#But from the turban and all i am guessing they were inspired by them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

foxydivaxx · 5 years

Text

Osiris Chapter 2

This chapter was difficult for me to write because welp...where do I start? Since Amon does not have much backstory (seriously fuck you DC) , filling in the blanks would be a lot harder than I thought. But will try my best. Shuri from Black Panther inspired elements of this story.

“You sure about this Your Highness?”

Amon sighs. He would never be used to getting treated as royalty because he is used to being a typical street kid. Unfortunately since both Adam and Adrianna aren’t here haven been petrified, he has no choice but to step up and become interim ruler of Kahndaq for the time being and at the same time fine time to help the Team and also the Justice League.

“I understand how you feel Sameer but it will be risky of me to just leave Kahnddaq in search of a cure espeically since without either Adam or Isis who were this nation’s strongest line of defense, we would be vulnerable to all forms of attacks.” the boy says.

He is still very young and inexperienced in a lot of areas, not just leadership but still, it is worth a short.

“The boy has a point.”

Umar, the oldest counsel of Adam’s and a close friend to the family walks into the room. He is an elderly man, possibly in his 60′s wearing green robes and a white turban. “It will be foolish for him to just leave here when we are not fully secured. Considering the grave mistake Adam made whilst he and Queen Isis were originally dead, it makes sense.”

Amon stares at the ground beneath him. He was told that Adam waged war upon the nation of Bialya as the Four Horsemen of Apocalypse came from that nation. The fact that Adam destroyed that entire nation has made things worse. Adding more to their problems was his own murder of Persuader.

I have so much weight on my shoulders now.

Sameer places a hand on Amon’s shoulder. “Worry yourself not Young Master. We shall guide you every step of the way.”

A young lady about 10 years the Prince’s senior dressed in a purple gown with thick reading glasses joins them. “The Shazam family are here to see you.’

Amon was pissed when he sees the girl since he has a bad history with her. Still he hides his ill feelings towards her and simply nods. He is still not quite sure that he is ready to face them especially Freddy who was a bit hostile towards him after the Persuader incident. Still he walks off to go meet them.

The Shazams were outside by the courtyard waiting for him. Freddy as expected seemed a little too uncomfortable to be there. One can’t blame him given Adam’s actions and also Amon’s own sins.

Amon senses the tension of course and gives them a sad smile. “H-Hi guys.” Billy smiles at him. “Hi Amon. Good to have you back.” he says as he pulls the boy into a hug. Amon chuckles softly and returns the hug. He often forgets how warm and friendly Billy can be.

Billy wants to see the good in others like Superman which might explain why he was quick to forgive Adam for his sins and sympathize with the man unlike some others. Mary pats the boy on the shoulder. “You ok Amon?”

Amon looks down. “I..I don’t know.”

The other Marvels take pity on the boy. Amon has truly been through so much hell. How he manages to be sane especially with Adam’s corrupted powers coursing through his veins is anyone’s guess.

“You’ll be fine Amon.” says Billy. Amon sighs. “Yeah but now I am the new interim ruler of Kahndaq. I have zero experience in that department. Plus I...I see myself as a failure.”

“No you are not.”

“But I made a terrible mistake and now I will have to pay for that sin and also Adam and Isis’s.”

It was then that the poor boy begins to break down in tears.

Mary takes pity on the boy and hugs him. “Shh....it’s ok. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Freddy just looks away, not caring about the boy’s plight because as far as he was concerned, he is Black Adam junior. Billy notices this and throws a glare at Freddy which makes the guy roll his eyes and then walk over to Amon and awkwardly give the boy a hug. Amon does not notice as he is still in tears.

“You are being way too hard on yourself Amon. You made a mistake yes. But then again, we all make mistakes. It is our decisions after that mistake that determines our path in life.” says Billy.

Amon sniffs and wipes away his tears. The boy was so overwhelmed by everything that if care isn’t taken, he could end up becoming worse than Adam. Billy is right. It is up to him to decide whether he goes down that path or not.

“I am not Theth-Adam and I am not Adrianna. I am not as strong as either of them talkless of smart afterall, I never went to a proper school haven spent most of my years on the street trying to make ends meet and survive. I am just simply a boy.”

“Sameer and Umar are going to handle the educational aspects of things for you and also guide you through all this. The rest is up to you. You decide who you want to be and not what others expect of you. Sure Adam did terrible things but you can be his complete opposite. You can be the hero no one expected. The hero Adam could have been.”

