Board Thread:What Would You Do?/@comment-28718853-20181020110238/@comment-30014014-20181101191930

"Hey Pablo, you comin'? Or is the lady still putting you off, huh?" calls out a voice, far ahead of the photographer. Pablo, a pic master, or rather, the 'ticked master' as his companions called him, lags behind, his mind tethered to the peerless walls, graphed in ancient picks, laced in gold. Beauty calling for a picture, his will concedes the time.

A white flash emanates from his brand new camera, freezing this very moment, a piece of stringed point in exploration, in time, forever. Pablo patiently, yet excitidly awaits the result as his photograph works its inner machinations, spilling the fruits of his craft. His hand delicately helps the flimsy film out of his tool, brimming with fresh heat, soothed by the ambient winds of ths tomb.

He looks at it. Perfectly lighted, well-angled. The details, as real as the writing themselves, embellished by his touch. This moment, relived so many times, releases the endorphines in his brain, well on reminding him of his mastery. He meticulously puts it alongside the other reserves of pics taken, basking in the knowledge of his every increasing folder.

"Pablo, man, you deaf?" calls out the voice again, sowing turbulence in his dreamscape. He shakes his head, looking back ahead. A group, walking ever forward, all of them, save for one. The group's leader, Antonio, responsible for the expedition. Futher ahead, Tony the collector, he who takes hold of whichever is not bound to the ground with what they slumbered. And Mory, the decypher. Responsible for knowing what is what and which worth.

They walk alongside others, as one group would not be nearly enough, led by an egyptian woman shrouded in sand tide cloak. The main reason why Pablo had such trouble following closely. Inept experiences bound in in past tides with the opposite gender had mired his resolve before many of them. The guide's calm and uninterested demeanor had done nothing to ease his fright.

Alas, little choice in offers itself his way. With a quickening breath, Pablo resumes his walk after the group under the amused look of Antonio, wasting no time noting his quirk "You know, one day you're going to end up at a 'damoiselle' 's private room and I'm curious to see what exactly you would undertake to flee".

Pablo groans under his now masked breath, configured with the rest of his attire. Pablo wanted the least attention projected atop of him, his reasoning for wearing black so often. An uninteresting color, so to say. Entire body covered in the colorless dark, hiding all but his hair. His eyes take a seat behind a dark-tinted set of glasses.

Pablo makes the effort to ignore his leader's blatant mockery of his predicamment, aided by the group's timely arrival at the central. A hub connecting four paths into it. A glitter of gold and artifacts, all assembled inside of a room adorned in the same material, resplenishment to today, almost as if one had been meticulously caring for the innards of the pyramid.

"Woah..." uttera Mory, witness of such opulence of ancient crafts, not counting the magnificient lumps of gold, in coin, bars and otherwise lively gleaming into the place "...such wealth".

"Quite so..." utters Antonio, watchful of the ceiling. Every bit looks to be polished, picked by one specialized hands and bound in hieroglyphics. Tony, as many others for their parts, began filling their hands with sums. Pockets, bags, satchels, everything that could fill precious metal saw their purpose re-directed into wealth-based goals.

Pablo whom had reached the place, brimmed with awe to such a point where having the mere presence of the room with dark glasses feels like a disservice to the artisans. Thus, his hand quietly lifts the pair of glasses, his camera heating up with the impendent. His breathing slows down, becoming enthralled with the literal writtings on the walls. Beauty of this caliber needed to be frozen in time behind the frame of a picture.

Or pictures. Forgetting the presence of others, of everything save for the decoration, Pablo begins taking pics. His hand at work shows, as the results, filtering through his lenz, a love letter to his profession. Any of these, if tailored to a loved one, would work just as well as a serenade. A letter to this special someone's door. One never to be, Pablo's discomfort a brick wall in his path. A path he was all too alien to...

However, his blissful session has since ran out of time, as sand on an hourglass feeding on its last grain. One had pushed away the lid of the sacrophagus, revebrating a single unsavory note of noise throughout the catacombs. One strong enough to snap Pablo's fantasy like a bubble.

Turning to the source of the brief yet intense clamor, his brown irises catch the sight of the group gathering around, the man responsible for unraveling the scrophagus tumbling away, his face anoited in astonishment "Woman..."

"What?" asks another one before he too, looks in its confines. He backs all the more as well, forfeiting his resolve to the same caliber of surprise as the first. One by one, they all gaze within in quick successions, repeating the same reaction from the once, then twice shocked individuals. Pablo, who heard the men stunned, felt no desire to approach, their uttering of the same word, 'woman'...

The wave of impromptu discovery passed to theories. The most prominent one based on the preservation of the woman entombed within. A kingdom buried for millenia, yet this ruler seemed not to look a day over 27 years. Then...

The outer casing of the sacrophagus begins to, to a lack of term, 'light up'. A violet source coursing through the hieroglyphs like blood inside one's vein. The people back up further, unsure of what is happening.

