To meet in a dark alleyway [Open]

[Amonsef Mahiriah]

It was late into the sunset, nearing dusk. The marketplace had grown dark enough that scattered torches had been lit to illuminate pieces of its narrow walkways; most of these would only be lit half of the night, if even. People remaining were few and far between, though there were some clustered groups sitting to chat or joke into the evening. A majority of shops were closed at this hour... or closing.

Such was the case with the shop a hooded figure now approached. The slim frame of a young man in a dark red skirt, his torso covered in a dark brown cloak with the deep hood pulled over his head enough to cast shadows down his face. Though he was too tan to be anywhere near nobility, cuffs of thin gold leaf clung to his ankles, despite his shoes being as worn and ragged as any commoner's.
"I'm done for the day. Come back in the morning," said the man behind the table dismissively.
Dark eyes embedded in almost as dark circles watched the shopkeeper continue to pack up his wares - mainly different kinds of knives, mixed with a few other small tools. "... I won't be back in the morning." Answered the cloaked figure at barely audible volume, almost like he was talking more to himself than the shopkeeper.
"Later, then. Just not this late, you hear?" The man continued packing up, barely sparing his would-be customer a glance.
"I won't be back tomorrow." The hooded young man said slowly.
The shopkeeper scoffed. "Well, that's your decision. Early birds get the worms and all that. What kind of fool are you anyways, trying to shop at this hou-"
"Look at me when I talk to you, old man," the cloaked figure spoke with sudden ice in his words. When the shopkeeper lifted his eyes to meet the youth's gaze, his face grew alarmed and his lanky frame seemed to bristle. No amount of shadow could conceal the strands of pure white hair framing the young man's face within his hood. "I am a valued customer, am I not?" Amonsef hissed. His hand extended from the sleeve of his cloak, depositing four gold beads onto the table.

The shopkeeper eyed the gold before lifting his gaze to the hooded figure again. Fear flickered through his eyes. "Yes... Yes of course, sir." He said quickly. "Wh-What do you need?" He was brisk in sweeping the gold beads off the table to place them in his pocket, struggling not to dwell on where they might have been taken from.
"A knife," the young man answered. His gaze shifted about warily before returning to leer at the shopkeeper. "A real one." He emphasized. "A blade something like six inches. With a nice handle." The man behind the table scrambled to unpack just enough to look through some of his knives, until he picked out a few to lay out for the marauder. Amonsef looked over them carefully. He picked one up to weigh in his hand, tilting it about in his grip before setting it down again. "Seven inches." He added. The shopkeeper moved to present a few more knives, this time with seven inch blades. Amonsef gaze swept calmly through them again until he picked another up, testing the feel of it for a moment. "This one."

He was given the sheath, which he took to position the blade at his side. Without another word, he moved off, leaving the shopkeeper to shiver and finally set about finishing packing up. It was not far at all, though, that the hooded youth turned down a dark pathway only to bump right into someone. Reflexively, he shoved the individual away with a rough push to the shoulders. "Watch where you're going," he snapped, scowling.

[Layla]

Layla wasn't usually to being out this late. She darted through the darkening alleys, wanting to make it back to her estate before she got in any more trouble today. She was dressed in slightly dirty white dress and a typical black wig, so she would be able to fit in well with the other girls in the marketplace. Unfortunately, it was often dangerous in certain places for said girls in a marketplace at dark. Although Layla actually liked getting into trouble, often stealing things simply for the thrill of danger, she knew her family worried about her when she was out too late. For an eighteen year old, she was very beautiful (although personally she thought she looked better when she wasn't wearing the wig), and her brother had warned her not to get kidnapped and sold into slavery. She was, after all, perfectly able to do light labor and few would be dissuaded simply because her skin was lighter than the typical common Egyptian.

Still, you can barely tell, because of the darkness and the time I've spent in the sun, Layla thought, looking at her arms. She walked by a shop where the shopkeeper was closing up a knife stand, and noticed a young man in a cloak approach. His clothes were ragged, but as he walked by, Layla immediately recognized the metal on his ankles as gold as they flashed in the torch light. And his hair -- she could have sworn it was pure white.

Immediately interested in the contrast, she turned a corner in her quiet footsteps and stopped once she was out of sight. She wouldn't let herself watch, but she listened with excitement. The man sort of mumbled when he spoke, and Layla's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she heard the conversation. She froze when his tone turned menacing, but the surprise was quickly overcome by curiosity when he asked if he was a valued customer.

