"There's a woman with Kesi."

"She's covered in blood!"

Amenemhat did not take well to hearsay like this whirling about in his circus. It was, at best, a distraction. Meaningless drivel meant to rouse the attention away from what really needed doing. The circus was born in Alexandria in many ways, born again and inexorably tied to the province of the ringmaster's birth. Aside from the cities of Cair and Thebes, immeasurably wealthy port towns with constant influxes of people, it was this province that provided the circus with the greatest benefit. All land was owned by the pharaohs of Egypt, but the circus had its own fixtures, allowing them greater leniency to vary their performances in a way that didn't happen in the cities.

Here, they were free to spread their influence, and their encampment, to cover much more space. Acrobats and their practised patterns tumbled and fell into fot sands, while servants worked diligently to prepare the circus for the show. He'd heard, as he shifted through camp, that Kesi indeed landed herself in the medicinal tent with Rekhmire, but it wasn't his prerogative to linger on about it. He'd taken a look before it was left at that. She seemed to be in a stable condition, likely treated before her arrival.

Prudent, he admitted. At the very least, a reprehensible mistake could be glazed over with placating gestures. He'd certainly find out. Instead of confronting his sister about what transpired, he heard that whomever had brought Kesi back might've been responsible for her injuries in the first place. While the notion itself was not outside of the realm of possibility (Kesi had made stranger friends before), it also required investigation and perhaps, a lighter hand than some of his loyalists could manage. Some were too emotionally invested in Kesi to have the stillness of thought to make proper judgments.

As in all things, Nem trusted in himself to handle these sorts of matters, especially in the wake of the woman's arrival and the subsequent distraction of his workers from their tasks. Nem rolled his eyes at them, waving off workers who had stopped and performers who were not practicing just as he made his ascent. This woman looked of uncertain ancestry, with the structure of a Greek but tinged with the darker olive tones of an Egyptian native. Perhaps she was a Greek that'd languished within Egypt until their skin became accustomed to the lash of the sun.

Or, maybe she was something else. A simple observation that served its purpose, at least, to decide what language he'd speak around her. Coptic was the readily understood language in the circus. While many who stood beneath Amenemhat's banner were Egyptian, a great many were of foreign make, from Judeans to those of Asian and then, beyond that, far more uncertain ancestry. So, he turned to Greek. The recently ordained ringmaster of the Tempest of Set held many things in regard, and a capacity for language... it only seemed correct to be inexorably bound to Set and understand the tongues of the foreigners he favoured.

And those he hated, too. Idly, he thought of the Judeans and the ire their heretic worship must've brought to the deity. Then, he shrugged his shoulders of it as he spoke out in Greek to his guest,

"I heard you stabbed my sister, foreigner. It's a courtesy given for her safe return to me that I allow you to explain yourself."

Simply stated, amber orbs met the woman's gaze, his expression neutral. He'd reserve judgment for now. After all, Kesi had her strange way of making friends. Slaughtering one of them for a possible misunderstanding seemed a poor way to reward their diligent service.

"I can, and I shall."

The foreign-looking woman answered in smooth Coptic, and though the ringmaster of the Tempest of Set held little ill-will towards foreigners, he felt himself relax, if just slightly. There was practised ease in speaking his mother tongue, and it often raised less questions within the circus itself to speak it. Even when all could understand the language, it created less suspicion and less unrest when Amenemhat spoke it on the circus grounds. As the leader of his own personal kingdom, the ringmaster was above scrutiny. It was not out of fear of being ousted, or his motives known, that he minded such things.

He minded them because their ears listening meant their hands turned idle. It implied that their tongues would wag, and most importantly, their productivity would suffer. Far be it for Amenemhat to chastise his performers for this, for they were artists and worked as they did. But, creating opportunities for them to gossip was the most concern he held for their ears listening. So, as this woman spoke, Amenemhat minded very little what tongue she spoke, so long as he could understand her.

He held little regard for the tone in her voice, but he found her expression, and the way that her hands folded behind her back and the propriety in her stance. Amenemhat almost wanted to chuckle at the notion. Not one to languish within the cities of Egypt, the notion of respect through mannerisms was one he enjoyed very little. But, those on the outside looking in... they couldn't possibly understand the machinations of a mind separated from the common notions within society. To see someone's posture and expression so twisted...

While most Egyptians held ill-regard for twisting the truth, it was a weapon that Amenemhat treasured most of all. This doctor woman... she seemed interesting, in just the few words she spoke... She made herself a curiosity, one that the ringmaster allowed to supersede the ire that came with the facts. The simple truth that she'd stabbed his sister might've been enough for him to spring forward and wring the air from her throat. But, he stayed his hand.

There was no need to rush to it, after all. He allowed her to finish her explanation, but instead... she offered the simple perception that he would not want his business laid at the feet of his people.

His people? There were the slaves, whose opinions did not matter, and more importantly, were pliable at the behest of a whip's lash and witnessing far more gruesome consequences for less. Then, there were those who were free but kept at a distance, both in terms of awareness and in level of responsibility. Little more than outsiders looking in, it might complicate matters when such souls were privy to unnecessary information...

But, then there were those who laid their lives for the cause. The Tempest of Set was a living entity, one that shifted with the sands and echoed through the century. Posterity required not only sacrifice, but the will to enact that sacrifice, whether it be one's worst enemy or the soul closest to their chest. The inner circle of the Tempest of Set had yet to defy Amenemhat's expectations for them. They served their messiah as they should.

So, when Skylla referred to the people who need not know his business... he wondered exactly who she meant. Regardless, the ringmaster felt the chuckle leave his lips as he pressed forward. There was no fear of proximity within the circus. All of Nem's life, he'd grown with the understanding that this was his to claim. He'd wrested it, using Kesi's hands, from his father, and nothing would rend it from his grasp. The ringmaster brought his fingertips to the woman's jawline, his index settling just beneath the square bone and the base of her ear. He tilted her head upward.

There was no lack of admiration for the woman before him. She spoke plainly enough for his liking, but not so much that she could be perceived as foolish because of it.

"If you insist, then follow." The grasp upon her jawline tightened for just a moment before he released her, cocking his head towards his personal tent.

Open to the outside world, for the moment, Amenemhat waited for his guest to pass the threshold before he lowered the curtain so that light only poured in the visored holes at the top of the tent.

"What's your name?"

And why did Kesi encounter you, he wanted to continue, but asking the simple was the prudent move. Already, this woman implied something in her words, and while fear for exposure did not exist in the ringmaster's heart, there was an innate understanding that proceeding slowly was the correct course of action. If only for his companion's sake, for she seemed to relish her position, deep within the territory of a foreign entity. That sort of fascination could be seen upon her expression, caught in her confidence. There was more to this woman than simply 'I stabbed your sister', and being thrown into the ground as a result of it.

"I asked you a question before. Tell me that, as well."

Not spoken as requests, Amenemhat made his expectations clear.