Amon sighed. “It’s gonna be a long road for me but I will try my best and figure out exactly who Amon Tomaz truly is because that in itself is a huge question mark.”

“I wish you all the best of luck.” says Billy. With that, the Shazam family takes the leave, leaving Amon to ponder on his existence. I have so many questions to ask but one step at a time. But right now, I need to keep an eye out for any form of trouble.

“Oh and before I head out, I have a special message that I want you to deliver to someone but Umar come closer so that I can tell you.” Umar comes closer and Amon whispers it to him. Umar smirks and nods. “Consider it done Sire.”

With that he shouts, “BLACK ADAM!!” A jolt of yellow thunder crashes upon him and transforms him into his alter ego Osiris. Once he is transformed, he soars into the air and begins to patrol.

Hope this turned out alright. Poor boy has big shoes to fill. More info on that girl later.

#rami malek #fanfiction #amon tomaz #osiris #black adam family #black marvel family #shazam #dc #dcu #dc comics #teen titans #young justice

2 notes · View notes

chromemuffin · 7 years

Photo

Shoukoku no Altair Liveblog (Chapter 8)

As for this chapter’s art, just when you thought this series couldn’t get anymore detailed, it goes and does just that! I am consistently floored by the patterns Kato puts in these designs. The circles along the hem of Mahmut’s red outer clothes make for a simple design, but are made a little more complex by including three circles inscribed in each other. And that is just scraping the surface. I also love the poses haha. Anyway, let’s move on.

Chapter 8: The Thief in the Slum

I really liked the swirls of smoke in this panel, reminds me of the otherworldly atmosphere of series like xxxholic. And the hexagon pattern on the windows is a nice touch. But look at Mahmut go! He’s supposed to be on vacation, but he couldn’t hold back from jumping right into this thing last chapter.

Of course Mahmut is sitting far away from everyone else. I have no clue how this seating area is arranged though?? Looks like a couch...but it’s not...there is a rise in the floor that goes across the room, and it looks like the rugs were arranged to make a seating area out of it.

lol throwing shade at Mahmut there. Shara finally gets her smug moment instead of constantly being D:< or –.–

Koko seems to have a nervous eating habit (she makes some adorable expressions too).

When I said I was going to catalogue his expressions, I meant it. Not sure what this one is, though...in the panel before he had a normal serious/concentrating expression, and this time it’s a little drawn, perhaps a small grimace of “I can’t possibly find this guy fascinating” when his goal is murder.

Very nice detailing on the comb here, instead of defaulting to a plain design. It certainly is...different from anything I’ve seen before.

Shara is quite the go-getter. Now you can see why she went ahead and accompanied Mahmut to go save Ibrahim. She certainly is quite tough in her own right.

Um, excuse me. Is. Is every person pictured here unique?? I mean, there are no repeats of patterns, except perhaps the two women in the middle to the right, they do have different expressions though. Notice that everyone is wearing something different, even though they are clearly from the same town. Some have scarves, others have patterns on their shirts/jackets. They also seem pretty excited for the show.

And of course there are those two ominous guys walking towards the front...

Good composition of this panel, as far as I can tell. The screentone for the sky gives it a nice depth.

And lol Mahmut you’re losing ground, maybe because your legs are so short. Mahmut is apparently only 5′4″ (forgot what that is in cm sorry).

Anyway, Iskander is on it. (though golden eagles don’t really fly around at night lol most birds are ‘blind as a bat’ at night)

Knew it wouldn’t be that easy. The uh black sludge water (?) looks very ominous.

Those are glorious wings. And you can see that nice teardrop shape on his forehead.

lol they are still calling him Mahmut Pasha.

o.O expression, maybe? He looks younger when he’s surprised.

Waaait, so the story ended up being true. xD

btw I like the official on the far left.

O-oh. That does not look like a happy thief.

And are you related to Zaganos. You both have that sort of medusa/my hair is going to eat my face if not for my hat or turban look.

lol she keeps giving him these looks and he just ignores it.

Mahmut really is all business, unless you drag him into having a good time (something I relate to). Plus, this is coming on the heels of his demotion, subconsciously he’s focusing on doing his best to grow to be worthy of his former title. He doesn’t actually know how to go about that, probably, but this is a good start. A pasha’s duty is to protect the nation, after all.

UH, way to look like the emissaries of darkness guys. They even made it a point of walking in a triangle formation! Who does that!

