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Sitting cross legged on the balcony just outside her room, Nenet held a bowl of pomegranate seeds in her lap, casually munching on one every once in a while as she read her book. She was reclined against a myriad of pillows, set up prettily beneath the shade of the strip of blue fabric stretched over the balcony like an awning. The book was highly salacious and she’d hidden it from her mother when they’d visited the market a few days ago. Heat of the Nile the title was thankfully small on the book’s surface and looked very much like one of the others she had that was more educational in nature.
Nenet’s eyes widened and she shifted a little as the heroine prepared to slap the hero hard enough across his face to leave a handprint. The heroine was amazingly beautiful, in Nenet’s mind and the hero so tall and handsome. She lowered the book, eyes drifting off into the distance and imagining what it might be like to slap a man silly and then have him lock his arms around you, demanding a passionate kiss...her eyes dropped back to the book to read exactly that, only the kiss went a bit further and soon she was reading exactly why the title was so relevant. After that scene, she threw the book aside and stood, suddenly in the mood to paint that very scene.
She crossed the threshold into her room and dug about in her art supply box, taking out her lead white paints, her yellow ochre, the deep blue, and then her fingers brushed the flat, grainy bottom of the wooden box to discover that her black paint was gone. Out. Again. Her eyes wandered to her vanity where a pot of kohl sat. Hmmmm...no. She couldn’t use her own. She needed it. But did Nef? No. Nef, she decided in that instant, was beautiful enough without makeup. Obviously.
Nenet’s thoughts might not have been so charitable in other circumstances, but this one suited her purposes and she rose up from the cushions she’d arranged on the floor in front of her short easel. Dusting off the knees of her pink kalasiris, she moved over the piles of clothes, pigment sticks, errant sandals, discarded papers, and a myriad of other random things on her floor to open the door of her room. Her cat Isis lifted her puffy white head, yawned and stretched, then jumped off the bed with a ‘purrup’ and trailed after her, flirty tail held high.
The two moved down the hall to Nef’s room where Nenet knocked entirely too softly for any human ear to hear. Using that as an excuse, she opened the door and whispered, “N-nef?” her eyes roamed her sister’s room. “N-no o-one h-home,” she told Isis a little too gleefully. With only animals present, her stutter tended to be either better or none existent. Isis didn’t mind either way and slunk between Nenet’s ankles into Nef’s room, stopping to sniff the corner of the bed before jumping up onto it.
Nenet shut the door and crossed to the vanity where her sister’s eye kohl sat. Without hesitation, she picked it up, turned, and was about to leave when Isis decided that she, too, needed something on the vanity. A moth, to be precise. The cat leaped the intervening space from bed to tabletop and slammed her fluffy body into the mirror. The moth fluttered away, unharmed but the cat tore after it, spilling over bottles and perfumes and other powder pots in her frantic hunting.
Nenet’s eyes widened but she hastened out of the room. It was the cat! Not her. So not her problem. Isis, meanwhile, finally caught the moth and trailed after her mistress, her pristine fur now coated in greens and blues and pinks. One paw was red from lip color, the pot of which had a single, perfect paw print in it. Nenet settled back in her room, putting a little water into the kohl pot to create her black paint, and began work on her ode to Heat Of The Nile, blithely unconcerned about her elder sister’s room.
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Sitting cross legged on the balcony just outside her room, Nenet held a bowl of pomegranate seeds in her lap, casually munching on one every once in a while as she read her book. She was reclined against a myriad of pillows, set up prettily beneath the shade of the strip of blue fabric stretched over the balcony like an awning. The book was highly salacious and she’d hidden it from her mother when they’d visited the market a few days ago. Heat of the Nile the title was thankfully small on the book’s surface and looked very much like one of the others she had that was more educational in nature.
Nenet’s eyes widened and she shifted a little as the heroine prepared to slap the hero hard enough across his face to leave a handprint. The heroine was amazingly beautiful, in Nenet’s mind and the hero so tall and handsome. She lowered the book, eyes drifting off into the distance and imagining what it might be like to slap a man silly and then have him lock his arms around you, demanding a passionate kiss...her eyes dropped back to the book to read exactly that, only the kiss went a bit further and soon she was reading exactly why the title was so relevant. After that scene, she threw the book aside and stood, suddenly in the mood to paint that very scene.
She crossed the threshold into her room and dug about in her art supply box, taking out her lead white paints, her yellow ochre, the deep blue, and then her fingers brushed the flat, grainy bottom of the wooden box to discover that her black paint was gone. Out. Again. Her eyes wandered to her vanity where a pot of kohl sat. Hmmmm...no. She couldn’t use her own. She needed it. But did Nef? No. Nef, she decided in that instant, was beautiful enough without makeup. Obviously.
Nenet’s thoughts might not have been so charitable in other circumstances, but this one suited her purposes and she rose up from the cushions she’d arranged on the floor in front of her short easel. Dusting off the knees of her pink kalasiris, she moved over the piles of clothes, pigment sticks, errant sandals, discarded papers, and a myriad of other random things on her floor to open the door of her room. Her cat Isis lifted her puffy white head, yawned and stretched, then jumped off the bed with a ‘purrup’ and trailed after her, flirty tail held high.
The two moved down the hall to Nef’s room where Nenet knocked entirely too softly for any human ear to hear. Using that as an excuse, she opened the door and whispered, “N-nef?” her eyes roamed her sister’s room. “N-no o-one h-home,” she told Isis a little too gleefully. With only animals present, her stutter tended to be either better or none existent. Isis didn’t mind either way and slunk between Nenet’s ankles into Nef’s room, stopping to sniff the corner of the bed before jumping up onto it.
Nenet shut the door and crossed to the vanity where her sister’s eye kohl sat. Without hesitation, she picked it up, turned, and was about to leave when Isis decided that she, too, needed something on the vanity. A moth, to be precise. The cat leaped the intervening space from bed to tabletop and slammed her fluffy body into the mirror. The moth fluttered away, unharmed but the cat tore after it, spilling over bottles and perfumes and other powder pots in her frantic hunting.
Nenet’s eyes widened but she hastened out of the room. It was the cat! Not her. So not her problem. Isis, meanwhile, finally caught the moth and trailed after her mistress, her pristine fur now coated in greens and blues and pinks. One paw was red from lip color, the pot of which had a single, perfect paw print in it. Nenet settled back in her room, putting a little water into the kohl pot to create her black paint, and began work on her ode to Heat Of The Nile, blithely unconcerned about her elder sister’s room.
