2022-06-29 - On Errand for the God-Queen

"I mean, I'm not totally sold on the idea of civet coffee, but if someone didn't tell me before they had me try it? I probably wouldn't know any better." Ariadne shrugs as she opens the door to Espresso Yourself. A quick errand to pick up her weekly paycheck and then? Ice cream -- and who better to take than her fellow younger redhead-in-arms? Cool air rushes out from the shop and there's a greeting from behind the counter. "Maybe. I dunno."

A shrug and she steps through. There comes the sense of warm silk sliding over skin and a sudden, very palpable temperature shift follows.

Blink and hold one's head at the brief vertigo and inhale -- not coffee, but dry heat and sweat and incense and amber and body-warmed cotton and silks. Ariadne holds her face indeed for a second and finds sudden weights on her body where they shouldn't be. That's not her purse, that's a --

"What?!" comes the splutter-hiss. A knife -- and a leather bag -- and a sash not blood-red, but dust-red -- and the fabric of her light-weight robe kept in place by both a wide leather belt and the sash. Leather bracers on her forearms, knee-high boots, and a draping of fabric patterned in beige-gold overtop a faded blue -- these things are NOT what she was wearing. What's this behind her -- a quiver?! Spinning in place, the redhead nearly knocks the arrows out of it before she finds the accompanying bow itself. Her hair is braided up and out of the way so pragmatically. "Una?! Una, what the fuck?!"

There's a guard standing nearby in ceremonial garb and that's a helluva halberd-like weapon he has on display. The women are eyed through the shaped visor of his plumed helmet. Red feathers, purple shoulder-drape. Centurion, no doubt.

The room itself seems to be a waiting room fulsomely decorated for the time period. Fine wooden desks (wood! so rare!) showcase little trinkets while Persian rugs line portions of the stone floors. Textiles cling to the walls. Sunlight falls bright and harsh through shutter-less windows from on high -- and damn, it's warm. It's also cleaner than it should be, as if someone held exacting standards around here.

Another day, another of Una's increasingly-predictable 50s-style sundresses: she must, surely, have a closet full of them, in all the colours of the rainbow. Today's is patterned like vintage maps, and (as she's already inevitably told Ariadne) is one of her personal favourites. Maps! Such fun. "I'm kind of curious," she says in answer to the taller redhead, laughing as she does so. "It's just--"

Too late. She follows Ariadne into Espresso Yourself, or into what is supposed to be Espresso Yourself and turns out, indeed, to be somewhere else altogether. By now, this ought to have become second nature; it hasn't.

Her clothes are similar to Ariadne's, but she's got a sickle-shaped khopesh sword hanging from her belt instead of the bow, and it bangs sharply against her thigh as she takes an involuntary step forward. She freezes, then: time for a few short, sharp breaths, controlling that sudden rising panic as she attempts (attempts!) to regather her own thoughts.

"Fuck," she says, unconsciously copying her friend. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

It's a symphony of "Fuck?!" and its variants briefly from both redheads until Ariadne realizes the foreign presence standing not so far away near to the wall. If the Centurion's helmet were removed, he'd surely be seen sporting an amused if also confused quirk of eyebrows. The barista pauses in patting herself down and forces her hands to a more neutral state while straightening in place. Just having a moment, her body language says, no biggie, ignore plz.

Then clearing her throat, she says sotto-voce to Una after turning to face her, "I think I know what's going on, but I sure as hell hope I do because these are some serious weapons." Another furtive glance-around. "Jules' boyfriend -- whatever Mikaere is, we got sucked into the Library of Alexandria, me and him, about two weeks back. This isn't Alexandria, but damned if it doesn't look like it's from the same time period," she shares quickly and quietly.

"Is there a problem?" Holy CRAP, the Centurion speaks?! -- and what a gruff accent from the bulwark of humanity at easily over six feet tall.

Ariadne twitches and huffs a loud sigh. "Nope. Just...waiting," she shrugs with a forced smile at him. Because they're waiting...for someone...right? Hopefully? Fuck all if she knows and how awkward that is.

Una's fingers unconsciously drift towards the hilt of her sword, feeling their way around it without drawing it free. Its presence is not a comfort: if that sword needs to be used, we have a problem. It has, after all, well and truly been established that 'stick them with the pointy bit' is about as far as Una's understanding of sharp objects go... and swords are a little more complicated than that.

She casts Ariadne a wide-eyed glance, giving a slow and uncertain nod of acknowledgement. As long as Ariadne knows-- because Una? She does not. Except--

Except. That Centurion? That's not so unfamiliar. Not enough for her to jump up and down and say 'Rome, Rome!' but enough to provide the tiniest bit of context, context that is gratefully confirmed by the other redhead's comments.

She stops staring at the Centurion awkwardly, flushing sharply, and attempts a hasty, awkward smile of her own. "No problem at all!" she agrees-- trills, really-- enthusiastically. Everything's just fine.

(Help.)

A noncommittal grunt (and mutter of "Country hicks, ugh.") from the Centurion before he goes back to idly guarding his surroundings. Ariadne rolls her lips and folds her arms. Ow. Okay, chest binding, this is a thing, to keep them in place -- no bras, not even the semblance of one -- another hint for the time period. Birds call from outside and it makes the redhead glance behind them towards the entryway door. This itself is a simple yet sturdy affair of stone lintel and framing with...

"Hieroglyphs," she breathes, staring at them. "It is Egypt, look, Una, those would be recognizable anywhere." The ibis, the duck, the owl, the horizontal reed field. "Holy shit, ancient Egypt." It leaves her in a light-headed breath.

Awed atmosphere is broken by a curt announcement: "Cleopatra will see you now." The steward, a man bald and serious of brow, dressed in far more elegant and costly robing and sash than the two redheads, stands by the door for the count of two until he turns...and apparently expects them to keep up. Ariadne spends the count of two staring at the steward and another count staring at Una before she starts moving because nope, NOT getting left behind in a place like this when the freakin' god-head of Egypt is expecting them!

Oh. Oh.

Ariadne's right, this is Egypt. She's more than right: it's Cleopatra's Egypt.

Una swallows, hard, giving Ariadne a wide-eyed glance in return that might continue for even longer, except-- well, let's just say it's a good thing that the other woman manages to start moving, else they might just stand there for eternity. She lengthens her stride to catch up, biting her lip as she stares in wonder.

"We're going to see fucking Cleopatra," she mutters beneath her breath. Is that a wise thing to do, given givens? Who cares.

Cleopatra.

"Holy shit, right?" mutters Ariadne back. She's got an odd case of the trembling excitements and she's glad for her knees holding up because...it's not like any of the Ptolemy family was known for being particularly level-headed, a factoid she wishes she'd shared with Una before they were halfway down an ornately-decorated hallway and headed towards what appears to be an interior garden of sorts. Another breeze rushes through and this time, it brings the scent of spilled wine and ocean water just a few degrees cooler than the interior inland heat of what must be the rest of Egypt.

Abruptly, the steward stops before the broader exit out into the garden proper. Very sternly, he tells them, "Do not speak unless spoken to and mind yourselves before the God-Queen." Ariadne nods jerkily. Guh. The man waits for Una's response (assuming an assent, surely, in his majordomo position) and he then leads the way out into the gardens.

It is a party and nobody's expected to keep their shirts on. Or pants on. And those bushes are rustling over there with the birds and the bees and no bird makes that sound. Ariadne can't help but blink at this before she forces her attention to the steward's shoulderblades again. But oh, these two women in their robes and sashes and weaponry: they're garnering their own stares and whispers of interest. There's an unspoken laud they carry with them and now it's really awkward not knowing what's going on. The sweat down Ariadne's spine isn't all heat.

And that must be Cleopatra there, she wearing a beautiful confection of a draped crown with golden beading in arcs across her carefully-coiffed hair. Her collar across her shoulders sports fine gemstones and gilding and holds in place an artistic draping of white fabric which conceals only what it must before falling from her waist. The sea breeze flirts with the fabric, thus allowing the God-Queen to flirt with everyone else in the process. She holds a chalice of wine as she reclines and enjoys the playing of a harpist. The steward gestures for them to stop at a respectable distance and announces them quietly to the God-Queen.

What an imperious look from the dark-eyed woman as she sits up from her lazy recline...and what pure and undiluted machination on her face as she looks at both redheads possessively. "My Medjay," she greets with a smile meant to charm.

Una's primary 'ancient history' interest is in the Romans-- and the Ptolemies? They're connected. On the other hand, her enthusiasm is tempered, because she's been to Rome and Pompeii, now, and neither turned out especially well, all things considered. These Doors? They're a bit of a shit fest. She's cautious, then, in following Ariadne and the Steward down the hallway, breathing in the sights and smells without letting go of that low-level coiling tension.

Her confirmation and acquiescence of the steward's orders comes promptly, and firmly: no jerky nods for Una, just fervent agreement.

Cleopatra. It's hard not to be a little excited.

... not that excited though. Not enough not to cast a glance at those bushes and then hastily away; not enough not to flush under the interest and stares of those in the gardens. These Dreams? These Doors? They're so much easier when you know who you're supposed to be. What you're supposed to be.

Her eyes widen as they light upon the God-Queen herself, and truly, there's no chance she's going to say anything at all, because her mouth has gone dry (and her hands, moist). Does she bow? Does she do anything?

She has no idea (Medjay? It's not a term she's familiar with, and-- look, forget it. It'll become clear... or it won't). She inclines her head forward, not quite a bow.

Ariadne seems to have seized up; Una semi-bows and the older redhead just stands there. Her own little blush is majority uncomfortable excitement because this is panning out exactly as she thought it would in the broadest sense of things. Medjay. Oh god. Does she have some explaining to do to Una.

Cleopatra hands off her chalice to a nearby admirer and then rises, still wearing her cat's smile. "I'm pleased your leader agreed to my missive. It turns out he can be placated after all." Ariadne risks a glance over at Una and then nods, offering no verbal comment. The leader, right! Totally! "You'll go to Memphis and fetch for me the missing scroll then, at any and all cost. I can't have Caesarion and his rule threatened anymore by that bastard Octavian. He has no blood and no right to rule, not when my son is the rightful heir to the throne." Stopping before both women, the God-Queen continues wearing her smile. "I know I can trust you to complete this task. You will be greatly rewarded..."

