#amosis

Put a “∞” in my ask box and I’ll shuffle my music player combined character/RP playlists and give you my favorite lyric from the song that comes up.

So we're there, now it's real Now that you have me, do you want me still? My kisses are history, they go back a long time And I'm tired of loving somebody that's not mine

So many mornings I woke up confused In my dreams, I do anything I want to you My emotions are naked, they're taking me out of my mind

— Shameless by Camila Cabello (full lyrics)

Ooh, this is a fun one. This song is from my Poppies and Oleander playlist, for Maati and Amosis!

With its dark, almost desperate tone, I feel like this song speaks very well to the frankly absurd tension simmering between the two of them - particularly from Amosis' point of view.

Really, I could paste MOST of the lyrics in and they'd all fit...

Thank you for the ask, @thevoilinauttheory!

(⬇ Video embed below ⬇)

(This answer is going to get... quite dark, so it’s hidden under a readmore. Warnings for body horror (possibly) and description of violence.)

Send 🌸 for three things my muse likes about yours.

🍎 “He listens, and moreover, he seeks understanding. As I said once a long time ago: he is interested, and interesting.”

🌿 “He apologizes when he realizes he has made a mistake - and then he does his best to make it right. A rarer quality than you might expect.”

Prompt 24: Beam

Who: Mamaati Maati, her former mentor Sususe Suse (NPC); mentions of Amosis ( @thevoilinauttheory ) and Negevs Ha’dov ( @negevshadov )

What: Maati is distracted.... again.

Where: Sususe’s office in a back corner of Milvaneth Sacrarium, Ul’dah

When: In the past moon or so (slightly timey-wimey)

Content notes: Discussion/implication of sexuality, brief description of injury

"...Mamaati?"

Maati jerked her attention away from the -- what was she staring at? Her mentor's chaotic bookcase, stacked with books and papers and knicknacks, the disorder making the cramped office feel even smaller. She forced herself to meet the gaze of the woman sitting across the desk from her.

"My apologies, Sususe." Maati shifted in her chair, suppressing a shiver. Her shoulder burned each time she moved, hot under the bandage -- a heat that trickled down through her chest to pool in her abdomen. 

Sususe folded her hands together, thin cheeks creasing with an amused smile. "If I didn't know better, my dear Mamaati, I would suspect you'd found yourself a beau. It's not like you to be so... unfocused. Or..." She tilted her silvered head. "...are you focused, but elsewhere?"

Maati offered a soft laugh. "I... suffered an unfortunate injury a number of suns ago, and it is proving most persistent." She raised a hand to forestall the expected concern. "Worry not -- I'll take myself to the chirurgeons if it does not resolve soon," she fibbed. The thought of explaining the pair of scabbed-over crescents on her shoulder to a physicker was mortifying beyond all contemplation. 

"Ah." Sususe gave a knowing nod, and Maati felt her cheeks flush. "Sleeping in an unfamiliar bed can disrupt one's rest---"

Maati was unable to smother the squawk of objection before it flew from her lips. "Sususe!"

"What, Mamaati? Surely you didn't think no one would notice that you have only returned to your quarters early in the morning for a sennight -- or more?" There was no judgment in Sususe's tone -- rather, Maati thought with some embarrassment, she sounded almost approving. "Though the young man who has been bringing you lunch does seem to have a certain reputation. Rumor only, of course. Ah, but you are no wide-eyed initiate. A grown woman may keep what company she pleases, and" -- Sususe leaned forward, voice dropping to a stage whisper -- "hang what those gossips in the Sacrarium say about it!" 

Sususe sat back again, wearing a shrewd grin. "Though if you ask me, that roegadyn man -- the one you try not to snog in the library -- might make you a better match. He asks very good questions at seminars." 

Maati reached up to rub at the bridge of her nose, though she quickly regretted it as the motion tugged at her shoulder. "Negevs is a... a good friend and conversational partner."

"And what of Amosis? What are your intentions with him?" Sususe's eyes twinkled. "I don't suppose you have them both engaged in... conversation?"

Maati closed her mouth as anger flared in her chest. She knew a baited trap when she saw one.

Sighing, Sususe gave Maati a long, considering look. "I know you hardly need an old woman to tell you this, Mamaati, but... I hope you will be careful. You've been increasingly distracted, and while gods know there's much to be said for a fallow period, word is beginning to spread. I had dismissed it as so much tripe until I saw it in you myself, just now." Maati looked away, feeling her jaw tighten as Sususe continued: "Just be sure it is the good kind of distraction, yes?"

