Close Encounter [Bhae] /Fin

[Amonsef Mahiriah]

Sandaled feet pounded hard across the dirt, leaving a train of dust in their wake... a train followed closely by four more pairs of sandals booking it through the street.
"TOMB ROBBER!"
"STOP HIM! THIEF!" Called the voices of guards. They were built athletically, but their quarry was lean and well-experienced in running for his life.

Amonsef had ventured a little too close to the wealthier homes. He had only been scouting... It was not yet perfectly dark. He would never have tried anything before sunset, but he had not anticipated the guards noticing him at the distance he had kept. And now in his racing through the streets, his hood had fallen, so his white hair was a blur - and a beacon.

The average Egyptian citizen was not the type to stand by idly, especially not if it concerned a tomb robber - one of the lowest forms of criminal scum there was. At the guards' shouting, a man managed to hook onto Amonsef's arm as the marauder flew by; scowling but not affording the breath to growl, Amonsef hurled the man off of him with adrenaline aiding in a show of suddenly very impressive strength. He had barely given the man time to slow him down, so as soon as he was free again, he was off like a rocket.

But his chest ached. He had been running for some time now, and though he may have been faster than the guards on his tail, their endurance would almost certainly outlast his. Can't keep this up. Upon darting around the next corner - his feet stumbling through the abrupt turn - Amonsef made the impulsive, last-ditch decision to duck into a home on his right. He charged through the door, quickly but quietly shutting it behind him before moving back into the nearest corner. Before he had even checked for anyone in the room - or at all caught his breath - he drew his knife. If he was going to burst into someone's home, he knew he had to be prepared to take out any inhabitant who objected. Even so much as a startled cry would attract the guards sure to race by in the next few seconds... And it wouldn't take them long to realize they would have to go knocking on doors on the street, either.

[Bhae]

Her house was small, like most of those available to commoners, though it was admittedly toward the higher end of town. Only a short stretch of land separated her from the noble area--a fact largely enforced by her being a foreigner. If she'd been native, she probably would have been wealthy enough to live in that side of town...not that she minded much. Simple people suited her fancy more, and she liked the place she had settled down in. It was fairly quiet at night, and peaceful most of the day--though there was often busy traffic back and forth when merchants set up their stalls.

Bhae was seated on the floor, folding hand-woven fabric to make saddle blankets; really, they could be used for anything, but she was marketing them as 'good for your beasts!' whenever she could. They were thick, and protected horses and other labor animals from saddles, armor, and even weapons carried by their riders. It was as she sat there, minding her own business, that she began to hear shouting approach from the richer side of town. She paused, raising an eyebrow, but only stopped folding for a moment before she continued.

When her door flew open she jumped, scrambling not to drop the already gathered corners of the dark navy blue--she'd decided to experiment with dye--cloth she was holding. The woman blinked, staring at the figure in the corner of the room with a mixture of confusion and faint amusement. She lowered her arms, rather than finishing the fold, and let the blanket rest in her lap.

"...could have knocked, you know," she glanced toward the door, eyebrow quirking again when she heard shouted mention of finding a thief. Her eyes flickered back toward him, and then the knife, "Decided to give them a little exorsize?"

She sighed, moving on before giving him much of a chance to answer. She did briefly hold up the blue fabric in her hands, "What do you think? I'm not sure I like this one..." she muttered as her sentence drew toward a close, but then stood up, draping the blanket over her arms as she gestured to the knife again, "Tell you what. You put that away, and I'll send them further down the street when they come knocking..._{don't see much purpose in swarming someone who stole something..not like you unscrewed their head and fed it to a crocodile.}."

[Amonsef Mahiriah]

The youth flinched reflexively once his gaze found someone else in the room, and he crouched, looking about ready to lunge forward until the young woman spoke up. She was obviously a foreigner, and her speech only served to confirm this. His brows knit. Her accent was so strong Amonsef could barely make out what she was saying, though he seemed to get the gist of it enough to recognize she wasn't much threat.

His breathing was hard. Rather reluctantly, he pulled his eyes from the girl to glance at the door. It was clearly a nervous gesture regardless of the lack of anxiety in his face; maybe he was just too out of breath to bother with much expression. He turned to eye the home's inhabitant again. "... This stays in my hand until the guards are long gone," he answered after a moment of panting, gesturing with his knife. Amonsef did not slow his speech in the least despite that he knew he was talking to a foreigner.

He tensed at knocking heard from a neighbor's door. Casting the fair-skinned woman a short glare that was in all likelihood a threat, the marauder moved briskly across the room into another so he was out of sight. He made sure to position himself by a window in case the girl changed her mind - which, if she knew who he was, he was confident would happen.