I was wondering why they had some pots and plates on the rooftop. Make for great weapons.

lol poor thing. Even her arms are noodly. Love how everyone else is all into it and she’s the only one with a semi-normal reaction: terrified.

This is why you should have kept your identity a secret, Mahmut.

This guy’s voice ought to be cool in the anime, I’d imagine.

Ok, I noticed that he hung the lamp on the wall and there’s a little hook there so it doesn’t look like it just disappeared or is floating.

Also, thanks to the anime I now can confirm this thing is a whistle! Sorta. It doesn’t require the user to blow into it, but it is meant to call Iskander to him.

Also, smug faced Mahmut is back. Slightly subdued though. Maybe wry?

This is also kinda interesting. He doesn’t strike me as the Robin Hood type. It’s a good thing he has that menacing face though, it makes it easier to tell that he’s being sarcastic, and I can even imagine how he’s speaking in my head.

Once again, very interesting life philosophy here. Doesn’t seem like he’s being sarcastic about this part...? I wonder if he had that ‘pride’ Mahmut is saying he must have thrown away by now. Did he actually have a sense of honor, or was it just an image that fit well with his thieving, and now that he’s lost face, he just gave it up? I’d bet on that last one, haha.

Very nice angle on the latticework there, but what are you–

OH MY GOD.

Dude, where do you keep getting all these eagles?? Once again, this is probably terrifying, especially at night when the shadows are long and dark, and you can’t see the birds clearly and they just all SWOOP IN AT YOUR FACE.

I always love the swirls and lines on Mahmut’s clothing, btw. The billowy shape of this type of clothing is different from what you normally see in manga.

*trying desperately not to curse*

WHAT THE HELL. I’m telling you, Mahmut is a bird whisperer. How much meat did you need to bribe these birds with to get them to all perch in this room to interrogate this guy.

The contrast of light and dark spots is very nice here, especially in a higher res image.

Once again, this guy’s life philosophy is interesting. Guess this is how it ties into the realization Mahmut came to in the last chapter.

That there are ways of life out there, in the country he was supposed to be protecting, that he knew nothing of. Because he never stopped to think how other people lived.

I think the word introspection suits Mahmut well. He seems to do a lot of it, in the quiet panels in which you get a glimpse of his eye or part of his face as he is thinking.

First of all: I forgot how bloody laws used to be in this part of the world’s history it’s been a while since I took history as a subject.

Second: The thief telling Mahmut to kill him there was probably to avoid a torturous death. The thief is honestly hard to pinpoint. I can’t tell if he’s being sincere about certain parts of the last few panels, or if they were part of an act, and if so for what purpose.

Then, this line of Mahmut’s is very interesting: “I, too, obey the rules of the world I live in.”

In a subtle way, this is the answer to the thief’s earlier statement explaining why he would go as far as kill over the uncovered treasure: “To us, our treasure is worth more than our lives. I don’t expect you people to get it.”

Typically, people in authority take the high road, and whether or not it is true, take themselves to be the moral good. They don’t understand the people who live at the bottom of society, and have no desire to.

That is why Mahmut’s statement is so intriguing. He is telling this man that he acknowledges his ‘world’ by comparing his own world and that of the thieves, something a person in authority wouldn’t normally do. He’s telling him that he does “get it”. But because he understands that the rules are different for different ways of life, he can’t accept the man’s request/command to kill him. Then Mahmut would be breaking the rules of his own ‘world’ (and, of course, his morals).

AND THEN, the narrative throws the bloody execution at you in technical terms, very little to misunderstand about the brutality of laws in the past.

It also throws this little gem at you:

Koko, who has generally acted like a normal person today would to these situations (like being terrified when armed men are attacking you!)...

...is actually saying “So mean” because the thief violated her expectations of who Fakir Hirsiz is in her imagination. Sliiight values dissonance there, yeah? On our part, of course. We don’t think the cutting off of limbs is an appropriate punishment for stealing (i hope), but the people in this world aren’t bothered.

OH, so it’s highly implied that the treasure’s location in the play was no coincidence. As they showed in chapter 7, the plays often took inspiration from current events, and the thieves and their treasure were just one of them.

Mahmut has a disapproving expression here, as she says. He figured it out at some point. Because the theatre troupe directly and probably deliberately benefitted from the misfortune of others, and caused the whole thing, including the murders by proxy.