"Damn it Micheal! What the hell did you do?!" shouts a voice at the one responsible for opening the lid.

"I don't know, I just accidently pushed the top await, nothing more!" he spits back in encroaching panic, only for his visage to turn pale as ashen. Turned to the sacrophagus, once more, the first to make the unsavory discovery.

The woman, once entombed within...now standing atop of it. Crimson cracks flourished over her intact body permeate the same radiance of the violet light. Most of it burns beyond her own irises, prompting the entire pyramid to light up, waking as she did. Her eyes scan the entirely of the people around.

Pablo, who was seduced by the beauty of the tomb, now felt seducted by her appearance. A beauty unrivalled by any he had seen before. Elegant silk bathed in gold and white. Flawless artifacts adorning her already enticing body. The pose she takes, a regent amidst her court. Oh how a picture of her would elevate any and all who set their eyes upon it.

His film heats up. His stance hardens. Most of the people, including Tony, Mory and Antonio are frightened by the initial surprise, yet Pablo is firmly intent on taking a singular photo. And he does, hidding his flash in a silence mode. A perfect pose, an overwhelming presence yet devoid of malice, a complice lighting. Every is perfect. A master picture, surrounding an ancient one and her domain.

Alas, his fantasy is rendered nightmare as he moves his camera from his eyes, meeting with the pharaoh's. Her violet gaze pierces his marroon tide, fixed in at a much extended pace. His shape starts trembling, closing his output of the outside world with his sun glasses, unaware of the gentle smile has blessed him with, were he to linger for but a second longer.

A smile evaporated as she finally sets her attention to the rest. Their strange bag-looking apparels, filled to the brim with her treasury. Her subjects'. Gentle as her look was gazing upon Pablo, they soon fill with scorn, her voice, an evidence of that "What are you miscreants doing with my people's beloning?!"

A stunned shock afflicts everyone. Pablo, still ignorant of her soft gaze once fixed upon him heard naught but his nightmare manifest. Slowly, he backs away, his dark clothing a boon into blurring out of people's sight. A thing to note about this particular photographer, his stealth abilities. The prettiest of picture often required him to venture into the harshest of lands, brim with predators and opportunists. His delicate relation with any and all women had taken the shape of paranoia coercing him of developing such ways of separating himself from the rest. This had become the result of drones, camouflages and subterfuge.

Pablo had already made his way out when he heard commotion within. Rather than risk going back, his feet carry him to a spot of prediliction. Atop one of the gigantic pillars leading to the pyramid, the furtest one, where items in his name hid, waiting to see their purposes fufilled.

Pablo climbs to the pillar, a large black bag bearing down on his back. He stands elegantly on the top for how little space it offers for his footing. Putting the bag before him, he pulls out a drone, fully equipped with an onlike camera, wireless connection and cloaking device. It's gyrospheres muffle the sound of batting wings, rending it fully silent in flight.

"Alright, like this, I should be able to see what happened" he speaks to himself as he sends off his tool. He establishes connection via a miniature screen embedded on his leathery gauntlet. Quickly, it flies back to the pyramid, its' feedback mecanisms already looping voices within.

Voices recalling the following action blurred out by Pablo's escape. The pharaoh's outrage at the uncaring looting going in her people's tomb. Tony apparently taking a shot in the stomach, though one dampening his psychic resistance? The drone had latched by the walls in the inner sanctum. The first image to loop to Pablo was of Tony, moaning on the ground. A woman wrapped in bandages seemed to be sitting on him, only for that image to be proven false as the camera's zoom stabilizes. She was straddling him...

Though their respective attires looked to be on, to the man's current dismay. His new condition makes it hard to resist the call of a woman standing over him in a lover's position. The rest of the group were being assailed by many more bandaged women, turning the tomb into a love den. Surprisingly, none of them had actually initiated a true act, desperate as they were. Their visages, untainted by time, flustered in hunger, unbased, unhidden.

They could not satiate their famish in the meantime, however. The pharaoh looks over the group, watching her minions search the strange satchels and bags on the men, throwing lumps of egyptian gold back to the pile. Besides her were two anubises guards, holding lengthy spears by their sides, each encrusted with a jewel at the bottom of the curve where the blade sprouts. A color of emerald for one and sapphire for the other.

The men, bound by softness and bandages, between yearn and worry, had no resource to attempt an escape, literally straddled by a very enticing mummy, who they themselves gleam just as much as their pharaoh. Their eyes turn to said individual who slowly began walking down stairs from her sacrophagus. If the lady had been previously angry at such disdain for her subjects' beloning, with the change applied devoid of resistance, her frown had no more need. Curiosity fills her eyes.

All of it, directed at a small bag befallen before her. A vomit of pictures stand between its metallic zip jaws and the warm grainy floor "Ohh, what appears before me?". A finger under a chin, proactively scratching. Her mind tingles with the temptation of picking it up, meeting its feature as something to hold items.