Sitting cross legged on the balcony just outside her room, Nenet held a bowl of pomegranate seeds in her lap, casually munching on one every once in a while as she read her book. She was reclined against a myriad of pillows, set up prettily beneath the shade of the strip of blue fabric stretched over the balcony like an awning. The book was highly salacious and she’d hidden it from her mother when they’d visited the market a few days ago. Heat of the Nile the title was thankfully small on the book’s surface and looked very much like one of the others she had that was more educational in nature.
Nenet’s eyes widened and she shifted a little as the heroine prepared to slap the hero hard enough across his face to leave a handprint. The heroine was amazingly beautiful, in Nenet’s mind and the hero so tall and handsome. She lowered the book, eyes drifting off into the distance and imagining what it might be like to slap a man silly and then have him lock his arms around you, demanding a passionate kiss...her eyes dropped back to the book to read exactly that, only the kiss went a bit further and soon she was reading exactly why the title was so relevant. After that scene, she threw the book aside and stood, suddenly in the mood to paint that very scene.
She crossed the threshold into her room and dug about in her art supply box, taking out her lead white paints, her yellow ochre, the deep blue, and then her fingers brushed the flat, grainy bottom of the wooden box to discover that her black paint was gone. Out. Again. Her eyes wandered to her vanity where a pot of kohl sat. Hmmmm...no. She couldn’t use her own. She needed it. But did Nef? No. Nef, she decided in that instant, was beautiful enough without makeup. Obviously.
Nenet’s thoughts might not have been so charitable in other circumstances, but this one suited her purposes and she rose up from the cushions she’d arranged on the floor in front of her short easel. Dusting off the knees of her pink kalasiris, she moved over the piles of clothes, pigment sticks, errant sandals, discarded papers, and a myriad of other random things on her floor to open the door of her room. Her cat Isis lifted her puffy white head, yawned and stretched, then jumped off the bed with a ‘purrup’ and trailed after her, flirty tail held high.
The two moved down the hall to Nef’s room where Nenet knocked entirely too softly for any human ear to hear. Using that as an excuse, she opened the door and whispered, “N-nef?” her eyes roamed her sister’s room. “N-no o-one h-home,” she told Isis a little too gleefully. With only animals present, her stutter tended to be either better or none existent. Isis didn’t mind either way and slunk between Nenet’s ankles into Nef’s room, stopping to sniff the corner of the bed before jumping up onto it.
Nenet shut the door and crossed to the vanity where her sister’s eye kohl sat. Without hesitation, she picked it up, turned, and was about to leave when Isis decided that she, too, needed something on the vanity. A moth, to be precise. The cat leaped the intervening space from bed to tabletop and slammed her fluffy body into the mirror. The moth fluttered away, unharmed but the cat tore after it, spilling over bottles and perfumes and other powder pots in her frantic hunting.
Nenet’s eyes widened but she hastened out of the room. It was the cat! Not her. So not her problem. Isis, meanwhile, finally caught the moth and trailed after her mistress, her pristine fur now coated in greens and blues and pinks. One paw was red from lip color, the pot of which had a single, perfect paw print in it. Nenet settled back in her room, putting a little water into the kohl pot to create her black paint, and began work on her ode to Heat Of The Nile, blithely unconcerned about her elder sister’s room.
The heavy aroma of shemshemet belied the fact that Nefertaari was, in fact, present within the confines of her room, though her quarters alone were more spacious than the homes of the commoners. It drifted along the arid breeze that blew against curtains, which shimmered over open doorways. Her room overlook the gardens below, and she was lounging upon her shaded balcony. A servant fanned her, sweat pouring from her brows.
In between dates and sealing trades, the eldest of the Hei Sheifa children often retired to her room to rest. It was a vital part of her beauty regiment, and one she rarely missed. Her eyes closed as she inhaled smoke from a pipe, the plume of exhaled smoke chased with the silence of not having drawn too much of the plant into her lungs. She could doze off, sleep a little before some requested her attendance elsewhere.
From inside her room, the sound of mayhem crashed into her reverie and she sat up, eyes widening. A crystal vial of expensive perfume hit the ground, and she could take by the tinkling noise of it splintering into a thousand tiny peaces that whatever the source of the destruction was, it was expensive. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she stood to her feet, hemp sandals the only thing protecting her feet from painful splinters as she approached the vanity from which she was unaware Nenet took her kohl.
The bedroom door was ajar, and she saw Isis's tail disappear from sight, almost escaping without notice. What followed was a loud shriek of anger, very much the opposite of her gentleness when spotted in public.
“Nenet!” the raised, shrill voice of the eldest daughter echoed through the house as she swung her door open and stormed into the hallway. She didn't want to think of all the wasted, ruined make-up that stained her floor. Pausing briefly, she peeked back into the room and called, her voice carefully controlled, to the servant, “Clean up that mess and don't stain the floor with your blood.”
It almost sounded callous, the way she spoke to the poor woman, but hardly a second thought crossed her mind as she entered Nenet's room. Nefertaari made no regard for her sister's privacy as honeyed eyes raked over the youngest of her sisters's rooms. Anger simmered in those golden depths.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The heavy aroma of shemshemet belied the fact that Nefertaari was, in fact, present within the confines of her room, though her quarters alone were more spacious than the homes of the commoners. It drifted along the arid breeze that blew against curtains, which shimmered over open doorways. Her room overlook the gardens below, and she was lounging upon her shaded balcony. A servant fanned her, sweat pouring from her brows.
In between dates and sealing trades, the eldest of the Hei Sheifa children often retired to her room to rest. It was a vital part of her beauty regiment, and one she rarely missed. Her eyes closed as she inhaled smoke from a pipe, the plume of exhaled smoke chased with the silence of not having drawn too much of the plant into her lungs. She could doze off, sleep a little before some requested her attendance elsewhere.
From inside her room, the sound of mayhem crashed into her reverie and she sat up, eyes widening. A crystal vial of expensive perfume hit the ground, and she could take by the tinkling noise of it splintering into a thousand tiny peaces that whatever the source of the destruction was, it was expensive. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she stood to her feet, hemp sandals the only thing protecting her feet from painful splinters as she approached the vanity from which she was unaware Nenet took her kohl.
The bedroom door was ajar, and she saw Isis's tail disappear from sight, almost escaping without notice. What followed was a loud shriek of anger, very much the opposite of her gentleness when spotted in public.
“Nenet!” the raised, shrill voice of the eldest daughter echoed through the house as she swung her door open and stormed into the hallway. She didn't want to think of all the wasted, ruined make-up that stained her floor. Pausing briefly, she peeked back into the room and called, her voice carefully controlled, to the servant, “Clean up that mess and don't stain the floor with your blood.”
It almost sounded callous, the way she spoke to the poor woman, but hardly a second thought crossed her mind as she entered Nenet's room. Nefertaari made no regard for her sister's privacy as honeyed eyes raked over the youngest of her sisters's rooms. Anger simmered in those golden depths.