Just a couple of minutes later, and there was a much closer knocking. When the door was opened, the men were taken slightly off guard at finding a foreigner, but quickly recovered. "Good evening, Miss. There is a very dangerous criminal in the area who we just lost on your street. Is there any chance you saw him go by, or caught which direction he may have gone?" Unlike Amonsef, the guard was mindful to speak slowly and relatively simply for the foreign young woman.

[Bhae]

She focused her gaze on the ground, leaning her head toward him slightly while he spoke. Her expression looked largely blank, but she was actually repeating what he had said in her head in an attempt to translate better. It took her a moment, and though she seemed to scowl at the floor for a moment her expression soon smoothed back into its usual calm.

"Oooh...you must have really irritated them, then, no?" She raised an eyebrow again, apparently a common way for her to end a question. When she caught the glare she merely blinked, head tilting slightly again, "I won't very well find out if you're a very good thief if I let them catch you now, will I? Lucky for you I'm nosy..."

When she opened the door she blinked, and then smiled, an expression that took over the majority of her face, including her eyes. However, as she listened to the guards speak she nodded, letting her face grow more solemn, "Dangerous criminal...ohhh, the one with Bán..err...White hair?"

She leaned somewhat out of the door, pointing across the street to a house with a low roof, "He climbed over, I think. Scrambled right up like a lizard. I don't think you'll catch him now, he was pretty quick about it..."

Bhae nodded a bit, but then smiled again, "Do be careful...especially if he is dangerous. Wouldn't want our lovely do-gooders getting hurt, would we? Thank you!"

She offered a brief wave before closing the door. Bhae scowled. She seemed irritated by something--though what, she did not voice aloud. She had offered the guards the same courtesy of speaking slowly and as clearly as possible so her accent would not lead to any confusion, but she'd had to repeat herself in some parts once or twice. They seemed to have understood any way. All the same, she waited until she could hear them walking away before she returned to the middle of the floor to fold the blue cloth, set it down, and pick up a white one to fold.

"You can come out now. They are gone chasing ghosts."

[Amonsef Mahiriah]

He listened carefully, even giving a great roll of his eyes as the woman had to repeat herself so the guards would understand. If she had been in a panic and had rushed to divulge his real location, there would have been no way they would have understood her anyways; by the time they had gotten the gist, he would have been a mile away.

Even after he was assured it was safe, Amonsef waited a couple of minutes after the guards' footsteps faded away before sheathing his knife and striding back into the living room. By now he had about caught his breath. He looked at the door, then at the woman, studying her for a minute wordlessly. He then turned away to glance between rooms until he found the kitchen, and moved briskly for the pantry. Apparently without even introducing himself, the marauder intended to make full use of the woman's hospitality.

[Bhae]

Bhae looked up when he wandered back into the room, but she still seemed largely unfazed by his presence. Though, for a moment, she did eye his startlingly white hair. She frowned, blinking, but continued to fold until the pile was completed. She heard him shuffling around in one of the other rooms--sounded like the kitchen--and meandered over on her own to see what he was doing.

The woman folded her arms, "You're welcome."

Her voice was still as quiet as ever, but the tone was stern, as if she was speaking to a child. Obviously she felt he was lacking manners, but it did not bother her enough for her to stop him from scrounging. He looked like he could use a little food. Her not being Egyptian, and the fact that she did not believe in any of these..deities that everyone seemed to rave about...probably helped contribute to her not caring so much that he was being accused of robbing tombs. Where she was from, you didn't try to take anything with you.

After a moment of staring at his hair again she tilted her head, "If you weren't as tall as you were, I'd be wondering if you were one of the little people....is that normal for you? White hair?"

[Amonsef Mahiriah]

The marauder disregarded her comment, his gaze sweeping through the relative darkness of the pantry and its shelves. He soon picked out a pomegranate, immediately biting into it voraciously. There was no hesitation to test what state it was in; Amonsef had eaten rotten fruit before. He kept his eyes on his meal even as he felt the woman's stare... But when she spoke up, he paused, chewing, with deep red juice spread over his mouth. His face was calm, his gaze thoughtful as he reached to grab another pomegranate - abruptly pitching it in the woman's direction. He hadn't put too much effort into aim, but it was clear it could have been a headshot and that very well might have been his intention - especially judging by the force invested into the throw.

Without giving her time to recover, he strode out of the pantry to advance with a threatening posture and arresting gaze, smoothly taking his pomegranate into his other hand so as to retrieve his knife with his dominant one. "Normal? Yes, it's perfectly normal, for me and me alone." Venom filled his voice. "The gods special little gift, just for me - but all of Egypt is paying for it, it would seem." His pitch dwindled to a grumble, and he finally shifted his icy gaze, sheathing his knife again and returning to take another bite of the fruit in his hand.