"My queen..." one of her guards tries to precede her, a black furry paw reaching for the discarded bag, her crimson eyes met with a witholding finger at her direction.

"You worry too much" contests the pharaoh, a short but shining smirk as she was well intent on taking the satchel herself, short-term memory spiking up within her re-awakening consciousness. Whoever had it is here no more.

Antonio, one of whom who's vision was no mummy to enfeeble, simply for the reason he laid on his stomach, notices the ancient woman fumbling around with said bag "Oh sh--Pablo ain't here".

Before long, the pharaoh had phased to his front. her anger long subsided, she leans to the down man, having overheard his words "Hmm, is that this fellow's name?"

Pablo jolts, having heard her speaking his name from the feed of his drone. Having any long-slept entity wake up with an interest in one is feasible for caution. His case, quite worse. A womanly ruler of an ancient civilization, unfazed by the tide of time, with, by her words, many more of her 'subjects', likely all capable of arcane rights, taking an interest on the only man present who cannot afford to stand too close to women...much worse.

Antonio shuts himself off, unknowning where his photographer went, nor the intent to 'rat' him out for whatever sentence she had in mind. A course of action bringing a hand from the pharaoh to her heart "You hurt me with this presumption, stranger. I wish but inquire about those pocket space trapped in this tiny frame. Perhaps I have been too wrathful".

her words seem to afflict the man, even as the ruler has her attention turned to the mymmy holding him down. Silently, yet directly demanding this man helped up. A pair of hands reach for his armpits, slowly lifting him to eyesight. The pharaoh, dressed of a regal stare, resumes with a request, moving dust away from his jacket "Ahh, well met stranger. Those serving in my circle call me Azizi, ruling pharaoh of the north. I recall spotting a man in darkness stranded not long. Would you indulge in my request to display the information as I may have him brought here?"

Hearing those words made Pablo's blood freeze for a full second. His heart reacts with tight compression, blurring out his vision for the same second. Winds pass through his body, threatning to tip him over. His feet regain their footing, alas carrying a weary heart prone to panic. With hastened clumsiness, his buttons are pressed in rapid succession, sending distressed signals to his drone.

He wanted out. Out of this place. His mind afflicted with the urgent duty of calling for a rescue team. Or the national guard of the country. Or the military. Anything. Anything that involves him fleeting this accursed place.

His drone receives his continuous orders, albeit in a disorderly fashion, causing the wireless flyer to act sideways to its stealthy design. The rotor within vibrate with intensity, an omen of distress from the user unsure of his actions. Motion heard throughout the inner sanctum, prompting many to lift their eyes to the ceiling.

All but Pablo's respondant group...

"What is that infernal commotion?" begets one of the anubis guards, unable to track the source.

"I know not, but it sounds like we're being spied on" speaks the other, branding her jeweled spear upward, trying to decipher the same source.

"Don't worry, this isn't some spy or anything" spouts Antonio, his words reaching out before his brain could. A whisper, more subtle Why did I say that?"

His voice retracts the attention of the pharaoh and her retinue, including the other expeditions, the former having never really left his side "Is it not? What would be the source then?"

"A piece of technology dubbed a drone" responds Antonio, his eyes wincing at his own words seeping out, unrelenting in its will to spll the truth "The man you seek out is the one manning it, although he is not personally present".

"Really?" a burst of joy seep forth from Azizi's visage, turning to the possible moving source "Will he concede should I catch this 'drone' artifact?"

Her interrogated shakes his head, his vision blurred out by what looks to be a sort of spell "The fact that its moving with little coordination is a sure sign of his panic. In layman's term: he's running away".

Azizi's previous clamor takes on a more concerned stare "Oh dear, how unfortunate. I need to apprehend this 'drone' artifact then". Without waiting on the man she spoke to, her heeled feet clap through the floor, drowning the man's calls "Hold on! He's no good with women!"

Pablo's glasses reflect the 'Head-up Display' of his drone scurrying to find its way out. His heart plays in panicked strings, cutting his breath short and stringent. The added presistant percution of heels clapping not far behind his drone is another pitch into his shattered psyche. A voice calls out to the buzzing it follows, restrained in auditive capacity by the latter.

Another chorus of urgency coming in waves to Pablo, who could not afford to spare a glance through his drone. A flight funneling into a dead-end. His drone's hud comes across the main hall, the last layer seeing pillars stretching to the ceiling. Every one of them gradually illuminating as it goes. The light of the outside world shines on the last centimeters of the path, promising his machinery freedom.

Freedom barged from it in the shape of a gathering stone door chiseled into a triangle, the last stone sending a stark message to the cloaked drone. It moves erratically, amplifying the buzz coming from the rotors...for a time.