The heavy aroma of shemshemet belied the fact that Nefertaari was, in fact, present within the confines of her room, though her quarters alone were more spacious than the homes of the commoners. It drifted along the arid breeze that blew against curtains, which shimmered over open doorways. Her room overlook the gardens below, and she was lounging upon her shaded balcony. A servant fanned her, sweat pouring from her brows.
In between dates and sealing trades, the eldest of the Hei Sheifa children often retired to her room to rest. It was a vital part of her beauty regiment, and one she rarely missed. Her eyes closed as she inhaled smoke from a pipe, the plume of exhaled smoke chased with the silence of not having drawn too much of the plant into her lungs. She could doze off, sleep a little before some requested her attendance elsewhere.
From inside her room, the sound of mayhem crashed into her reverie and she sat up, eyes widening. A crystal vial of expensive perfume hit the ground, and she could take by the tinkling noise of it splintering into a thousand tiny peaces that whatever the source of the destruction was, it was expensive. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she stood to her feet, hemp sandals the only thing protecting her feet from painful splinters as she approached the vanity from which she was unaware Nenet took her kohl.
The bedroom door was ajar, and she saw Isis's tail disappear from sight, almost escaping without notice. What followed was a loud shriek of anger, very much the opposite of her gentleness when spotted in public.
“Nenet!” the raised, shrill voice of the eldest daughter echoed through the house as she swung her door open and stormed into the hallway. She didn't want to think of all the wasted, ruined make-up that stained her floor. Pausing briefly, she peeked back into the room and called, her voice carefully controlled, to the servant, “Clean up that mess and don't stain the floor with your blood.”
It almost sounded callous, the way she spoke to the poor woman, but hardly a second thought crossed her mind as she entered Nenet's room. Nefertaari made no regard for her sister's privacy as honeyed eyes raked over the youngest of her sisters's rooms. Anger simmered in those golden depths.
It was the shriek that made Nenet pause, the way a bird drew up its head, eyes still and distant - listening. The kohl pot was still in her hand and she thought that, perhaps, just maybe the shriek of Nefertaari’s wrath might have nothing to do with her and her precious feline. Of course, cats being as revered as they were, Isis likely had nothing to concern herself with. Nenet certainly never chastised her pet’s behavior; not unless Isis was terribly naughty. To displease a revered animal of Bastet was unthinkable. The sound of her own name ringing down the hall utterly annihilated the naive notion she might not be in trouble.
The gentle and rapid slap, slap, slap, slap of sandals advancing down the hall made Nenet turn her back, rather than twist around to face the righteous indignation of her sister. It was better, she’d found, to keep painting. It was a shame that she’d been mistaken about her sister’s absence. Next time she would pilfer from Nia’s room. At least Nia could be relied upon to not miss something for a day or two, at least. Something Nefertaari might learn from, if she took care to do so.
Nefertaari’s presence loomed into the room. Nenet’s shoulders stiffened but she took care to keep the tip of her brush swirling in the black pigment and then apply a liberal line of it upon her canvas. The clean way she made her art reflected literally nothing about her own room. A disheveled bed from where she’d gotten up in the morning, clothes dropped in little piles from where she’d stepped out of them - her own vanity an absolute riot of empty bottles and empty paint pots.
On nearly everything were smudges of color from Nenet’s fingers in stains that she found delightful and liked to think of as ‘eccentric’. A real artist, she’d heard from one of the temple painters who’d been holding court in the wastan a couple of years ago, lives his life for his art. A neat workspace meant that no true artist lived there. This was a philosophy Nenet had taken to mind, body, and soul. She’d gone so far as to forbid the servants to clean her room and it was only done when Iaheru or her father had had quite enough of the nonsense. Or, most provokingly, when she left the house. By the state of her room, she’d managed not to do that in more than a week and the poor maids were already counting the hours it would take, muttering amongst themselves in frustration.
To her sister, she said not a single word. She merely put the pot of ruined kohl into her lap to hide it and petted Isis with her free hand as the now brilliantly multicolored cat rubbed and arched against Nenet’s side. Isis turned her fluffy head towards Nefertaari and mewed, giving a flirty flick of her tail. She was open to accepting devotion from anywhere and was trying to entice Nerfertaari to comply.
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It was the shriek that made Nenet pause, the way a bird drew up its head, eyes still and distant - listening. The kohl pot was still in her hand and she thought that, perhaps, just maybe the shriek of Nefertaari’s wrath might have nothing to do with her and her precious feline. Of course, cats being as revered as they were, Isis likely had nothing to concern herself with. Nenet certainly never chastised her pet’s behavior; not unless Isis was terribly naughty. To displease a revered animal of Bastet was unthinkable. The sound of her own name ringing down the hall utterly annihilated the naive notion she might not be in trouble.
The gentle and rapid slap, slap, slap, slap of sandals advancing down the hall made Nenet turn her back, rather than twist around to face the righteous indignation of her sister. It was better, she’d found, to keep painting. It was a shame that she’d been mistaken about her sister’s absence. Next time she would pilfer from Nia’s room. At least Nia could be relied upon to not miss something for a day or two, at least. Something Nefertaari might learn from, if she took care to do so.
Nefertaari’s presence loomed into the room. Nenet’s shoulders stiffened but she took care to keep the tip of her brush swirling in the black pigment and then apply a liberal line of it upon her canvas. The clean way she made her art reflected literally nothing about her own room. A disheveled bed from where she’d gotten up in the morning, clothes dropped in little piles from where she’d stepped out of them - her own vanity an absolute riot of empty bottles and empty paint pots.
On nearly everything were smudges of color from Nenet’s fingers in stains that she found delightful and liked to think of as ‘eccentric’. A real artist, she’d heard from one of the temple painters who’d been holding court in the wastan a couple of years ago, lives his life for his art. A neat workspace meant that no true artist lived there. This was a philosophy Nenet had taken to mind, body, and soul. She’d gone so far as to forbid the servants to clean her room and it was only done when Iaheru or her father had had quite enough of the nonsense. Or, most provokingly, when she left the house. By the state of her room, she’d managed not to do that in more than a week and the poor maids were already counting the hours it would take, muttering amongst themselves in frustration.
To her sister, she said not a single word. She merely put the pot of ruined kohl into her lap to hide it and petted Isis with her free hand as the now brilliantly multicolored cat rubbed and arched against Nenet’s side. Isis turned her fluffy head towards Nefertaari and mewed, giving a flirty flick of her tail. She was open to accepting devotion from anywhere and was trying to entice Nerfertaari to comply.
