Heat Sick

[Safiye]

Involved:
Motosi, Barbary Lion, a rogue
Fujo, Adolescent Lioness, a rogue
Safiye, Lioness, a rogue

Foothills of Mount Kivuli

It is a cool, clear evening on the lower foothills - surely, a wandering cloud or two drifts its way lazily through the skies, but there will be no adverse weather conditions on a night such as this. A gently breeze sweeps intermittantly over the landscape, and it's such a breeze that tousles the mane and bangs of the lion approaching from the eastern borders. He smells distinctly as one who does not belong in this place, and the fact that he is not recognizable as anyone observed recently in the neighboring regions only hammers home the fact that he's a rogue. He weaves his way around the rocky outcroppings, path taking him due west, towards the mountains. Towards a taste of home.

It's rogue city, here in the foothills. The slight frame of an adolescent lioness has graced Kivuli's borders, although she doesn't seem to be headed anywhere in particular, or even bothered by the fact that it's a border - in fact, she's snuffling at the foot of one of the rocks, suddenly changing her posture to Very Still after she finds some invisible cue. Fujo is blind and deaf to everything and everyone as she waits, until suddenly, her jaws flash downwards - when she lifts her head again, there's a lizard square between her jaws. Nomnom.

After a long, hot day of unsuccessfully tracking an impala through the jungle, Safiye is thankful for the gentle winds; although she lacks a mane, she can still appreciate the sensation of the breeze as it ruffles through her fur. The dark foreigner lounges amongst the roots of a squat acacia, trusting in the tree's ancient, gnarled appendages to shield her from view. As wonderful as the Kivulians have been during her short stay in these lands, she continues to desire solitude. Maybe it's because she comes from a kingdom where prides are small and moments of privacy are highly coveted amongst the lionesses. Or maybe it's because she's pregnant. Whatever the reason, she seems to be enjoying the change in the weather, simply content to listen to the low buzz of the African cicadas heralding the evening.

He lost track of the scent trails that distinguished the differences in the lands almost an hour ago - and not knowing the geographical locations in which one land ends and another begins makes it exceptionally troublesome for Motosi to figure out where he stands in what he believes to still be Tyne. The break in the sound pattern of droning cicadas causes the large, if scrawny, lion to stop in his tracks, eyes scanning his surroundings. Though these are far from mountains, they would not be called foothills if everything was flat. He cranes his head upward, briefly scenting the cool air - nothing immediately out of place comes to him, but then, the wind is shifting. He listens carefully, and all at once bounds from the dip he was standing in to the top of the highest mound he can find - and almost immediately noticing both of the others at once. The one gorging itself on a reptile in a slight dip underneath the very mound he's standing on, and the one who's heading in their direction from an almost level hillock. Hesitating, he assumes a casual posture, not wanting to be first spotted looking like a threat. His throat is cleared gently, and he speaks in a tone loud enough to be heard by the distant lioness without shattering the adolescent's eardrums, "...nice evening, is it not?"

The lizard flails weakly as Fujo lowers it to the ground - but after it's head is decidedly /removed/ from it's body and swallowed with an uncomfortable /gulp!/, those movements quiet down into nothing. As far as lizards go, this one is sizable, and the youngster wastes no time digging into the odd meal. It's no wonder that she doesn't notice Motosi until he speaks, which only makes it more of a surprise. Before he gets past 'evening', Fujo's light-coloured body has lept up and contorted around to look up at the lion, the hair on the back of her neck prickling as she positively shrieks. "Kaa-aaa! /MINE!/"

Safiye lifts her head and pricks her ears toward the sound of Motosi's voice, carried to her on the breeze. As a rule, she doesn't trust other rogues--but, being a stranger to these lands, cannot tell the difference between wanderers and those who call it home. Even if her nose was keen enough to detect the subtle variations in the Barbary's scent, she could not smell it from such a distance. Warily, Safiye emerges from the between the acacia roots and stands transfixed, trying to determine who he might be addressing. She hasn't seen Fujo yet, but adolescent's shrill voice is difficult to miss. Her ears slick back, and though she suddenly finds herself overcome by the powerful urge to flee, she stands her ground with her short legs stiff and rigid, her small paws flexing as she kneads the earth beneath them. What in the world is going on over there?