Slowly, carefully, she peeked around the corner just as the thin man dropped a few gold beads on the table. So either he was just rich, or he was a thief who had stolen a bracelet. No sane noble (and Layla probably wasn't included in this category) would willingly wear rags and gold at the same time. He was probably just a thief. Layla almost sighed in disappointment. So he wasn't as interesting as she had thought. She moved back behind corner and and walked away as the man was talking about what kind of knife he wanted.

But what does he need a knife this late for? she wondered. Probably to kill someone or steal something. It would be better if I left. She quickened her steps, and the man was almost out of her mind --

Until she ran into him a couple blocks later, and before she could react, he had shoved her away and snapped at her. She jumped in surprise as recognition flashed through her eyes, and all she could manage as she stared at him, stark white hair much more visible, was a simple, "Oh." It was him.

[Amonsef Mahiriah]

He eyed the figure up and down, realizing it was a young woman. No hint of regret so much as ghosted over his face at this thought, however - unlike many other Egyptians, marauder or otherwise, Amonsef treated neither gender any differently than the other. He hated everyone equally... except perhaps the upper classes, who earned a special place in the pitch dark, bloodthirsty depths of his heart.

Under normal circumstances, it would have been shit poor luck for a young woman - especially one as pretty as this - to run into a marauder. But more or less fortunately for the girl, this was not a normal circumstance, as she was not facing a normal marauder. Gender made no difference to Amonsef... and as such it almost would have been easy to label him asexual, such was the spite and loathing he displayed toward men and women alike. Even as his dark eyes swept over her form, his gaze did not linger in the least on the curves of her frame that showed through her worn out dress. He was scanning for weapons and obviously had no regard whatsoever for whatever else was there.

After this swift once-over, his gaze finally lifted to meet hers. The youth's eyes were hard and venomous, and held none of the weariness one might expect at this hour. On the contrary, he appeared quite alert - on edge even, not unlike a feral animal just waking up for its nocturnal activities. His eyes narrowed into an even fiercer look upon spotting the recognition in her face. In an instant, as if he had wielded the knife his whole life, he threw his forearm across the girl's shoulders to pin her against one wall of the alleyway while simultaneously bringing his newly bought blade to her throat. "'Oh'," he parroted. "'I'm in deep shit now'; is that your train of thought?" He pressed her harder into the wall, undoubtedly putting the squeeze on her lungs by now. "It should be." He hissed. "'Heavens forbid, I've bumped into that filthy tomb robber possessed by Kek himself,'" his voice dropped into a low growl, taking on a distinctly embittered tone. But just when the pressure increased enough that he was for sure going to push his dagger into the girl's throat, he instead suddenly pulled her off of the wall and gave her a hard shove for the ground. "You will forget I was here if anyone comes asking." He instructed not without a threatening tone, aiming the sharp end of his blade her way before sheathing it and turning to continue briskly down the alley.

[Layla]

Layla should have been terrified, and ran as fast as she could. After all, she had already come to the conclusion that he was some sort of assassin. But Layla was always rather lacking in a sense of danger, which probably didn't kill her only because she had a estate to go back home at night. Now that he was facing her, she could see him more clearly, and she was too curious to run away. As the marauder was looking quickly over her, she was gazing at his dark eyes, with a scar over the right one. How had he gotten that scar and still have an eye? she wondered to herself.

And then he slammed her against the wall, the surprise and force knocking the wind out of her. She pulled her head back as far as she could from the knife dangerously close to her throat. Yes, now she was a bit scared.

"Oh," he said. "I'm in deep shit now; is that your train of thought?" Layla coughed, gasping for air the harder he pressed down on her. "It should be," he said.

And then he said something else: "Heavens forbid, I've bumped into that filthy tomb robber possessed by Kek himself."

Layla's eyebrows furrowed. She hadn't been thinking that at all. Why had he jumped to that conclusion? Then she noticed the bitter tone in his voice and jumped to a conclusion of her own. People were bitter because of something in the past, and he was bitter about being called filthy and looking possessed. So people had judged him for being filthy and possessed. Maybe that's why he was so angry.

She shut her eyes tightly as the knife crept ever closer to her throat, but just as she felt the cold metal on her neck, he pulled her off and shoved her to the ground. She didn't want to die. It would be very bad if she died. Shocked as she was, she fell easily.