It was the shriek that made Nenet pause, the way a bird drew up its head, eyes still and distant - listening. The kohl pot was still in her hand and she thought that, perhaps, just maybe the shriek of Nefertaari’s wrath might have nothing to do with her and her precious feline. Of course, cats being as revered as they were, Isis likely had nothing to concern herself with. Nenet certainly never chastised her pet’s behavior; not unless Isis was terribly naughty. To displease a revered animal of Bastet was unthinkable. The sound of her own name ringing down the hall utterly annihilated the naive notion she might not be in trouble.
The gentle and rapid slap, slap, slap, slap of sandals advancing down the hall made Nenet turn her back, rather than twist around to face the righteous indignation of her sister. It was better, she’d found, to keep painting. It was a shame that she’d been mistaken about her sister’s absence. Next time she would pilfer from Nia’s room. At least Nia could be relied upon to not miss something for a day or two, at least. Something Nefertaari might learn from, if she took care to do so.
Nefertaari’s presence loomed into the room. Nenet’s shoulders stiffened but she took care to keep the tip of her brush swirling in the black pigment and then apply a liberal line of it upon her canvas. The clean way she made her art reflected literally nothing about her own room. A disheveled bed from where she’d gotten up in the morning, clothes dropped in little piles from where she’d stepped out of them - her own vanity an absolute riot of empty bottles and empty paint pots.
On nearly everything were smudges of color from Nenet’s fingers in stains that she found delightful and liked to think of as ‘eccentric’. A real artist, she’d heard from one of the temple painters who’d been holding court in the wastan a couple of years ago, lives his life for his art. A neat workspace meant that no true artist lived there. This was a philosophy Nenet had taken to mind, body, and soul. She’d gone so far as to forbid the servants to clean her room and it was only done when Iaheru or her father had had quite enough of the nonsense. Or, most provokingly, when she left the house. By the state of her room, she’d managed not to do that in more than a week and the poor maids were already counting the hours it would take, muttering amongst themselves in frustration.
To her sister, she said not a single word. She merely put the pot of ruined kohl into her lap to hide it and petted Isis with her free hand as the now brilliantly multicolored cat rubbed and arched against Nenet’s side. Isis turned her fluffy head towards Nefertaari and mewed, giving a flirty flick of her tail. She was open to accepting devotion from anywhere and was trying to entice Nerfertaari to comply.
Words couldn't express the disgust that crept into Nefertaari's features the moment she stepped into Nenet's room. Her dark gaze swept over the mass, astonished that someone could live in such... She didn't want to say squalor; she had no clue as to her sister's mental state, after all. Instead of lashing out and raising her voice, the eldest daughter of Hei Sheifa drew a sharp breath inward, held it, and then exhaled slowly.
"Nenet... You know better," she began, her words slow and strained. She would have to request some of her father's merchandise to replace what Nenet broke. While she was aware that it was likely Isis at fault, the woman wasn't going to lay blame on a cat. After all, Nenet was the one that led Isis into her room.
"How can you live in this room?" Nefertaari followed up with, her bewilderment evident in her voice. Vexation twisted around it, belying her frustration with her sister's actions. "And your face, dear gods. Give back my kohl. Now."
She studied her sister as she spoke, having already finished her survey of the room. If it were up to her, someone would be cleaning the mess Nenet lived in presently. Nefertaari approached her sister, reaching out with her hand to cup the younger girl's face. Nefertaari's jaw tensed in disapproval and she drew her hand back a moment later, looking down toward the girl's lap.
Nefertaari couldn't see the pot of kohl from where she stood beside Nenet, and Isis's affectionate mood--if it could be called that--only served as a distraction. The woman considered getting a cat of her own once, only she hadn't quite found one with a personality that she cared for. She stared at the cat and finally, she caved.
"You could just ask, you know. I can get more from father. Or is it the thrill? Do you aspire to become a thief?" Nefertaari asked, curling her fingers inward to scratch the cat's back. Isis purred, but the elder sister maintained her grimace in an effort not to smile. Finally, she stopped, but when she moved her hand, it was only to extend it toward her sister again, palm facing upward. "Please, Nenet. I don't have another jar right now, and I've been invited to a party tonight. I need that back."
To say that Nefertaari was whining wasn't far from the truth; in some ways, the woman was not unlike her younger sisters. Though she strove to be her father's most precious gem, Nefertaari had failed in finding a suitable partner for marriage. She was growing older than she'd like to admit, with no family of her own and definitely no children--though how she'd managed that was another rumor altogether, and it was one Nefertaari couldn't help but think about it at that moment, while her mind was still hazy from the high that she'd given herself.
At that moment, a dark cloud passed over her features, and she struggled inwardly to maintain her composure as she awaited the return of her kohl.
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Words couldn't express the disgust that crept into Nefertaari's features the moment she stepped into Nenet's room. Her dark gaze swept over the mass, astonished that someone could live in such... She didn't want to say squalor; she had no clue as to her sister's mental state, after all. Instead of lashing out and raising her voice, the eldest daughter of Hei Sheifa drew a sharp breath inward, held it, and then exhaled slowly.
"Nenet... You know better," she began, her words slow and strained. She would have to request some of her father's merchandise to replace what Nenet broke. While she was aware that it was likely Isis at fault, the woman wasn't going to lay blame on a cat. After all, Nenet was the one that led Isis into her room.
"How can you live in this room?" Nefertaari followed up with, her bewilderment evident in her voice. Vexation twisted around it, belying her frustration with her sister's actions. "And your face, dear gods. Give back my kohl. Now."
She studied her sister as she spoke, having already finished her survey of the room. If it were up to her, someone would be cleaning the mess Nenet lived in presently. Nefertaari approached her sister, reaching out with her hand to cup the younger girl's face. Nefertaari's jaw tensed in disapproval and she drew her hand back a moment later, looking down toward the girl's lap.
Nefertaari couldn't see the pot of kohl from where she stood beside Nenet, and Isis's affectionate mood--if it could be called that--only served as a distraction. The woman considered getting a cat of her own once, only she hadn't quite found one with a personality that she cared for. She stared at the cat and finally, she caved.
"You could just ask, you know. I can get more from father. Or is it the thrill? Do you aspire to become a thief?" Nefertaari asked, curling her fingers inward to scratch the cat's back. Isis purred, but the elder sister maintained her grimace in an effort not to smile. Finally, she stopped, but when she moved her hand, it was only to extend it toward her sister again, palm facing upward. "Please, Nenet. I don't have another jar right now, and I've been invited to a party tonight. I need that back."
To say that Nefertaari was whining wasn't far from the truth; in some ways, the woman was not unlike her younger sisters. Though she strove to be her father's most precious gem, Nefertaari had failed in finding a suitable partner for marriage. She was growing older than she'd like to admit, with no family of her own and definitely no children--though how she'd managed that was another rumor altogether, and it was one Nefertaari couldn't help but think about it at that moment, while her mind was still hazy from the high that she'd given herself.
