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 Posted: Mon Oct 15, 2007 11:31 am
Deirdre had situated herself behind one of the obelisks in the museum, her small stature and other parts of the exhibit providing cover for her to all but others of her height...And she knew there were few. After all, she knew she was here just for the obelisks. Most children wouldn't even go near a museum, even to see the mummies.
The tan girl shimmied a bit and opened a notebook on her lap, a book of hieroglyphics at her side, and held a small monocular to her eye. And she started transliterating the hieroglyphs. Things like this were one of the few things that could keep her still for any length of time. She ADORED archeology and ancient civilizations and ancient religions. Probably something she picked up from her adoptive mother.
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Posted: Sun Oct 21, 2007 10:35 am
He was one of those children. When Amahté thought of museums, he pictured art tacked up on walls, holding men and women in rigid, stuffy poses, eyes dark and ubiquitous. He saw paint slapped onto canvas like oils disgorged from the stomach of a particularly foul unicorn. He thought of meanings behind meanings behind meanings…when the truth behind the art was that the artist had been hungry.
But mostly he thought of tweed-wearing old men and spectacled old women smelling of mothballs and cigars, idling around pieces that were nothing more than plain, white canvases, caught in the ‘deeper meaning’ as though they were caught in the Jaws of Life.
So when Mary dragged Amahté to the museum, he never expected to see this.
The obelisks, the slats of crumbling stone bearing worn glyphs, scarab notes captured in glass, necklaces of dried flowers preserved within a vacuum. The small Egyptian boy felt the minute hairs on his arm stand on end, but not because of the draft within the museum, no….
Because he was in his element.
Just like the books, just like his dreams…the Scent wandered near one of the obelisks and bypassed the velvet rope, where he pressed the pads of his fingers against the indentions in the stone. He followed the cartouche with his eyes, absorbed in the name and unaware of girl sitting behind the structure.
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Posted: Mon Jan 07, 2008 2:43 am
Deirdre squeaked as she looked through the monocle once more, only to see dark skin rather than what she wanted to transliterate. She put the item down quickly and found herself peering out from her spot. She promptly stared at the other child at the obelisk, in awe of the dark boy.
He looked exactly like the people her adopted mother loved discovering things about...the people that Deirdre had come to adore. She found herself setting aside her papers and books and going to stand beside the boy, smiling.
"Remind you of home?" To say Deirdre's curiousity had been stoked was an understatement. Was he like Ran-ma'am and old by human standards, but young by his own race's? Was he displaced? Or maybe just a descendant? The questions that swirled through the ten year old's mind were nigh endless.
But she'd learned through implementation of a rolled-up newspaper not to ask all at once.
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