Well, that's a sure way to make a lasting first impression. Startled by the sudden and grating shouts coming from down below the hill he chose to stand on, Motosi takes a step back, snapping his green gaze down towards the dusty adolescent who still has bits of lizard stuck in her teeth. He takes his step forward again, brows lifting slowly as a bemused expression begins to trace its way across his maw. Yep, that's a live one - he sends a glance briefly towards Safiye, tilting a shoulder upward as if to express, 'Don't ask me', and then turns his attention towards the squalling female. He tilts his head sharply to the side to clear the bangs from his eyes, bemusement still the prevalent emotion on his dark features. "I've, ah... already eaten," He murmurs with an underlying chuckle, resisting every impolite bone in his body which wants to pick fun at her - he knows what it is to be hungry.

"You stay back! I can kill you with my brai-!," Fujo pauses midway through the sentence, after hearing something about his already eating. She picks up what's left of the reptile and moves back a few paces, keeping her wide, manic eyes on Motosi. Dropping it so she can speak, she huffs, "... you'd /better!/ It's /mine./ /Mine./ You hear me? It's /mine/ and so is the /grass/ it bled on-- what in the name of the wet season grass. Grass. There's no grass in the desert." Judging by the bemused expression on her face, Fujo expected to be in the desert.

Curiosity draws Safiye closer to the scene; obviously, she isn't familiar with the infamous idiom. She cranes her neck and follows Motosi's line of sight, arching to get a better look at the pale adolescent and the limp morsel that sits between her front paws. Safiye, too, has had a difficult time finding prey in her delicate condition, so she can't fault Fujo for being overprotective of her dinner. "Unless I am mistaken," she says in a low and husky tone. "There are no deserts in Kivuli." Carefully, she eases onto her haunches, finding that standing on all fours with a sagging belly is a strain on her already aching back. The sooner her cubs decide they've had enough of the womb, the better.

The male's ears seem to prick up a little at that last word from the clearly expecting lioness, and he glances about and crinkles up his expression some. Kivuli? He must have gone further off course than he thought - really, whoever's marking these boundaries needs to be doing a better job of it, because he keeps missing the scent and fumbling into strange territory. Settling back onto his haunches and observing the pair from his high hill, Motosi considers his situation carefully. The little one's about as threatening as she looks, and... well, even with his endurance what it is, he should be able to outpace a pregnant lioness. "...these are Kivuli lands?" He asks calmly, paying particular attention to Safiye as he speaks, gauging her reaction. Pregnant or not, he'd rather not risk alienating what he believes to be the first of this land he's come across - he excludes the adolescent because she's clearly as foreign here as he is.

Kivuli. Kivuli. "/Shadows!/" Fujo hisses shrilly, flattening herself to the ground. "You can't take me! You can't /take/ me!" She might have continued her half-insane screeching, too, if the word 'lands' hadn't entered the arena. "Lands? /Lands?/ Oh no, no no no /nooo./ I'm not supposed to /be here./" For all the sense she's making, she might as well be talking to herself, but it still seems like she's talking to the other lions on the plain. The adolescent deserteer might very well resemble a rug by now - she's flat against the ground, her throat pressed against the earth and her ears pressed against her skull. You can't see me, I'm a /ninja/.

"I believe so," Safiye starts, "but I admit that I am not -entirely- certain." Although she's never met Mizuka face-to-face, she can smell him on the trees and in the grass; very rarely does her nose lie. "I am as much a guest here as yourselves. The Kivulians are a very hospitable sort." Her gaze shifts from Motosi to Fujo and back again, sizing the male up with her eyes. Now that she knows he isn't a native, she's more cautious than she was a few moments ago--but whatever she was about to say next never gets the opportunity to leap off her tongue. Safiye opens her mouth. No sound comes out; she's too busy gawking at Fujo to speak.