At that moment, a dark cloud passed over her features, and she struggled inwardly to maintain her composure as she awaited the return of her kohl.
Words couldn't express the disgust that crept into Nefertaari's features the moment she stepped into Nenet's room. Her dark gaze swept over the mass, astonished that someone could live in such... She didn't want to say squalor; she had no clue as to her sister's mental state, after all. Instead of lashing out and raising her voice, the eldest daughter of Hei Sheifa drew a sharp breath inward, held it, and then exhaled slowly.
"Nenet... You know better," she began, her words slow and strained. She would have to request some of her father's merchandise to replace what Nenet broke. While she was aware that it was likely Isis at fault, the woman wasn't going to lay blame on a cat. After all, Nenet was the one that led Isis into her room.
"How can you live in this room?" Nefertaari followed up with, her bewilderment evident in her voice. Vexation twisted around it, belying her frustration with her sister's actions. "And your face, dear gods. Give back my kohl. Now."
She studied her sister as she spoke, having already finished her survey of the room. If it were up to her, someone would be cleaning the mess Nenet lived in presently. Nefertaari approached her sister, reaching out with her hand to cup the younger girl's face. Nefertaari's jaw tensed in disapproval and she drew her hand back a moment later, looking down toward the girl's lap.
Nefertaari couldn't see the pot of kohl from where she stood beside Nenet, and Isis's affectionate mood--if it could be called that--only served as a distraction. The woman considered getting a cat of her own once, only she hadn't quite found one with a personality that she cared for. She stared at the cat and finally, she caved.
"You could just ask, you know. I can get more from father. Or is it the thrill? Do you aspire to become a thief?" Nefertaari asked, curling her fingers inward to scratch the cat's back. Isis purred, but the elder sister maintained her grimace in an effort not to smile. Finally, she stopped, but when she moved her hand, it was only to extend it toward her sister again, palm facing upward. "Please, Nenet. I don't have another jar right now, and I've been invited to a party tonight. I need that back."
To say that Nefertaari was whining wasn't far from the truth; in some ways, the woman was not unlike her younger sisters. Though she strove to be her father's most precious gem, Nefertaari had failed in finding a suitable partner for marriage. She was growing older than she'd like to admit, with no family of her own and definitely no children--though how she'd managed that was another rumor altogether, and it was one Nefertaari couldn't help but think about it at that moment, while her mind was still hazy from the high that she'd given herself.
At that moment, a dark cloud passed over her features, and she struggled inwardly to maintain her composure as she awaited the return of her kohl.
“Nenet... You know better,” came from behind her and Nenet rolled her eyes as she pretended not to listen. She took her sister’s tone as that of a parent scolding a child. As Nefertaari was not her mother and she was not a child, it naturally bristled against her pride. It didn’t matter, at the moment, that she was in the wrong. She still didn’t like being spoken to that way, and so she kept her back to her sister and her eyes on the painting.
“How can you live in this room?”
That did make Nenet turn. First she glanced at her sister, sensing the confusion and then she looked around. Her eyes lit on pile after pile, item after misplaced item. No one else’s room was in this much disarray. She knew that very well because she snooped in all their rooms, but this was her place and she could keep it as messy as she saw fit. Though it was in times like these where she saw it through someone else’s eyes. They didn’t usually think of it as charmingly quaint or creative chaos. Her sister’s face said as much right now. Nef clearly thought it a dump heap.
“Uhhh,” she said articulately.
It was only seconds, the two of them looking around the unholy mess of a room but it might have been minutes from the way Nenet’s guard dropped for the moment. Nefertaari’s next pronouncement made her hackle and keep the jar hidden in her lap. “And your face, dear gods. Give back my kohl. Now.”
“N-n-no!” Nenet lifted her chin and whirled around on her cushion to face Nefertaari, rather than keep her back to her so that she’d be able to see her sister coming. Hair pulling hadn’t been out of the realm of possibility when they were younger and Nenet wouldn’t put it past Nefertaari, no matter how much older or beautiful the other woman was. Sisters were sisters.
To that end, when Nef stepped forward, Nenet flinched, expecting a slap but found her face cupped instead and tilted up so that her older sister could inspect her. She was all of twenty two but whenever she was around this glamazon, she felt ten years less and as ungainly as a newborn filly. Nenet didn’t want to look up, but her eyes had minds of their own and she searched Nef’s eyes, wanting to see approval there but not expecting it. Her sister’s expression suggested that she was disappointed and unhappy with what she saw and Nenet’s gaze flattened as a result. Nef let go and took a step back, her gaze sweeping again for the kohl.
“You could just ask, you know. I can get more from father. Or is it the thrill? Do you aspire to become a thief?” Nefertaari reached down to pet Isis and the cat absolutely bathed in the attention. She flopped down like the traitor she was and lazed out so that Nefertaari would be sure to pet all of her and not some of her. Nenet looked down at the cat rather than meet her sister’s eyes. She kept her mouth shut, not trusting herself not to make a stuttering spectacle while she tried to lie her way out of what was clearly a situation where she’d been caught red handed. ….or at least her cat had. Isis was positively covered in color at the moment and quite pretty, if a little splotchy, because of it.
“Please, Nenet. I don't have another jar right now, and I've been invited to a party tonight. I need that back.” Her hand extended, Nefertaari looked nearly vulnerable. The look tugged at Nenet’s heartstrings for just a single moment and she squeezed the kohl hidden in her lap by her skirt in response. Her older sister, so beautiful, was being almost nice. It would be easy to say sorry and to hand it back and Nenet almost did it...except she did have their mother’s capacity for spite and in the end, she merely looked towards her own cluttered vanity where the cosmetics were dry or empty.
“I g-g-g-guess-s y-y-y-ou’ll-ll h-h-hav-v-ve t-t-t-to s-s-s-send-d s-s-s-som-m-me o-o-on-ne t-t-t-to m-m-mark-ket-t th-en.” She kept a tight hold on the already ruined kohl.
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“Nenet... You know better,” came from behind her and Nenet rolled her eyes as she pretended not to listen. She took her sister’s tone as that of a parent scolding a child. As Nefertaari was not her mother and she was not a child, it naturally bristled against her pride. It didn’t matter, at the moment, that she was in the wrong. She still didn’t like being spoken to that way, and so she kept her back to her sister and her eyes on the painting.
“How can you live in this room?”
That did make Nenet turn. First she glanced at her sister, sensing the confusion and then she looked around. Her eyes lit on pile after pile, item after misplaced item. No one else’s room was in this much disarray. She knew that very well because she snooped in all their rooms, but this was her place and she could keep it as messy as she saw fit. Though it was in times like these where she saw it through someone else’s eyes. They didn’t usually think of it as charmingly quaint or creative chaos. Her sister’s face said as much right now. Nef clearly thought it a dump heap.