-- and hell if that isn't a purr to boot, as if the God-Queen felt perfectly within her right to charm both Medjay. Ariadne carefully swallows. That is impeccable kohl liner on the woman and she's beautiful if absolutely out of her mind by modern standards. It floats through her thoughts: Mikaere did make a comment about inbreeding. DON'T LAUGH, DON'T LAUGH, DON'T LAUGH.

All the things Una does not know right now? They're for the best. It's so much easier to stand there and listen without needing to think about inbreeding (though of course, she could: she knows who Caesarion is, who Octavian is, who Cleopatra is and who her family is). Much easier to simply watch, wide-eyed, and smile earnestly and more than a little reverently at the kohl-eyed Pharaoh.

Charmed? I'm quite sure.

She swallows hard. He said 'don't speak unless spoken to' and does this count? It must count. It-- does, right?

"You can trust us, great lady. We will see it done."

Cleopatra's eyes flick to Una and her smile widens into something truly pleased. Raised to royalty, the God-Queen knows when she's receiving her due laud through Una's reaction in particular. "I knew I could count on you. Go, my Medjay, with my blessing." The God-Queen steps forward to close the respectful space between them and she brings with the close scent of amber and fresh sweat, wine and something sweeter, maybe a fruit or honey. She reaches first (up) to Ariadne's face and cups it. The barista has a second before her head is subtly pulled down to a level of a kiss bestowed upon her brow and then almost, almost, deliberately-not on her lips.

No wonder Cesar fell so hard. He might as well have eaten dirt at the God-Queen's sandal-bearing feet.

Una's turn! A replica of the prior behavior; the planted kiss (as opposed to the promise of one which never happens) lingers with phantom sensation upon her forehead in the salt-laden air of the raised deck so close to the Mediterranean Sea beyond. "You have been blessed. Go." Thus, Cleopatra commands, and just like that, the dark-haired God-Queen returns to her courtiers. Clearing his throat sharply, the steward then gestures for the two redheads to follow. Reaching half-blindly to brush fingers at Una's arm like she isn't half-stunned herself, Ariadne turns and then follows the steward towards the external exit to the courtyard garden.

"So...Memphis. Boat. Horse. Medjay. We need to talk," mutters the barista to Una. No shit, Sherlock.

Una knows what to expect, of course, having watched-- a little awe-struck, it may be said-- Ariadne receive her blessing; this doesn't mean a thing, in the end. It's far from a sexual thing, just: there's so much power there, and it's a little awe-inspiring, and who can blame Una, really, for her furious blush when it's her turn? Her hand twitches at her side, as if she'd like to lift her fingers to touch that spot on her forehead, or on the mere vicinity of her lips, as close as Cleopatra's got.

At least the God-Queen's command breaks her from that reverie-- as do Ariadne's fingers-- enough that she can hasten onwards, out and away.

It'll be easier, out of the magnetic presence of Cleopatra, right? Right.

"Please," she mutters by way of return. "I'm lost."

And blushing. So much blushing.

Blushing is shared. There is some serious charisma going on there beneath the weight of the beautiful crown and heaven forbid it ever truly get out of hand. Oh wait.

Thankfully, the steward ditches them outside of the garden entrance and beyond the radius of two more Centurions, each of them equipped once more with appropriate gear. Those spears, damn. Ariadne leads their little pairing farther away yet from listening ears to the shade of a cluster of olive trees and then runs her palms down her face with enough force to momentarily flash the reds of her lower lids.

"Okay, so, like long story short, I have no real idea what's going on except I know this is a Dream, clearly. This is Egypt, that's definitely Cleopatra, which means Cesar's probably dead if she hates Octavian. I can't tell how far we're away from things, but Memphis on the banks of the Nile. I think it's the home base for the worshippers of Hathor. Something about Ptah? If there's a scroll to find, it's probably going to be in someone's house or temple. I really hope it's not in some...military place." Her glance is for the Centurions in particular because those spears, DAMN. "That's the ocean out there, or at least some big bay, so we've got to be kind of north-ish. I think Memphis is south of here. How far south, I dunno. The options are probably going to be something with four legs or a chariot and I reeeeeeally hope we can find a chariot because dude, I have no idea how to ride a camel."

Awkward things, those camels.

"Soooooooo...let's go see if we can find a chariot?" Ariadne wince-smiles.

Una covers her (still blushing!) face with both hands once they've stopped, focusing on that and not on Ariadne for as long as it takes to calm herself, and regain a certain amount of equilibrium. The other redhead's explanation helps: it allows her to peek her way out again, and, having swallowed, listen with intensity.

"Egypt," she agrees, because that much is obvious. "Okay, yes. And Caesarion is her son by Caesar. He's going to be Pharoah himself one day, but that's probably not important right now. He doesn't die until after she does, I think. I think. So that's fine. That's something. Um-- I don't really know about Memphis, though. I hope it's a temple. That would be... better."

This is more focused; that's good. Una straightens her shoulders, managing not to bang her leg with her weapon again. "Chariot. Yes, please. I remember trying to ride those horses in the Zorro Dream, and... look, it would be better for our image if I don't try. At all. Chariot."

This is fine.

Well-meaning if un-helped, the blurt-laugh from Ariadne, which she vainly attempts to turn into a cough.

"Look, I got thrown in the Zorro Dream, that was just...obviously meant to make us look like noble idiots on our horses."

Eye-roll. Thanks, Dream.

"A chariot should be way easier to drive, right?" Right. "Let's go look...this way." Some weird little whisper of memory steers her to the left, towards what appears to be an open courtyard area beyond a waist-high wall and closely-manicured bushes of a local variety. "There's got to be one we can borrow." That she lifts a hand to air-quote about 'borrowing' doesn't necessarily bode well for whatever resident Veil-personality lurks in her brain, but hey, they have the God-Queen's blessing, that's a good enough excuse?

As they walk, the shade of the tall buildings falls over them. The air brings now the scent of horse in all manner. "Ah-hah, score. Where there's horses, there's a chariot. I'm just hoping we'll have a connection in Memphis because...that's...a really big city for this time period and there's more than one temple." Her hazel eyes rest on Una's sickle-sword before she gives her friend a half-smile. "And we apparently mean business."

"I mean, we were noble idiots on our horses," agrees Una, allowing the corners of her mouth to turn up into a smile. She trails after Ariadne, apparently very happy to let the other woman lead the way. It's too warm for a shiver, but that doesn't mean there's not a chill to be felt: too many of these experiences have turned bad, and the presence of that sword-- the very one Ariadne glances up-- is by no means comforting.

"Of course there's more than one temple. And we're supposed to know where to go. We're supposed to know lots of things, I imagine, because we're... specialists, I think? I mean, we must be. We must be very good at what we do, or we wouldn't be sent, except of course if someone wants to fuck things up for-- stop, Una. Stop."

That's a thought trail she likely does not want to go down. It makes for another squaring of her shoulders (how square can they get?) and a few more sharp steps forward. Horses.

There will be horses, and a chariot, and-- "Do we requisition in the name of the God-Queen?" she wants to know, dubiously. "Or is that likely to cause us grief?"

"I mean...you're not wrong," mutters the redhead as the two of them approach the smaller courtyard area scented of horse. "We're specialists, yes, in a very specific field, and if I'm right...I really hope there's some darts in my little leather satchel here because me running in at somebody with a pair of daggers is not fucking happening, scroll be damned."

A glance over at Una because it is a very pertinent question: how much power does the God-Queen's name hold? "Let's hold that card until after we see about getting one. We mean business, right? Walk and talk like we mean business and we'll get somewhere. Ever see Ravn in full grift mode? He could almost convince me of ridiculous shit sometimes." It's almost too easy: there's a chariot, right there, strung to two matching bays in no regalia. "...right, that one there," points the barista before she sighs. One can see her attempt to bring sangfroid about herself like a second layering of fabric. That chariot? That one is her chariot, her body language says as she strides across the yard.

And oh, the whispers from the stablehands, the looks equal parts fascinated and fearful shot at the two women. No one wants to make direct eye contact, but they certainly want to look when they're sure they won't be caught. Even the soldiers off to one side taking a break pause in conversation.

"We're borrowing this," Ariadne announces loudly enough for them to hear -- and it looks like nobody's stopping them. She steps up into the chariot with far more courage than she feels and grips the front of it as the balance shifts slightly beneath her booted feet. "Watch your balance," she hisses to Una as she wants to offer a hand, but doesn't; appearances count in the royal palace. Once Una's as ready as she'll ever be?

A little flick of the reins and the chariot gets moving. Two bays move faster than one bay and already, a walk? It's a brisk speed, enough for a little wind to be felt. Ariadne with the reins can't help owlish eyes as she steers overly-gently at first. One of the wheels jounces through the flower bed on the way out onto the main drag. NOBODY SAW THAT.

"Una? I hope you trust me!" Ignore the breathy note in the barista's voice as the bays continue to pull them down the cobblestone road. It's not the height of pedestrian walking hours, but it's busy enough, hence the dialogue: "I got this! I totally got this, we're good, we're good CHICKEN -- fuck you, chicken, GET OUT OF THE WAY -- gods-damnit, MOVE -- geezus fuck, don't walk in FRONT OF MY -- oh my gods, DO YOU HAVE EYES -- I WAS HERE FIRST!" Ariadne roars at another rider as they swing by at a more breakneck speed, their horse's hindquarters nearly grazing the tack of one of the matched bays. "I just want to get to the outskirts," the redhead whines as she continues steering.

Una has demonstrated before that when the moment calls for it, she can act: watch her try and control her features in her normal life, and no, hahaha, no, that's not happening, but something about playing a role, being someone else? That's fine. She can do it. So it is that she manages to glide after Ariadne, smiling at the soldiers with the kind of not-quite-benign smile that hints at possible violence should it be required.

Don't under-estimate the plump redhead with the sickle-sword.

Climbing in to the chariot behind the other woman is a little more difficult, but she manages this too, covering up her hesitancy with an imperious scowl.