But, to the very end, she claims it was all a “wonderful, fictional world”.

Very sneaky. And, perhaps, like with the punishments for theft and murder (well, the murder/execution thing is up for debate, but cutting off limbs for stealing I HOPE not), it is meant to leave you with a sort of hanging feeling. Everything is resolved as well as it could be, but...? That kind of feeling lol. Can’t explain it well.

ANYWAY, Mahmut is off! Feeding Iskander again :3

He looks, well, a little sad. That isn’t a frown, but he also isn’t happy.

Ah, yes, some much needed light-heartedness.

lol his expressions. I happen to like his startled expressions, they are always amusing. And then he’s pissed in that third panel. xD

LOL he’s the subject of the next musical.

And that’s a wrap! I actually wrote quite a bit for this one.

It was a tiny arc, but jam-packed with the very start of Mahmut’s long journey to meet his goal of becoming worthy of the title of Pasha.

← back・onward →

#shoukoku no altair #shokoku no altair #the very long altair liveblog #altair vol 2

21 notes · View notes

adapted-batteries · 7 years

Text

You Sultry Land Pirates Ruined My Dig! Chapter 1

Fandom: The Librarians

Rating: General Audiences/sfw

Ships: a little bit Jazekiel, little bit Jassandra, and some Cassekiel in a bit

In a world where Cassandra and Ezekiel are top tier land pirates, and Stone is an expert in archeology and history but new to being out in the field, there is a weird, impenetrable tomb in some Sumerian ruins, with things that don’t quite make sense.

Inspired by the lovely story line (and outfits) in episode 3x09 “And the Fatal Separation” where Cassandra and Ezekiel smuggle Stone, Baird, and Flynn in while they pose as land pirates.

Posted on my Ao3 here.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3 , Chapter 4

---

Cassandra hadn’t imagined her life ever ending up like this, running around with Ezekiel acquiring items of interest for buyers. Risky, dangerous, but well-paying work, that was for sure. The job grew on her though; now she was so good at it she couldn’t think of doing anything else. Ezekiel had been a thief for years before they met, though. In fact, that’s how they met.

Desperate for cash and a better paying job, Cassandra found a listing on a forum for “analytical analysis of action plans” with a salary listed as “varying, but well worth it.” No requirements for a degree or diploma, and she was great at analyzing stuff. Anything to have more cash, maybe pay for surgery one day, though she wasn’t quite ready to get rid of her brain tumor since it was the reason she could do that job.

In hindsight, shady job off a forum couldn’t have ever been good, but sometimes people don’t think things through. She showed up to what looked like an abandoned warehouse and quickly got roped into assessing a tactical plan to infiltrate a museum archive for some artifact of interest. It got even worse when her new boss decided she would be the least suspicious of the man’s thugs to go retrieve this artifact, and she better do it or there would be a bullet where her tumor was.

Weirdly enough, it wasn’t very hard to get into the museum. All she needed was the right questions and interests to get the archivist to take her into the vault for the sake of research. She already looked the part of an academic with her somewhat eclectic style of dress and innocent complexion.

However, when they both got down there, they weren’t the only ones interested in the artifact. An Asian boy with messy dark hair was currently hacking into the keypad on the wall. The archivist was livid, the old lady suddenly yelling at the top of her lungs. She startled the thief, who messed up his task and set off an alarm throughout the whole floor. According to the angry archivist, it was a security alert that would notify the police station down the block.

In a panic, the boy stood and strode towards Cassandra. Not prepared for this, she froze, willing him not to hurt her, but instead he hugged her. “Cousin! I did not know you in town! It is good to see you!” he exclaimed in a very thick, stereotypical Asian accent. Cassandra had no clue what was going on. “I got lost, you know, like I do, but it is a good thing you showed up. We should go visit Mum, she love to talk with you.” He turned her by the shoulders and gave a rather forceful shove forward, whispering into her ear, now in an Australian accent, “Play up ‘coz I know you’re here for the ring. If we get out of here alive I won’t kill you.”

“Oh yes, Mum will be overjoyed to see me, wouldn’t she? Let’s go back home,” Cassandra said, attempting to keep the quiver out of her voice. She let him lead her through a backdoor into an alley behind the museum, from there they broke into a run.

He took her to a park and found a grove of trees and bushes they could hide in. “Alright I just saved you jail time, so spill it,” he barked. “Who are you working for? Did they send you for the ring?”