“Uhhh,” she said articulately.
It was only seconds, the two of them looking around the unholy mess of a room but it might have been minutes from the way Nenet’s guard dropped for the moment. Nefertaari’s next pronouncement made her hackle and keep the jar hidden in her lap. “And your face, dear gods. Give back my kohl. Now.”
“N-n-no!” Nenet lifted her chin and whirled around on her cushion to face Nefertaari, rather than keep her back to her so that she’d be able to see her sister coming. Hair pulling hadn’t been out of the realm of possibility when they were younger and Nenet wouldn’t put it past Nefertaari, no matter how much older or beautiful the other woman was. Sisters were sisters.
To that end, when Nef stepped forward, Nenet flinched, expecting a slap but found her face cupped instead and tilted up so that her older sister could inspect her. She was all of twenty two but whenever she was around this glamazon, she felt ten years less and as ungainly as a newborn filly. Nenet didn’t want to look up, but her eyes had minds of their own and she searched Nef’s eyes, wanting to see approval there but not expecting it. Her sister’s expression suggested that she was disappointed and unhappy with what she saw and Nenet’s gaze flattened as a result. Nef let go and took a step back, her gaze sweeping again for the kohl.
“You could just ask, you know. I can get more from father. Or is it the thrill? Do you aspire to become a thief?” Nefertaari reached down to pet Isis and the cat absolutely bathed in the attention. She flopped down like the traitor she was and lazed out so that Nefertaari would be sure to pet all of her and not some of her. Nenet looked down at the cat rather than meet her sister’s eyes. She kept her mouth shut, not trusting herself not to make a stuttering spectacle while she tried to lie her way out of what was clearly a situation where she’d been caught red handed. ….or at least her cat had. Isis was positively covered in color at the moment and quite pretty, if a little splotchy, because of it.
“Please, Nenet. I don't have another jar right now, and I've been invited to a party tonight. I need that back.” Her hand extended, Nefertaari looked nearly vulnerable. The look tugged at Nenet’s heartstrings for just a single moment and she squeezed the kohl hidden in her lap by her skirt in response. Her older sister, so beautiful, was being almost nice. It would be easy to say sorry and to hand it back and Nenet almost did it...except she did have their mother’s capacity for spite and in the end, she merely looked towards her own cluttered vanity where the cosmetics were dry or empty.
“I g-g-g-guess-s y-y-y-ou’ll-ll h-h-hav-v-ve t-t-t-to s-s-s-send-d s-s-s-som-m-me o-o-on-ne t-t-t-to m-m-mark-ket-t th-en.” She kept a tight hold on the already ruined kohl.
“Nenet... You know better,” came from behind her and Nenet rolled her eyes as she pretended not to listen. She took her sister’s tone as that of a parent scolding a child. As Nefertaari was not her mother and she was not a child, it naturally bristled against her pride. It didn’t matter, at the moment, that she was in the wrong. She still didn’t like being spoken to that way, and so she kept her back to her sister and her eyes on the painting.
“How can you live in this room?”
That did make Nenet turn. First she glanced at her sister, sensing the confusion and then she looked around. Her eyes lit on pile after pile, item after misplaced item. No one else’s room was in this much disarray. She knew that very well because she snooped in all their rooms, but this was her place and she could keep it as messy as she saw fit. Though it was in times like these where she saw it through someone else’s eyes. They didn’t usually think of it as charmingly quaint or creative chaos. Her sister’s face said as much right now. Nef clearly thought it a dump heap.
“Uhhh,” she said articulately.
It was only seconds, the two of them looking around the unholy mess of a room but it might have been minutes from the way Nenet’s guard dropped for the moment. Nefertaari’s next pronouncement made her hackle and keep the jar hidden in her lap. “And your face, dear gods. Give back my kohl. Now.”
“N-n-no!” Nenet lifted her chin and whirled around on her cushion to face Nefertaari, rather than keep her back to her so that she’d be able to see her sister coming. Hair pulling hadn’t been out of the realm of possibility when they were younger and Nenet wouldn’t put it past Nefertaari, no matter how much older or beautiful the other woman was. Sisters were sisters.
To that end, when Nef stepped forward, Nenet flinched, expecting a slap but found her face cupped instead and tilted up so that her older sister could inspect her. She was all of twenty two but whenever she was around this glamazon, she felt ten years less and as ungainly as a newborn filly. Nenet didn’t want to look up, but her eyes had minds of their own and she searched Nef’s eyes, wanting to see approval there but not expecting it. Her sister’s expression suggested that she was disappointed and unhappy with what she saw and Nenet’s gaze flattened as a result. Nef let go and took a step back, her gaze sweeping again for the kohl.
“You could just ask, you know. I can get more from father. Or is it the thrill? Do you aspire to become a thief?” Nefertaari reached down to pet Isis and the cat absolutely bathed in the attention. She flopped down like the traitor she was and lazed out so that Nefertaari would be sure to pet all of her and not some of her. Nenet looked down at the cat rather than meet her sister’s eyes. She kept her mouth shut, not trusting herself not to make a stuttering spectacle while she tried to lie her way out of what was clearly a situation where she’d been caught red handed. ….or at least her cat had. Isis was positively covered in color at the moment and quite pretty, if a little splotchy, because of it.
“Please, Nenet. I don't have another jar right now, and I've been invited to a party tonight. I need that back.” Her hand extended, Nefertaari looked nearly vulnerable. The look tugged at Nenet’s heartstrings for just a single moment and she squeezed the kohl hidden in her lap by her skirt in response. Her older sister, so beautiful, was being almost nice. It would be easy to say sorry and to hand it back and Nenet almost did it...except she did have their mother’s capacity for spite and in the end, she merely looked towards her own cluttered vanity where the cosmetics were dry or empty.
“I g-g-g-guess-s y-y-y-ou’ll-ll h-h-hav-v-ve t-t-t-to s-s-s-send-d s-s-s-som-m-me o-o-on-ne t-t-t-to m-m-mark-ket-t th-en.” She kept a tight hold on the already ruined kohl.
The elder sister fumed, drawing her hand back. Nefertaari wanted to slap Nenet, it was clear in the fury that swirled in her dark eyes. For a long moment, she stared at her sister, glowering with something akin to hatred twisting her features. Nenet's stuttering didn't help.
"Nenet. You have until the count of three," Nef growled, her voice low. It wasn't uncommon for the eldest of the h'Sheifa children to strike her siblings, and she struggled to stifle the need to hurt the younger girl. She exhaled heavily through her nose, chest heaving in an exaggerated show of vexation.