[Bhae]

Bhae caught the fruit he had thrown in her direction, glancing at it as if she did not realize she'd grabbed it out of the air...but then shrugged, and took a bite herself. She saw no point in throwing it back at him, and if it was put back in her pantry, she'd either wind up eating it later, or he probably would have gotten around to it. It was beginning to become clear that she was either terrible at reading body language, or was much too confident in her decision that he was trustworthy for the time being, because even as he approached reaching for a knife she did not move, and merely nodded, staring with interest at the explanation she was given. The woman took another bite of her own pomegranate, nodding one more time.

"I see..." Her eyes flickered toward the cloak he was wearing, locking onto a tear she could see almost out of habit. She looked up again, gesturing at the hole in the fabric, "I can fix that, you know."

The woman glanced up again, thinking one more time about that. It was a bit dark to be sewing. She frowned, "Or I suppose you could just have a replacement, and I can take that one to fix. I wouldn't be able to mend it until tomorrow anyhow. Too dark."

She shrugged, "Either way. I can fix that."

Bhae still maintained her habit of speaking slowly, and as clearly as she could manage. Despite this, it was not often that she paused to think about translating. It was only when someone else spoke to her that she seemed to need a moment to figure out what they had said.

[Amonsef Mahiriah]

He glowered about the kitchen, his gaze avoiding the woman. He glanced at her only fleetingly at her offer, scoffing quietly not like he didn't believe her but like it wasn't important. Though truth be told, the tear was in an inconvenient place prone to get snagged on something he might pass by in a rush. ".... Whatever..." He muttered. "... I'm not out in daylight. They'll be no fixing it unless in the evening or at night." Being almost done with his pomegranate, the marauder turned to step back into the pantry and browse for more food.

[Bhae]

"I'll take that as a yes, then, if you don't mind," she turned, striding out of the kitchen area without waiting for an answer. Obviously she did not care if he minded or not.

What sounded like scuffling could be heard in the next room. Though she was only searching through her things one-handed, as occasionally she'd still take a bite from the pomegranate, which she ate much more slowly than he'd finished off his. Bhae returned only a moment or two later with two folded bunches of fabric in her arms, which she then set down one at a time. One was a dark, muddy brown; the other more of a deep crimson, though it, too, could have been mistaken for brown. They both had hoods, and clasps made of a loop-and-knot of some kind of thread or other braided material.

"Those don't have holes in them. I think the red one might be too short...but the brown should work. You can have it if it fits. And you can leave the torn one here for me to fix. I can't very well let you leave a tailor's house with a hole in your cloak. I'd look like I have no work ethic, you know...'course if you're attached to the one you've got, you can always come back for some other day--night. Whenever it is you roam about."

She eyed the dark circles under his eyes for a moment, her train of thought shifting to that, "...and sleep would probably fix those, too."

Though she had gone through the effort to offer, it did not appear as though Bhae would be much affected either way...if he decided to stay with his own cloak, she did not seem the type to be offended. If he took a newer one, she'd just fix the old one. There was no sense of urgency for him to decide, either. It was apparent, though, that she seemed to have a habit, or perhaps that her brain was hard-wired, to spot problems, and then try to fix them--or at least offer suggestions. Probably the only thing that kept her from sounding like a know-it-all, or like she was being bossy, was her tone of voice. She offered everything she said as a suggestion that you could take or leave as you pleased, and again..did not seem much affected one way or the other.

"Though I suppose if you're running all the time, sleep is hard to come by."

[Amonsef Mahiriah]

Amonsef eyed the woman with a faint scowl. She was terribly talkative for speaking a second language. He gazed over the cloaks she offered, but only with some degree of contempt. "... I don't want these." He answered. "You can fix this one." His face looked somewhat troubled then, his brows knitting a little. "If you're asking me to come back to have it fixed, I will only be coming back at night, like I told you." There was an edge of impatience in his tone. "So why not repair it now, if you insist on doing so?" He glanced toward the windows. The sun was very nearly set, so it was quite dark. He had to imagine the girl would at least need a lamp, if not a number of them, to be able to work at this hour.

Though the home was still fairly warm, the evening was beginning to take on a slight chill. Despite this, the marauder pulled off his cloak right then and there, haphazardly balling it before tossing it in the woman's direction. Without the sleeves concealing his arms, gold cuffs befitting a royal were visible on his wrists. A couple of thin chains of gold and jeweled beads hung about his collar, too. If there was any doubt about his being a good thief, it was beginning to come into question now.

He glowered at her mention of sleep. "Sleep is a waste of time. That's all." He said quietly. Amonsef's strange hours of sleep - generally starting anywhere between five in the morning and three in the afternoon - in combination with not getting very much due to his nightmares made the dark, violet-hued rings about his eyes more evident than he liked to think about.

[Bhae]

"You are stubborn," she answered, though she caught the cloak that was tossed her way. Bhae did not offer any answers for her previous reasoning. Truth be told, she had a lamp, but did not want to waste fuel. If he'd just taken one of the already hole-less cloaks, she could have fixed his during daylight, and had it waiting the next night. But she was not one to argue about these things.