Did she falter? No, she did not. How could she, a woman like that? Ha!

She holds on, knuckles white as she grips, and steadily growing whiter still, because-- does she trust Ari? Mostly, yes, but... "Oh my gooooood," beat, "sssss," gods, yes, lots of gods.

Except.

Except.

It's kind of a little exhilarating too, isn't it? If you forget about the possibility for death and dismemberment.

"I, uh, think you're managing!" she promises, eyes on the road. "Fuck, get out of the way!"

"Managing like a BOSS, HOLY SHIT, COW!"

Bull, technically, who watches the chariot whizz past with outer side nearly scraping its ribs. It continues plodding on its way after its minder, dewlap wobbling and ears flicking around.

"WHY ARE YOU WALKING YOUR COW THERE?! WHY?! Gods-damnit, NOOOOOOO, WATCH OUT!" Ariadne pulls the reins to one side to avoid a pair of city-savvy kids just walking out into the middle of the cobblestones. They pause and watch the chariot careen past with city-slicker amusement; country hicks, oy. The bays continue at their brisk walk and Ariadne makes a soft weebling sound. "Okay, OKAY! We're beyond the most of it. Just no more anybody thinking they can beat us crossing the RO -- "

A camel --a freakin' camel -- is urged in front of them and barely missed by a foot.

"I HATE YOU!" the barista bawls at the camel-rider who shouts something back, lost in the din of hooves. At this point, however, they really are about to ride out onto the gradient of cobblestone to travel-pounded dirt. Ka-chunk, the chariot's wheels (and riders' knees and spines) take the brunt of the transition and now there's really no one to worry about on the roads. Low-lying buildings cease to crowd. Now they spread out and contain gardens of flowers and sprawling vine-vegetables under the shade of tall palm trees. Beyond the fringes of civilization, sand dunes rise. To their right, dense foliage near to the water stops at the Nile's shore. This is a small branch of the mighty river flowing green and just deep enough to no doubt hold both crocodiles and hippos.

Ariadne blows a relieved sigh deep enough to nearly collapse her over the front of the chariot. "Okay, motherfucker...motherfuckin' gods, I just... I'm not thinking about driving this thing into Memphis proper, it's a bigger damn city than that." When the older redhead looks over at the younger redhead, she can be seen to have high spots of color on her cheeks. Her hazel eyes still glitter; where there's adrenaline, there's the converse thrill of novelty. "Ready for a few hours of this bullshit?"

Una is more than a little swept up into the drama and excitement of all of this, it's true. Who knew she had a daredevil buried within her? Not Una herself, that's for sure. Oh, that doesn't mean she's not holding on for dear life, mind, nor does it mean there's not a look of abject terror on her expression; it's something more subtle than that. The bruises-- and there are going to be bruises, between the dull thud of her sword against her leg, and the inevitable jarring as their chariot clatters and bumps its way down the road-- will, in their way, be badges of honour.

Maybe there's a laugh or two, though, and more than one exultation aimed this direction or that: you betray your Pharoah by being so GODS-DAMNED SLOW, do you hear her?

Look. When in Rome, okay? Egypt. Whatever.

"Holy shit," she says to Ariadne, as they escape town. "Hooooooly shitballs. Shirtballs. Whatever. That was-- this is-- I'm going to die. We're all going to die. But we're going to do so in style. Um. Yes. It'll be smoother now, right?" She's bright-eyed and pink-cheeked of her own accord, but less worked up (in a negative way) than she might have been.

"Shit, that's the actual Nile, isn't it? The actual Nile, Ari."

How odd, the moment where someone brings up an observation and it cements the reality of surroundings. Ariadne can be seen to blink at Una as if almost confused and then look over at the waters.

"...I mean, yeah, that's the actual Nile. How green it is -- and the sky is so blue and the sand is so gold and just..." It's worth the risk of taking one hand away from the reins to straight-arm towards the river's smaller branch. "But smoother? Eh...maybe? I dunno. I guess we follow the cart ruts in the dirt? And hope the road remains mostly by the river because if we have to go across the sand, there's no road and fuck meeeeeeeeeeeee!" the barista merrily sings at top volume. "Fuck everythiiiiiiiinnnnnnng! Do you think this thing has gears?"

Woe betide, Una, here's Ariadne suddenly finding her inner daredevil. Look at the slightly manic grin.

"I bet I can cut an hour off." But should she?

Too late.

"Hold onto your butt," she quotes of the IT tech in Jurassic Park. Ah, good ol' Samuel L. Jackson. He'd approve of chariots at Mach 2, right?

Reins pop the horses' rumps lightly. There they go, zoom! Eat sand, anybody in their wake! Is that a giggle-screech from Ariadne? It is.

"Uh-- something, something, where we're going we don't need roads," quoth Una in reply. Holding on to her butt might be problematic, since her butt is not going to help her stay safely aboard the chariot-- but hold on to the chariot herself? She can do that. She hasn't stopped (mostly, I mean, there's also that temptation to stretch one arm out and feel the rush of the wind against it, and really feel alive). Forget Una: whoever she is in this Dream, whatever role she's playing, that's who she needs to be right now.

(That whoever she's playacting as would be perfectly accustomed to this method of travel is not the point.)

The world needs to know something: "This is amaaaaaaaazing!"

Because this is Egypt. The Nile. And Una is drinking it up as surely as those camels they passed earlier drank up what water they could find in the desert. The chariot-ing may get old (probably around the time Una's legs start aching from the unaccustomed position and tension), but for now?

Butt held. Roads? Unimportant.

(That's a lie. Roads are helpful.)

"It is amaaaaaaaazeballs!" Ariadne agrees, her voice jittering slightly as the chariot's wheels find shallow ruts in the totally natural road, well-traveled and pressed-down as it is. "Faster, yah!" Now we're in third gear and between two horses, this is speedy! There are more gears, but even the daredevil in the barista isn't wanting to see what happens if one takes a corner at X miles an hour without knowing how to Fast and Furious in a chariot.

Can one Fast and Furious in a chariot?

Only the gods know.

Needless to say, Ariadne does shave off an hour of travels. There are many sights to see along the way: the Nile itself meanders through the desert and the thickest greenery follows along it. Hyenas bark at one point from a dune top and dismiss them; thank gods for it, they were getting a serious side-eyeing from Ariadne while she muttered some prayers under her breath, even non-religious as she is. No bandits, thank the gods for that too. They pass two mounted platoons, one traveling band of shepherds, and a fancy-schmancy tradesman on horse being escorted by guard on foot. There's a temptation to see about absconding with the tradesman's wares, but it's a fleeting one overridden by Ariadne's self.

And then, after cresting a low rise of road?

Memphis spreads below on the river delta. It's enough of a sight to make Ariadne slow the horses down to a brisk walk again; they don't seem overworked, a boon of their breed and upbringing in the region. She gapes at the size of the city. The temple dedicated to Ptah is easy to pick out at this distance. "Holy shit, Una!"

It's amazing how one can at least mostly forget aching muscles and jittering spines with so much to look at. Una doesn't complain even once, though as someone who does not work on her feet all day, she's probably unused to standing like this for so long. She's quick to point out anything of interest she sees, and quick to throw comments to the wind: if the winds carry messages to the gods, well, they've definitely gotten an earful.

She doesn't have any words, though, when they crest that rise. Maybe her swallow is audible, and maybe not, but it's absolutely there: dry-mouthed (and not just because of the desert wind, the heat of the day), all she seems to be able to do is stare.

Some of that bravado is drifting away, now. The ride was amazing, but now they're here and Una... she swallows again. "Holy shit," she agrees, her voice very quiet. It's a little overwhelming.

"That's a temple. Do we head there?" She sounds a little reluctant.

"Uh." The bays seem to know what to do. They continue on down the gentle sandy grade towards the fringes of the city, where abodes and their farmed acres begin to crop up (punny, I know) where there would otherwise be rolling sand or scoured stone.

"I didn't look in my little satchel thingie at my belt yet, so if you want to rifle around in it? Don't poke yourself on any of the darts. I know they're dangerous and not exactly why, but my brain is saying one makes you pass out and the other kills you." Grimace. "And check your satchel too? Papyrus. We're looking for a papyrus scroll if there's some note we need to know about. Or a key. Or something with a symbol on it that matches a symbol elsewhere in the city."

It shouldn't be comforting that Ariadne doesn't know where to go or what to do from here, but somehow it is: she's taken charge thus far, after all, and if she's not sure now, maybe that means they're not supposed to know, and that's fine. Una... is not especially a roll-with-it kind of person, but after six months in Gray Harbor, she's learning. A little. She nods, though Ariadne's unlikely to be able to see it, frowning as she considers the changing landscape.

"Satchel-- right. Good idea. Hang on." First Ariadne's, the younger redhead digging into it carefully-- very carefully-- and avoiding the darts in the process. The darts mean she's perhaps a little less thorough than she could be, and either way, she comes up with nothing.

Her own satchel is more successful: no sooner have her exploring fingers dug into it, they start to pull out a tightly rolled piece of papyrus (and that, too is thrilling: actual papyrus, from actual ancient Eygpt!). She unrolls it carefully, holding on tight so as not to drop it and lose what may well be their only clue, a sacrifice to the desert.

"It's in Greek," she reports, which is no good: the Veil has not furnished her with that particular language. But; "There are some symbols about the edges, though. That's the eye of, uh, Horus, I think? And an Ankh. I definitely know that one. Let's see, I don't know about these others. Any ideas?"

As if Ariadne could make the ground beneath the chariot's wheels any smoother, but she does hold the matched bays to a steady pace while Una rootles around in the satchel. No-go in her own, but she does glance over when something comes up and out of Una's leather purselet.

"Ooooooh." She can't clearly see the scroll's hieroglyphs and letters alike and sighs sharply. "Let's get this thing parked somewhere and then we can step to one side and really look it over. I'm tempted to say that I might be able to make some heads and tails of it, but not much. Like the Veil was ever going to play fair with that kind of stuff, when the point is to stress us out all to hell."

Though as a whole, from what the barista has observed, they're holding their own thus far, and fuck you, Veil.

