he prided himself on his performances and always offered his fans something new to ogle over, but he came with no great prestige. Zein was a performer attempting to make his way in this world, just as everyone else was. He simply had more fun doing so than most—or at least most in the homeland he had left behind.
To be thought of as competition was quite flattering, though Zein didn’t let himself fall to such compliments. The very fact that it was Amenemhat himself addressing him, not some member of his circus, boded very well for the juggler. He knew he was in for some flattery during this conversation, but would not let it get to his head. Though he could already feel himself fluttering a bit with excitement, the after rush of adrenaline from his performance not helping to calm him in any way.
In a way, the ringmaster’s praise was something Zein had been longing to hear. He didn’t get much in the way of constructive criticism, except when he was performing with others – and that wasn’t too often. Although Amenemhat didn’t offer any criticism, his admission was just as valuable to the performer. If there had been no one at the circus that could do as he did, then perhaps there was a place for Zein there.
“I’m sad to hear you don’t yet have such a performer among your group,” he responded, a wry smile on his face. Oh, he would be catered to just now, and would certainly hear what the ringmaster had to say. He knew it was rare to be approached in such a way. Zein had been asked some months back if he would join the circus, but upon hearing that their next destination was Judea, he declined. It wasn’t as though he wasn’t interested, but he wasn’t prepared to return to his long-forgotten homeland. Zein harbored intense feelings for Judea, most of which were not positive. On top of that, he had an intense guilt. If he returned and did not seek out his cousin, what kind of person was he?
Naturally, the juggler wasn’t prepared to face such feeling under any circumstances, even if it meant passing up a chance to perform with the great Tempest of Set. He had assumed that would be the end of it—they wouldn’t offer more than once. However, this was a clear challenge to his assumptions. Rather than giving up, they had sent their ringmaster to try and convince him. It was flattering to say the least.
“You’re not and I would,” he responded simply to Amenemhat’s next statements. “Come, I know of a place not too far.” It was conveniently also the place where he was residing for the time being, so he wouldn’t have to lug all of his equipment around for the evening. Quickly, the juggler gathered the rest of his tools and set off with the ringmaster towards the tavern and inn a few streets away. It was quieter there than on the main thoroughfare, but that did not mean it was any less inhabited. A runner boy greeted them at the door, offering to take Zein’s equipment for a coin. This was Zein’s trusted place in Alexandria, so he sent the boy off with a tip before leading Amenemhat to the tavern.
The room was lively, though not so boisterous that they couldn’t hear each other. A serving girl was there and gone with their orders, Zein opting for some food as well. His performance, while well practiced, was also quite exerting. It wasn’t easy to do what he did.
“It's unfortunate to hear about your dearth of excellent jugglers,” he said wryly, a hint of a smile on his face. The ringmaster had essentially admitted the same, so he felt comfortable to mention in. “How can I help?”
Zein raised an eyebrow at the fact that he might be considered competition to the great circus of Amenemhat. He was simply a roving street performer, attempting to make his coin the only way he knew how. Yes, he prided himself on his performances and always offered his fans something new to ogle over, but he came with no great prestige. Zein was a performer attempting to make his way in this world, just as everyone else was. He simply had more fun doing so than most—or at least most in the homeland he had left behind.
To be thought of as competition was quite flattering, though Zein didn’t let himself fall to such compliments. The very fact that it was Amenemhat himself addressing him, not some member of his circus, boded very well for the juggler. He knew he was in for some flattery during this conversation, but would not let it get to his head. Though he could already feel himself fluttering a bit with excitement, the after rush of adrenaline from his performance not helping to calm him in any way.
In a way, the ringmaster’s praise was something Zein had been longing to hear. He didn’t get much in the way of constructive criticism, except when he was performing with others – and that wasn’t too often. Although Amenemhat didn’t offer any criticism, his admission was just as valuable to the performer. If there had been no one at the circus that could do as he did, then perhaps there was a place for Zein there.
“I’m sad to hear you don’t yet have such a performer among your group,” he responded, a wry smile on his face. Oh, he would be catered to just now, and would certainly hear what the ringmaster had to say. He knew it was rare to be approached in such a way. Zein had been asked some months back if he would join the circus, but upon hearing that their next destination was Judea, he declined. It wasn’t as though he wasn’t interested, but he wasn’t prepared to return to his long-forgotten homeland. Zein harbored intense feelings for Judea, most of which were not positive. On top of that, he had an intense guilt. If he returned and did not seek out his cousin, what kind of person was he?
Naturally, the juggler wasn’t prepared to face such feeling under any circumstances, even if it meant passing up a chance to perform with the great Tempest of Set. He had assumed that would be the end of it—they wouldn’t offer more than once. However, this was a clear challenge to his assumptions. Rather than giving up, they had sent their ringmaster to try and convince him. It was flattering to say the least.
“You’re not and I would,” he responded simply to Amenemhat’s next statements. “Come, I know of a place not too far.” It was conveniently also the place where he was residing for the time being, so he wouldn’t have to lug all of his equipment around for the evening. Quickly, the juggler gathered the rest of his tools and set off with the ringmaster towards the tavern and inn a few streets away. It was quieter there than on the main thoroughfare, but that did not mean it was any less inhabited. A runner boy greeted them at the door, offering to take Zein’s equipment for a coin. This was Zein’s trusted place in Alexandria, so he sent the boy off with a tip before leading Amenemhat to the tavern.
The room was lively, though not so boisterous that they couldn’t hear each other. A serving girl was there and gone with their orders, Zein opting for some food as well. His performance, while well practiced, was also quite exerting. It wasn’t easy to do what he did.