One brow settles, the other lifting higher and his maw parting slightly a mixture between utter confusion and partial disgust. Hunger, he understands - but if this is due to hunger, she has to be hungrier than he's -ever- been. Motosi takes a few steps forward towards the flattened one, gaze again drifting upward towards Safiye, whatever flow of conversation that might have been struck up being neatly shattered by she-whose-brains-appear-to-have-melted. He's entirely uncertain what to say to the younger female, so he simply doesn't try. Instead, he gathers his thoughts and again speaks to Safiye, "...You are not from these lands?" Her belly is full, so he doubts very much that she's rogue, and that of course leads the conversation to, "Which lands -are- you from?"

As Motosi advances, Fujo backs away, keeping herself low to the ground as she skitters, almost crab-like (if anyone had even been to the beach to know what a crab was - certainly Fujo had never seen one!) away from the lion. "Nothing to see here! Move along! Move along! Look, a flying giraffe!" Once she reaches a sizable rock, she disappears behind it, her ears and eyes soon appearing. "I'm a chao and lions don't /eat/ Fujos, so don't get any ideas!" Seemingly in the same breath, the fawn eyes blink at Safiye - "I know, I know, you're from the green and grey! Don't get dusty like that here! Here's the yellows and browns."

The expression on Safiye's dark face is nothing if not concerned. "Kivuli is just a name, child," she assures Fujo gently. "You'll come to no harm here, I promise you." Whether the adolescent will listen to reason, she doesn't know. What she /does/ know is that Motosi has asked her a question, and she is obligated to answer it. "I hail from a kingdom further East," she explains, sounding a touch exasperated--though chances are good that her frustration is directed at Fujo rather than the Barbary. "Mihriban, though I have yet to meet anyone here who has heard of it. My father's lands are very small, very dry, very peaceful and, consequently, very boring." She offers him a slight smile, but the twinkle in her eyes doesn't last; Fujo's at it again. "I think she may be ill. How long do you suppose she's been out in the sun?"

At least the shreds of sane conversation in between the absurd shouting bouts of Fujo is enough to keep Motosi from simply turning about - when she starts up again, the lion rolls his eyes back. It can't be helped - she's acting utterly ridiculous. Incomprehensible. Though, when that valid point is voiced from the other lioness, he takes a few steps again towards the adolescent, brows lifting more evenly and mirroring her concern. The sun? It's possible, but he's not convinced that this isn't a more permanent illness. "I am new to these surroundings," He murmurs, still looking towards Fujo as he speaks to Safiye, "I have not heard of your lands - nor of these, outside of detached conversation. As for this one... I could not say. Is there a stream nearby?"

"What's in a name? /Meanings/, I tell you!" Fujo babbles, seemingly refusing to do them both a favour and shut up. When Safiye asks her last question, she butts in shrilly, and there's an unmistakable hint of pride in her voice. "Chaos' bin in deserts since the last dry and there's /nobody/ better suited 'cept the sun-shadows." Although Fujo peers suspiciously at Motosi, she doesn't back furthur away just yet - after all, she has an amazing ROCK to protect her. Dude. It's a /rock/. It /rocks/.

Safiye narrows her eyes, thinking back several hours prior, mentally retracing her steps. "No stream," she says, shaking her head. Not nearby, at any rate. "But I did drink from a small pool not too long ago. The water is shallow, but it tasted fresh. If the birds are unafraid to bathe their little bodies in it, I suppose it must be safe." She looks back to Fujo and a frown creases her thin black lips. "The trick, I fear, is convincing her to follow." Clearing her throat, she steps closer to the adolescent and attempts to address her directly. "Do you understand what we are saying, pale child? You -must- drink or your brain will shrivel up between your ears." If it hasn't already. "Let us lead you to water."

When it's put in such a blunt way, even -he- feels obligated to help, now. It's like stumbling upon a big babbling pile of responsibility. Fortunately, it's something he feels equipped to handle whether she chooses to come along with them or not. Motosi keeps this fact to himself, settling back and watching the slight form that is so confidently planted behind her small rock. He feels it necessary to add, "If you do not drink water, the shadows will come and eat you - and the rest of your lizard."