Not surprisingly, the road becomes more congested the closer they get to the city proper. It again becomes a festival of Ariadne firstly muttering expletives and rapidly escalates to her shouting them furiously at the souls who dare to tempt the path of the chariot. Nobody gets hit, thank the gods, but it's a nerve-wracked relief to pull the bays off into a public courtyard area within the city proper and have the entire sensation of motion come to a halt. Ariadne drops the reins and stiffly stumbles out of the chariot, holding her lower back.

"Fuck," she breathes, wincing. "Over there, let's...ow...see about this scroll." The shade tucked next to the stable wall, where no one can hear but the horses.

Una gives a sharp little nod of confirmation, and hastily tucks the scroll back into her satchel lest she really drop it-- especially as they start heading back in to town, and the shouting and inevitable road weaving begins again. White knuckles make a reappearance, and some measure of her earlier enthusiasm, but she's more focused, this time: they have a task, and a puzzle, and the latter may takes some wits to solve. It's important.

She lets out a little moan of discomfort as she clambers down from the chariot, rolling out her shoulders and shaking out each leg in turn, inadvertently doing some version of the hokey pokey: because that's what it's all about. She's slower, therefore, to join Ariadne at the wall, but not too slow, the scroll dug out and then offered out as she frowns.

"I'm not sure. I mean, there's got to be a clue there, right?"

"I'm completely certain there's a clue, yes, or this is outright instructions," Ariadne agrees as she takes the scroll and unrolls it to reveal its writing once more. Peering at it, she tries reading through it, left to right. It's not making sense, it seems backwards somehow.

Oh.

Starting over from the top, at least with the hieroglyphs, she tries right to left.

"The..." she starts slowly, brows heavily knitted. "Temple, yes, Temple of...bull. Cow? Cow is Hathor. There's a bull here, right? A sacred bull?" Una is given a dubious glance before the barista looks at the scroll again. "Upstairs...? Upstairs. In a vase. Really, a vase? Like...that's so...predictable, but maybe it makes it so obvious, everyone's going to dismiss it?" Hazel eyes land on Una once more. "The Temple of the Bull, upstairs, in a vase. It sounds so simple. I hate it already," she ends up laughing just a little hysterically.

Una shoots Ariadne a look.

And then? Then she begins to laugh as well, and it's entirely hysterical.

"Are you kidding me? That's what it says? That? Just that? We're just going to waltz into a temple and... what kind of a fucked up place is this? Do they even let people like us go upstairs in temples? Why? WHY Ariadne?"

Una's laughter nearly pulls the older redhead into cackling all the more hysterically as well. She coughs a few times as she hastily rolls up the scroll, hoping nobody's staring at them.

Spoiler alert: a young stablehand has totally popped his head up to stare over the wall of the public stables.

"Look, I have no fucking idea either, but let's just...go and see and if it's impossible, then it is and we...make someone else do it! I know I felt coins in my purse widget. We can pay somebody to be sneaky! There's a will and a way," the redhead nods curtly as she tucks the scroll away. "Now, we just...put our hoods up and...make our way to the temple and...not get hit by anybody or spotted by...enemy...soldiers?"

A beat.

"Holy shit, this is so awkward, I'm awful at sneaking. Wait, Ravn's always like...what is it. To blend in, you walk, you don't run. You don't make eye contact, you have someplace to be. We can do that right? Right. Come on." Ariadne pulls up her hood over her hair and makes it five steps towards the main road before she stops to make sure Una is following.

"... pay someone to be sneaky," repeats Una, a little dubiously. At least she's gained control of herself again: no more laughter. Game face on. Hood... okay, the hood is going up yes, that too.

There's something about that hood, too: something that instantly shifts the way the younger redhead stands. She's listening intently to what Ariadne says, passing on the wisdom of Ravn, and maybe some of that genuinely does sink in, because when she starts following Ariadne, just a few paces behind, she does so with eyes lowered and gait loose; perfectly inconspicuous.

Ariadne's stop draws the lightest of nods, but the younger redhead doesn't stop. No-- they have crowds to weave through, and likely enough Una is half afraid that if she stops for any reason she'll end up standing out in the crowd.

It's just a touch breathtaking to see Una -- shy, cautious Una -- step into this role and Ariadne finds herself fretting her lip against a huge grin. YES -- now they're on their game.

In their game?

Fuck you, Veil.

Hood up, stance equally unconcerned with surroundings because They Have Somewhere To Be, the older redhead keeps easy pace. Their travels lead them out of the way of the thoroughfare (holy shit, OTHER chariot drivers are lunatics) and the barista defers to an alleyway or two, thankfully free of anybody interested in them or their intents. If anything, a few of the locals, those of lesser standing, whisper in their wake. They might have a reputation, even if they don't know it.

The Temple itself is a grand structure and there's no denying it. Carved towers alongside the entrance flutter red pennants at height. Glyphs in bright paint span every wall in rows upon rows. Sphinx statues in a gleaming, oily-black stone line the broad brick walkway up to the main entrance.

Ariadne stops off to one side and stares. "...maybe a side door?" she whispers, squinting from the shadows of a taller building tucked on the edge of the temple property.

Even with her hood low over her eyes, Una can see enough to be able to drink in the sights. It's a little unnerving, being the object of interest for the locals, for reasons you yourself don't understand; even so. the younger redhead manage not to break her cover, immersing herself in the role at hand... as much as she can, with the information she has.

The temple draws an understated gasp as they get close enough to see it, and this time, Una's step falters just a little, covered-- mostly-- by a hasty pause. "Does it have side doors? It must, right? We definitely want to avoid the front door if we can. Subtle is the name of the game, right? Stealthy. But not breaking-in stealthy. Just... normal levels of stealthy. Right?"

Right?

"I mean, it's got to have side doors -- or doorways, something, so let's go...left," Ariadne decides. She then leads the way along the fringe of property to a smaller side street leading up and alongside the lengthier stretch of temple. It becomes clear very shortly that there's either some sort of gathering or altercation along here and a good number of soldiers who do not wear any of the God-Queen's colors. In fact, they look very unsympathetic to anyone who's not of their ilk: one of the locals standing around gets a solid shove away from the side entrance opening, hard enough to send the poor sap backwards over a woven basket of pomegranates. Ouch. Stained insult to potential tailbone injury.

Ariadne stops out of sight of the soldiers and then looks at the garden wall.

And looks at Una.

"...you're good for heights, right?"

Has Una mentioned lately how grateful she is for Ariadne's decisiveness? Or at all? She should have. Maybe it's half visible, now, in her expression, but the other half is determined intent, which may rather undermine the rest. Despite the role she plays, she can't help but wince as she catches sight of the fate of that local. Those soldiers are bad news; she hates them already.

I mean, as much as Una hate anyone.

It's their stopping point, and the garden wall ahead of them, that gives her greater pause, however.

"Heights? I don't mind-- oh. Wait. What? I don't know if I--" She stares at the wall. She stares at it. "You... do remember that I am not athletic, right?"

"Naaaaaaaaaaah, you can do it." Ariadne waves the observation aside and nods towards what appears to be some rocks left stacked against the garden wall; palm trees grow up from within them and some thick bushes provide cover. Somewhat. "See the rocks? We'll hop over there."

A pause. "Actually..." There's a harrowing moment where the barista looks like she's calculating something. Probably heights. "We'll get over the wall and we'll find a ladder. If not a ladder, then maybe some niches on the inner wall. It'll be old hat, climbing walls, I bet your brain knows how to do it somehow even if you don't believe it. We just have to wait until the soldiers aren't looking."

Thankfully, this doesn't take long. Ariadne darts across the open of the road in a flutter of fabric to the rocks and starts climbing. "Come on!" she hisses over her shoulder. "We'll get up here and drop down. There's probably going to be nothing on the other side, it's not a storage area."

Sure, Una can do it. Fine. No problem. No... that's a lie. Big problem.

It's not that she's not game to try, despite her hesitation. She gives Ariadne a dubious look and then seems to throw herself back into her role: why yes, she is a fierce and impressive Medjay, capable of anything she attempts. "Ladder, right," she agrees firmly. "Or niches. It'll be fine."

It's still a relief that Ariadne goes first, and that the shorter redhead can try and watch what she does. She's only a few steps behind, but perhaps she's trying to be too quick about it: it's as she steps up onto the rocks that her foot slips, one of the rocks falling free and taking her with it. She grasps anxiously for the wall itself; clinging madly with one foot flailing in the air.

Wibble.

It's turning into a case of The Two Medjay Who Could very quickly here.

Ariadne scarpers right up the rocks and up onto the garden wall with the grace of someone attuned to her own body. She even balances via her line of boot-soles and palms on the narrow wall itself. It's seeing Una in trouble, however, which makes her inhale a gasp and reach out.

"Shit?! Una, grab my HA -- "

Three points of contact on the narrow, arc-shaped wall aren't enough. In a flip of fabric, much like an upsat cat and looking as startled (and betrayed) as one, there goes Ariadne! A soft thump can be heard on the other side and a few high-pitched squeaks of surprise before Ariadne's voice rises again. "Oh, sh -- cra -- excuse me, ladies, so sorry, oh my gods, just -- just let me -- extricate myself, don't mind me, oh gods, UNA?!"

It's almost a shame that Una is too focused on clinging to the wall to be able to see Ariadne's imperfect drop to the other side... though she can clearly hear it. "Ari?" she calls, attempting to gain purchase on the wall and maybe find her feet somewhere: there's got to be a way up (or down) from here, right?

Her hand slips, instead, and she thuds down to the ground. She's not hurt, though she makes a sharp 'oof' sound shortly after impact. Sadly, she's still on that side of the wall, however, and the look she aims at the wall is not one that suggests she has confidence in her ability to climb up.

On the other hand, to give up now would be wrong. Is she a Medjay or not? (She's not. But she's playing one, and that's mostly the same thing.)

"Una?!"

Apparently, somehow, Ariadne heard the 'oof' on the other side of the wall.