“What? Uh yeah, I guess? They didn’t tell me what I was getting. I didn’t even want to go either, I’m not a thief like you!” She spat, adrenaline fueling her words.

“I’ll have you know I’m the best thief out there and if it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t have gotten caught!” he retorted.

“I don’t care if you’re the best, I’m not supposed to be doing this! I should be in school somewhere, not stealing a mysterious artifact for a mob boss because I can’t get a job,” she responded, mostly to herself.

“Well you must be good enough if they trusted to you get it,” the boy said, trying to calm down. “Who are you?”

“I’m Cassandra, I’m no one.” A weird response, but the boy didn’t seem to mind. Actually, he seemed to be planning something.

“Look, a person in my...business...could use someone like you, a pretty face who can get in and get out. It pays well, just not legally, and you don’t seem too keen to return to your current job,” he suggested.

“I am not going to steal for a living!” she said hysterically, turning around and walking a few paces before turning back around.

“Well it seems like you already were,” he started, looking at her with almost pity. “Ezekiel Jones, world-class thief,” he greeted, offering her his hand. Realizing she was currently on the run from the police, she shook it.

“Cassandra Cillian, uh, genius I guess?” she stammered.

“Genius, eh? How come you’re in my line of work?” he asked her, a smug grin on his face.

Cassandra tapped her temple. “Tumor. Made me drop out of school, ruined my life. But I can do quantum physics in my head, see the patterns where there is none, figure out stuff.”

“So you’re like Sherlock Holmes?” he laughed.

“Uh, if Sherlock had visual hallucinations due to a tumor and not drugs, then yes, I’m like Sherlock Holmes,” she concluded, confused by the analogy.

“Well Sherlock, we can’t say in the bushes forever. This job is bust, thanks to you,” she narrowed her eyes at him, “but there’s plenty more. Let’s get going.”

Just like that she followed him, and for the next five years they worked their way up in the crime ranks, becoming one of the best duos for acquiring rare artifacts and art. The job certainly wasn’t boring; in fact after the first few steals, they had enough to start working on their “image” which could be best described as “edgy, sexy, and intimidating.” It became their trademark almost, besides their reputation for getting just about anything that paid well.

Ezekiel really was a world-class thief. It was almost scary how well he could steal and break into places, but also an odd relief to have him working with her and not against her. He could care less that she tripped out sometimes when the brain grape (a name he coined for her tumor which stuck) as long as she got him the intel and planned out how to get whatever they were stealing that day.

They actually worked really well together, something Ezekiel didn’t think he’d ever do. He had been on his own for years before they met, and it took a bit to get him to trust Cassandra and not treat her like a walking computer. He started training her sort of, and then they both did jobs together, and it just clicked.

It helped Cassandra ended up being a really good actress, especially in her “sexy land pirate who could also kill you in an instant” Amy Adamantite act which they used almost every job. He had fun playing Mr. Zet too; it was quite fun to look great, and that perk more than once had gotten both of them info they couldn’t have gotten elsewhere (some security guards and secretaries and curators were way too thirsty). Their most recent outfits were particularly fun to wear; dark purples and blacks and leather and fringe that looked great on her, and black waistcoat vest and maroon skinny jeans and leather armband for himself. He did get a little distracted with the feathers that dangled down the left side of his face from a thin leather head band, but it definitely completed the outfit.

Today that perk was going to be put to use. They were after an artifact which a Dr. Jacob Stone was leading a dig on in southwestern Iraq; a Sumerian tablet of some sort. The interested parties normally didn’t tell much about what they wanted, just enough to be able to identify it. Conveniently the archaeological community decided to excavate the ruins where the buyer suspected this tablet was, and the dig actually made Cassandra and Ezekiel’s job easier. Stone and his team would do all the work finding it, then they would steal it. Simple.

Deciding to play up to curious researchers, they went to the dig site looking for the professor. The academic was new to it all from what Cassandra had found. The cowboy had been publishing with a pen name but had recently revealed himself and started working for an English university in their archaeology department which had gotten him out here. The dig was a few miles outside the nearest town, a convenient location. The sun had just about set, but lights were on throughout the camp that had set up next to a load of stone ruins.

Upon inquiry, it was discovered that the professor had gone into town in search for drink. Cassandra saw it a golden opportunity to get Dr. Stone to give them all the information they needed. After a quick stop at their hotel to switch from academics to sexy land pirates, they easily found the one tavern in the town. A steady stream of customers came and left from the doors, giving glimpses into the sounds and smells from inside.