"Of course I understand! Do I look stupid to you?" Don't answer that. Fujo's suspicious stare turns to Safiye, and she purses her own lips. "Lots of water is sand, /everyone/ knows that," she says with a sage nod - only to twitch and jump backwards at Motosi's words. "They'd never! I'm /poisonous/ and it's /mine!/" Still, her head disappears, only to reappear at the side of the rock, soon followed by her body. Her head is pulled in towards her body, protecting her neck. "Wheresit?"

Safiye slides Motosi a sidelong look of appreciation. Sneaky. "It isn't far," she tells Fujo as she turns and begins trekking westward at a languid pace. The adolescent has survived this long without a drink; a few more minutes isn't going to kill her. She tosses a glance over her shoulder, beckoning Fujo with a lazy yet inviting swish of her tail. "Of course, I can't show you where it is if you don't follow."

For several moments, the male was left to question if he had too severely misjudged Fujo's dementia - but as she nervously comes out from behind her rock, he can't help but share a knowing smirk with himself, rising slowly to his paws. "...The sooner we find it, the better. You're right - shadows right now probably wouldn't, but the closer it gets to morning," He murmurs with a shake of his head that sends his thick mane rushing back and forth on a delay, "The more desperate they get for food." There's a note of exaggerated sadness in his tone, and though his words are kept mostly serious, his expression is still smugly bemused. "...Go on and follow her. I'll keep 'em off you."

With one last suspicious glance at Motosi - he's pretty dark, so how could she know he isn't working /for/ the shadows? - Fujo skitters behind Safiye, although she keeps a wide distance between herself and the Eastern woman. She still keeps close to the ground, although she isn't totally flattened out, this time. She keeps up a constant muttering, although it's not clear what she's actually saying.

It's a good thing that Safiye's back is to Motosi and Fujo; she's rolling her eyes. The rogue is clever, she'll give him that much. Using familiar landmarks as her guide--a misshapen camelthorn here, a pile of rocks there--she leads the pair to their destination: a small, murky pool between two outcroppings. As she approaches, she slows to a creep and angles her ears forward, listening attentively for the telltale sounds of company. Any source of water, no matter how shallow, is bound to attract other creatures seeking to sate their thirst; the last time Safiye was here, she took a leopard by surprise. Not an experience she'd like to repeat.

[Safiye]

Both for the comfort of the distrusting lioness - which he's made almost his specialty of dealing with in the past several days - and in order to give his ears a rest from listening to her insane babbling, Motosi keeps his word and trails far behind the pair, certain to cast his gaze about exaggeratedly should the younger of the two look back towards him. Shadows, indeed. When the older of the two slows, he simply walks onward, past the two. He passes the water itself by, standing at the opposite end of it from where Safiye has paused, tilling the dirt beneath his paws. "...drink." He states bluntly.

When this unlikely congregation reaches the pool, Fujo edges forward cautiously. She nudges the edge of the water with her nose, as if looking for something. It's something she apparently doesn't find, as she does start drinking, flattening herself against the ground once more. If there are any leopards or shadows around, she doesn't notice them - she's found an /oasis/, and she doesn't intend to leave for the blood of desert creatures anytime soon. After all, she doesn't know the concept of not-lost.

With a soft, tired sigh, Safiye settles where she stood, opting to keep watch over her side of the pool while Fujo drinks. Hopefully the adolescent will regain her senses now that she's a little more hydrated. Thankful that there are no leopards or other lions in sight, she lowers her body down onto its side and tucks one of her hind legs beneath her. For a long time, she watches Fujo with guarded fascination; whoever she is, she must have come a long way to be in such poor shape. Occasionally, her gaze drifts back to Motosi, though never lingers on him for very long. She's satisfied that he is there--and that is all.

Once he's more firmly confident that nothing is lurking nearby, he too slips down into a more relaxed posture, settling slowly down onto his haunches and letting his tailtuft lazily work its way along the dusty ground. This improvised waterhole is without a doubt not amongst the best he's seen, but with as addled as the adolescent has become, she'll likely not notice the difference. After many moments of letting her drink, he clears his throat, tone serious as he cautions, "...easy. You'll make yourself sick if you don't slow it down, there, kitten." If she's been without drink for half as long as she seems, much more of it will have her retching before too much longer.

