February 26, 2003.02.26.03. - brother's comfort [judah][cymaa]
(nakhti)
the message, the call, again those things that have drawn him from the high heat of his flat into the bitter cold of the cloudy night and into the familiar club once more, coat checked, shoes removed, slender body stalking down the long hallway foyer, fingertips absently brushing along the carved tiles in half-caress - but his attention is elsewherenot on the swelling press of heated bodies, not on the myriad scents that wash and tease across his senses, not even on the bar that offers such wond'rous things to quench his everlasting thirst
dark eyes search the arrogant ruler, the Pharoah of this strange, strange misplaced kingdom, cuffs of black linen pants marking the sand with each step, low waistband clinging to bare flesh that rises to his shoulders blessed with the tribal inks of thoth's ever-watching eye before the inky tendrils of long hair sway in silent stride
(judah)
He is poised like the son of perhaps Olympias and Amon. Tall and lean, with delicate features and soft caressing tresses of the deepest darkest secrets cradling the angles and lines of each jaw. His body is shifted oddly at one angle, most of his fair weight is jutted out over one hip, exposing the dangerously sharp bone of his hip.The black wrap hangs low on his hips exposing his navel and the fine dark path of hair that trails down his stomach, his shirt is black as well and it snugs the wiry strong muscles of his upper body. There is a fine pout that resides on the swell of his lips, and the dark whispers of anger flicker flash within the pools of brilliant shimmering green eyes.
He is alone, positioned there, aloof, watching the dancers with no more than lingering interest. His overly long, thin arms seem like useless appendages, and hang still and lifeless near his sides.
(nakhti)
the lithe hunter prowling in the darkness, his desert home now transformed into the jungle of writhing, dancing, spinning trees resident below the glittering night's sky colored with the thundering storm of speakers lashing music towards the distant horizons - he weaves between these trees, he searches beyond the templestic decorations scattered on the floors, he ignores the cannibalistic sacrifices which throw themselves at the feet of enormous Jackal gods watching them as doomed preysoon enough he breaches the make-shift forest, he leaves the trees to enter the small glade clearing which acts as nave before the altar of flesh, the long and lean lines of the resident cat somehow mottled by yet consuming the darkness as he stands, weight oddly proportioned over one hip, the exotic drown into flickeringly angry pout... it does not seem to sway the intentions of the smaller man, it does not halt his steady approach
not until he is within reach, placing himself within the reign of the other, finely sculpted chin lifting, drawing those eyes up the blackswathedcreature until darkest swirls of brown and green meet the brilliant emerald, waiting his acknowledgement
(judah)
Judah is handsome, and pretty at the same time. A masculine strength cannot be denied, yet the mix of femininity within the lean shape of his body, and the full pout of his lips, the thick dark lashes that encase the most resplendent green eyes cannot be denied ... he is both ... yet neither completely. The darkness that threatens to lash out from his very pupils cuts towards Nakhti and he pauses ..as if listening to voices far far away....and finally, then, allows the outermost edges of his lips to tug up slightly .....a smile.
"Nakhti.." His lips move purposely so that the other can read each syllable clearly. His weight and the way it is portioned so oddly does not change, his arms dangle listlessly against the strong curve of his thigh, and bare toes peek out from the ankle length wrap that is tied so suggestively around his waist ....
The jungle of flesh the other Bubasti traversed to reach the Prince of Cats is regaurded still with the slightest bit of passing interest. Perhaps there is one in the entire crowd that attracts his ever roaming eye ... and he is quite fickle...and the tree he selects might be used as a scratching post with which to sharpen his oh so dangerous claws ... before being tossed away....used and discarded.
(nakhti)
as the smile tugs slightly at the corner of the Prince's lips, a familiar expression perhaps ghosts across the dusky pinked swells on Nakhti's own face, though it is colored by his sorrow, the inner agony that he has not yet learned to fully hide in dark gaze, the keening wail so prepared to sound across the plains they could never hear but only feel should the trigger be found and pulled, the pain swirls deep in the eyes colored with the Nile's muddy banks, the brilliant green so natural and normal for their Tribe hidden by some other sin to tone it into the darkest hazelI have much to tell you
writ across the paper pulled from hidden pocket, held up so the other could see without the confusion of gestures pantomining what sign language would have conveyed if only the other understood, and a dark brow lifts towards the thick shock of tamed shadows that crown his skull (the only question is where do you wish to hear it) as again the young cat settles to wait the other's direction
(judah)
His movements are no more than a sweet exhaled sigh. The black gauze like wrap flows around his legs with each movement as he guides Nahkti towards a back booth. He has no worries as to whether or not they will be interrupted ...none within these walls would be so stupid. The small booth is curved in a half moon shape, and it encloses those that sit within in a heated shadowy embrace.Judah waits for Nakhti to sit before he himself eases his tall frame back into a seated position.