It took a bit to find Dr. Stone in the midst of everyone wearing white and tan clothes/robes and various colored turbans, until he spoke. Though it was some form of Arabic, he somehow put an Oklahoman twang to it, along with a booming laugh to whatever he said. The bartender chuckled and nodded, more amused by the buzzed Oklahoman than whatever he had said. He was sitting alone unlike everyone else in the bar.

“Alright, I’m going to talk to him first. If and when I need you, I’ll do the signal, so watch me,” Cassandra said under her breath as she leaned over to Ezekiel. “Don’t do anything to get us kicked out please.”

“I’ll try my best, though I should say the same to you since I don’t see any ladies nearby,” Ezekiel responded, scanning the smokey room. His observation was correct that he could tell, but the patrons didn’t seem startled by their entrance, instead absorbed in drink, smoke, or conversation.

“Noted. Good thing I’m capable of taking care of myself,” she said, straightening her back as she got into character. With a somewhat deep breath, she strutted over to the bar next to the archaeologist as the bartender moved off to some other customers. It took a second for him to realize she was there; he jumped slightly in his seat before giving her a look over.

“Well you’re not from around here,” he greeted. His voice was rich, low, and thick with the country accent. He also had a smirk on his face as he looked her over, a sign that this persona would probably get her somewhere.

“Nope, I’m not, and neither are you. Dr. Stone I presume?” she purred, looking intently at him.

“Yup. But I don’t know you. Gotta name, sweetheart?” he asked, taking another drink of some dark, slightly frothy liquid, then setting it down somewhat clumsily.

Internally she rolled her eyes, but kept her front with a smirk of her own. “Amy Adamantine, a...connoisseur of antiquities, you could say.”

“Lucky for you I’m a famous historian and archaeologist,” he chuckled, puffing up his chest slightly like a bird trying to impress a potential mate.

Deciding to toy with him, Cassandra decided to be a little sassy. “Hmm, if you’re so famous, why haven’t I heard much about you?” Dr. Stone looked a little taken aback, his pompous attitude faltering a bit.

“Well, I’ve used a pen name for a while, that may be why,” he started, watching her expression for the recognition he wanted. “Have you heard of a Dr. Thompson?”

“Maybe, could you describe some of your work?” she asked, hoping to let him self-repair his ego. He perked up at her question.

Cassandra did not realize that Stone would go on for five minutes about things she never heard nor cared about. She attempted to get him back on track with the dig, but he kept getting reminded of various papers he’d written over the years, the alcohol making him a little scatterbrained.

By now Ezekiel had slowly moved to one end of the bartop, keeping his distance but watching with a drink in hand. Deciding now was the right time, Cassandra, who had been leaning on her left hand, elbow against the countertop, covertly tapped her left temple twice with her index and middle finger together. At the signal, Ezekiel nodded once, barely observable, before standing up and sitting next to Dr. Stone.

Cassandra cleared her throat to get his attention and interrupt his analysis on some Renaissance era painting. “Dr. Stone, this is my colleague, Mr. Ket.”

At Ezekiel’s arrival, Dr. Stone’s jaw literally dropped. It only lasted a second before he recovered himself, but Cassandra could tell that Ezekiel was going to get more information tonight. The archaeologist shook his head a bit, trying to clear his thoughts. He offered his hand to him as he spoke, “Evenin’, Mr. Ket. Nice to meet ya.”

“You as well, Dr. Stone.” Ezekiel returned the shake, being as smooth as he could. “So you have an excavation outside of town, correct?”

“Hmm? Oh, uh, yeah, I do. We’re goin’ through some ancient Sumerian ruins. It’s taken a bit, but we’ve found some interestin’ things down there,” Dr. Stone answered, fumbling over his words.

“Interesting things, like what?” Ezekiel pressed, genuinely intrigued. He leaned forward ever so slightly, which Dr. Stone mimicked, completely forgetting Cassandra was next to him.

“Well, we’ve found some nice pottery, a few tablets,” he paused, dramatically putting up a hand like he was trying to tell a secret, but not actually lowering his voice, “and we found what I think is a burial chamber of some sort. But we can’t get in it just yet.”