Water, water all around, so let's all have a drink! Fujo continues assaulting the 'oasis' for several more long moments before she slows down, glaring at the water as if daring it to do something funny. Strangely enough, she's silent right through the pause, a stark contrast to her normal talking.

The adolescent's silence is a good sign. Safiye tips her head, as though viewing Fujo from a different angle would give her valuable insight into what she might be thinking. "Better, no?" She crosses her forepaws, resting one atop the other. "The shadows shan't get you now. Do as he says and take a moment to gather your wits about you. You have a name, do you not? If you'll share it with me, I may give you my own."

Motosi remains silent yet, more than content to let the females talk amongst themselves as he watches and observes. There is truly no better way to find out that which you need to know about an individual that can't be gleaned by watching them for ten minutes - and besides that fact, he simply has nothing to contribute to the conversation outside of common sense that anyone in their right mind should know; which is probably why he saw fit to remind the adolescent. He opens his mouth in a yawn, stretching his forelegs through it and giving his head a brief shake when it's over. Looks like he'll be staying on Kivuli lands for the evening, like it or not.

Fujo pauses to cant her head at Safiye, ears lifting forward a fraction. "I /told/ you. I'm /Fujo/." She curls her tail towards her, the pale tuft twitching back and forth. "Desert-rat Fujo," she repeats, poking at the water with a paw. How foreign! Peering at the older lioness, she realises several things about her that she hadn't yet noticed - her belly, for example. "Kids?"

"Fujo," Safiye repeats, trying the name out on her tongue and finding that she likes the taste and sound of it. "I'm Safiye--and yes. Several, I hope." As fond as she is of her unborn cubs, the upcoming litter isn't a topic that she feels comfortable discussing with a stranger. With friends, perhaps, but now that Safiye actually stops to think about it, she realizes that she has none. Not anymore. "Why do they call you the desert rat?"

"If I had to venture a guess, it would be because she lives in the desert and is small enough yet to be confused for a rat." Motosi murmurs, an expression of boredom beginning to become apparent behind the increasing veil of drowsiness. He slips slowly down onto his stomach, emerald eyes glinting with sarcastic pleasure as he adds, "...if it's any consolation, your fur is quite beautiful, for a rat's." It's either a compliment or simply a continuance of a veiled insult - but unfortunately, given the way the conversation's been going, the first option is doubtful. Rising to his paws, Motosi closes the distance to the water and bends low, taking a calm drink for himself.

"And 'cause they seem to think I /act/ like one." Fujo either doesn't pick up on the sarcasm, or doesn't care. "Hiiiya, Safi-yee!" She withdraws her paw from the water, curling it under her - as it is, she'd be easily mistaken for a scraggly, mammalian rock. Despite her shrill greeting (perhaps her voice is just naturally grating?), she still seems to be terribly cautious.

Safiye shoots Motosi a sour look but says nothing to voice her displeasure. For a moment, she'd almost forgotten he was a rogue. Beastly creatures, all of them. "Pay him no mind, Fujo," she says loftily, pointedly ignoring the male as he goes to drink. "I, for one, think that you look nothing like a rat. A few spots and you might be able to pass for a longbody, it's true, but there is -certainly- nothing wrong with being skinny. A great many sheikhs I've known prefer the slender look. You would do quite well with them!"

Regardless, the glance isn't lost on him, nor is Fujo's failure to acknowledge that barb - both facts that offer even more insight into their actions and the motivations behind them. He laps slowly at the surface of the water, taking great care to keep his mane from getting drenched with the murky liquid. After taking his fill, he moves a few steps back, sinking back onto his stomach and letting his eyes droop closed, murmuring with what seems to be almost reversed intent of his prior words, "She speaks the truth - even so, you are young get. With a few more moons and several more meals, you would be a sight to behold."

Fujo tilts her head at Safiye. "You think? I mean there's the whole /lion/ thing and all, but... longwhat?" She blinks once - twice - three times before she shrugs her shoulders forward. Slender, huh? She peers at the woman, as if trying /very hard/ to figure out the meaning behind her words, at least until she's interrupted by Motosi. "I eat /lots/," she protests halfheartedly, in response to the lion's statement. "There are lizards everywhere if you know where to look! So shouldn't I be one now?"