All he wanted was to make sure no one knew he had come. How strange. As he walked away, Layla quickly dusted herself off and stood. Curiosity overcoming the better of her (although, it basically always did), she called out. "Wait!" she said, quiet enough that they wouldn't attract attention but loud enough so that he'd hear. "I won't tell. Why do people think you're possessed by Kek?"

ooc: okay, so just because I've been bugged on other sites how other people's characters seem to easily figure out details of other people's life, I'm going to explain to you that I came to the conclusion Layla did before I read your profile at all. So I didn't know that people judged him by his hair color (I think?) besides that he was sensitive to it for some reason. :)

[Amonsef Mahiriah]

( That's fine...? Amonsef's infamous, but not so much that everyone's heard of him just yet, lol. I didn't think anything of Layla's not recognizing him; and not everyone is superstitious, either, so the matter of his hair isn't always an issue~ )


Even at the girl's modest volume, knowing full well it was unlikely anyone would hear her, Amonsef reflexively flinched - perhaps if only out of anticipating further social interaction. At the impatient growl under his breath, it was clear the marauder did not like people. Without slowing his steps in the least, he cast a wary glance around before issuing a short reply over his shoulder. "It should be obvious," he half-muttered. Still, he continued, and with his quick strides he would be gone soon if the girl didn't race to catch up.

[Layla]

ooc: okay, just making sure!

At the sound of Layla's voice, the marauder flinched, but didn't stop. So, just so she could hear him and continue the conversation (probably to the dismay and anger of the young man), she hurried after him. She was careful not to get to close, but she was close enough so that she could hear him. It was interesting -- despite the threat on her life, which she now realized was only ever implied, he was simply trying to get away from her.

"Obvious?" she repeated, puzzled. But in an instant she knew what he meant -- the hair was obviously unnatural for an Egyptian. "Oh, your hair. Well, what makes you think it means you're possessed by Kek? I think it's rather interesting." After a moment, she continued: "I don't think you're possessed by Kek. I mean, Kek is a god of darkness. Your hair's white. If anything, wouldn't it be a good omen?" She kept following him. "Like Ra, the god of the sun."

[/blockquote]

[Amonsef Mahiriah]

Hearing footsteps behind him, this seemed to only spur on the marauder's already brisk pace. He began making swift turns around corners through other alleys, hoping that as darkness settled over the city, he could lose the girl between his speed and the shadows. "Didn't you hear the part about tomb robbing?" He growled in reply, albeit still in a hushed tone to keep anyone else from overhearing.

Finally, he came to a stop after a few minutes of the girl's persistence, turning around sharply to face her with an arresting glare. Seemingly in the same movement, his knife was drawn again, though it only rested readily in his hand this time. "Don't you get it?" He hissed. "I'm not only an ugly, rotten, bloodthirsty tomb robber, I'm a cursed one." The youth did not sound particularly like he was describing himself; more like he was reciting names he had come to be familiar with as fact, like a parrot spewing the only words it knew. "So if you value your life," at this he raised his knife toward her face. "... amongst other things," his gaze swept briefly down her form to less than subtly allude to her gender, and at last take into account what it normally meant for an attractive young woman to run into a ruthless marauder. "You will leave me be." He shot another venomous look before again sheathing his knife and turning to continue, losing no speed for his short pause.

[Layla]

The marauder was obviously trying to lose her, but this didn't dissuade Layla. In fact, the fact that he was basically running from her made her less afraid. He was still talking to her, too, that was good. "Yes, I did hear it," she said quietly. "That's kind of crazy. Why did you do it?" It was a fair enough question; the Egyptians feared the vengeance of the dead and of the gods. Not to mention the fact that some of Layla's relatives were rich enough to be buried on the other side of the scared river. She'd assumed it would be difficult to rob a tomb -- there were booby traps and mazes in the darkness.

Layla stopped walking as he did, and listened. But when he kept walking, she still persisted. "But you don't even sound like you believe it," she pointed out. "It just sounds like you're repeating things people say. And just because people say things doesn't mean they're true. I don't think it's true. Besides, if you were going to kill me or do anything else, wouldn't you have done it a while ago?"

[Amonsef Mahiriah]

He growled more or less under his breath. "Why do you think?" He snapped in answer. "There is no better place to get gold. Or any other manner of riches, for that matter..." His tone dwindled to a mutter. The more socially acceptable answer might be that he was possessed by Kek - but in truth, even Kek would view it as brazen to violate a royal's tomb, if only out of the same fear of the gods that gripped mortal Egyptian citizens.

The marauder's scowl deepened as he continued and she persisted. He was driven to stop again. By now they were in darker territory, near a poorer end of the marketplace. Amonsef turned to face the girl once more, dark eyes even more deadly than they were tired. "You test me." He stated quietly, nearly through clenched teeth. "You don't value your life, is that it?" He asked icily. He stepped swiftly closer, knife in hand again. "You went looking for a lion just so you could pull its tail and get yourself killed. Is that what this is about?" He stood so their faces were just inches apart now.