"I am Lady Chione of H'Isazari. I have heard tell of the wonders of your circus and wish to see for myself."

Of course you do.

A slave decided to take a bit of time off work, stopping for some hapless noble with the world at her feet. She was little more than a girl poking at the ribs of whomever would suffer her tantrums. Somgi of Cairo, with red-tinged eyes and no fucks to give, looked the woman over with some degree of interest. She'd caught him at an inopportune moment, one of his so very few excursions outside of his tent. She offered all the allure her station might have, but... there were whores in his tent with more skin exposed. Bound up at the wrists with blow on their tits was how Somgi liked them best.

"If I like what I see on your tour, I can promise you more gold than you've like ever seen."

I don't know, lady, I've seen a lot of gold in my life.

He thought, but never said. There were some things in this world that could be ignored. If all the years running the Tempest of Set taught Somgi anything, however, it was that the mouths of noblewomen ran like wildebeests. Being the subject of their rumour mill worked when it was good, but not right now. He had no intention of giving her any such tour. There were bitches to fuck and the appetite for flesh was not one he liked to deny.

But, gold was gold, and if there was anyone in the world that liked the sight of it more than Somgi of Cairo, it was his kid. Having grown into a strong man with quite a bit more of a lip for this sort of thing than he did, Somgi would rather throw the responsibility at someone younger and hungrier than he was. It was a chore, working when the show was already past. The circus ringmaster had his ritual. Run the show, duck out during the applause, have a slave grind up some blow on the mortar... It really wasn't all that complicated.

But, she was making it so. The look on the woman's gaze was not something to fear, but certainly denying it would be unsavoury. The ringmaster offered his best smile, nodding in understanding before he said, "Oh, and you will, darling. I've a number of things to do to finish up the night, however. So, I'll give you the next best thing. My son, Amenemhat, will be with you shortly."

With a short bow and a flourish of his right hand, Somgi dismissed himself, intent on leaving the ever-so-illustrious 'Chione of H'Isazari' alone. Behind her, she'd hear footsteps as the prodigal son entered the fray.

"Oh, good. You're quick. Make yourself useful, boy. Show the lovely noble a good time."

Amenemhat did not expect to hear the sound of his father speaking from the distance. He'd resigned himself to the idea that the man threw himself into his purchased harlots once the first show was over and his obligations as ringmaster were fulfilled. Somgi of Cairo had his people who oversaw things, people who were not so vigilant and not so caring about the proper means in which to deal with the shifting of shows. Some took shortcuts that cost them money, others took too long to conserve their energy and indulge themselves in other matters. The lack of proper control was a disease that might eventually tear the circus apart.

But, it was not Amenemhat's time to deal with it. He did as he could, his authority insufficient, his youth taken for granted and his words heeded, but only to the extent that the show-runners wanted it to be. Rather than lament in it all, he waited to see the devoted within the circus' inner circle see their master's fall from grace. He'd bide his time, dancing between staging his complaints and acting as a proper heir and simply doing what needed to be done. So, when the circus freak, Lapis, pointed over at Somgi's ten and alerted the son to the needs of the father... he almost groaned.

The sound was so very tempting to escape him, for there was a well-dressed woman with her back turned to Nem, addressing the ringmaster with the sort of tone that could not be ignored. He did not immediately come to join them, listening from afar as he looked between Lapis and the two in conversation. Then, he waved the strangely toned woman away and decided to make his presence known. From behind the noblewoman, Amenemhat passed them by, given over to the light wave of scent that emanated from the noblewoman. He was given to a better look at her figure, and while he'd not yet seen her face, she was already quite different than what he'd expected.

Doesn't he like this sort of thing? Or is she being mouthy in the decidedly wrong way?

If Somgi was forcing Nem into pulling away from responsibilities to show someone around, it could be much worse than the woman he was stuck with. Chione H'Isazari. She introduced herself immediately despite the fact that he was still behind her. He caught sight of her features, and despite himself, found himself intrigued by the sight of her. She was, as custom mandated, scantily dressed. Amenemhat himself wore only a shendyt along with the layer of body paint that had long melted off from his face. There was a shawl tied around his waist, as well, taken off from his shoulders so as to not be marred by the teal and dark blue paint that lingered along his shoulders and the toned musculature of his abdomen.

A slave looked the man over for a moment before flinging a long strip of fabric in his direction. Nem nodded, decidedly interested in making himself more presentable to the woman as he nodded at her words. As she spoke, he dabbed down at his abdomen, staining cut linen with the body paint and reveling more and more of his bronzed flesh for the woman to see. He finished after she'd stopped speaking, her hand left in the air for a moment as he flung the fabric back at the slave.

"Yes, that's right. Amenemhat of the Tempest of Set. And the pleasure is all mine."

The words flowed out easily, his lips curved into a smirk as he raised his hand to her own, his thumb brushing lightly along her palm before he raised her knuckles to his lips in a brief gesture that spoke less of respect and more of fascination.

