|Ashur|| When the ship crashed, most of the cryopods closed, living off what little energy remained in low-power modes, their prisoners trapped until the El Dorado Federation or an enterprising individual could decide what to do with them. A few of the pods opened, however, shocked by the impact. One such pod was Mafuane's -- granted knowledge of the local language by alien technology, lost, confused, and finding herself stumbling out of the wreckage with the other abductees.
While most made their way to El Dorado, Mafuane fell in with a patrol of Whitecloaks in the area, and was brought back to New Rome to rest and recover. There, plying her talents of music, performance, and medicine, and relying on her old history as a priestess' aide in her own time, she's fallen in with the local temple.
She is at work cleaning the great statue of Mars when Ashur, cloaked in white and gold, enters. He is a familiar sight to the priestesses, a pious man, in his own way, bullish in manner and size; his steps shake fixtures as he thumps along, cradling one arm to his stomach as if to support it.
He squats down and sits, looking up at the spear-baring titan of stone.
|Mafuane||The petite devout woman was scrubbing the statue in a squat position when she heard Ashur's arrival. She then sets her brush down and stands to meet eyes with him briefly before looking aside.
"Greetings Ashur..If I may say so freely, you do not look to be in proper shape for worship." she says sheepishly as she's noticed the state Ashur's in. Her dress matches similar to Ashur's, white and gold, though the material is gossamer compared to his warmer wool. Mafuane takes a step closer to him, her honey eyes scan the bare parts of his body.
|Ashur|| There is reverence in silence; and so Ashur reveres, that white-gold cloak drawn about his figure, blending with the white paint of the marbled columns. The outside light filters through the stained glass window, and casts a bloody orange-red haze over the lethal spear-tip. Catch it from the corner of the eye and it bleeds.
His response to the curvy priestess is a deafening silence; his mouth curls, his eyes grow severe, and the ferocity of his aspect would silence even wild beasts. After a moment, he shifts, suppresses a wince, and his cloak opens to expose himself. A mass of tissue across his bronze chest is healing from an old burn, and the skin around it is black-blue with contusion, having the mottled and wet look of a fresh bruise. Something struck him hard, and seared him badly. "I am the measure of all men," he declares, staring her down. "I will not idle in pain; this is a war-wound, and the scar grants me as much honor as it does him pleasure."
|Mafuane||His response to her raises goosebumps to her golden-brown skin and she avoids his golden eyes, staring to his wound and the rest of his body instead. "It should scar with pride, once it's been tended to." She says quietly and finds her wicker back-basket on a seat nearby and brings it over. Mafuane sits beside Ashur now and contempletes the statue for a while. Tucking her lengthy ebony hair behind her ear she then pulls out packages and linen bandages from her basket.
"Would you allow me to tend you?" She asks and turns to look to his eyes.
|Ashur|| Ashur stares, transfixed, at the red-lit spear. Motes of dust swirl around it like energy gathering to a lethal point, making the colored air shimmer. It is a lovely sight, in a way: but it brings to mind thoughts. Is this how Mars would look? He hrms, eyes narrowed, fingers curled to drag through his silvering beard.
"Mm,' he finally says, reaching up to unclasp his cloak and let it fall to the ground. He unknots his toga behind his shoulder and lets it, too, fall, exposing the whole of his upper body. Golden skinned, rippling with striated muscle and veins and a hundred proofs of old wound -- a body Mars would be proud of, indeed. "Come, priestess. I don't recognize you; a new girl? The loveliest of them all, I think."
|Mafuane|| Her warm undertone flares up from the full view of him, and his compliment only reddens her face further.
"I-I, yes. Thank you. I'm Mafuane." She stumbles with her words and tries to focus on his burn now as she pulls a scrap of wool from the package, it's been treated with a poultice. She set that and some bandages aside and bends to her basket to pull out a water bottle.
"I've been here a few weeks now, this land is very strange outside of New Rome. Here is similar to my home." She says as she approaches him with the bottle and gently pours water over the burn. The busty woman rests her hand next to his burn and pats it dry, then reaches for the poultice and presses it on with care. She's trying not to look to his eyes but her training has taught her to gauge pain this way and their eyes meet again.
"I've heard of some of your battles, they would put the guards in New Kingdom to shame should they hear of it." She talks calmly and smiles slightly.
|Ashur|| This close, every element of the bull is more pronounced -- the faint scent of his sweat and testosterone-laden pheremones, the glow of his flesh, the sharpness of those golden eyes. He has a certain wild regalness, as if achieving austerity through sheer animal force; he sucks in a breath, that barrel chest expanding, the hairs glistening as the priestess pours water on him -- running, in wetshine trails, down the contours of his Herculean form, beading like morning dew in the grooves of muscle. It's near-pornographic.
He meets her eyes unblinkingly. His pride does not let him break contact first, staring her down as a superior might a defiant subordinate. "New Kingdom? You are a traveler, then -- another former Legion town?" New Rome and New Kingdom have awful similar names, after all!
He reaches up and curls a lock of her black hair around his finger; tightens it, like a ring of ink around the rough digit, leaving it curled when he releases. "What have you heard, priestess?"
|Mafuane||A soft gasp leaves her lips and she stumbles to speak again, "I've heard of your bravery a-at the A-alamo." She shyly responds and reaches for the bandages. Mafuane's eyes widen and her blushed face returns when she realizes she's in for some logistic maneuvering around Ashur's chest. She chews her bottom lip and tries her best to bandage him. Starting from the center to the right she tucks the roll behind his arm and a quarter length around his back.
"I'll n-need to press into you a moment." she admits meekly and very slowly leans towards him enough to reach with her other hand to finish his back. Her chest lifts off of Ashur's neck and collarbones now as she's finished wrapping around his body a few times, then she ties the ends together with a comforting tightness to secure it.
"I think this should hold for today A-ashur." she nods and looks to his eyes again.
|Ashur|| "Ah, the Alamo," Ashur replies, eyes closing as he sifts through his memories. "A dark Citadel piercing the stars, enshrouded by sandswept winds and ancient walls. It was a fortress of the old world. The battle against the Horde was my first time witnessing it -- a breathtaking sight."
Savvy in the way all old warriors are, Ashur unconsciously shifts to assist his medicus, rolling his hips and leaning to shorten the distance she need stretch. The bandage clings to the wet hair and skin, tightening as she rolls it around his midsection and unwinds the roll around his shoulder.
The feel of her pressing into him elicits an amused smirk, the scarlet blush of her shy embarrassment thrilling. "You have a gentle bedside manner," he teases, feeling her tie the bandage off tight around him. He draws in a breath and feels its familiar squeeze. "Good girl."
He reaches a hand up and brushes aside her veil, a thumb upon her lips now in bold flirtation. "You were a camp girl, weren't you?" His eyes meet hers with unsettling intensity.. and that hand slides lower, within her robe, to grasp at one of her breasts, with unspoken entitlement.
"Have you ever prayed with a hero, little priestess?"
His breath is warm against the gossamer of her clothing.
|Mafuane|| Mafuane had listened to his story and ends with a soft smile.
"T-thank you" she replies to his compliments. When he asks her so boldly and invades more than her veil she gasps in shock and steps back, not answering him. The short woman's face reddens more than before and she faces away from Ashur and runs out of the temple, leaving her back-basket and her responsibilities behind.