“It's unfortunate to hear about your dearth of excellent jugglers,” he said wryly, a hint of a smile on his face. The ringmaster had essentially admitted the same, so he felt comfortable to mention in. “How can I help?”
Flattery.
It was a manipulative tool that Nem used perhaps less often than some others, but it wasn't often that he truly needed to. While not so presumptuous as to assume the world bowed to his wishes and his command, Amenemhat saw overt praise as the meandering tool of the weak, seeking to ride on the coattails of their betters. Acknowledging the talents of a man like Zein of Isaac was an obvious necessity, however. Giving performers the notion of their immortality and of their utility was often the perfect tactic to coax them from their lives into the shroud that was the Tempest of Set.
Humans crave positive attention. Their hearts sing at the praise of others and their decisions become predictable.
"I'm sad to hear you don't have such a performer among your group."
Of course he wasn't. The smile on his lips was obvious enough, but the ringmaster wasn't displeased by the notion. Zein's attention seemed his, and he was more than willing to hear the man's offer, if there was one to be had. Amenemhat wanted Zein of Isaac. Having renowned performers in their own right come into the fold was a boon. People who found their fame elsewhere tended to bring their patronage with them.
Even if our audiences coincide, happier patrons like to spend more money.
"You're not and I would."
Simple enough. The Judean seemed of few words, or perhaps, saving them for when there was mead on the table and something for the both of them to gain. Standing around in the public eye for rumours to swirl was a waste of time. When prompted to follow, the ringmaster nodded his head, finding it rather amusing that a foreigner was guiding the native to much of anything. Amenemhat knew his way, but was curious to what the man had in mind. It seemed the man lived in well enough conditions, a testament to his ability to attract attention.
"They're such a rarity, aren't they? I'm sure you've seen others before. Skilless and unaware of how to differentiate themselves. Some wander the wastans and try to pull people away from their shopping. Others pretend they can fit into the Ghani district and get pushed away by guards. I like your approach. The provincial audiences are often more generous."
Nem enjoyed his mead. There was always a barrel of it at the Tempest of Set, but he was... careful. Over-indulgence and substances were what brought his circus to ruin before. He'd not repeat his father's mistakes, instead opting to satiate his appetites in other ways.
"Tell me what stopped you from coming along last time, and we can rectify the issue immediately, can't we? I hardly need a 'dearth' of excellent jugglers when I can have the best."
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Flattery.
It was a manipulative tool that Nem used perhaps less often than some others, but it wasn't often that he truly needed to. While not so presumptuous as to assume the world bowed to his wishes and his command, Amenemhat saw overt praise as the meandering tool of the weak, seeking to ride on the coattails of their betters. Acknowledging the talents of a man like Zein of Isaac was an obvious necessity, however. Giving performers the notion of their immortality and of their utility was often the perfect tactic to coax them from their lives into the shroud that was the Tempest of Set.
Humans crave positive attention. Their hearts sing at the praise of others and their decisions become predictable.
"I'm sad to hear you don't have such a performer among your group."
Of course he wasn't. The smile on his lips was obvious enough, but the ringmaster wasn't displeased by the notion. Zein's attention seemed his, and he was more than willing to hear the man's offer, if there was one to be had. Amenemhat wanted Zein of Isaac. Having renowned performers in their own right come into the fold was a boon. People who found their fame elsewhere tended to bring their patronage with them.
Even if our audiences coincide, happier patrons like to spend more money.
"You're not and I would."
Simple enough. The Judean seemed of few words, or perhaps, saving them for when there was mead on the table and something for the both of them to gain. Standing around in the public eye for rumours to swirl was a waste of time. When prompted to follow, the ringmaster nodded his head, finding it rather amusing that a foreigner was guiding the native to much of anything. Amenemhat knew his way, but was curious to what the man had in mind. It seemed the man lived in well enough conditions, a testament to his ability to attract attention.
"They're such a rarity, aren't they? I'm sure you've seen others before. Skilless and unaware of how to differentiate themselves. Some wander the wastans and try to pull people away from their shopping. Others pretend they can fit into the Ghani district and get pushed away by guards. I like your approach. The provincial audiences are often more generous."
Nem enjoyed his mead. There was always a barrel of it at the Tempest of Set, but he was... careful. Over-indulgence and substances were what brought his circus to ruin before. He'd not repeat his father's mistakes, instead opting to satiate his appetites in other ways.
"Tell me what stopped you from coming along last time, and we can rectify the issue immediately, can't we? I hardly need a 'dearth' of excellent jugglers when I can have the best."
Flattery.
It was a manipulative tool that Nem used perhaps less often than some others, but it wasn't often that he truly needed to. While not so presumptuous as to assume the world bowed to his wishes and his command, Amenemhat saw overt praise as the meandering tool of the weak, seeking to ride on the coattails of their betters. Acknowledging the talents of a man like Zein of Isaac was an obvious necessity, however. Giving performers the notion of their immortality and of their utility was often the perfect tactic to coax them from their lives into the shroud that was the Tempest of Set.
Humans crave positive attention. Their hearts sing at the praise of others and their decisions become predictable.
"I'm sad to hear you don't have such a performer among your group."
Of course he wasn't. The smile on his lips was obvious enough, but the ringmaster wasn't displeased by the notion. Zein's attention seemed his, and he was more than willing to hear the man's offer, if there was one to be had. Amenemhat wanted Zein of Isaac. Having renowned performers in their own right come into the fold was a boon. People who found their fame elsewhere tended to bring their patronage with them.
Even if our audiences coincide, happier patrons like to spend more money.
"You're not and I would."