"Where to begin... If you caught the titular show, then the largest tent is not relevant anymore. There are the grounds, the concession, the dressing rooms. I'd be pleased to introduce you to some of the performers, if that catches your fancy, Lady Isazari."

He didn't stop the wink that threatened to mark his visage. It was difficult to miss the way she'd stared at him earlier, and while, under most circumstances he did not fling himself at women so easily, beauty was impossible to ignore.

Immediately, there was the flicker of attraction. Neither hid the way they observed the other's body, creating a moment of tension that was a proper diversion from the fact that his pairing off with her was essentially the task of an errand boy. Make the nobility happy, he was always told. These people were of a different make than Somgi or Nem. Both were born into wealth, but one side was far more entitled by it than others. The Heis of Egypt were powerful stewards of provinces and business, elevated by the powers that be. Their sons and daughters often basked in wealth with no need to work or fret about the state of anything.

It was a strange way to live. Nem was always focused on one thing, or another, learning the ins and outs of a complicated business... while this Chione woman barked out commands to strangers and had them obeyed. Some day, Nem might enjoy such influence, but right now, he was the one following orders, and truthfully, not too fussed about it. This was an easy job, one he needed to put a facade on for, but he'd become more and more accustomed to it. However, through the facade, he game he played was all-too-real.

Pursuit of the flesh, of pleasure that gave a high cleaner and more entertaining than Somgi's addiction (at least he figured, given how the man always seemed irritated) awaited those pursuits... Chione offered suggestive smiles and met his gaze unabashedly. She'd make a fine plaything for the evening. Of course, all in its due time. At the moment, she was singing the show's praises in short enough words, explaining away her demand to see more away with the fascination of the circus. The spectacle of it all was, in truth, a sight to behold. Amenemhat couldn't figure how many times she'd been in and out of the circus, but now she seemed to have what she wanted, an experience that few got to behold.

Nem chuckled at her assessment, her thinly veiled praises of the heir himself escaping her lips. Flattery got a person everywhere, it seemed, though it struck him as curious that she'd switch to that tactic when it came. Or, perhaps, Nem was wrong in thinking that everyone had an act about them. Maybe she truly had gone from petulant to satisfied in a manner of moments. If that was so, then Nem had an easy enough time ahead of him.

"I do not perform very often. I tend to other duties behind the scenes, so you'd have to look very hard to see me," he answered, nodding in agreement with her observation.

"The Tempest of Set's been around for decades. Some of these individuals were born and raised here. Others show their talents to us and are brought in. If you look closely enough," he told her, letting a whisper hang from his tongue as she shifted to stand beside him. She took his arm, and he turned his forearm to allow fingertips to dance along the small of her back. He guided her gaze with his free hand, showing a pair of adults and an adolescent in the distance.

"Like them... Or... the lone attractions like..."

He pointed next to a gangly looking man with long, dark hair that covered over his eyes and obscured his face. Somgi had taken in some strange-looking people, the easy gimmick of an appearance drawing his eye better than cultivating Gods-given talents. There was a debate there between them, a point of contention he'd address whenever he gained the mantle he coveted so dearly.

"Have you ever thought of performance, Lady Chione? Not as a profession, but as a pastime? We could see how you'd look, dolled up like one of us," he teased her.

"It's a shame."

And, it was. For years and years before Amenemhat was allowed to leave his mother and sister behind, he'd dreamed of the day he'd preside over the Tempest of Set. He imagined himself in the garb, switching between a masque and dark paints to blend in with the dark shadows and the vibrant teals and violet that made the colours of the circus. He imagined himself taking the bow to the collective cheers of dozens as he wove in and out of the performances, not quite a part of the whole, but the beating center that everything surrounded.

Amenemhat imagined his voice raised in bellowing command as he instructed the crowd, manipulated the highs and lows of every turn and offered narration, completion of the imagery that was the Tempest of Set's performances. But, that thought had not visited him in quite a long time. Chione's words elicited the notion once again, and he flashed a grin at the woman, his dark orbs meeting her pale ones just as the conversation moved on to the other denizens of the circus.

There was a dance between them, something that predicated on dwindling propriety. Nem was the host, playing his part, and she the patron demanding a regaling welcome to a world beyond that which she was confined to. Their reason for coming together was by no means a coincidence. Somgi of Cairo knew to summon his son as the distraction. Eyes caught him far more readily than they did the ringmaster. Somgi would let himself fall into the lull of drugs before doing his job.

Anger.

It swelled within his stomach, releasing the heat that culminated within his core, then brandished itself throughout the rest of his body. He was being demeaned, manipulated, used as a means to an end when everything that he was pointed to a higher purpose, a destiny yet to be granted to him. He wanted it. Needed it, and the anger would not abate, even as he curtained it so cautiously behind the easy glance, the shifting touch.

While his reason for meeting Chione H'Isazari brought with it a dreadful sense of ire within Amenemhat, he'd not deny himself the opportunity to siphon it into something else. The noblewoman seemed to exude an air about her, every motion seemed a dance, each word a whisper that commanded sensuality. If Amenemhat of Alexandria was drawn to Set, then in equal measure someone like Chione must've been epitomized by Hathor. Not immune to such charms, the ringmaster's son would use them to his own ends, to douse the flames building within his stomach and chest and turn it into...