And then, mercifully, Sususe changed the subject. As she launched into a discussion of a recently-published treatise, Maati's gaze drifted to the bookshelf again. A tiny model of Nald'thal's scales sat on one of the shelves, its beam tilted sharply to one side. The flame was missing, leaving the pan beneath the Jewel of Prosperity lying on the shelf, its chains limp. A not-terribly-subtle commentary on Sususe's part, perhaps -- or perhaps simply an accidental metaphor, uncalculated and yet apt. Avarice without the counterweight of wisdom. 

But before she could chase that idea any further, her shoulder twinged, dragging her thoughts away -- and she again fought back a shiver, darting a glance at the chronometer. 

Perhaps Sususe was right, Maati mused as she tried for the twentieth time to corral her straying thoughts. Perhaps she could put in for a sabbatical, get herself back on track. 

...perhaps if she finally indulged this unseemly fixation to its limit, she might rid herself of it once and for all.

-----

Written to a whole dang playlist which I will share with more detail elsewhere. 

Actual meme format under the cut!

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Prompt 9: Lush

Who: Mamaati Maati, Amosis (mentioned)

What: The garden, a habit. 

Where: Amosis’ home, the Goblet.

When: Very recently.

Content notes: Implied sleeping together, literally? And perhaps a little too much symbolism....

Maati slipped off her sandals at the edge of the stairs, descending with them in hand. Before she pushed open the door at the bottom, she closed her eyes. She had learned to make her way across the dark room by the feel of the flooring beneath her feet, by the wind currents in the vast chamber, triangulating her path by the quiet hum of machinery. 

The door at the far end opened at her touch, then closed behind her, the scent of greenery and loam rising through the stairwell. She kept her shoes off and, clutching her petticoat, continued down with quickened steps, her gaze trained forward.

Reaching the lowest level, she emerged into the garden. 

A few steps past the threshold, she stilled. Her bare feet sank into the soft, fine-bladed grass, eager steps arrested by the riot of color, of scent -- the pure profusion of life, cultivated with no handbook but its own will. It grew freely here, unstunted by want, by need, by the necessities of survival. In this space, every requirement was provided for, and so variety bloomed: the garden wore its strange costumes, bore its unusual fruit, away from the voracious gaze of those who would have demanded satisfaction and thereby stripped it bare.

The space was perfectly constructed, perfectly contained -- and within that, perfectly wild. 

Maati took a deep breath and moved with sure steps into the garden's heart, sinking to the ground in the middle of the meadow. Overhead, the panels that lined the ceiling were beginning to awaken in a rosy-fingered artificial dawn. 

So she had found herself for the past sennight, maybe more: awakening early in the half-dark of Amosis' quarters to the watchful glow of monitors and slow-blinking lights -- to his arm close about her waist and his nose in her hair. And then, gently extracting herself, padding down through voluntary darkness -- knowing that soon he would follow, would find her here, in the depths of his creation. 

It was a pattern by now. A habit. Irritation flared, then fizzled under the cool breeze from the vents. Maati picked a blade of grass from the sleeve of her chemise and smiled in spite of the answering twinge in her shoulder. She was forever finding them -- plucking bits of shed greenery from her hair, her clothes. They clung to her, rode with her back to her daily mundanities, reminding her of -- of this: the quiet, unfettered space whose fruits had been freely offered to her, and which she now sought without hesitation. 

Her heart sped as she heard a familiar tread on the stairs, and she looked up toward the doorway, knowing who she would find there.

-----

This one was a stretch for the prompt, in part because the actual answer is not very interesting: for the most part, Maati eschews tradition as a matter of course and dislikes the idea of falling into habitual patterns without a conscious decision to establish them. She finds herself doing so anyway, of course....

----

The hair at Maati's nape prickled.

A peculiar mask peered at her. Stared, truthfully -- without even the good grace to look away when caught. Then he was sloshing through the fountain -- THROUGH! THE FOUNTAIN! -- toward her, and only swift thinking and swifter movement kept her book dry. 

Such curiosity was... somewhat commendable, she conceded, albeit brazen. 

Conversation ensued. His views on ancient Allag's methods were rather less commendable -- and so many... other things, too, even more unspeakable unbelievable. (A shudder, or a shiver?)

But the curiosity... His curiosity drew her, in spite of herself. Drew her out. Drew her in. 

(I wonder who that is?)

The strange missives are dutifully taken in, catalogued, dated -- bound into volumes and installed in the library of prayers. Her priests cannot decipher them, nor do they try: a god reads the hearts of the faithful. The offerings represent only the effort dedicated to the petition.