Simple enough. The Judean seemed of few words, or perhaps, saving them for when there was mead on the table and something for the both of them to gain. Standing around in the public eye for rumours to swirl was a waste of time. When prompted to follow, the ringmaster nodded his head, finding it rather amusing that a foreigner was guiding the native to much of anything. Amenemhat knew his way, but was curious to what the man had in mind. It seemed the man lived in well enough conditions, a testament to his ability to attract attention.
"They're such a rarity, aren't they? I'm sure you've seen others before. Skilless and unaware of how to differentiate themselves. Some wander the wastans and try to pull people away from their shopping. Others pretend they can fit into the Ghani district and get pushed away by guards. I like your approach. The provincial audiences are often more generous."
Nem enjoyed his mead. There was always a barrel of it at the Tempest of Set, but he was... careful. Over-indulgence and substances were what brought his circus to ruin before. He'd not repeat his father's mistakes, instead opting to satiate his appetites in other ways.
"Tell me what stopped you from coming along last time, and we can rectify the issue immediately, can't we? I hardly need a 'dearth' of excellent jugglers when I can have the best."
It was interesting to think that he had been followed so closely by a man of Amenemhat’s status. Zein had often thought of himself as a performer known to the crowds he frequented and few others. Of course, that had been proven wrong as soon as he started moving to the larger cities. That didn’t meant that Zein wasn’t still smart about his performance decisions. Although small villages weren’t as prosperous the larger cities, they did have plenty of people with a dearth of entertainment. Zein didn’t ask for much, but found that people were much more willing to pay him there than in the cities.
Amenemhat was not incorrect in his statements about other jugglers. Zein had seen them. And he had outperformed them when he could. He also was smarter about where he wanted to perform. His street smarts had extended beyond his ability to survive. He knew how to thrive on the streets as well.
“Yes,” he agreed, “They are often more bored, as well. It is a good business plan.” Zein wasn’t above admitting what he did was a business. Who would understand more than a man who made his living profiting off the performances of others? No, Zein wasn’t afraid of sharing such a thing that was a fact of life. Of course, he loved performing for the sake of it as well. That was what put him ahead of those others that were also shrewd businessmen. He had what it took to make smart plans as well as interesting performances.
Their drinks and Zein’s food arrived. He ate the fruit and bread unhurriedly, though he was quite hungry. Zein was always careful to enjoy his food when it came to him. Perhaps an old habit from his childhood on the streets—he was never sure where his next meal might come from. He had to make it last when it finally arrived. Even now that he had money, he never took it for granted. Zein never knew when his luck might change. Though perhaps now it was going to change for the better.
His answer to Amenemhat’s question was simple. It had been a rather unfortunate timing when he was last approached. To go back to Judea without any preparation was simply something he was not ready for. Zein had left Judea over ten years ago and he was not ready to return. He couldn’t say that there was nothing left for him there—his cousin flashed briefly in front of his eyes, but there was nothing he could do about that now. And he hadn’t been prepared to do anything about it when he was last asked to join the Tempest of Set. To return to Judea mean that he would also have to take care of his personal business.
“I will be honest with you,” Zein said, popping a grape in his mouth. “You were set to leave to Judea when I last met members of your circus. I was not prepared to return to Judea at that time.” Nor at the present time either, but that was something he would save for later. It was times when he spoke about his homeland that his accent became a little more pronounced. It was always there, dulled by years of speaking Coptic, but his native tongue was never truly gone.
“There is nothing preventing me from returning,” he continued, assuring Amenemhat that legally he was not in any trouble there. “It is just that I am Judean and now I live in Egypt. You have been to Judea, you know what it is like there. Not the best place for the likes of us. I have no great desire to return.”
Of course, there was the distinct possibility that he would have to if he joined the circus. All he could do was hope that he wouldn’t have to go any time soon. “Do you have plans to perform again in Judea in the near future?”
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It was interesting to think that he had been followed so closely by a man of Amenemhat’s status. Zein had often thought of himself as a performer known to the crowds he frequented and few others. Of course, that had been proven wrong as soon as he started moving to the larger cities. That didn’t meant that Zein wasn’t still smart about his performance decisions. Although small villages weren’t as prosperous the larger cities, they did have plenty of people with a dearth of entertainment. Zein didn’t ask for much, but found that people were much more willing to pay him there than in the cities.
Amenemhat was not incorrect in his statements about other jugglers. Zein had seen them. And he had outperformed them when he could. He also was smarter about where he wanted to perform. His street smarts had extended beyond his ability to survive. He knew how to thrive on the streets as well.
“Yes,” he agreed, “They are often more bored, as well. It is a good business plan.” Zein wasn’t above admitting what he did was a business. Who would understand more than a man who made his living profiting off the performances of others? No, Zein wasn’t afraid of sharing such a thing that was a fact of life. Of course, he loved performing for the sake of it as well. That was what put him ahead of those others that were also shrewd businessmen. He had what it took to make smart plans as well as interesting performances.
Their drinks and Zein’s food arrived. He ate the fruit and bread unhurriedly, though he was quite hungry. Zein was always careful to enjoy his food when it came to him. Perhaps an old habit from his childhood on the streets—he was never sure where his next meal might come from. He had to make it last when it finally arrived. Even now that he had money, he never took it for granted. Zein never knew when his luck might change. Though perhaps now it was going to change for the better.
His answer to Amenemhat’s question was simple. It had been a rather unfortunate timing when he was last approached. To go back to Judea without any preparation was simply something he was not ready for. Zein had left Judea over ten years ago and he was not ready to return. He couldn’t say that there was nothing left for him there—his cousin flashed briefly in front of his eyes, but there was nothing he could do about that now. And he hadn’t been prepared to do anything about it when he was last asked to join the Tempest of Set. To return to Judea mean that he would also have to take care of his personal business.