"An audience of one," he supplied, as he drew nearer, pressing his chest into her touch as a hand rose to trace along the length of her neck. His palm settled at her jawline as he slowly twisted her head to meet their gazes once again.

"I know where I'd start with you. I can see it as plainly as I see you," he went on. He took her, deeper into the dressing room he'd led her towards. While earlier on, there might've been performers here, readying themselves for their time on the stage, they'd dispersed just moments before. The night went on without the need for instruction, and these performers were all-too-familiar with their cues and the need for them to be caught dead in this room after their allotted time.

Chione shifted herself closer still to him, her breasts pressing into the plane of his arm as she posed that question, a direct mirror to his observation and with them isolated as it was, he had the perfect means to convey his answer. Slowly, he moved to take to the woman's back. One hand sifted into her hair, beginning at her nape and trailing along her scalp. The movement brought her tresses to rest on the opposite side of his forearm, shifting them away and allowing the heir access to her bared throat.

There was no room for subtlety anymore. Lips pressed into the flesh of her throat as his other hand met her abdomen, dragging on beads only to wear slowly along bared flesh. He pressed his chest into her back as his thumb caught one of the beaded straps that held the fabric to her golden flesh. He'd peel the dress off from her, allow it to pool on the floor beneath her as he breathed into her ear,

"Here."

A hand rose along the bared flesh of her abdomen, to encapsulate one of the noble's breasts. He kneaded her breast, fingers working around the sensitive bud in the centre. The other hand sought to pull back on the tresses of her hair, using a certain degree of force, purely for the thrill of being in command of her body.

"You're inclined to performances such as these. There's a look in your eye that gives it away, my lady. A sort of confidence that stops at nothing to be acknowledged. Tell me, lady Chione, does that ring true?"

This dance was one innately familiar to Amenemhat. It was only natural, for him to want. The circus, while apart from Egypt, was steeped in many of the visceral desires that made the nation so different from its neighbours. At the circus, nubile bodies danced for one's amusement, but the familiarity of that exposure served only to whet an appetite that was not so easily satisfied. It tempered his needs, to see performers and slaves strewn about with little left to the imagination. Amenemhat, in his time in the circus, thought himself quite the connoisseur.

Never did he throw himself at a slave. To give those reprobates the belief in their worth stood against the conditioning that rendered them small. Such a reward would be seen as high praise, and he held the satisfaction of crumbling their resolve rather than building it. At least, when Hamidi was so generous as to allow him the opportunity. But, a performer? He'd been in this very tent in other provinces before, playing a similar game with them as he did the noblewoman. Amenmehat indulged freely, reveled in their subservience.

Oh, it's the ringmaster's son.

He both dreaded and relished in the description. Someday, they'd not need to add the qualifier.

A noble? That was a rarity. Particularly one as exquisite as this one... Amenemhat had heard tell of Hei Isazari, presumed to have progeny blessed by Hathor herself, and it wasn't outside of Amenemhat's expectations. Chione proved the rumours of beauty, and she played his game just as readily as he. The garment pooled to the floor and the noble's head rested against his shoulder. He claimed her body, massaging her breast in an eager solicitation of the moans she let out for him. Not quite a gentle or affectionate lover, Amenemhat chose his touches, intent on soliciting what would best suit his tastes.

This woman will writhe and beg for more.

A plea that he'd give willingly.

She'll serve her purpose.

It was all he could see in her. But, it was a grand purpose, a vehicle of pleasure ot be coaxed into submission. Amenemhat licked his lips as he listened to her answer, purred out in an easy sultriness only matched by the sway of her hips against hum. Fingers kneaded her breasts for but a moment longer before that firm grasp traveled along the length of her back. He gave her just enough distance, intent on not wrenching her arm from around his shoulders. Their proximity was a delicious thing, and to sever it was... unsavoury to say the least. No, he touched her, stripped awa the bounds of clothing and jewelry. For this, she would be utterly bared to him. And as would he.

He removed his shendyt, letting it pool at the floor between them, baring the rest of his body to the elements. Surely, she'd feel his arousal, the twitch of his length as he pressed to her anew and it slid between her thighs.

"Like recognizes like," he agreed, quite eager to abandon the rigors of conversation and pull into a far more satisfying use of the woman's mouth. A shift of his hips had his rigid length toying with her, rubbing against her slit as his hand rose up along her abdomen, his wrist settling between her breasts as he grasped at her throat, with just enough force to impress upon her the presence of his hand. Then, he bent her forward, the head of his length toying with her, intent upon parting her lips only for him to stop before he sheathed himself within her.

"Not yet," he teased, just before he released her, to turn her to face him. Lips met hers in a short exchange, his tongue sliding into her mouth and catching hers before he flashed the woman a grin.

"Kneel," he'd tell her, just as a hand trailed upwards along her spine to thread his digits into the woman's tresses.