“That is fascinating,” Ezekiel purred. He glanced over to Cassandra to see where she suggested he’d go with this. Judging off Dr. Stone’s initial reaction, she gave a quick glance to the back of his head then winked and nodded, their sign for “chat them up because they will spill it.” Ezekiel looked back to Dr. Stone, putting on his most seductive expression. “Do you think,” he started, letting his fingers walk slowly up the drunk man’s chest as he talked, “there could be a chance my colleague and I could see this dig of yours?” Ezekiel gently put his index finger under Dr. Stone’s chin.

Dr. Stone swallowed hard before speaking. “Sh….sure, definitely. You can, uh, stop by tomorrow mornin’.” Satisfied with that answer, Ezekiel rewarded him with a kiss, pulling him in with the finger still under his chin. It wasn’t long, but enough to keep Dr. Stone moldable in their hands. “Or, um, you can visit tonight,” he rumbled.

“Hmmm, that’s a tempting offer I admit, however I don’t want to leave my colleague alone in an unfamiliar city,” Ezekiel fibbed, knowing full well Cassandra could take care of herself.

Ezekiel's answer reminded Dr. Stone that she still existed; he followed Ezekiel’s eyes behind him to look at her. “ O...oh, yes, of course,” he stammered, sitting up in his chair from where he had really leaned into Ezekiel’s space. “I should be gettin’ back to camp before it’s too late in the night anyway. It was nice meeting ya’ll.”

“I look forward to seeing your dig,” Cassandra responded. Dr. Stone nodded to her and Ezekiel before slapping some money on the counter to catch the bartender’s attention. He then stood up from the stool, nodded again to both of them like he forgot he just did it, and left the bar. “I’d say that went rather well,” Cassandra giggled.

“Hey, anytime I get to kiss hot targets and get information from them, I call that a win,” Ezekiel clarified, clearly content with his performance.

“I can’t argue with that,” she said, standing up from the bar. “I say it’s time to call it a night, then we’ll give your plaything a visit tomorrow.”

“Seconded,” Ezekiel yawned, not handling the jet lag as well as Cassandra was. “If he initiates, can I-”

“It probably wouldn’t be a good idea if you banged the person we’re gonna steal from,” she said, cutting off his question. He huffed, but nodded in understanding, finishing the last of his drink.

“Yeah, you’re right. But he was just so yummy,” Ezekiel confided in an exaggerated tone, knowing it’d make Cassandra squirm. She scrunched up her nose at his statement, but decided not to give in to his bait like he wanted, instead digging out some currency to pay for his drink (she always handled the finances).

“Come on, let’s go.” She grabbed his wrist gently and lead him out of the bar.

---

Ch 1 post notes

So I decided to put this pre-operation for Cassandra because I feel we don’t know a whole lot about her new ability yet, or at least I don’t know enough to write it confidently.

Also I love the idea of Stone being bi and really confused on who to focus on with these two sexy people on either side of him. Sadly this story won’t have much more Jazekiel or Jassandra, but I’m most likely gonna write some one-shots for both in this universe though cuz it’d be fun.

#Cassandra and Ezekiel are mercenaries/land pirates #You Sultry Land Pirates Ruined My Dig!#cassandra cillian #ezekiel jones #jacob stone #jake stone #land pirate au #stone's an archaeologist #the librarians fic #flynn writes #jazekiel #jassandra

16 notes · View notes

sunlitneon · 4 years

Text

Storm Over Morocco - Prologue

As the fog transcended the dusty ways of the edges of the "Ancienne Medina" of Casablanca, I was longing for the ardent message made by the Imam last Friday:

His dim dark whiskers overflowed his pearl white djellabah and dots of sweat gushed down his face as his sleep inducing voice recounted to the narrative of his resurrection as a Moslem officer, having been a hired soldier in the channels in Southeast Asia. I accepted the "julus" position, half-sitting, halfkneeling in the back column, my eyes following all his motions. I was reluctant to squint, not having any desire to miss the serious feeling existing apart from everything else. I inclined forward, aim on engrossing everything about, hands grasping the sides of my striped djellabah... Omar Suleiman

The fantasy was broken, the memory of its power sent to the files of my psyche, by the shocking acknowledgment that I was a detainee. A pat on the shoulder by an individual Islamic priest pursued the fantasy away, cautioning me that the day break mass would before long start. The ace and the all-powerful Imam expected everybody beneath in the supplication room at 5:30 am sharp. I was cuddled heartily in my hiking bed, spread out nearby different priests in the space of the stone mosque, from which rose a smooth white minaret. I had called the mosque home throughout the previous two weeks.