Long legs cross somewhat, and his arms cross over his lap. He seems to almost fold into himself as he offers up the other his entire gaze (here...it is yours...do with it what you will..) and his complete attention (...isn't this what you wanted, desired, for the nonce...?) has suddenly become the possession of Nakhti."I am listening, brother..."
(nakhti)
how sweet it is to suddenly possess the singular gift others so achingly crave, that guidance away from the throb of crowd, the full attention narrowing and focusing within the confines of the half-moon booth's intimacy - others would beg and claw and scrap for what the smaller shadowcat recieved so freelythere is little time wasted to revel in such ambrosious attentions, to drink his fill of the sheer presence cascading across his senses, to study each of the tiniest perceptions which draw upon the borders of his mind, it is an effort to refrain from such indulgences and desires, instinctual whim convinced the hunger for knowledge is greater, another paper is withdrawn from the loose pants clinging so precariously to thin hips, unfolded across the table as Judah folds himself to sit, Arabic neatly lining the dull white sheet, words a springboard for the conversation to come
One of our Kin has discovered Cymaa, greedy for the treasures we keep.
The Children of Anubis tresspassed last eve to request I join their hunt for the Grandsons of Thunder - those that caused the death of my mate. For this hunt I need your blessings, Brother.(judah)
The fair pink of his tongue is exposed as it smoothes over the fullness of his bottom lip. It is a lazy gesture, one more of habit rather than conscious thought. "I see ..." He replies quietly, eyes never leaving Nahkti until the paper is exposed and addressed. The dark lover of shadows and secrets takes in what is expressed, and what is written on the paper .... and the full space of a song passes leaving them washed in its music and alone in silence; a feeling that the voiceless Bubasti must know (and hate..?) all too well."Grandson's Thunder..." Her repeats, the final 'er' of the last word spoken are drawn up higher in tone to denote a question, a fact lost on the deaf one near his side. However, the perk of one brow might translate his questioning all the better. He nods slightly not shifting his weight in the least .... seemingly comfortable in any spot or position.
"I know they were here....I was showed the security tape this afternoon.....I watched you...and them....and you a bit more"
(nakhti)
the hurt is still raw, the void which was created in the little black soul swells violent in the memories that crash to surface, that he is simply too young and too inexperienced to yet control and hide, pain and betrayal run thick in their veins, from the moment their ancestors reached into the darkest shadows and withdrew hands so tainted Seline never reflected her grace upon them again, it is a heritage he is used to, from the sake of blood and the shape with which he clawed from his mother's wombsomething that has been nurtured into the bitter lust of vengance, the promise of the power he will one day yeild should by the grace of midnight the talents be blessed into his possession for the seeds of anger and solitude grow into the most twisted and thorned of trees
thorns now which crave thunder's blood, and that of the Romani he also holds responsible, the ones that spread their scents in Judah's sacred temple, the ones he will use as means to their end
but he is young, such a power is not yet within his grasp, and the slope of bare inked shoulders reveals the hope of which he has come to this elder cat, so that he may begin to walk the paths his ancestors have haunted since the great Kypher roamed the deserts of his home (Shadow Lords killed one taken into the House of Bast) a pen had twirled from nothing to etch the words across paper
and then his head tilts, tendrils of hair brushing babysoft on angular cheeks, a curiosity gleaning into the aching gaze as the pen draws once again (and what did you see, brother?)
(judah)
There is a moment's pause, and in that time his slender index finger lifts and rubs aimlessly along his full bottom lip in thought. He reads Nakhti's question and considers it for even a longer still moment. Judah is a man that takes months to plan revenge ... and years to see them to fruition. He is very nearly anal in all that he does ... following the path of reckless abandon rarely."Pain. Uncontrolled, misguided and directed ... " His arms fold back over his lap, and he is so long and lean that he almost seems too tall to fit so compactly and so neatly the way he manages to next to Nakhti. "You should pick and choose your battles with your mind....not your heart. I am not telling you what to do, brother.....but take heed, those of our ilk do not have use for us, nor do they care for us ... we are alone in our existence. We have only our blood to rely on....all others believe us extinct...relic witches....or live to see us as such..."