Silence. The heels of the ruler had at last reached out to the halls, a brief overpowering flow of violet through her eyes and a hand, both dismishing to their original states. Her gaze scans the room, seeking out anything that may act or look out of the ordinary.

Pablo, on his end, ushered in sheer lost of composure "No. No, no, no, no, no!" His mask, his clothing, his glasses, veiling his disdraughted senses. Desperate, he spares no effort scanning the room for a crack. Or a fissure. Or a hole. Anything, anything really. Anyway out for--

"Hello?" a voice bursts through his gauntlet, feeding from the imprisoned drone. Quickly, he shoves a hand on his mouth through his mask, silencing himself. His less-than-stable psyche had his sensed blurring the line between his own position and his machinery, thinking himself need to quiet breathing.

"Is there anyone here? I wish you no harm" asks the voice again to his wireless gadget. His peace keeps a hold on him, clearly unwilling to risk a move.

Azizi awaits the machine's presence or answer, its cacophony dead by the rumble of the colliding stones, nested firmly on a higher wall. Having no words of warning concerning the man's disposition with women, she could device, however, the rather precarious tone in which she addressed the expedition teams. An easy summary to an easily frightened man.

Making use of the well of patience instilled unto her with the millennia of governing a sunken kingdom, she pulls out the bag with which she tattled the stealth drone and drives a hand amidst its contents.

The silence enveloping the halls is a second wind to Pablo, he thinking his pursuer long gone and departed. His eyes, smeared by the tainted glasses, return to his small gauntlet screen, enabling his eyes to filter through the drone's feed. Its mecanical lenz catches the pharaoh lifting couple of pictures between her fingers. Her hips periodically turn, making sure it sees them, nested with the black bag over her shoulders.

"My bag...?" Pablo utters, pressing his hands on his back. He jolts "'My bag! My forgot I bag?! No, no, no, this isn't good! That pic in still--

"I merely wish to inquire about these pocket worlds" Azizi's voice returns, picking one in particular to gaze at it. Longily. Her eyes turn up once more "They're very beautiful...It feels as if I'm staring at a painting in person. Your comrades are in no danger, if that is what you worry about. Please unveil thyself, I have fond curiosity about your craft".

Two roads stand before Pablo. The road of silence. The path of the voice. She knew of him, tagged with the rest, yet, her voice's tone gave no way to ire. The road of silence would give him the safety of conscience, alas cut from the opportunity to mesmerize himself among the pyramid and its wakening habitants. The path of the voice opens the door to everlasting films, with the time to glamour them for those who wish to witness them. With the danger of a snare.

Pablo had experience in these dangers, although it never involved women. His drone, his eye. His presence. His protection. With a sigh of cautionary regret, he taps on a button, disengaging the cloaking device, at face view.

Its noiseless gliding startles the pharaoh, instinctively clutching the pics close to her. Her composure quick to flourish anew "Ohh! A sneaky little artifact this is! Anyway..." she rattles her voice, taking on a soverign tone "I am the ruler of this nothern kingdom, Azizi. I have come upon one concerned with taking what looks to be moments frozen in time. I am...unsure of what to call it, perhaps beside a pocket world".

She chuckles a bit, listening to herself say the combinations of words "I now realize 'pocket world' sound a bit silly, seeing as I feel no spell imprinted unto them. Regardless, I assume the one making use of this 'drone' is the man I've eyed with a metal eye before. I ask thee to consort thyself to my humble kingdom, as to indulge in my increasingly hungry curiosity for these...how do I call those?" The woman takes a gaze down to the pics, her gaze engaged in ponder "Definitively not 'pocket worlds'. 'Frozen times'? 'A suspension in eternity'? Hmm..."

A talk? About photography, of all things? Pablo's mind is incredublous about her mindset, forsaking the stringent fear he once mustered, his presence distanced by the drone. However seemingly trivial her penchant leans in, he obliges, tapping into a holographic keyboard wrought into life by the gauntlet of his arm.

The drone lights up, catching once more the attention of the Pharaoh "Ohh?"

A symphony of lights, all from the same piece, lighting up with the drone's automated voice, reminiscent of the Sam voice "Pictures...they're called...pictures".

"Pictures?" the pharaoh perks up, eyes winced in attention "Pictures. A parallel with paintings, yes?"

"...yes" the drone answers unceremonically.

"Glad I can find something to grasp this anew craft with our own. I see this time is not all the best for us to conduct conversation. Can I expect for us to meet in a close future? Perhaps the next dawn?"

"...affirmative. I will...be present...tomorrow" speaks the drone, to Azizi's enthusiastic, yet dimmed down expression of clamor. As foreign to the concept of modern technology she was, it was no far-fetched string for her to deduce the inhuman voice of the machine. Obviously not relaying the owner's own tone.