And Safiye was just about tell Fujo that a rogue's opinion is worth a pile of elephant droppings! Humph! She holds her tongue and occupies herself with a particularly interesting cloud formation drifting by overhead while she thinks of something different to say. Eventually, she settles on a piece of advice that's similar, softer--but still rings true to her own ears when she speaks it aloud. "Our friend has a twisty tongue. Let this be a lesson to you. Rogues are like spiders, spinning elaborate threads of flattery, insults and lies in the desperate hope that you'll get tangled up in their web."

And she is already a sight to behold, really. It's just the type of sight that would throw up cautions amidst any potential suitors, and her personality would likely seal the deal. Motosi politely keeps these thoughts to himself, lifting a paw to concede the point, mostly because he respects the naivete or self-esteem she has to demand he call attention to how she is now, not how she could be in an idyllic sense - however, his eyes snap open from their peaceful closure as the topic is turned upon him, brow furrowing and muzzle pulling into a stony frown. "...you forgot the part where we want nothing else in the world but to steal the cubs our from under their parents' grasps and eat them, and lure the impressionable youth onto neutral ground and leave only when we see the swell of their bellies. Only -then- do we know our duty is fulfilled and move on to the next land." His tone reeks of sarcasm, and his features are lacking in mirth.

The concept of treachery is foreign to somebody as isolated as Fujo, and again she misses the sarcasm in Motosi's speech, although she does try to understand the advice given to her. "Why would you do that when there are plenty of other things to eat? Lions are tough and not good food." How on /earth/ would someone like this know what her own kind tastes like? "And it's no good to do that, 'cause then you'll have a /bunch/ of people baying for your blood! And that would suck." Fujo, sage.

"I do not presume that all rogues are murderers," Safiye shoots back. "Only the worst of the lot. But -you-, stranger, cannot tell me that you've never done wrong to make your way. Have you not deceived? Sired cubs that you will never meet? I do not mean it as an insult. Simply fact. We are what we are. Rogue. Exile. Desert rat." And cannibal too, apparently. Safiye gives Fujo an odd look but quickly decides that it's better not to ask. "There is no shame in this."

Expression still soured, Motosi doesn't bother himself in thinking with the quirky details of exactly what Fujo is rambling about, (and hopefully not admitting to, but hunger can drive one to truly desperate measures) he only catches on to her last sentence and huffs aloud, "Why, indeed? We 'spiders' make little sense, kitten." He really does want to rest his eyes again - that was a pleasant sensation while it lasted, but her words instead force him to snort, "Everyone deceives and faults, and that is no secret worth telling." His eyes turn almost accusingly to the swell in Safiye's stomach - it's not spoken, but it's clear what his own train of thought is in regards to them. "But neither are all the same. 'Rogue' is a title easier to swallow than 'Father', and to leave unsired cubs to their fates is shameful to such an extent as not even I could fall." He leaves it at that, focusing his gaze on Fujo. "...you need better meals than lizards if you wish to grow stronger, Desert-Rat."

Tilting her head at Safiye's look - doesn't everyone do that? - Fujo flicks her ears forward. "You're not a spider, mister! You're a lion. Big one too." She shrugs off most of the rest of his speech, the thoughts of cubs and sires above (or perhaps below) her. The thoughts of food aren't, though, and she huffs. "Lizards are top-notch! They're slow in the mornings, unlike those running mousy things which are never slow." Motosi, you may consider your point missed.

Sensing Motosi's eyes on her belly, Safiye shifts, putting her back to him. She can feel the tiredness seeping into her every fiber--a sure sign that it's time to rest. While it's true that she doesn't entirely trust the male, she likes to think she's a good enough judge of character to sleep near him without worrying for her safety; she's met worse, and he seems to have a genuine concern for Fujo's well-being. No sooner do her eyes close does she feel sleep begin to overcome her. Today has been long and hot and frustrating. Gods willing, tomorrow will be better. "Try a duiker," is the last thing she can be heard to mumble before exhaustion finally takes her.