(nakhti)
there is a nod, that tainted gaze averts in a breif show of understanding and rare humility, something perhaps an older Bubasti would be the only to see, as the prodigal son is reminded of his lessons (I know, Brother. The Children of Anubis wish to leave me with the corpses of Thunder's as equally as I do them.) then there is a pause, and eyes so dark lift to the brilliant greenHarlequin had use for him when no others would even draw near, much less care, and that affected the young shadowcat so deeply
this should take months, this should even take years to wait and plan for the proper time to strike, when the necessary tools have been gathered and the creatures of wolven moon have stopped looking over their shoulders (But it is dishonor to not be there when they strike for my mate... even if I am not one within the battle) he knows he is not a fighter, he knows he does not possess the strength of the larger of their kind - his battle is to direct, trip, and betray, the others will fall as he watches, the others will do the work he cannot (It is why I seek your advice and blessing)
of his limitations he is well aware
(judah)
"If you were hungry, and I told you that bread without water would not sate you ... that it would make your hunger still for a moment, but your thirst would drive you mad ...you would not believe me. My words would be like so much air ... passing in and out of you, dismissed so that you might feed your desires....wants....needs." He pauses, a sigh breaches his lips and his eyes shift to Nakhti fully once more."Listen to me brother. My words will mean nothing to you. You will do what your mind has decided to do, no matter of my blessing or my desire .... would you build the foundation of our relationship on lies and half truths....? I understand your loss. It radiates from you like a sorrowful grey light. I am....oddly intrigued at the way it attracts me, like carrion to death....tell me what it is you want from me, brother...what is it that I can do for you ... that will help you?" A brow arches, and he leans his head to one side ... curious and intense green eyes never falter from their intended.
(nakhti)
there is still the slight aversion of his gaze, knowing he should know better, and at the final question dark eyes pull completely away, and the paper is pulled before him, slender fingers dark across the paper gleaming in oblique lights, the patterened wedge across the back of left hand draping to melt around his wrist and tease of the things that lay struck into the skin of his inner arm along the beam of each cartoush that decorates the limbit is a moment of silence, deeper, thicker than what normally surrounds the young mute cat, for it is now he seems to draw inwards, gathering his thoughts as easily as swallowing the shadows lurking around them in the private booth, and as he begins writing, even if he does not outwardly even flicker, he is suddenly raw, risk taken in the the gutting emotions that subside coiled within slender frame lain in open sacrifice as the words pattern the page
I am lost. I am empty. I do not know how to understand or fill this void. I do not know what to do. I do not have the experience or knowledge to avenge their violation. I do not know how to correct the insult of my mate's death. But I know what I want. I want to quench Bast's thirst for the blood of the Children of Thunder and Anubis because they destroyed her blessed creation. I want to know how this can be done.
as the paper twists beneath nimble fingers to right itself to Judah's pleasure, those eyes lift once more, and lock on the other Bubasti
(judah)
"Allow the dogs to do what it is that they do best.....and above everything else....never betray your blood. You cannot expose what you are Nakhti. You must lie like the cobra and wait....let them think that you are less than you are....allow them to underestimate you....and when they are full of themselves...you strike." His hand covers Nahkti's and he holds onto it gently, in an attempt to offer comfort...something somewhat alien to him. "Give me 1 night to meditate within my sacred place. Come to me tomorrow, and I will give you an option. I can guide you brother, and teach you ... but I cannot tell you what it is you should do..." There is a soft squeeze felt on the others hand as Judah begins to unfold himself from the seat and that somewhat timid touch fades as the Prince of Cats moves. "Will you allow me this?"(nakhti)
as the hand covers his own, the tightly controlled tremble is betraying telegraph to what swirls and storms so violently within him - at first he wants to pull away, an instinctive recoil from the touch that is not what he aches for, but the spiking fear quickly moves away, allowing himself to drown in the timidly offered comfort, the first he has allowed since the moment Whispers spoke to him, fingers lifting in stroke against the other's hand, head that wishes to hang moving in only the accepting nod (I will accept your guidance and teachings gratefully, Brother, and return to you tomorrow.) and the pen falls horizontal, resting over the paper as if exhausted by the words it was forced to scribeas the touch fades, the hand lifts to his chin, dropping in silent gesture (thank you) as the mourning cat merely watches the other begin to move away
(judah)
Posted by nakhti at February 26, 2003 12:00 AM
Each move is lazy and languid, as if he could take days to walk from the booth to his destination, and not care about the time wasted in between. Yet, there is a heavier lilt in each step ... he is burdened now with two ..when he was his only concern prior. The weight of decisions and a nights worth of meditation and consideration force a sigh from his lips. As he heads away from Nakhti for the night ...
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