"No, ladies -- thank you, but I'm tak -- don't touch the robes -- no, I'm not a BOY! -- " Whatever little gathering the barista has managed to fall into giggling and laughs, their tittering arcing in further questions. "Yes, it's a real bow -- yes, real arrows -- lady, give that arrow back right -- yes, it's a real dagger, it's SHARP, DON'T -- give me that! And don't look at me like that either, I didn't mean to fall into your picnic anyways!" Now there's a sound of affront from someone more outspoken. "I didn't mean to! You can restring the instrument -- you can, it's not going to cost -- fine, you know what, fine, take -- take this -- " Coins jingle. "And get it fixed. There, problem resolved, right?"

Now the picnic party sounds more affronted. Ariadne's voice rises again: "Una, might need some help here?!" -- placating the masses, that is.

Una sits on her ass in the dust and the dirt of a Memphis side street, staring up at the wall: her nemesis. There's a small temptation to just say 'fuck it' and let Ariadne do the hard work on the other side-- there's no point killing yourself trying to climb a goddamned wall, thanks Veil!-- but that isn't really Una's way. Still, she stays where she is, just breathing, and might stay a little longer were it not for the sounds coming from the other side.

She freezes, listening.

It's when Ariadne's voice rises, and when she calls for Una in particular, that the younger of the two redheads gets up. "I'm coming!" she calls, adjusting her belt and the stupid sword hanging from it, squaring her shoulders, and then... well, she launches herself at the wall. Maybe she's managed to tap in to some abilities inherent in this role that she's playing; maybe it's just sheer determination to be there to help her friend.

Either way, she scrambles up the wall with ease, launching herself from foothold to foothold until she's perched, crouching, upon the top, staring down. both hands holding her in place.

"Ladies!" she calls.

The view from atop the now-conquered wall is one amusing: Ariadne, still fixing her drapery of fabric and trying not to dump arrows from her quiver in the process while a gaggle of well-bred ladies react in their various manners to the sudden presence. One woman attempts to help and just barely doesn't get slapped at for her efforts. Another stands nearby and continues to attempt to pluck another arrow from the quiver, her beaded hair sway back and forth in gleaming motions.

A third and fourth woman are attempting to salvage what appears to be a small table upsot. Upset? Definitely upsot. Pomegranates, grapes, melons, all lost from their bowls are regathered. Looks like dates were also present, these all back in place.

A fifth is holding the broken neck of a stringed instrument and looking pretty peeved. She might have pocketed the coins...somewhere. Tops aren't necessary in the heat of the region nor are their lack frowned upon. Maybe off to one side, those coins.

All five -- six, Ariadne glances up too from inside her hood and appears vastly relieved -- look up when Una speaks. The one with the broken instrument scowls. "Great, there's two of them. We're cursed," claims she, making Ariadne squint.

"Look, it's none of your business what we're up to, just go back to your picnic," the barista insists sharply. That's right: totally ignore the two red-sashed individuals not using the side entrance because of soldiers. Easy to do, right?

Una holds tight. It makes her position look a little less graceful, but... look: she defeated this wall, and she's not taking any chances. "The soldiers," she explains. It might work better as a cover story if they didn't both have weapons, but no matter: she's cast upon the first thing she can think of, and now it's really just a matter of being convincing. "They were hassling us. We mean no one any harm, I promise, and we really are sorry-- to have interrupted you."

Look at that winning smile. Look at the woman balancing on the wall, not blushing (she's just red-faced from the heat and the exertion!).

Isn't that the kind of face that just begs to be believed?

At least two of the picnicking women look dubiously up at the other redhead perched atop the wall, but the rest seem to shoot glances both empathetic and then sharp at the soldiers. There's no real love there, even if the soldiers are keeping the picnic from being disrupted.

Er, were keeping the picnic from being disrupted.

"We appreciate the apology," says the woman with the broken stringed instrument now set aside. "Use the main entrance next time?"

"Absolutely," chimes in Ariadne, all dimples and mega-wattage of charm from within her hood. "We'll be here and gone, just a little errand." She holds up a pinch of air between fingers as she starts rolling steps back and away from the gathering. "I even see a normal door right over there that we'll use to enter the Temple -- respectfully, of course." Because one does not have a rave party in the Temple of Ptah. "I'll meet you just inside, Una!"

Since there's nice bundle of sacks with various dried goods within piled up against the wall on this side. Thanks, Veil. Ariadne bounced off of them in her tumble, but it should be a far easier descent knowing the sacks are there.

Full retreat! Ariadne, still pink of cheeks, turns in a swirl of fabric and power-walks into the Temple proper. How nice that there's no guards on this side of the door!

"Definitely," says Una, firmly, and with an apology still written deep into her tone. "We really didn't mean-- well. We'll go, right, yes."

Thank goodness for those sacks, making the descent significantly easier, though Una still wobbles along the way: the un-athletic (una-thletic?) are going to do what they do, whatever's available. At least she doesn't do any further damage to the picnic in question, and can hastily offer one final apologetic smile to the ladies, then hurry on after Ariadne.

Her hood needs adjusting as she goes, but that's easy enough. Right. Now they're ready.

"Okay," she says. "So-- upstairs?"

"Upstairs and as quiet as we can fucking manage," Ariadne hisses back from where she's all but plastered against one of the pillars of the main chamber. It's a sprawling internal area, at least fifty feet up or more to the silk-draped windows which allow air flow and natural lighting. Incense and fruit offerings, sweat and candle-smoke all perfume the air despite the vast space. Centrally towards the back of the large room, a statue of Ptah at least thirty feet tall. Nobly he stands and offerings are stacked at his feet; the floral garlands are particularly bright alongside the painted jars of olive oil.

And a clot of guards are talking with one of the bald priests; he's signified by the drape of a leopard skin over one shoulder.

The barista points silently at what appears to be a ladder -- yes, an actual ladder -- leading up to what appears to be a narrow pathway around what counts as a second floor of this main temple room.

Thing is, it means slinking halfway down the room and definitely into view of the priest by proxy of the direction he's facing. How to distract?!

It's a fascinating and overwhelming sight. Una may not have fantasised about Egypt quite the way she did about Rome, but it's still-- it's still. Let her take a moment to be overawed. Ptah is a God, and while Una may not believe in any particular deities, there's still something reverent about a temple-- and about this temple in, if not its heyday, then certainly its time of use.

Maybe it's that that gives her an idea, gaze caught between the ladder Ariadne points to and the priest, plus guards, that are preventing their use of it.

For a moment, it's like she's about to throw herself at their mercy, distracting them with her mere presence. Instead: "Fire," she yells-- screams-- as she points in the direction of the altar.

It's definitely not her fault that some of those offerings have just gone up in flames.

"Go," she tells Ariadne, sotto voce. "Now."

Ariadne can read intent in the flash-milliseconds as her friend starts to move. She reaches and then pulls her hand back, visibly wincing, as Una's voice rises to cut through the generally peaceful interior like a popped balloon at a funeral.

Distraction? Grand success -- there goes the priest running in his sandals towards the rising smoke with a shout at the acolytes about a toppled candle and oh my gods, put out the fire, put it out, we can't have Ptah being desecrated and the offerings and the whole city of Memphis will be cursed!

Attention garnered? Yes -- two of the three guards immediately go to help the priest with the fire certainly more than happy to start eating textile and dried floral offerings.

One of the guards takes a meaningful step towards Una as he reaches for his short sword. He's not high up in the echelon per his own regalia, but he is armed. "You! How did the fire start?" the guard calls out across the distance, his scowl on terms with his grip of sword handle.

Behind the pillar, Ariadne gives Una a frightened look, but then seems to steel herself. Zoom -- there goes the barista, darting between pillars. She's quick and thankfully quick enough to make it to the ladder and begin to scale it as fast as possible.

Ah. The third guard. There's always a third guard, isn't there?

Una panics, for a moment, particularly when Ariadne gives her that look and then zooms-- but she straightens her shoulders and focuses her attention upon the remaining guard. "I don't know!" she says, attempting a wide-eyed stare that would probably work better if she were not dressed... how she's dressed.

Maybe she realises that, because as much as she's smiling blandly, she's also reaching out with her (limited) mental powers in an attempt to project at the guard the first emotion she can think of: disinterest.

(Is that an emotion? Well, close enough.)

About a dozen feet or so between Una and the guard by the time the mental power lands upon him like a finely-woven net. One can see the guard's eyes go briefly dazed and he stops, putting a hand to his head. Shaking it as if he were a dog dealing with a fly, he then blinks at Una.

"You...uh." Craggled brows furrow. The priest yowling about keeping the fire away from the olive oil jars snags the guard's attention again. One can see him torn between aiding his comrades and interrogating this stranger. Hooded stranger. "How did the...um." Una got his tongue, apparently, he's very confused now.

The ladder shivers as Ariadne's booted foot misses a rung, but she manages to scramble up onto the narrow second-floor walkway without any further difficulty. Now that she's on solid flooring, she ducks low and makes her way quickly towards the nearest vase. There are, unfortunately, a lot of vases along the walkway which lines three of the four walls, leaving the main entrance's wall facing the river free for its rows upon rows of hieroglyphs to be displayed.

Una! Get up here! Ariadne's mental hiss floats down from on high quite counter to the rise of darkening smoke. Oh man: did the fire just touch a jar of olive oil?

"There's a fire," Una prompts. "You should see to that."

It's more than a little unnerving, watching the impact of her little nudge. The mental abilities are not Una's strongest, not by a long way, and this may well be the first time she's attempted anything along these lines. It's something to be considered, probably deeply... but not right now.

Ariadne's mental hiss at least pushes her into action. "Go," she tells the guard, and whether he pays attention to her? She's off on her way, heading for the ladder.

It's a pity her foot slips on one of the first rungs. It's fine. She can do this. She can.

(Maybe.)

The lady in the hood has a point, especially after the fire does find a small jar of olive oil. It begins to spatter and hiss everywhere, heated and threatening to become more than just the toasted scent of oil. Grimacing, the guard chooses to go and help his comrades; his gleaming short-sword is sheathed and he lopes over for a command from his captain.

Upstairs, Ariadne has paused and barely looks over the low wall separating walkway from empty air. "Oh, thank gods," she whispers as she sees Una on her ascent (ungraceful as the initial few steps are) up the ladder. Still looking at vases, she reports in her mental murmur before she continues on down the narrow aisle towards what appears to be a writing desk and small shelf for scrolls. Maybe vase has marking on it?