"Excellent..." she nods regardless, a glint of hope in her eyes "...I shall await your return at any time the next dawn. Do be astute!" The ruler turns from the machine, walking back several steps before swaying her head back "Ohh, and your comrades. They'll be given ample time to examine the treasury my people have gathered here, although..." She discards one of her eyes in a wink "I'd bet their priority lies elsewhere for now..."

--

The dawn rises out of the darkness, leading the stars far from the sun's temporary territory. The photographer seeps out of his vehicle among the dozen, set aside kilometers away from the lands he fled from. His drone held tenderly in his palms. He sets it down, yawning all the more while going through procedures.

"The others...they weren't here last night" he speaks out, alone in the wind and the sand, a black spot amidst the grain. He remembers the words of the pharaoh departing with his drone. Something about 'other priorities'...

He turns his head from doubt, willing to take her for her word. His safety net bribing much confidence from him "Well, she did said they had the leisure to observe and research the artifacts. Obviously, they're taking every chance to learn, the builders present and awake to answer. Anything goes wrong, I can just..." his eyes lower to the left pocket of his pants, where his cellphone lies, on standby.

Pablo makes his way back to the closest pillar among the set leading to the pyramid. His natural agility brings him reach to the top, where he squats, launching his life bouy into the winds.

The buzzing mutes down five seconds in, the drone riding the winds into the entrance re-opened. First thing to catch his eye is the increased activity in the outer and inner halls. Women, many of then in fact, all featuring some appendages. Many sporting golden cicada gather amount new arrivals. Men. The mecanical eye can catch the admiration these bug women seem to feed the men they encircle, feeding them as they sit by what look to be river banks.

Others, within the halls, accoasted by cat-like ladies preseting writing on the walls. They giggle as their guests gaze back with confusion, going for theatrical motions. Riddles. Every single one of the answers, false. They look like they enjoy correcting their guests.

Many more follow suit, educating the arrivals, each one going for a nearing approach. A working one, judging by the looks of the men. A noticeable increase in their cheek bones' heat.

He turns his drone's eyes away, as his mind pulls away from the scene, turned to the woman he promise to visit. Whisking to the throne room, the walls, much more lively. A massive overhaul, surpassing the beauty he witnessed the only time his feet imprinted the marbled floor. The sacrophagus, gone. A man-size serpent lays by the spot next to a massive and gilded throne. Velvet adorns the inner folds, sat upon by the woman who besieged him to this spot.

His drone looks to the side, spoting some remnants of his team. Antonio, Tony, Mory. All of them, their arms busy holding a bandaged woman within. Their eyes speak of the romance that happened in his absence. Right now, they spent the time in their own bubbles, listening to their new 'companions' describing what they hold, what they look at, the words they spots.

Azizi sits by, a leg crossed over the other. A miniature staff laid out on her thighs, poised in her forward lean. The gemini anubis standby, every vigilant in their guard duties. A duty that sees them point their spears forward, aware of the atmosphere's displacement.

Azizi raises her hand, calling them to withdraw. A second passes before confirmation, their edges rising back to the ceiling. The ruler is quick to get off, down the few stairs, followed by her crimson serpent. She takes a few paces downstairs, ahead of her guardians, the latters prone to take a more relaxed stance.

"So you are keen to your word" the pharaoh speaks "You may unveil yourself...photographer? I hope I said it right".

A 'whomf' occurs, seeing the drone de-cloak, to an anticipating lady. A smile forms on her un-aged visage, felt with a slight glint on the corner of her eye. A bare wince on the eyebrows, a think Antonio fails not to notice. A thought to return to at a later date.

"Yes...as promised...I come back" the drone utters in his Sam voice, filtering every letter Pablo types from the distance.

"Good..." Azizi buckles the bag forgotten by the photographer, walking past the drone "We shall be on our way. I know of a seclusion where our thoughts can flow freely. Do follow close by". Taking casual steps, the pharaoh wanders away, followed by Pablo's surrogate,ever gliding.

The day passes, a wealth of information passed betweem Azizi's lively tone, proding the drone in a slew of questions, eyes vibrant, in a constant state of awe with each answer given. An ancient ruler unparalleled in power by but a few others, amazed by the simple act of taking a picture. His radiance, opposed by the lifeless pitch of Pablo's drone. Its basic feedback. Its cold distance manifested by the user.

A day carried on by curiosity, the night seeing Azizi usher in the promise of return from Pablo's surrogate ambassador.

"I will...as promised. Tomorrow" it speaks, the pitch unchanged.

"Then we resume tomorrow" she ends with a bright smile, inescapable to the machine's oculars. It whiskers away, blind to her faltering smile, her violet eyes lowering away from it long before it disappears into the oncoming darkness.

She descends from one of the many balconies peeking out the pyramid, the top one. Her steps vibrate through the quieting halls all the way to the throne room, her own rooms lying far behind. Her walk sees one of the men visited this morning "That is not a re-assuring sight, ma'am".