"One," she began.
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The elder sister fumed, drawing her hand back. Nefertaari wanted to slap Nenet, it was clear in the fury that swirled in her dark eyes. For a long moment, she stared at her sister, glowering with something akin to hatred twisting her features. Nenet's stuttering didn't help.
"Nenet. You have until the count of three," Nef growled, her voice low. It wasn't uncommon for the eldest of the h'Sheifa children to strike her siblings, and she struggled to stifle the need to hurt the younger girl. She exhaled heavily through her nose, chest heaving in an exaggerated show of vexation.
"One," she began.
The elder sister fumed, drawing her hand back. Nefertaari wanted to slap Nenet, it was clear in the fury that swirled in her dark eyes. For a long moment, she stared at her sister, glowering with something akin to hatred twisting her features. Nenet's stuttering didn't help.
"Nenet. You have until the count of three," Nef growled, her voice low. It wasn't uncommon for the eldest of the h'Sheifa children to strike her siblings, and she struggled to stifle the need to hurt the younger girl. She exhaled heavily through her nose, chest heaving in an exaggerated show of vexation.
"One," she began.
The motion of Nef’s hand drawing back made Nenet turn. She flinched, glaring, shoulder half raised. One arm flung out as a barrier between her face and Nefertaari’s hand. That sting was one she knew well. A slap here and there, the smack of palm on cheek, or wherever else she could reach, was actually quite common. Or, had been, anyway. Less so as they grew.
They stared at each other, brown eyes meeting dark brown eyes meeting Nenet’s large, doe-like ones. Doe eyes that remained hateful and narrowed, mirroring her sister’s threatening scowl. Still, Nenet didn’t move more than that. There was a defiance within her breast that burned like an ember, every bit as willful as any other Sheifa. Sometimes to her own detriment. Such was a family trait.
She said nothing, merely held the ink pot closer and waited, right past that warning one. She didn’t move, except to keep her arm raised if Nef kept up that threat and went to two. However, if her sister did decide to slap her, that was where Nenet would fling herself to the side to avoid it, if possible. If she couldn’t avoid it, the slap would ring true and she would get Nef back in full force.
Meanwhile, her cat, Isis, continued to weave around Nef’s legs, purring, undisturbed by what was going on between the two sisters. After all, she was a cat; glorious in all her bountiful, now very colorful, beauty. What did she care what two humans screeched about, so long as she got petted? And if she weaved around this girl’s legs long enough, flitted her tail just this way and that in such a flirty fashion, she would surely be petted. It was inevitable. Better purrup, too, just to seal in the cuteness.
“Purrup.”
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The motion of Nef’s hand drawing back made Nenet turn. She flinched, glaring, shoulder half raised. One arm flung out as a barrier between her face and Nefertaari’s hand. That sting was one she knew well. A slap here and there, the smack of palm on cheek, or wherever else she could reach, was actually quite common. Or, had been, anyway. Less so as they grew.
They stared at each other, brown eyes meeting dark brown eyes meeting Nenet’s large, doe-like ones. Doe eyes that remained hateful and narrowed, mirroring her sister’s threatening scowl. Still, Nenet didn’t move more than that. There was a defiance within her breast that burned like an ember, every bit as willful as any other Sheifa. Sometimes to her own detriment. Such was a family trait.
She said nothing, merely held the ink pot closer and waited, right past that warning one. She didn’t move, except to keep her arm raised if Nef kept up that threat and went to two. However, if her sister did decide to slap her, that was where Nenet would fling herself to the side to avoid it, if possible. If she couldn’t avoid it, the slap would ring true and she would get Nef back in full force.
Meanwhile, her cat, Isis, continued to weave around Nef’s legs, purring, undisturbed by what was going on between the two sisters. After all, she was a cat; glorious in all her bountiful, now very colorful, beauty. What did she care what two humans screeched about, so long as she got petted? And if she weaved around this girl’s legs long enough, flitted her tail just this way and that in such a flirty fashion, she would surely be petted. It was inevitable. Better purrup, too, just to seal in the cuteness.
“Purrup.”
The motion of Nef’s hand drawing back made Nenet turn. She flinched, glaring, shoulder half raised. One arm flung out as a barrier between her face and Nefertaari’s hand. That sting was one she knew well. A slap here and there, the smack of palm on cheek, or wherever else she could reach, was actually quite common. Or, had been, anyway. Less so as they grew.
They stared at each other, brown eyes meeting dark brown eyes meeting Nenet’s large, doe-like ones. Doe eyes that remained hateful and narrowed, mirroring her sister’s threatening scowl. Still, Nenet didn’t move more than that. There was a defiance within her breast that burned like an ember, every bit as willful as any other Sheifa. Sometimes to her own detriment. Such was a family trait.
She said nothing, merely held the ink pot closer and waited, right past that warning one. She didn’t move, except to keep her arm raised if Nef kept up that threat and went to two. However, if her sister did decide to slap her, that was where Nenet would fling herself to the side to avoid it, if possible. If she couldn’t avoid it, the slap would ring true and she would get Nef back in full force.
Meanwhile, her cat, Isis, continued to weave around Nef’s legs, purring, undisturbed by what was going on between the two sisters. After all, she was a cat; glorious in all her bountiful, now very colorful, beauty. What did she care what two humans screeched about, so long as she got petted? And if she weaved around this girl’s legs long enough, flitted her tail just this way and that in such a flirty fashion, she would surely be petted. It was inevitable. Better purrup, too, just to seal in the cuteness.
“Purrup.”
Nefertaari felt the heat of her ire rise in her cheeks, fury twisting her features to its whim. She felt Isis curling between her legs, her lithe, furry body a soft touch against her skin. The threat seemed to do very little to urge Nenet to return the stolen kohl, and she didn’t much care for being violent anyway. It took more energy than Nefertaari wished to part with. An exasperated sigh left her lips, and she shook her head, clucking her tongue against the roof of her mouth.
“You’ll pay for it later,” Nefertaari warned, her voice a low growl. She was tired of the younger girl’s pranks—almost as much as she was the rest of her siblings. Their only purpose thus far in her life seemed to be one of vexation. She huffed with frustration.
She bent at the waist briefly, petting Isis for a moment or two as her dark gaze fixed coldly on Nenet. “And don’t think I won’t remember this, either.”
Her voice cracked, a break in her tough façade as she stood up straight once more. There was loathing in Nefertaari’s dark gaze, a malefic twist of her mouth the only indication that there was any other sort of thoughts crossing the woman’s mind. She stepped carefully around Isis as not to step on her and made her way toward the door with slow, exaggerated strides: she was giving Nenet the opportunity to correct her trespasses before it was too late.