“I will be honest with you,” Zein said, popping a grape in his mouth. “You were set to leave to Judea when I last met members of your circus. I was not prepared to return to Judea at that time.” Nor at the present time either, but that was something he would save for later. It was times when he spoke about his homeland that his accent became a little more pronounced. It was always there, dulled by years of speaking Coptic, but his native tongue was never truly gone.
“There is nothing preventing me from returning,” he continued, assuring Amenemhat that legally he was not in any trouble there. “It is just that I am Judean and now I live in Egypt. You have been to Judea, you know what it is like there. Not the best place for the likes of us. I have no great desire to return.”
Of course, there was the distinct possibility that he would have to if he joined the circus. All he could do was hope that he wouldn’t have to go any time soon. “Do you have plans to perform again in Judea in the near future?”
It was interesting to think that he had been followed so closely by a man of Amenemhat’s status. Zein had often thought of himself as a performer known to the crowds he frequented and few others. Of course, that had been proven wrong as soon as he started moving to the larger cities. That didn’t meant that Zein wasn’t still smart about his performance decisions. Although small villages weren’t as prosperous the larger cities, they did have plenty of people with a dearth of entertainment. Zein didn’t ask for much, but found that people were much more willing to pay him there than in the cities.
Amenemhat was not incorrect in his statements about other jugglers. Zein had seen them. And he had outperformed them when he could. He also was smarter about where he wanted to perform. His street smarts had extended beyond his ability to survive. He knew how to thrive on the streets as well.
“Yes,” he agreed, “They are often more bored, as well. It is a good business plan.” Zein wasn’t above admitting what he did was a business. Who would understand more than a man who made his living profiting off the performances of others? No, Zein wasn’t afraid of sharing such a thing that was a fact of life. Of course, he loved performing for the sake of it as well. That was what put him ahead of those others that were also shrewd businessmen. He had what it took to make smart plans as well as interesting performances.
Their drinks and Zein’s food arrived. He ate the fruit and bread unhurriedly, though he was quite hungry. Zein was always careful to enjoy his food when it came to him. Perhaps an old habit from his childhood on the streets—he was never sure where his next meal might come from. He had to make it last when it finally arrived. Even now that he had money, he never took it for granted. Zein never knew when his luck might change. Though perhaps now it was going to change for the better.
His answer to Amenemhat’s question was simple. It had been a rather unfortunate timing when he was last approached. To go back to Judea without any preparation was simply something he was not ready for. Zein had left Judea over ten years ago and he was not ready to return. He couldn’t say that there was nothing left for him there—his cousin flashed briefly in front of his eyes, but there was nothing he could do about that now. And he hadn’t been prepared to do anything about it when he was last asked to join the Tempest of Set. To return to Judea mean that he would also have to take care of his personal business.
“I will be honest with you,” Zein said, popping a grape in his mouth. “You were set to leave to Judea when I last met members of your circus. I was not prepared to return to Judea at that time.” Nor at the present time either, but that was something he would save for later. It was times when he spoke about his homeland that his accent became a little more pronounced. It was always there, dulled by years of speaking Coptic, but his native tongue was never truly gone.
“There is nothing preventing me from returning,” he continued, assuring Amenemhat that legally he was not in any trouble there. “It is just that I am Judean and now I live in Egypt. You have been to Judea, you know what it is like there. Not the best place for the likes of us. I have no great desire to return.”
Of course, there was the distinct possibility that he would have to if he joined the circus. All he could do was hope that he wouldn’t have to go any time soon. “Do you have plans to perform again in Judea in the near future?”
There were several aspects of the circus that Amenemhat found himself less and less willing to share responsibility with. The first, of course, was in the role of the ringmaster itself. The failures of Somgi of Cairo in the role while in show had directly impacted the Tempest's prosperity. Giving the reigns over to anyone, even his sister or mother, seemed an impossible ask for him. Then, there was the matter of recruitment. With a keen eye for talent and disposition, the act of bringing people into the circus was something he held a very high standard about. However, in this he was willing to acquiesce. Raziya and Kesi at times took on that mantle, with others allowed to provide recommendations based on...
Some sort of evidence. Never could Amenemhat simply rely on someone's feeling about it. But, it'd served him well to loosen the leash at times. It was, after all, someone else who had initially recommended Zein to him. When the offer was extended and refused, the ringmaster stewed in his silence. Being refused for any reason was an uncomfortable premise, but he didn't push then, so he would now. Zein held reservations about returning to Judea. He understood it, for he had similar reservations every time they visited. The place was awful for business, with money only going in one direction: into the pockets of the Jews who seemed so adamant on hating the circus' existence.
So, he relented, he understood. He didn't, however, forget. He just wanted to hear it from the man's mouth, to gauge just how deeply whatever resentment that Zein held for the country. And, it seemed enough. He could hear the shift in his cadence, the hints of an accent that hadn't been there before returning. It was a curious thing to listen to, but he made no visible reacton, hearing the story told to him nearly a year before corroborated by the man who refused his invitation.
Then, Zein went on to provide a bit of context to those misgivings. Some of the circus' members were provided true asylum, using the circus just as the circus used them. To hide within its ranks, to be covered in face and body paints and obscured from the common eye... Some were murderers, others thieves, and yet... their sins were absolved by their rebirth within the Tempest of Set. Amenemhat saw not the criminal society saw, nor the refugee, nor the monster wearing human flesh. He saw assets, and then, he saw family.