The priest is definitely shouting about avoiding a curse on the city of Memphis now. At least the Apis Bull is untouched!

I'm coming! Una promises, and for once she really does properly mean it: this time, she manages to get the rest of the way up the ladder without incident, scrambling madly from one rung to the next. It's a good thing that the guard has drawn his attention away, because there's nothing stealthy about this ascent... but at least it gets her there in the end.

"Okay," she whispers, once she's managed to get her feet back on solid ground. "Where do you need me to look?" She can do this. She's on board.

"See the shelves with the scrolls in the far corner?" Ariadne points to the opposite half of the second level walkway, where a lattice-working of wood holds a few rolled papyri and what appears to be a corner dedicated to half-work, half-décor. "I think I can see a few vases over there. Like I said, the vase might have a mark on it or something, maybe an A-like shape?"

It's a shot in the dark, but the Veil's been playing along certain veins, and well...if it walks like a duck?

Down below, olive oil definitely spatters and bubbles while smoke continues to rise. The soldiers not captain have been sent after bags of sand to try and smother it. It smells like toasted flowers now, a rather nice smell in contrast to the burning linen. Who cares about the hooded strangers?!

Nobody...at the moment.

Una gives a quick little nod, crossing immediately towards the scrolls in the corner... though she does pause to glance back down at the mess she's left behind too, a little guilty.

"Hopefully I haven't ruined everything," she murmurs, a little embarrassed. "I forgot how flammable that kind of thing-- well, the sand will help, right?"

Never mind. It's not important, as long as the whole complex doesn't go up in flames-- and it shouldn't. So much stone, right? It's fine. It's fine.

"What's the A-shape mean, do you know?" She peers at the vases, picking up one, and then a second, checking them over carefully.

Beat. "Wait, like this kind of A-shape?"

"In theory?" Ariadne replies over her shoulder over the sounds of controlling chaos below. She wince-shrugs too; it's a mess, but it's also a Dream and she's not going to feel overly terrible about the results. Not like it could come back to haunt them anyways, right?

Right.

Una's second question has the barista lifting her head like a meerkat. This kind of A-shape? She ghosts as quickly and subtly as she can around the lengths of the narrow walkway and over to the younger redhead. "Holy shit, YES." That kind of A-shape, the symbol only missing the horizontal bar to change it to the letter A itself. "Holy shit, Una, well done!" hisses Ariadne, unaccountably excited despite the thickening of the smoke up here. "Reach inside, the scroll has to be in there!"

She then inhales, mouth open and nose crinkled in tell-tale readiness to sneeze. Smoke, after all.

Inside the vase? There's definitely a small scroll, not too much larger than the missive originally found in Una's satchel and still sealed with a beeswax-daubed tie of thin leather.

"Phew," says Una, relieved-- and a little puzzled, perhaps-- at how easily this particular vase came to her. "Good. Good. Okay-- yes, we have a scroll." She's dug into the vase to pull it out, wiggling it in demonstration towards Ariadne. Her voice is pitched low, but she's not entirely whispering: quiet, but far from silent.

"Does... that mean we're done?" she wonders, dubiously. "I'm not sure if I can take falling off more tall things I need to climb."

Because of course -- of course -- they've found the scroll so easily, the Veil isn't going to play nicely in the least.

Ariadne inhales again, her face scrunching up more, and then she tries hard to muffle the sneeze. "KzzSHHHNT?!"

It's unfortunately between shouts from the priest and from the guardsmen's captain and the latter looks up. He, unfortunately, recognizes the hoods as something questionable bare minimum and threatening nonetheless. "HEY!"

Ariadne spins and makes a sound not too unlike a frog dropped from a tall height. "SHIT?!" The captain sends two guards towards the ladder, the only way up to the second level, and on the opposite side now to both Gray Harborites. "Uh!" Think fast! Whirling in place again, the barista points. "The window! Look, it has a wooden platform! Up after that, up!" She grabs a handful of Una's shoulder-sleeve and yanks the younger woman towards the windows. This particular escapade is enabled because of touch-ups to the outside fresco of the Temple itself. It still isn't pretty, how Ariadne scrambles out and onto the wooden platform. She then crouches and jumps --

-- to catch the ledge of the roof and start to scramble up onto it!

Una freezes when Ariadne sneezes, her eyes going abruptly wide and wary... and all the more so when it becomes so clear that they've been spotted, her distraction no longer relevant.

"Shit are you fucking me?" she says, horrified, when Ariadne grabs and yanks, though her feet immediately throw themselves into action to keep herself from tripping along the way. "I can't--"

There's no way. She fell down a wall twice and a ladder once, Ariadne. This is suicide. This is a window; she's going to end up self-defenestrated.

That's the thing, though: when there's someone right on your tail, and adrenaline comes in to play? Una hesitates at the window for a moment, torn between the decent possibility of a long drop to the ground and the strong chance of being caught by the guards-- and so she jumps, too.

Surprisingly, she manages to grab hold of the ledge without incident. Even more surprisingly, she manages to swing herself up to follow Ariadne.

She doesn't fall.

She doesn't fall?

Huh.

Look at the view from the rooftop: the gleaming ribbon of the Nile below catches the sunlight in so many winkling refractions. Life bustles below in the spread of city. Beyond, sand dunes and low-lying mountains in darker-purple hide mysteries upon mysteries.

It really would be beautiful were it not for the sound of somewhat-distant shouts of "HEY!" -- because the pair of sentries on the rooftop were surely there to keep an eye on things from on high and not, say, shirk at their duties over lunch. Or something. But they have duties now because clearly, those two are fleeing from authority!

"Fuck, SERIOUSLY?!" Ariadne curses at the height of her lungs as she turns and bolts towards the opposite end of the temple rooftop. It's a good number of yards between them and the sentries, but nobody in their right mind wants to go against the spears each man has. They know how to use the pointy ends. "Una! Ideas?!" Since the edge of the rooftop is coming up here and it's kind of a drop into empty air.

Unless they want to see about the pair of carts parked far below, filled with palm fronds rather than hay.

At another moment, the view would be spectacular, indeed. It's the kind of view Una would probably enjoy just sitting and watching, preferably with the sun setting, a drink (or a cookie) in hand--

-- but that's not today, is it? She barely has time to register the view, not really. The sentries on the roof are so close, Ariadne's yelling, and Una?

She casts around desperately. There's always a way, right? The Veil doesn't want them imprisoned or dead. It doesn't.

Maybe that's why she casts her gaze downwards, lingering, finally, upon the pair of palm frond-filled carts.

"Oh fuck me," she moans, pointing. "I think that's our only way down. It completely ignores the laws of physics, but..." But something about them screams at her anyway.

She jumps. RIP Una.

"YOU'VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME?!"

Ariadne's not any happier about the end results of, well, the end of the roof and the end of the line...if they don't jump. Physics?! They're going to die!!!

She looks over her shoulder, her mouth a slash of fear and dismay, to see the sentries closing in as fast as they can. Sunlight gleams on spears and spaulders both. There's a moment to register how Una's absent beside her now -- holy shit, she JUMPED!

"Oh my gods, oh my gods, OH FUCK!" That's Ariadne doing a cornered and frantic circling in place once before she too throws herself off the rooftop of the Temple.

Falling will always be terrifying. There's no arguing against the tug of gravity pulling one faster and faster and inverting the stomach and sucking the air from lungs. Ariadne does, in fact, shriek all of the way down.

WHUMFFFF. Both carts rattle and then still as the two Gray Harborites land in them without a single scratch. Una's cart, drawn by a bored ox, earns itself a baleful bovine glance, but the ox goes back to chewing cud.

The sentries reach the edge of the rooftop and stare. Where the hell did they go?! Eh, fuck it, they're probably broken heaps in the shade of the Temple anyways, some guard will find them later, good riddance.

"...Una?" comes the very quiet, trembling voice from inside Palm Frond Cart #2.

Heights, it seems, are okay with Una. Falling from heights? No. No. May that never happen again, please god, no. Una's shriek forms a beautiful (this is a lie) harmony with Ariadne's, all the way down, and goes very silent at the end, when it's nothing but a cart and some palm fronds, and...

... she's alive. It takes her more than a moment or two to register this properly, and during that time she's very quiet, feeling out every inch of her body.

Toes, check.

Ankles, check.

Knees, check.

.. and so on.

It's the sound of Ariadne's voice that rouses her from her own reverie. Her own is not much more stable. "I think I'd like to not do that again," she says, with an exhale.

"But I'm okay. I think."

Still falsetto, the forcibly-positive reply to float back to Una: "Okay is good! Okay is awesome! I'm okay too! I don't understand why, but I am!"

Palm fronds shift aside as Ariadne sits up, partially wearing a frond atop her hood. She looks around, pale and panting, and sees no soldiers, no sentries, no nothing. "Holy fuck!" Her sigh shivers out and she then sneezes again. "I want out of this place! Out of these stupid plants, off this stupid cart, get the stupid scroll back -- "

She stumbles and does an awkward half-gripped roll out of the cart. Nothing's hurt, but her scramble upright is wounded dignity incarnate. She even brushes her garmentry down like a cat grooming itself, ew ew ew, be straight, get OFF ME, DUST AND PLANT LIFE.

"Back to Cleopatra and then I want to GO HOME!"

A flamingo nearby takes off at the shout. An ibis stares. So judgmental, those ibis.

"We should be dead," murmurs Una, who needs to take a moment to express that, despite her otherwise steadfast composure. They should be. They really, really should be.

Fuck the Veil. Not that-- not that Una objects to not being dead, mind. But. But.

She takes in a deep breath, and she, too, sneezes, waving one hand-- her free hand: the other one is still, thankfully, holding on to that scroll, and aren't we relieved about that?-- as if that might clear the air around her. Getting out of the cart? That's an even better plan.

"Word," she says, simply. What more is there to say? "I want to go home. I don't want to climb walls or dive off buildings. I want-- I really don't want to get back in that chariot, either."

Even though it was fun the first time. Sulk, sulk, sulk.