Her pace halts, attention turned to Antonio's spanish accent. One delivered with concern. The ancient one sighs in accord, vaulting back to her throne in a regent pose "Perhaps I gave your companion a much harsher impression than I would have preferred".

"What makes you speak those words, ma'am? Misconceptions have been resolved, have they not?" Antonio takes hold of the nearest chair he can set his eye on, sitting at a fair distance, his face hidden by darkness and lighted by moonlight, much like the gilded room.

"I wish to meet this individual once more. His...pictures? Pictures. They voice such life, on part as an artisan cultivating his art. Beauty captured in tiny spaces. Photos, I believe..."

The man takes on a more confident sit "That's Pablo alright. Will take the high road to hell just to grasp a moment in a butterfly's flap. A simple moment worth ten-thousand words. I'd express surprise, had I not a moment to notice that sunken expression you've projected earlier".

"Quite so" she acknowledges "I've given in to the interest that this man's craft beholds. Alas, I feel but the dull fabric to what you would call the 'technical side' of his work. His machine, the source of it all. I wish to feel the whole-heart these photos convey to me. It won't allow me to, likely to the lackluster impression I must have left on the man behind these. I foster no manner in which to bring him out of his hidden spot..."

"Microsoft Sam never has been the best of voices for a computer. But don't worry about him. He's always been mistrusting in the woman department".

Azizi looks to Antonio, almost with indignation "Have I fostered such a state? If so, is there--

"LIke I said" Antonio softy cuts, his head lowered "Don't worry. None of it is you, ma'am. He's been like this for a while now".

"Really? What could occur for one to distance women to this degree?" her voice pours concern, speaking with the tone of one seeking to soothe.

"Long story short: there was an accident involving his profession. While the concerned have issued apologies for the harsh treatment, the damage was done. He had, by then, forsaken any closeness with any and all. Honestly, I'm surprised he tagged alone in person for this expedition, what with our guide being a woman. Had to egg him on to follow".

"A mistake...I see. I wish not to force his presence here, but wish it brightly" she says, realizing her potential work cut out by the fact that she holds the title of ruler. And not to mention, the rather misgiving contact coercing him out before long.

"I may be able to abide to this little problem" the man speaks, seeing the queen dart her stare towards him. Her composure is calm, yet alert, awaiting his tutoring. One he brings in full "Actually, since you've graced us with your expressed conscent to research your treasury, I can simply call him on for detailed pictures as standard procedures".

"Does his machine not have the same propeties as his tiny box I once glanced him with?"

"Ahh, you wish! That thing is smuck compared to the man's hands, trust me. We compared that one time he discarded personal touch for the safety of his drone. Amazing how a pair of hands somehow still out scales the precise machinery. Probably the winds..." His gaze falters as a mummy slumps out of a particular room, hidden by but a veil. Her body entangled in wrap, dressed in a silky top and skirt leaving her belly open for touch. Her hands softly wrap around Antonio's neck, nuzzling his cheek with her own,a smile branded on her fair visage. Eyes dot on the sleepy side

Azizi places a hand on her face, trying stiffle a laugh "Looks like someone is missing someone important.~

Antonio rises from his chair, making an impromptu princess carry to his new beloved. She sighs in contentment, peering in the dream haze whilst still holding onto him. He nods, his feet turned to the room from which she spilled from "It would seem so. Very sorry for this, ma'am. I must attend to a sleepy maiden".

"Of course" Azizi concedes, herself feeling the tender pulls to the dreamland "We shall enact what you have in hand the next day..."

---

This morning comes in the pouring shape of watr fallin en masse from the heavens. A fair rain, capturing the desert in a cooler temperature. The winds pick up in a bare increase, nothing for serious concern. Well, except for those awaiting to wander through the cultivated lands of the kingdom, seeing many more seek the normally acrid deserts.

Pablo himself dozzed away in the armor of his vehicle, dark in nature, steel within. His stealth outfit, ever present. His drone sat by his side, inert. The rain's fallout could hold no grasp on his bloated sleep. The buzz on his left pocket, however, did, springing him awake.

"Yo Pablo, you up yet?!" the expedition's boss further lashes at the dream's tendrils, who spare no effort to keep its grasp on the sleeper.

"Hum...no..." speaks the young man, only now aware of the rain, his windshield assaulted relentlessly.

"Then get in your high gear man! I'll need me some refine pics!" the voice tots.

"Hum...sure, I'll get the drone working--

"You serious man?! I need me my picman, not his unapologic air invader!"

"There's few the people here, boss. Can't be sure of my own safety if I can't send my drone".

"It'll be fine, dude! We'll be around if needed, just come on!"

"Hum, not with the demeasurate amount of creatures waking from the pyramid's confines I'm not" the voice sounds dismissive, unwilling to put a foot inside.