Instead she shrugged, heading back into the main room, where she seemed to do most of her work, and moved into a corner to retrieve her lamp. It did not take her long to have everything she needed set up in the center of the room. When she had a task to do, it seemed she felt less inclined to talk, as she was silent even after she had taken a seat and was settled. She lit her little lamp, which did not produce much light, but was apparently enough for her to work with.

She started slowly, taking great care to make sure colors matched so there would be no patches when she started weaving new material into the hold to fill in the hole. It was pretty obvious she was obsessive about quality, if nothing else, and likely would have ripped the thing to shreds to start from scratch if she made a mistake--which, fortunately, she did not look prone to. Once she'd gotten started, she picked up the pace, moving much like a machine, only occasionally muttering to herself about a stubborn thread here, but this was usually in her native tongue.

Once she thought she was finished, she held up the patched area, stretching it, prodding at it to test its strength, and turned it over so she could inspect both sides. Apparently satisfied, she stood up, folding it into a loose square, and held it out to him again.

"Good as new...more or less. Could use a wash, but that's about it."

[Amonsef Mahiriah]

Having not found much else he wanted, Amonsef settled for a loaf of bread, again biting into it without regard for testing its condition. He discarded the corpse of his pomegranate to the floor on his way out of the pantry, moving to follow the woman back into the living room. He leaned against the wall there while he ate. He did not seem to care to watch her progress, though he glanced at her once in awhile. As the home continued to cool, goosebumps raised across his arms, and he occasionally gave a small shiver. But he took his time examining the work when his cloak was handed back to him before slipping it on. It looked better than expected - not that he would ever say so. Hygiene, however, was definitely a lesser priority on his list. He would wash his clothes whenever he found - or rather made - time to bathe, which was not often, and would probably not be for a few more days as it was.

His bread having been finished hardly halfway into the woman's work, once he had his cloak back, the marauder went for the pantry again to grab another loaf of bread. Another pomegranate sounded appealing, but he knew too much fruit tended to overwhelm his stomach, and already he was not sure the first had gone down contentedly - so he chose more bread instead, which, on the other hand, he seemed to be able to eat endlessly.

Judging by the darkness in the home, it was definitely night out now. But Amonsef would take his time leaving; it was cooler outside yet than it was indoors, and he might as well take the time to eat in safety while he could, without having to check over his shoulder periodically.

[Bhae]

The woman looked faintly amused when he examined the cloak. She was confident in her work, and predicted he would find nothing wrong with it--which seemed to be the case, as he put it back on without complaint. She paused for a moment, though, before putting out the lamp to stare as he moved back toward the pantry for more bread. Something had just occurred to her..

"....if you are so sensitive about your hair, why do you not cut it off? No one would recognize you, I am sure. Or do you like being infamous?"

Her tone of voice suggested she did not think he enjoyed being different--though she might be able to get behind the idea he might enjoy spooking others. Generally if something made you infamous, it was also a good deterrent for less bold adversaries. His hair probably acted as much as a shield as it did a target.

After a pause, a faint smile crossed her face, "They talk a lot in the marketplace about a thief with white hair. I assume that's you, based on what you've said. Can't imagine you have very many friends when everyone in Egypt seems so obsessed with decorating corpses and you keep taking the ornaments--silly, if you ask me--but if you ever need clothes mended or made, you can come to me. It wouldn't hurt to practice my Egyptian, and you say everything so fast...if I can figure out what you're saying, I'll be able to understand everyone else."

[Amonsef Mahiriah]

The marauder returned to lean against the wall while he ate. He paused when the woman brought up his hair again, his dark eyes narrowing though he did not look at her... nor did he throw the food in his hand at her head - or anything else, for that matter. "... I would still have this," he said icily, lifting a hand to push back strands of hair from the right side of his face, so the formidable scar crawling down through his eye was perfectly visible. ".... Too much work to keep cutting it, anyway..." He added; possibly another way of saying he was just lazy, or perhaps that his hair grew fast. Or both.

He said nothing in regards to his reputation. Amonsef still wasn't quite sure what he was doing with his life. He had always stolen to survive, his primary targets thus being food vendors or sometimes even homes, or trash. He progressed to valuables that he could trade for food and clothes... But as the scale of his valuables increased, so did the goods he could receive for them, so he moved on to weapons. Some of the jewelry from the two tombs he had robbed he kept for himself like trophies, though he was obviously discreet about showing them off. He knew he was gaining more attention and wasn't sure yet if he liked it. So far his reputation seemed to attract as many people as it warded off; authorities were hunting for his head, but other criminals gave him his space. Marauders with their own reputations sought to outright steal from him, while others were more interested in teaming up with him for a share in his profits. Infamy had its pros and cons.