Would Zein become another member of the family within the Tempest of Set? Only time would tell, but the invitation he gave for the man now was plainly stated. The ringmaster took a long draw from his tankard of mead, letting it fall from his lips and guiding it to the surface of the bar just as Zein posed his question,
"I hate Judea," he admitted first and foremost.
It sucked. There was severe xenophobia, something that Egypt boasted as well, but the circus itself did not. What fool would fear outlanders when their patron God presided over them? Then, there was the actual encounters he'd had in the nation. Accusations of witchcraft, terrible rumours and the consistent lack of business again and again. There were no performances in Judea, only liabilities.
"You're right. They're worse than the Greeks, with prudishness as their mantra and fear as their salvation. I'm sure you've noticed it, if you've watched my performers in action," he added, a smirk catching his lips just before he shook his head in answer to Zein's question,
"There is no part of our tour that requires us to go. In my tenure as ringmaster, the only thing that's taken us to Judea is honouring, and in truth, severing some business holdings that the former ringmaster kept."
He raised his tankard back to his lips, swinging in his chair so that his back no longer touched the frame. He leaned slightly towards Zein, the smirk growing wider upon his lips as he said,
"So, what you're saying, is that there's nothing stopping you from joining us, now."
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There were several aspects of the circus that Amenemhat found himself less and less willing to share responsibility with. The first, of course, was in the role of the ringmaster itself. The failures of Somgi of Cairo in the role while in show had directly impacted the Tempest's prosperity. Giving the reigns over to anyone, even his sister or mother, seemed an impossible ask for him. Then, there was the matter of recruitment. With a keen eye for talent and disposition, the act of bringing people into the circus was something he held a very high standard about. However, in this he was willing to acquiesce. Raziya and Kesi at times took on that mantle, with others allowed to provide recommendations based on...
Some sort of evidence. Never could Amenemhat simply rely on someone's feeling about it. But, it'd served him well to loosen the leash at times. It was, after all, someone else who had initially recommended Zein to him. When the offer was extended and refused, the ringmaster stewed in his silence. Being refused for any reason was an uncomfortable premise, but he didn't push then, so he would now. Zein held reservations about returning to Judea. He understood it, for he had similar reservations every time they visited. The place was awful for business, with money only going in one direction: into the pockets of the Jews who seemed so adamant on hating the circus' existence.
So, he relented, he understood. He didn't, however, forget. He just wanted to hear it from the man's mouth, to gauge just how deeply whatever resentment that Zein held for the country. And, it seemed enough. He could hear the shift in his cadence, the hints of an accent that hadn't been there before returning. It was a curious thing to listen to, but he made no visible reacton, hearing the story told to him nearly a year before corroborated by the man who refused his invitation.
Then, Zein went on to provide a bit of context to those misgivings. Some of the circus' members were provided true asylum, using the circus just as the circus used them. To hide within its ranks, to be covered in face and body paints and obscured from the common eye... Some were murderers, others thieves, and yet... their sins were absolved by their rebirth within the Tempest of Set. Amenemhat saw not the criminal society saw, nor the refugee, nor the monster wearing human flesh. He saw assets, and then, he saw family.
Would Zein become another member of the family within the Tempest of Set? Only time would tell, but the invitation he gave for the man now was plainly stated. The ringmaster took a long draw from his tankard of mead, letting it fall from his lips and guiding it to the surface of the bar just as Zein posed his question,
"I hate Judea," he admitted first and foremost.
It sucked. There was severe xenophobia, something that Egypt boasted as well, but the circus itself did not. What fool would fear outlanders when their patron God presided over them? Then, there was the actual encounters he'd had in the nation. Accusations of witchcraft, terrible rumours and the consistent lack of business again and again. There were no performances in Judea, only liabilities.
"You're right. They're worse than the Greeks, with prudishness as their mantra and fear as their salvation. I'm sure you've noticed it, if you've watched my performers in action," he added, a smirk catching his lips just before he shook his head in answer to Zein's question,
"There is no part of our tour that requires us to go. In my tenure as ringmaster, the only thing that's taken us to Judea is honouring, and in truth, severing some business holdings that the former ringmaster kept."
He raised his tankard back to his lips, swinging in his chair so that his back no longer touched the frame. He leaned slightly towards Zein, the smirk growing wider upon his lips as he said,
"So, what you're saying, is that there's nothing stopping you from joining us, now."
There were several aspects of the circus that Amenemhat found himself less and less willing to share responsibility with. The first, of course, was in the role of the ringmaster itself. The failures of Somgi of Cairo in the role while in show had directly impacted the Tempest's prosperity. Giving the reigns over to anyone, even his sister or mother, seemed an impossible ask for him. Then, there was the matter of recruitment. With a keen eye for talent and disposition, the act of bringing people into the circus was something he held a very high standard about. However, in this he was willing to acquiesce. Raziya and Kesi at times took on that mantle, with others allowed to provide recommendations based on...
Some sort of evidence. Never could Amenemhat simply rely on someone's feeling about it. But, it'd served him well to loosen the leash at times. It was, after all, someone else who had initially recommended Zein to him. When the offer was extended and refused, the ringmaster stewed in his silence. Being refused for any reason was an uncomfortable premise, but he didn't push then, so he would now. Zein held reservations about returning to Judea. He understood it, for he had similar reservations every time they visited. The place was awful for business, with money only going in one direction: into the pockets of the Jews who seemed so adamant on hating the circus' existence.
So, he relented, he understood. He didn't, however, forget. He just wanted to hear it from the man's mouth, to gauge just how deeply whatever resentment that Zein held for the country. And, it seemed enough. He could hear the shift in his cadence, the hints of an accent that hadn't been there before returning. It was a curious thing to listen to, but he made no visible reacton, hearing the story told to him nearly a year before corroborated by the man who refused his invitation.