"Dude, unparalleled access to the place inner confines! You realize how rare that is? They're fine, man! I mean, just like last time when we stumbled in that village, they were fine! You still owe me for bailing out, I hope you remember that..."

Silence...an unpromising response coming to Antonio, knowing his cameraman had no qualm about squatting away the whole trip, should he need to. Antonio, from his end places a hand on the mic of his cellphone, object eyed closely by its ancient resident, curiost about the miniature tool.

He turns to the ruler, leaning to his direction from her thonr chair, a cut-throat hand gesture, indication of how south this little argument went. She lifts a finger and points it at a direction going for another set of halls.

"Alright, what if I told you, there's a place with nobody on it. Everyone's busy with the meticulous artifacts in the throne room anyway. That'll give you ample time to explore further, how about it?"

"Well...I guess--

"Cool, get here yesterday man!"

"Ok but--

"Yea. Thanks! Bye!" The sound of a dead tone fills the car, to Pablo's dismay. There wasn't really anyway around. Five minutes later, to the toilet away, he goes, accompanied by his drone. A hood cloaks his head, making up for the rain morning although his machine, set to auto-pilot, made sure to fly directly over his head, shredding most of the rain drops daring to fall upon the two.

His perpetually hunched body stalks the halls, hidden from most's sights. Much of it can be attributed to the attention given to the exotic women inhabitating this absolutely gigantic mausoleum of a pyramid, seemingly growing larger every passing day. The rest, given to his stealth techniques, silent all the way to the inner sanctum, following the phone's coordinates given by his boss.

As feared, the mummies once seen in his only day interned in the halls are present. All of them, inflactuated by their hosts' curious devices such as lamps, phones batteries and more. Pablo quietly makes his way to the afformated seclusion, his shoes muffling any noise trying to seep out.

His path leads him to a soft land, followed by his drone. The place is mired by open gaps in the ceilings, leading to torrents of water falling on what looks to be aquaduc systems, perpetually flowing scross the land. Some patches feature a pack of leaves, corn, trees, whichever. All of it dressed in a light feeling much like the sun.

"The agriculture section..." Pablo whispers as his drone takes height to englobe much of the massive room, a bird's point of view. The man takes his photograph, brimming with excitement at the prospect of bringing eyes from beyond to bear sight to the place, like many before. His febrile anticipation blinds him, however, to the 'damoiselle' wandering in his direction, her hands coupled behind her.

"To think I'll be able to bring this life with me, an aroma of aesthetics and functionnality. Feels like they've grouped an architect and an artisan".

"That is not a wrong assumption..." a voice whispers behind him. Very near. Feminine. Pablo's excitement turns to dread in a split second, a panicked tumble encroaching his feet midway through his sudden body pivot to indentify the voice, leading to his fall down.

Even behind the dark frames of his glasses, Azizi had no problem sensing his disarray, his primary hand trembling with no respite. His breathing, cutting away his ability to speak short. His other hand, dragging his fallen self in inches. Her knees set on the earthly soil, mere centimeters from the sunken photographer, a hand in his direction "Now, before you speak out--

--You're...you're not supposed to be here! What happened to your treasury?! Were you not watching over it?!" Pablo spouts in incomprehension, his eyes darting all over the place looking for a quick exit. His drone air activity also increases, abiding to its user's will.

"I am aware of what your superior had told you, but please hear me out, photo artisan! I just wish to occupy my waking days with the finer details of your craft--

--b-but! I've had my drone deliver the inner workings of my profession! Everything's in it My history, my experience! My travels! Everything! Why would you need me on ths spot for this?!" spouts Pablo once more, putting a strain on the pharaoh's efforts to understand his panicked dialect.

"This machine, whichever you call it, has no humanity within it. I cannot dwell in the sublime touch your craft gives you through its monotone voice". Her whisper is clear, filtered by an empty hall, compounded by falling water in droves "I but demand to spend the days in your company, to indulge in this attention to detail as you work on the confines of my kingdom. Now, I know you have a strain history with females..."

Her gentle stare meets the unnerved gaze of the man, who by then had crawled back many centimeters. She raises herself back to her feet and wavers two fingers away, resulting in a ethereal box encasing her. The trembling in his marrow slows to a crawl, replaced by bewilderement on his side. Her voice resonates once again "If I encase myself within this box of my making, will it soothe your apprehension to a rocky contact?"

Pablo looks on as she stretches to the edge of the box, poking it many times of her finger a to testify of its legimitacy. Slowly, he picks himself up, his camera in hand. He looks away for a second, pondering...

He finally returns attnetion to the ancient, holding his gadget in a frail manner "Well, can you move? Or are you stuck here...can't really get a good read if you're commited to the current spot..."