I got together my hanging body, rising up out of the dull blue casing. Half sleeping, my body flinched as I tenderly pulled the djellabah over me, my whiskery face and shaved head jabbing through in the shadows of the early morning light. I stood up, slipped on my sharp Arabian shoes and rearranged to the entryway; a winding wooden staircase anticipated me, on the opposite side. My body influenced like the storage compartment of a matured elephant as I sauntered down the staircase. At the point when I arrived at the base of the stairs, I heard voices exuding from the minaret above and neighboring minarets by white, stone mosques, imploring, welcoming and coaxing the tired occupants to rise and stroll to the mosques for petition.

I entered the washroom where jars of water were sitting tight for the admirers, beside the toilets. I began my ablutions, attempting to recall in which request I should wash my body-my mind was as yet fluffy from fretfully hurling and turning in my camping bed the prior night. The virus water sprinkled on my arms inspired masses of little goose pimples, however in any event I was increasingly alert.

I sat on a wooden platform so I could wash my feet, starting with the left one. A sibling priest entered, his dim eyes intently watching me, while I frantically attempted to recollect the request for ablutions. I immediately dropped the left foot and snatched the correct one. He grinned and continued to wash down his body.

In the wake of washing the two feet, under the nearby reconnaissance of the priest, who had quit washing his arms to view my clumsy developments, I rose up to leave.

"You start by washing the correct foot, Muhammad," he stated, his dim eyes fixed on me. I gestured and went through the swinging doors on my way to the primary supplication room.

My strides reverberated in the abandoned corridor, as I cushioned along the virus floors in my pointed, tan-shaded shoes, quickly bought in the "souk" (advertise) of the Ancienne Medina before turning into a priest at the mosque. I was living in the "Masjid Nord" (North Mosque)- so named for reasons I never found rumored to be politically dynamic.

A green window ornament isolated the passage from the petition room. I came to the correct side of the drapes, opening them sufficiently wide to slide my body through. Before me was a line of admirers getting ready for the first light petition session. I went along with them, taking a half-sitting, half-stooping position: within my left foot was under me, my correct foot was in a vertical position and my toes were squeezed against a tangle produced using lake reeds.

I had taken my typical situation before the entryway, through which I could see the principle entryway isolating me from this world and an opportunity I once knew. Its dark, unpropitious sides ascended to more than twelve feet, similar to the entryway to a vault-its thick, fortified mass appeared to challenge anybody to enter it. As I stood up and pronounced "Allahu Akbar," my eyes met those of the turbaned gatekeeper remaining before the shut fundamental entryway; his beady, splendid eyes pierced mine as I recounted the "Fatiha." I twisted around, putting my hands on my knees, and rehashed "Sobhana rabbiya Al-ala." (Glory be to God all-powerful.) Looking up, it showed up as though a similar watchman saw through me: my body felt like a crystal, sending my musings in various hues to him who, I envisioned, as a virus stun jolted my whole body, could sometime turn into my killer.

My body shuddered at the idea of the watchman perusing my inward contemplations: that I was a detainee, not a visitor; that I frantically expected to escape before it was past the point of no return, before my life had been acclimatized into the new culture and I got one of the gesturing masses, concurring with each expression of the Imam.

Despite the fact that we numbered fifty, it appeared just as the exceptional, dim eyes of the Imam, the ace, were gazing into mine, just as those of the others, simultaneously. My eyes strayed to the tangle in front of me in dread that the all-shrewd, ubiquitous Imam would likewise divine my considerations.

As I prostrated myself, putting my temple on the woven tangle, presenting "Sobhana rabbiya al adhime," (Praise be to thee my Lord, the most high) I felt that despite the fact that the will to escape consumed inside me, it was increasingly more undermined by the moderate, day by day ebbing ceaselessly of my quality.

I rose again and before presenting the "Fatiha," I glanced out the entryway again and the watchman was not in his typical situation before the door. I was persuaded that by one way or another he had guessed what me might be thinking and now was uncovering to the profound pioneer of the mosque my expectations to get away, that I was not an adherent but rather an unbeliever, and I ought to be rebuffed.

As I bowed my head, catching my knees with my hands, I trusted that the sentence will be thrown against me. No new development was made toward me. As I stood, rehashing "Allahu Akbar," I saw the gatekeeper had continued his situation before the entryway, his mirthless grin twisted into his thick, dark facial hair.

0 notes