"Fuck that chariot, it hurt my back." Ariadne even carefully stretches up her spine as if testing how annoyed her lower back is. "I'm going to need at least two Advil when I get home, jesus..." She walks over beside Una and then looks around. Their chariot's on the far side of the city and with the Temple starting to crawl like a disturbed anthill, it's probably time to pick the nearest and most convenient manner of exiting, stage left.

She sighs and silently points at two hitching posts by a well.

It's a chestnut mare with flaxen mane this time, docilely standing there with one back hoof cocked up, dozing -- and a camel, one with a cute little paler patterning of almost paint-like hair upon its body, taller and listening to some sound up the side street.

"Which one do you want? I don't care, we just need to get back to Her Highnessness," Ariadne mutters.

It's monstrously unfair, is what it is. A proper Dream would let them get away with having completed their task and then going home without the tedium of the long trip across the desert, but noooooooo, no of course that's not what is going to happen here. Una sighs, dramatically. She might shake her fist at the sky, too, except that takes energy, and it's pretty clear she's going to need to preserve hers.

"Uh," she says. "Which do you think is the easier to ride? I'll-- look, I'll take the camel. Why not add to my Dream menagerie, right? I'm going to hate whichever I end up on. Let's go. Before someone else tries to chase us, or someone steals the scroll," watch her now tuck it into her clothes just to be sure, "or whatever else. Fuck me, I want to be at home. I want a hot bath and some Advil and probably half a bottle of whiskey."

Grrrr.

"Sure, camel's all yours. I'll help you up, here," Ariadne says as she all but stomps over to the taller creature. At least this is one of the calmer, well-socialized camels? Nobody's spat upon or bitten; Una's hood gets whiffled by those rubbery front lips a few times, but the redhead at the halter keeps the fabric from disappearing into a curious mouth. She then interlaces fingers to offer a foot-lift up and into the odd saddle set frontally on the animal.

The horse sidles a bit, but Ariadne's done playing at this point. Not unkindly but certainly firmly, she sees about mounting up onto the saddle; it's more an inverted fitting of animal skin over layering of blanketing than any proper saddle, but she can tell she won't fall off unless something entices the horse to bolt.

No hyenas for the love of all gods holy here, please, please, please.

"I'll take half of that bottle of whiskey." Drolly, somehow scrounging up a tired smirk, the older redhead informs Una of this. A tilt of her head indicates they should move on and only after Una's camel is moving does she heel the horse to a brisk walk. Look official, right? They've got places to be! They weren't involved with the Temple fire at all! No way! Don't mind the hoods!

At least the Dream has mercy when they're outside the city proper, just about to take up their route along the barely-visible path winding off to the north. One of those vertiginous moments of held breath and then both four-legged creatures are slowing within the courtyard of the God-Queen's temporary palace.

Ariadne blinks and looks over at Una. "...look, I'll take it," she says tiredly of what must be some form of 'fast travel'.

"Be nice," the younger redhead warns the camel, letting her hood be whiffled but otherwise giving it a look that warns pretty seriously: she's not taking any shit. Thankfully, she manages-- with Ariadne's help-- to climb up atop the camel without further incident, though it's not the most comfortable and stable of perches: camels be weird.

"I'll be happy to share it with you," she says, once she's settled, turning her head to offer the other woman a wry smile. "When we get home."

The camel's gait is also weird, not that she's especially used to riding horses, but-- it's a different kind of motion. It's weird. All of this is weird.

Her squeak answers that fast travel, eyes wide, but there is nothing but relief in her expression. "You and me both," is muttered. "Though I still hurt more than I did... never mind. It could be worse." It could just be that her muscles are cramping from their previous exertions-- or maybe the ride really did leave its marks.

It doesn't matter. She slides, rather than climbs, down the side of her mount, dusting herself off in a desultory kind of way.

"Ready?"

"...yeah." A grunt from Ariadne as she dismounts as well and winces as her hips pang. Ouch. The concept of 'fast travel' doesn't negate the saddle-soreness, apparently. She testingly travels a few steps and then rotates her back in careful wrenches to loosen things up. "As ready as I'll ever be. Let's just...walk to the garden, I don't want to play 'wait on the majordomo' again, we've got homework to turn in." Laughing quietly to herself, the barista then groan-sighs as she walks in the direction of their last-known exit from the grandly-appointed garden courtyard.

Of course, the two Centurions are there and they definitely make a classical X of their weaponry. "State your name and business!"

Ariadne sighs most long-sufferingly. "We're on errand for Her High Goddessness." Because scrolls are secretive little creatures and must not be revealed unless to the proper party, don't you know. Centurions scowl.

"Let them through," says the majordomo, scowling at being bypassed, mostly likely, but still insistent on doing his job. He walks towards them and gestures for the Centurions to knock it off. The two burly soldiers do, though not without the proper Threatening Look for the hooded women. Hoods. There's something about them around here.

"Thank you," Ariadne clips out before walking on like she means business and not as if she really still disliked the look of those halberd-like war-axes. She still makes sure to stick close to Una, almost brushing elbows, as they reach the edge of the courtyard. At least the majordomo asks them to wait in the shade of the veranda strung with a pleasantly-scented vine-flower. Cleopatra is apparently attending on business. Business? "...business," the older redhead wryly mutters and glances at Una, brow lifted.

Una brushes her hand past the fold of clothing where the scroll is (still, thankfully!) safely tucked, but otherwise doesn't reach for her. She's got a slightly bow-legged gait as she follows Ariadne, acknowledging her suggestion with a silent but fervent nod.

The whole security theatre of the Centurions makes her sigh: there's nothing feigned about her long-suffering look at them, or the roll of her eyes. So like men. Such a shame she can't just pull out her own sword and-- no, that's definitely not her thought, and her alter-ego, the one she's been channeling for this experience? He or she needs to pipe down around now. No more ridiculous swan dives off of roofs.

"... business," repeats Una, in the garden, and just look at the flush of her cheeks right now, because given their earlier meeting with Cleopatra, certain assumptions can absolutely be mad. 'Business' indeed. "Fine. At least it's not too hot in here. Goooooods I want a bath. Road sweat is nasty."

"Business," -- and the softer if no less amused final iteration is accompanied by a flick of brows from Ariadne. "And yes, I've also got horse hair in my shirt somehow. I don't really want to know how. There's probably one of those...palm frond leaf blade pieces somewhere in there too. It'd probably be a good thing to consider what to ask for if Cleopatra decides to reward us and asks what we want," she adds even more quietly, definitely only for the shell of Una's ear. "I don't think a bath would be out of order, personally...?"

Think fast. It's easy to see the majordomo threading his way through the clumpings of guests busily quaffing wine and tidbits from platters while flutists and lyrists play merry music off to one side. There's even a tambourine! Maybe the assumption of a successful reclaiming of scroll was had? He finds Cleopatra busy gesticulating about something to a pair of gentlemen in robes almost senatorial and a woman in the clothing of the gentry off to one side and can be seen to lean in once she realizes he's standing there. It takes her about three minutes to realize this, but nobody interrupts the God-Queen. Cleopatra turns to face the majordomo and then looks in the direction of the scroll-retrievers.

Her smile can be seen from here, even across the expanse of the gardens and revelers.

Ariadne inhales and exhales. "Here we go," she mutters and makes herself stand up straighter in place.

And takes down her hood after a second, since it's probably not a good idea to be all secret-like in front of Her Godliness in case it's taken as insult.

"Oh my god," murmurs Una by way of return. "A bath, yes." And look: not just because yeah, they clearly both desperately need one. Also? The baths and bathhouses of the ancient world were impressive, and a queen's boon in the form of a bath? That's an experience that Una-- despite, let's face it, her current disillusionment with this experience-- may not be able to resist. Besides, what else can the God-Queen offer that wouldn't be a somewhat dangerous thing to try and take home with them? Una can imagine riches, but... but.

Brown eyes follow the majordomo through the garden, sliding briefly away to consider the musicians, then hastily attempting to catch up again, nearly missing Cleopatra and her business partners in the process. Her exhale marks the moment she gets there, and that smile? It draws another one, a little tighter.

Like Ariadne, she pulls her hood down hastily, though only after she's seen the other woman do it. She stiffens, otherwise, standing at attention... and then hastily withdrawing the scroll from the folds of her clothing. (Thankfully, it has avoided becoming sodden with sweat, which would be, shall we say, distinctly inconvenient. Also gross.)

Cleopatra's influence can be seen as she walks -- nay, sways her way along the cobblestone garden pathway. Revelers and courtiers, favorites and those wishing they were, all mark her passing and eyes linger on her even after she's moved on. This time, her garmentry is white with royal-blue accents, upon her beaded hair a heavy tiara sporting more than one precious jewel in a noticeably larger size. As before, the draping of the fabric certainly lets the air flow move; little is left to the imagination. Accompanied by her majordomo, the God-Queen approaches still wearing her radiant smile.

"My Medjay," she greets warmly, sweetly. "You bring me good tidings?"

Ariadne licks her lips and inclines her head this time, not so overwhelmed to at least try some pretense of courtesy. "We bring what you requested, your...Godliness." Just a little hiccup there as she decides what title suits best.

"I trust there were no difficulties?" Cleopatra asks, her dark eyes looking expectantly between the two redheads.

It flashes through the barista's mind: at least they weren't hay carts, hay gets everywhere. "Hardly any," Ariadne confirms with a flicker of a smile.

Totally no fire, m'am, or angry soldiers, nope.

Una half bobs her gesture of courtesy, sort of something that's partway between a nod and a bow and inexplicably involves the knees. An awkward gesture, but hopeful not an offensive one. It's clearly for the best that Ariadne takes the lead with the words, too, because the younger redhead is suffering a dry throat and a complete and utter lack of words; Cleopatra is a force of nature, and this... well, it's 'real' enough. Too real.

She thrusts her arm out in offering a little awkwardly, the scroll presented as she attempts another gesture of genuflection. They must look a mess-- nothing like the professionals they're supposed to be!-- but maybe it won't matter, in the end, given the goods are right here.