Then, Zein went on to provide a bit of context to those misgivings. Some of the circus' members were provided true asylum, using the circus just as the circus used them. To hide within its ranks, to be covered in face and body paints and obscured from the common eye... Some were murderers, others thieves, and yet... their sins were absolved by their rebirth within the Tempest of Set. Amenemhat saw not the criminal society saw, nor the refugee, nor the monster wearing human flesh. He saw assets, and then, he saw family.
Would Zein become another member of the family within the Tempest of Set? Only time would tell, but the invitation he gave for the man now was plainly stated. The ringmaster took a long draw from his tankard of mead, letting it fall from his lips and guiding it to the surface of the bar just as Zein posed his question,
"I hate Judea," he admitted first and foremost.
It sucked. There was severe xenophobia, something that Egypt boasted as well, but the circus itself did not. What fool would fear outlanders when their patron God presided over them? Then, there was the actual encounters he'd had in the nation. Accusations of witchcraft, terrible rumours and the consistent lack of business again and again. There were no performances in Judea, only liabilities.
"You're right. They're worse than the Greeks, with prudishness as their mantra and fear as their salvation. I'm sure you've noticed it, if you've watched my performers in action," he added, a smirk catching his lips just before he shook his head in answer to Zein's question,
"There is no part of our tour that requires us to go. In my tenure as ringmaster, the only thing that's taken us to Judea is honouring, and in truth, severing some business holdings that the former ringmaster kept."
He raised his tankard back to his lips, swinging in his chair so that his back no longer touched the frame. He leaned slightly towards Zein, the smirk growing wider upon his lips as he said,
"So, what you're saying, is that there's nothing stopping you from joining us, now."
Quite honestly, Zein didn’t care one way or another what this man thought about Judea. Many Egyptians claimed to hate it, but they still did business with the country. The circus hadn’t proved itself any different. It was a necessity for many to do business with Judea, but not for Zein. He had left that country far behind, only one regret remaining in his time there. He still thought about his cousin, wishing that she would leave Judea behind and come to Egypt. Of course, that was probably never going to happen as he had begged her on numerous occasions to leave. She had never been able to say yes. Just as Zein did not wish to return to Judea, he knew his cousin would not wish to come to Egypt.
Zein continued drinking, partaking somewhat in his meal as Amenemhat continued to berate the Judeans. If that was what the man thought Zein wanted to hear, he wasn’t entirely wrong. It was nice to know that the man he was considering working for did not care for Judeans. Of course, Zein was a Judean, technically, so he hoped that dislike did not extend to him. That was often a very fine line to walk. Some would try to impress him so much by their dislike only to realize that they might have offended him in the process. It was pretty difficult to offend Zein, truly, but he didn’t always let others know he was that affable. It was good to keep people on their toes.
His attention piqued as the ringmaster explained why they had gone to Judea in the first place. It pleased Zein to hear that there were no such plans to continue relations there, at least for the time being. Truthfully, knowing another trip to Judea was in his future might have tipped Zein against joining the circus. That was enough of a dealbreaker for the man. He raised his glass in a salute to the fact that they would not be doing any more business in Judea, though was mostly silent about that answer.
The man had got him, that much Zein was willing to admit. At least to himself. He returned the smile, though perhaps his was a little less self-satisfied than Amenemhat’s. Zein supposed that he ought to be grateful for this second chance and for the fact that he was seemingly so well wanted. This was truly a great sign for him. And that negotiations were still not out of the question. If he was so desired, then he would still have some bargaining power left. Not that Zein had much he wanted, but it felt good to knew he still had some hand here.
The last time that Zein had entered into a situation where he agreed to perform for someone it had ended poorly. He wanted more protections this time. A promise that he could leave on his own terms, not someone else’s. Not that he was planning on leaving…not just yet. He had yet to even start.
“I suppose that is true,” Zein said slowly, appearing to mull over his options, but not too much. He could not let this opportunity slip from his grasp again. Especially when there was no trip to Judea in his future.
“Tell me more. How often can I perform? What other duties are there? What will be my accommodations?” What he was really looking for were signs of how his future was to unfold. If it seemed promising, he was ready to take the leap.
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Quite honestly, Zein didn’t care one way or another what this man thought about Judea. Many Egyptians claimed to hate it, but they still did business with the country. The circus hadn’t proved itself any different. It was a necessity for many to do business with Judea, but not for Zein. He had left that country far behind, only one regret remaining in his time there. He still thought about his cousin, wishing that she would leave Judea behind and come to Egypt. Of course, that was probably never going to happen as he had begged her on numerous occasions to leave. She had never been able to say yes. Just as Zein did not wish to return to Judea, he knew his cousin would not wish to come to Egypt.
Zein continued drinking, partaking somewhat in his meal as Amenemhat continued to berate the Judeans. If that was what the man thought Zein wanted to hear, he wasn’t entirely wrong. It was nice to know that the man he was considering working for did not care for Judeans. Of course, Zein was a Judean, technically, so he hoped that dislike did not extend to him. That was often a very fine line to walk. Some would try to impress him so much by their dislike only to realize that they might have offended him in the process. It was pretty difficult to offend Zein, truly, but he didn’t always let others know he was that affable. It was good to keep people on their toes.
His attention piqued as the ringmaster explained why they had gone to Judea in the first place. It pleased Zein to hear that there were no such plans to continue relations there, at least for the time being. Truthfully, knowing another trip to Judea was in his future might have tipped Zein against joining the circus. That was enough of a dealbreaker for the man. He raised his glass in a salute to the fact that they would not be doing any more business in Judea, though was mostly silent about that answer.