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Nefertaari felt the heat of her ire rise in her cheeks, fury twisting her features to its whim. She felt Isis curling between her legs, her lithe, furry body a soft touch against her skin. The threat seemed to do very little to urge Nenet to return the stolen kohl, and she didn’t much care for being violent anyway. It took more energy than Nefertaari wished to part with. An exasperated sigh left her lips, and she shook her head, clucking her tongue against the roof of her mouth.
“You’ll pay for it later,” Nefertaari warned, her voice a low growl. She was tired of the younger girl’s pranks—almost as much as she was the rest of her siblings. Their only purpose thus far in her life seemed to be one of vexation. She huffed with frustration.
She bent at the waist briefly, petting Isis for a moment or two as her dark gaze fixed coldly on Nenet. “And don’t think I won’t remember this, either.”
Her voice cracked, a break in her tough façade as she stood up straight once more. There was loathing in Nefertaari’s dark gaze, a malefic twist of her mouth the only indication that there was any other sort of thoughts crossing the woman’s mind. She stepped carefully around Isis as not to step on her and made her way toward the door with slow, exaggerated strides: she was giving Nenet the opportunity to correct her trespasses before it was too late.
Nefertaari felt the heat of her ire rise in her cheeks, fury twisting her features to its whim. She felt Isis curling between her legs, her lithe, furry body a soft touch against her skin. The threat seemed to do very little to urge Nenet to return the stolen kohl, and she didn’t much care for being violent anyway. It took more energy than Nefertaari wished to part with. An exasperated sigh left her lips, and she shook her head, clucking her tongue against the roof of her mouth.
“You’ll pay for it later,” Nefertaari warned, her voice a low growl. She was tired of the younger girl’s pranks—almost as much as she was the rest of her siblings. Their only purpose thus far in her life seemed to be one of vexation. She huffed with frustration.
She bent at the waist briefly, petting Isis for a moment or two as her dark gaze fixed coldly on Nenet. “And don’t think I won’t remember this, either.”
Her voice cracked, a break in her tough façade as she stood up straight once more. There was loathing in Nefertaari’s dark gaze, a malefic twist of her mouth the only indication that there was any other sort of thoughts crossing the woman’s mind. She stepped carefully around Isis as not to step on her and made her way toward the door with slow, exaggerated strides: she was giving Nenet the opportunity to correct her trespasses before it was too late.
For a few long seconds, they stared at each other, Nenet’s arm raised, Nef’s fury palpably radiating off her. Then...Nef seemed to change her mind. Her hand lowered and she muttered “You’ll pay for it later.” Nenet slowly, slowly lowered her arm as she watched her big sister bend down to pet Isis. What had stayed Nef’s hand, she wasn’t entirely sure but she was thinking that she really had gotten away with this. Even with her sister’s threat, Nenet didn’t truly believe it. Probably Nef had bigger fish to fry, right?
Isis soaked up the attention, not caring that the two girls were glowering at each other, so long as she got her pets. As Nefertaari’s hand stroked up her back, Isis bumped her hind end up, tail flicking this way and that, and she purrrrrrrrrred. Then, all too soon, Nefertaari was rising back up, away from her and Isis spun on the spot, watching her head towards the door. With a meow she ordered the woman to come back but she didn’t actually follow. That’d be beneath her, of course.
Instead, the cat looked around, saw Nenet’s lap, identified that as a perfect spot, and promptly plopped down in it.
On reflex, Nenet stroked her cat’s fur but her attention was on Nef. She’d seen the bitter loathing there and it made her shiver. Probably to her detriment, though, she was stubborn. A little too stubborn to give up what she’d so clearly won and she kept internally telling herself that Nefertaari wouldn’t actually make good on those threats. As soon as her sister was out of the room, Nenet planned on continuing her painting, uninterrupted. It was like her family had no concept of knocking or privacy.
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For a few long seconds, they stared at each other, Nenet’s arm raised, Nef’s fury palpably radiating off her. Then...Nef seemed to change her mind. Her hand lowered and she muttered “You’ll pay for it later.” Nenet slowly, slowly lowered her arm as she watched her big sister bend down to pet Isis. What had stayed Nef’s hand, she wasn’t entirely sure but she was thinking that she really had gotten away with this. Even with her sister’s threat, Nenet didn’t truly believe it. Probably Nef had bigger fish to fry, right?
Isis soaked up the attention, not caring that the two girls were glowering at each other, so long as she got her pets. As Nefertaari’s hand stroked up her back, Isis bumped her hind end up, tail flicking this way and that, and she purrrrrrrrrred. Then, all too soon, Nefertaari was rising back up, away from her and Isis spun on the spot, watching her head towards the door. With a meow she ordered the woman to come back but she didn’t actually follow. That’d be beneath her, of course.
Instead, the cat looked around, saw Nenet’s lap, identified that as a perfect spot, and promptly plopped down in it.
On reflex, Nenet stroked her cat’s fur but her attention was on Nef. She’d seen the bitter loathing there and it made her shiver. Probably to her detriment, though, she was stubborn. A little too stubborn to give up what she’d so clearly won and she kept internally telling herself that Nefertaari wouldn’t actually make good on those threats. As soon as her sister was out of the room, Nenet planned on continuing her painting, uninterrupted. It was like her family had no concept of knocking or privacy.
For a few long seconds, they stared at each other, Nenet’s arm raised, Nef’s fury palpably radiating off her. Then...Nef seemed to change her mind. Her hand lowered and she muttered “You’ll pay for it later.” Nenet slowly, slowly lowered her arm as she watched her big sister bend down to pet Isis. What had stayed Nef’s hand, she wasn’t entirely sure but she was thinking that she really had gotten away with this. Even with her sister’s threat, Nenet didn’t truly believe it. Probably Nef had bigger fish to fry, right?
Isis soaked up the attention, not caring that the two girls were glowering at each other, so long as she got her pets. As Nefertaari’s hand stroked up her back, Isis bumped her hind end up, tail flicking this way and that, and she purrrrrrrrrred. Then, all too soon, Nefertaari was rising back up, away from her and Isis spun on the spot, watching her head towards the door. With a meow she ordered the woman to come back but she didn’t actually follow. That’d be beneath her, of course.
Instead, the cat looked around, saw Nenet’s lap, identified that as a perfect spot, and promptly plopped down in it.
On reflex, Nenet stroked her cat’s fur but her attention was on Nef. She’d seen the bitter loathing there and it made her shiver. Probably to her detriment, though, she was stubborn. A little too stubborn to give up what she’d so clearly won and she kept internally telling herself that Nefertaari wouldn’t actually make good on those threats. As soon as her sister was out of the room, Nenet planned on continuing her painting, uninterrupted. It was like her family had no concept of knocking or privacy.