Cleopatra considers the offered scroll with a puckish shrinking of her lips, as if she were trying not to smile and making the struggle known. It's the majordomo who reaches out to take the scroll from Una and hold onto it for the moment; more than likely, one of this poor sap's job sub-titles is the tester for any topical, skin-based poisons. Given Una isn't dead, chances are, this time around, he's simply there to hold things for his boss lady.

"Hardly any difficulties and the scroll unopened. I can hardly ask of anything more of you." This almost sounds like a humoring lie from the God-Queen and it makes Ariadne's lips twitch thin for a split second. "Oh, I suppose one thing: pass on word to Aya and Bayek that I require their assistance." Cleopatra leaves the missive short and sweet and perfectly assumptive of the senior pairing of Medjay. "Now, what would you have as your reward? Time in the gardens?" Her graceful gesture encompasses the hedonistic display of food and drink and fashion and people alike. "Weaponry? Currency?"

Ariadne glances over at Una and shrugs the tiniest bit. Bath? she thinks at the younger redhead.

Una's hand hovers awkwardly outstretched, as if she's realised too late the potential minefield: to offer to the God-Queen, who likely will not accept for herself, or bypass her and offer to the majordomo, but potentially risk causing offence? Her own expression is pained, and slightly more relieved, in turn, when the majordomo accepts it from her, and she can hastily draw her hand back.

(Contact poison is not, thankfully, something the younger of the two redheads has considered. This does rather encourage the impression that this is not a missed calling for her-- which is never a bad thing to have learned, right?)

Una presses her own lips together, biting back what might be a smile or possibly a frown. "As you request," she promises, with another of those bobbing bows. "It shall be done. I-- we--"

Deep breath, Una. She's gone pink. Ariadne's glancing at her with that shrug, and in the end, what else could it possibly be?

"A bath, great lady. We seek nothing more than that." Beat. "Please." Please.

The request makes Cleopatra lift her chin and chime laughter. Talk about presence: even the God-Queen's chuckling asks to be joined and causes several of the courtiers wondering at distance to smile or frown. How dare those hooded hooligans gain her good graces and not them?! That's what the frowners are thinking, surely, muttering into their chalices or into ears to start rumors and stop this rise of place before it even starts. The joys of a royal court.

"A bath then. Hamon, have Amjet take them to the royal baths and see that the handmaidens are thorough with their care," the God-Queen then tells her majordomo briskly. "They have ensured the safety of my son. They deserve nothing less than quality." Her attention returns to the two Medjay and her smile is charm incarnate. "Go then, again with my blessing." Looks like another round of the benedictive kissing, a press to each forehead (and not to the lips, without an ounce of the flirtatiousness of before) after royally-smooth hands capture up faces for a passing moment or four, and then Cleopatra's left them once more in a vacuum of confident carriage and amber-scent.

Ariadne still sighs a short little sigh. "Shit," she whispers as she straightens up again, having had to slightly stoop for the benedictive kiss to the forehead. Hamon's also ditched them momentarily to find the head handmaiden in question, Amjet, and it gives the two Gray Harborites a chance to find proverbial air. "Gods, no wonder Cesar fell head over fucking heels for her," the older redhead continues whispering at Una even as she watches the God-Queen swan back into her garden party. "Some people have terrifying amounts of charisma."

Even Una smiles, though hers is bland and a little embarrassed, as evidenced by the sudden rush of blood to her cheeks. The blood doesn't even have time to start recirculating itself before it's time for another of those kisses (and here's Una, grateful for the lack of flirtatiousness), and a bowed head that really does need to be drawn up by those royally-smooth hands.

"Seriously," she murmurs, as they're left alone. "She's-- something else. That's one woman I'm terribly glad doesn't live in our time and place, you know? It'd be so dangerous. How amazing do you think these baths are going to be? I want to soak until my toes go all wrinkly."

"Right? Thing is, that's not all just being charming. She's a political mastermind," Ariadne continues barely over a whisper. Her lips then press shut and commentary switches to the mental plane, the better to be kept exponentially more private. And cruel if it suited her plans. I remember reading of how she'd condemned two prisoners to being boiled alive in a Bronze Bull before someone intervened. Didn't even think twice, apparently. Her gaze diverts to the cobblestones before herself and then off to one side, the better to seem as if she's waiting and not attempting to beat down any sense of being charmed by the God-Queen before it can take root. And the baths will probably be pretty spiffy if they're the royal baths in particular. You'll have to decide if you want to soak or be pampered, is my guess.

Hajmet arrives shortly with a pressed-and-prim smile and a gossamer set of garments which allow very little to the imagination, though with the sense of keeping cool rather than manipulation per Cleopatra's own display of wealth and skin. "This way, please, I shall take you to the baths," she says with hands pressed together before her stomach. Turning, the head handmaiden then leads the way along another garden path parallel to the main cobblestones. It's hemmed in by grasses and manicured flowering bushes to fill the air more with sweetness rather than the closeness of bodies and wine. Ahead of them, a wing of the palatial premises can be entered via a yawning opening into what must be a small waiting room. No door to block off the view of a low couch and other decor.

Thing is?

It's a doorway.

Like the Veil was going to let them enjoy anything anyhow.

It's not that I disbelieve it, Una admits, replying similarly; a wise idea, this one. Based on what I've seen. I do believe she can be just as easily cruel as she is charming. It just-- I just-- that kind of power, in those kinds of hands, makes me incredibly nervous. I won't be sorry to go home. It's enough to distract her from thought of that bath, though anticipation resumes with Hajmet's arrival (she gets a tentative smile, though Una refrains from doing more than bobbing her head in greeting-- a very different kind of bob to the ones Cleopatra herself received).

Despite her exhaustion, despite her sweatiness and general disquiet, there's at least the hint of glee to her step as she follows Hajmet, turning her gaze this way and that to track through the garden, eyes so wide as she takes in the view.

It means she's slower than she might otherwise be to register the presence of that doorway, and when she does? Her sigh is caught between disappointment, disgruntlement, and no small amount of relief too.

Good! But also... not good!

"Damn it," she murmurs beneath her breath, forgetting to project. A glance at Ariadne.

Well. There's no point delaying, is there? She steps through.

It's about the time when Ariadne catches the invective from Una that she realizes this is, in fact, a doorway. Stopping short of it, she watches as the younger redhead steps into the shadows and then becomes... rather hard to see with the contrast of outside, bright desert sun and internal shadow. The barista squints. Has Una gone back?

"Una...?" she calls out. There's no sign of Hamjet either. Maybe the handmaiden continued on deeper into the palace wing? It doesn't make sense to delay at this point, doorway or not, and so with a long-suffering sigh, Ariadne stomps rather than steps through --

-- and vertigo accompanies her emergence onto the sidewalk outside of Espresso Yourself. She stumbles to one side, back in her normal clothing and yet somehow with horse hair and desert dust clinging to her nape and scalp. "Fuck, I hate you." A sharp mutter for the Veil as she presses a hand to half of her face and leans against the cement wall rather than the broad street-side window. "Una?"

"Here." Una's had a few more seconds to pull herself together, but that's still relative: she looks wan and tired and more than a little sunburnt from the desert sun, and her dress may be clean but the rest of her? She's filthy. She's had enough wherewithal to draw herself slightly off to the side, out of the way of the rest of the tourists and locals wandering past, though no doubt she-- both of them-- make a fairly ridiculous picture otherwise.

"I knew I said I wanted to go home, but--" She makes a face. A tired, tired face.

"Looks like it's a normal bath for us, huh."

Glancing over to see her fellow Gray Harborite, the barista blows a hard sigh of relief. She nods as she straightens in place and blinks hard a few times while the vertigo melts away slowly.

"A normal bath is good too though. We get to use our own soap and know it's not going to be filled with...things we don't know about, proper loofas... I'm scrubbing the hell out of my hair and I need to blow my nose yesterday. I'm pretty sure I've got road grit in my sinuses," the young woman notes drily. "I don't think I picked up my paycheck, but I can do it tomorrow after there's not horse all over me. I love horses, but dude, this is...yeah. Shower time. Here, back to my car, you're not walking home if I have a say in it."

Once she starts moving, she winces. "Owwwwwww. Saddle hips, ow. Owwww," she drawls under her breath as she fishes in her courier purse for her keys.

"Oh, I'm absolutely not dismissing a normal bath. I'm going to refill it as many times as it takes... as many times as there's hot water for it, and Jules and Della are just going to have to deal."

Una stumbles as she draws herself away from the wall, wincing slightly, and gives Ariadne a rueful little smile. "I-- won't say no to that. Thanks. I was all ready to say I was fine, but, well, I'm not really, am I? That was kind of-- a lot. We'll have to get ice cream another day."

It doesn't stop her from abruptly giggling then, though. "Did we really, seriously dive off a building into palm fronds and live to tell the tale?"

Una gets an understanding half-smirk from Ariadne as they walk the short distance down the street towards where the barista's car is parked. "Ice cream another day is fine too. I feel way too dirty to appreciate it." The sudden arc of giggling has Ariadne nearly stopping, as if she weren't sure for a second if this was hysteria or some other sound and not pure amusement.

Then she processes the question. Cue a snort-laugh, an honest-to-god snort-laugh, from Ariadne. "I'm immediately reminded of Skyrim and the meme, 'fuck physics, I'm a horse'. Because yes, yes, we should have busted those carts all to hell with landing on them with our velocity and you know what? We did survive. We dove off a building and into a cartful of palm fronds and it kind of makes us the most badass motherfuckers this side of...the Nile," she decides before laughing again in a high peal of pure relief. Una is then offered the highest of fives.

Hysteria and amusement are two sides of the same coin, and it could so easily be that: heads and not tails, hysteria and not mirth. But Una's eyes are shining, and that snort-laugh? That does nothing to stop her from giggling nearly to the point of cackling. High five is returned with enthusiasm, though Una shakes her head and can only shrug her shoulders.

"Mind you," she says, "I'm never doing that again. If the Veil ever sets it up like that-- I'm going to assume the worst and refuse. I'm not even sure what came over me, you know? Just it seemed like the only way out. Fuck. Fuuuuck."

"Cleopatra's Medjay. Baddest motherfucks there ever were. I'd drink to that."

But not until she's showered the ancient grime and dust and sweat into oblivion.