The man had got him, that much Zein was willing to admit. At least to himself. He returned the smile, though perhaps his was a little less self-satisfied than Amenemhat’s. Zein supposed that he ought to be grateful for this second chance and for the fact that he was seemingly so well wanted. This was truly a great sign for him. And that negotiations were still not out of the question. If he was so desired, then he would still have some bargaining power left. Not that Zein had much he wanted, but it felt good to knew he still had some hand here.
The last time that Zein had entered into a situation where he agreed to perform for someone it had ended poorly. He wanted more protections this time. A promise that he could leave on his own terms, not someone else’s. Not that he was planning on leaving…not just yet. He had yet to even start.
“I suppose that is true,” Zein said slowly, appearing to mull over his options, but not too much. He could not let this opportunity slip from his grasp again. Especially when there was no trip to Judea in his future.
“Tell me more. How often can I perform? What other duties are there? What will be my accommodations?” What he was really looking for were signs of how his future was to unfold. If it seemed promising, he was ready to take the leap.
Quite honestly, Zein didn’t care one way or another what this man thought about Judea. Many Egyptians claimed to hate it, but they still did business with the country. The circus hadn’t proved itself any different. It was a necessity for many to do business with Judea, but not for Zein. He had left that country far behind, only one regret remaining in his time there. He still thought about his cousin, wishing that she would leave Judea behind and come to Egypt. Of course, that was probably never going to happen as he had begged her on numerous occasions to leave. She had never been able to say yes. Just as Zein did not wish to return to Judea, he knew his cousin would not wish to come to Egypt.
Zein continued drinking, partaking somewhat in his meal as Amenemhat continued to berate the Judeans. If that was what the man thought Zein wanted to hear, he wasn’t entirely wrong. It was nice to know that the man he was considering working for did not care for Judeans. Of course, Zein was a Judean, technically, so he hoped that dislike did not extend to him. That was often a very fine line to walk. Some would try to impress him so much by their dislike only to realize that they might have offended him in the process. It was pretty difficult to offend Zein, truly, but he didn’t always let others know he was that affable. It was good to keep people on their toes.
His attention piqued as the ringmaster explained why they had gone to Judea in the first place. It pleased Zein to hear that there were no such plans to continue relations there, at least for the time being. Truthfully, knowing another trip to Judea was in his future might have tipped Zein against joining the circus. That was enough of a dealbreaker for the man. He raised his glass in a salute to the fact that they would not be doing any more business in Judea, though was mostly silent about that answer.
The man had got him, that much Zein was willing to admit. At least to himself. He returned the smile, though perhaps his was a little less self-satisfied than Amenemhat’s. Zein supposed that he ought to be grateful for this second chance and for the fact that he was seemingly so well wanted. This was truly a great sign for him. And that negotiations were still not out of the question. If he was so desired, then he would still have some bargaining power left. Not that Zein had much he wanted, but it felt good to knew he still had some hand here.
The last time that Zein had entered into a situation where he agreed to perform for someone it had ended poorly. He wanted more protections this time. A promise that he could leave on his own terms, not someone else’s. Not that he was planning on leaving…not just yet. He had yet to even start.
“I suppose that is true,” Zein said slowly, appearing to mull over his options, but not too much. He could not let this opportunity slip from his grasp again. Especially when there was no trip to Judea in his future.
“Tell me more. How often can I perform? What other duties are there? What will be my accommodations?” What he was really looking for were signs of how his future was to unfold. If it seemed promising, he was ready to take the leap.
There was an appeal for most people to trade with Judea. Amenemhat could respect the trade they engaged in, and their artisans produced well enough to make exceptions for their heretic ways. But, in the end, it was proven again and again that prejudices were wearisome to work through. The circus often was treated with more contempt, labeled as vile sorcerers or whatever it was that struck the imagination. Nem decided the time was over, to be fostering a relationship that neither side wanted at all.
Besides, nothing was irreplaceable. So, what the ringmaster admitted to Zein was true. He wanted out of that stupid country for good, and in the midst of their conversation moving in a different direction, Nem looked over his tankard of mead, tipping his head towards the barhop before he looked back towards Zein. His expression turned pensive, as if he were deliberating. Was there a great deal to think about, here? Perhaps it was a means by which he gave himself a bit of leverage. Amenemhat didn't know what motivated the man himself, figuring only the sort of mentality it took to be a street performer.
Amenemhat had, after all, undermined enough of these sorts to get what went on in their minds. It was a complicated life, needing a sort of cunning to thrive in it. Traveling was rigorous enough, but doing so alone meant that there was no security in one's journeying. Zein, while he seemed like he could take care of himself, could benefit from the 'herd mentality' that called to some of his other performers. Zein posed his question after a moment's silence, and Nem was pleased to answer this one.
"When we take a new performer on without an audition, they are assessed during the practice routines that every acrobat participates in. With your... renown," he considered, measuring his words carefully as he went on,
"You'd be paired with the performers of the Clique. If you've ever seen the show, you might recognize Liu Feiyan or her sister, Lihua? They are responsible, to some extent, for how the show moves and which performers go where. However, you've got very little to prove my friend. I would assume their only concerns with you would be where to put you so you stand out the best."
It might seem like a great deal of flattery, but Amenemhat was simply telling the truth. When the ringmaster put his eyes on a performer, it was because their efforts were worth their weight in gold.
"Our shows work on a rotation through the provinces of Egypt and its capital cities. The most populated ones. People who live in the outlying regions generally travel to see us if they're inclined to. Based on our travel, you can expect to perform twelve to... fourteen times per month? In the colder months it varies a bit more. But, each performance is in front of a very large audience."
At the last question, he shrugged his shoulders,
"That's up to you. You could stay with us, in the tent cities we build every time we settle in a region. Or you can splurge for your own accommodations. I can assure you that we have enough comforts, but if a roof and walls is your utmost necessity, then I'm sure whatever place we're near would be pleased to take your money."
Amenemhat chuckled at that, leaning forward somewhat as he put down his tankard and rested his chin in the palm of his hand, fingertips brushing his cheekbone.
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There was an appeal for most people to trade with Judea. Amenemhat could respect the trade they engaged in, and their artisans produced well enough to make exceptions for their heretic ways. But, in the end, it was proven again and again that prejudices were wearisome to work through. The circus often was treated with more contempt, labeled as vile sorcerers or whatever it was that struck the imagination. Nem decided the time was over, to be fostering a relationship that neither side wanted at all.
Besides, nothing was irreplaceable. So, what the ringmaster admitted to Zein was true. He wanted out of that stupid country for good, and in the midst of their conversation moving in a different direction, Nem looked over his tankard of mead, tipping his head towards the barhop before he looked back towards Zein. His expression turned pensive, as if he were deliberating. Was there a great deal to think about, here? Perhaps it was a means by which he gave himself a bit of leverage. Amenemhat didn't know what motivated the man himself, figuring only the sort of mentality it took to be a street performer.
Amenemhat had, after all, undermined enough of these sorts to get what went on in their minds. It was a complicated life, needing a sort of cunning to thrive in it. Traveling was rigorous enough, but doing so alone meant that there was no security in one's journeying. Zein, while he seemed like he could take care of himself, could benefit from the 'herd mentality' that called to some of his other performers. Zein posed his question after a moment's silence, and Nem was pleased to answer this one.
"When we take a new performer on without an audition, they are assessed during the practice routines that every acrobat participates in. With your... renown," he considered, measuring his words carefully as he went on,
"You'd be paired with the performers of the Clique. If you've ever seen the show, you might recognize Liu Feiyan or her sister, Lihua? They are responsible, to some extent, for how the show moves and which performers go where. However, you've got very little to prove my friend. I would assume their only concerns with you would be where to put you so you stand out the best."
It might seem like a great deal of flattery, but Amenemhat was simply telling the truth. When the ringmaster put his eyes on a performer, it was because their efforts were worth their weight in gold.
"Our shows work on a rotation through the provinces of Egypt and its capital cities. The most populated ones. People who live in the outlying regions generally travel to see us if they're inclined to. Based on our travel, you can expect to perform twelve to... fourteen times per month? In the colder months it varies a bit more. But, each performance is in front of a very large audience."
At the last question, he shrugged his shoulders,
"That's up to you. You could stay with us, in the tent cities we build every time we settle in a region. Or you can splurge for your own accommodations. I can assure you that we have enough comforts, but if a roof and walls is your utmost necessity, then I'm sure whatever place we're near would be pleased to take your money."
Amenemhat chuckled at that, leaning forward somewhat as he put down his tankard and rested his chin in the palm of his hand, fingertips brushing his cheekbone.
There was an appeal for most people to trade with Judea. Amenemhat could respect the trade they engaged in, and their artisans produced well enough to make exceptions for their heretic ways. But, in the end, it was proven again and again that prejudices were wearisome to work through. The circus often was treated with more contempt, labeled as vile sorcerers or whatever it was that struck the imagination. Nem decided the time was over, to be fostering a relationship that neither side wanted at all.
Besides, nothing was irreplaceable. So, what the ringmaster admitted to Zein was true. He wanted out of that stupid country for good, and in the midst of their conversation moving in a different direction, Nem looked over his tankard of mead, tipping his head towards the barhop before he looked back towards Zein. His expression turned pensive, as if he were deliberating. Was there a great deal to think about, here? Perhaps it was a means by which he gave himself a bit of leverage. Amenemhat didn't know what motivated the man himself, figuring only the sort of mentality it took to be a street performer.
Amenemhat had, after all, undermined enough of these sorts to get what went on in their minds. It was a complicated life, needing a sort of cunning to thrive in it. Traveling was rigorous enough, but doing so alone meant that there was no security in one's journeying. Zein, while he seemed like he could take care of himself, could benefit from the 'herd mentality' that called to some of his other performers. Zein posed his question after a moment's silence, and Nem was pleased to answer this one.
"When we take a new performer on without an audition, they are assessed during the practice routines that every acrobat participates in. With your... renown," he considered, measuring his words carefully as he went on,
"You'd be paired with the performers of the Clique. If you've ever seen the show, you might recognize Liu Feiyan or her sister, Lihua? They are responsible, to some extent, for how the show moves and which performers go where. However, you've got very little to prove my friend. I would assume their only concerns with you would be where to put you so you stand out the best."
It might seem like a great deal of flattery, but Amenemhat was simply telling the truth. When the ringmaster put his eyes on a performer, it was because their efforts were worth their weight in gold.
"Our shows work on a rotation through the provinces of Egypt and its capital cities. The most populated ones. People who live in the outlying regions generally travel to see us if they're inclined to. Based on our travel, you can expect to perform twelve to... fourteen times per month? In the colder months it varies a bit more. But, each performance is in front of a very large audience."
At the last question, he shrugged his shoulders,
"That's up to you. You could stay with us, in the tent cities we build every time we settle in a region. Or you can splurge for your own accommodations. I can assure you that we have enough comforts, but if a roof and walls is your utmost necessity, then I'm sure whatever place we're near would be pleased to take your money."
Amenemhat chuckled at that, leaning forward somewhat as he put down his tankard and rested his chin in the palm of his hand, fingertips brushing his cheekbone.