A smile etches on Azizi's face, hearing concession on his part, all while brittled with the much sought extasy from his day spanning lessons on his manner of photography. Day after day, the cycle repeats, going from the man's stealth approach, to the shocking surprise of witnessing Azizi aiwaiting his company on a makeshift chair, made of ether, to the box separating the two and the lessons going further than expected, to her everlasting delight. Every time, an inch attempted by her side, to close the gap between the two. Every time, Pablo uttering an excuse, pulling from the inexperience the pharaoh actually has toward his profession, however withering with the weeks...

-

Pablo had gained much confidence, teaching an all-powerful entity about the simple art of photography, although many would contest that, noting his persistent distancing to an endowed pharaoh seeking to close the gap. A note, as well, to this dampening her mood once in a while, witness to many of her subjects afflicted with one of the opposite gender. The pyramid had now grown back to its full state, dotting itself with the fascinations of the modern world.

Only, this seeming downward spiral had abrupty ended...

The evening shifts to dusk, seeing Pablo handling one such picture to Azizi, dressed in a more conventional attire. Her eyes blossom in full satisfaction of his moment in eternity. Her hand lays on one of her cheeks "Another impeccable one! You are doing well to embellish the presentation of my realm".

"I'm glad you enjoy those, madam" speaks pablo in a continuous dialect, blurred out in her ears as she notices a piece of white sticking out of his attire. His attention impaired elsewhere, he is none the wiser as she utters a whisk of magic, transposing the unknown item to her hand, directly over the one given. her heart skips a beat, at a way prompting her to place a hand over the dress. Her cheeks flourish with the long-gone heat of desire.

The photo she gazed at, the very first one he had taken of her. That fleeting moment of rebirth, the gleaming beam of sunlight hitting her many accessories, her sublime body untouched by the years, the centuries, the millennia. Her regent, yet soft gaze painted across the room. Everything, from the walls, to the tomb, to the floor, leading to her awakening. Her heart pounces yet again...

...and again...

...and again. A love letter in the shape of a picture. One that hasn't left his side ever since up this moment. His feelings, depicted in this one moment. Yet he would never confess, his restrained caution around women witholding his acts.

She wants him. Everything he is, everything he carries, she wants for herself. No longer thinking as a regent, but a woman. A maiden ever untouched in her long life, commited to the architecture of queenship. Yet no more. A singulary wish, now manifested in the shape of a photographer, still blatantly unaware of her subtle act.

His speech finished, Pablo had turned to the confines away from the agriculture segment. One step, two steps, his hand held by Azizi's. Her palm, making little of the glove he wears, inducing softness on his own. her eyes stray away "I have but one more request for the coming dusk. Have you time to listen?"

--

Pablo finds himself in a plce unlike many. The top of the pyramid, hiding a room, fully furnished, prone to give great envy to any modern celebrity. All he could do, watch in awe at the draps, the crafting, the items, worthy of a fit ruler. All of it, blindsiding once more, unable to notice Azizi come behind him. A simple locking mechanism, fufilled by her personal key, lost the generous portion of her chest, a hidden smirk accompanying this motif.

She walks nearby "Judging by the lack of words coming from you, I take it you enjoy what you observe, yes?"

"It's beautiful..." he utters, his brain only able to catch up to his words. And so does his sight, catching the full display of the pharaoh intercepting hersl in his vision, a pic in hand.

"I would fathom not as much as I appear to be, is that right?"

Before he could answer, his brain finally catches up on the content of what he was witnessing "What..." he starts putting his hands on his attire, searching for one thing "My pic.." his pace increases in a frantic manner "...its gone. It dropped?! No, no, no..."

Had his attire not been disolved, a balancing smile, smelling of pure embarrassement would be a discovery. One only further raised as she who brought him here wavers it like a prized item "You actually feel fond of my person, do you not?"

Pablo, as he did many times, lets silence be the placeholder, as it many times had saved him from the rite of doing a discomforting task. Azizi was having none of it, waving it once more, a much flourished smile on her face, clothes embedded in her own ethereal "Ohh? Too shy to answer, are we?~

A fluster of heat clings to Pablo, seeing his long desired attire becoming a detriment to his impendiment. The temperature grossly increased, threatning to engulf him. He needed a way out. His words, a chorus of babble bearing a maskshift mask of excuses as he turns to the door. Azizi smirks, her attire slowly changing to aclimate the current mood, watching the man try to force to hand on the knob. The panic spreading through his mind, realizing its refusal to budge.

~Turn around for me~ her voice sails to his ear, grasping power within. A suggestion of gentle pressure, turning his body against him, slowly pivoting Pivoting to a woman presented in a night gown. Her motifs, teasing his eyes. her scent, tickling his nostrils. A way to worsen his condition, one counted as natural to many, a distress to him, reminiscent of his reason to keep away.

Her chocolate skin entices touch, making use of the supernatural prowess of monsters, as he would come to know. A smile in his way ~Do you enjoy the sight? Not many have the priviledge of such observation~

A question? Should he answer, perhaps this could resolve itself...had his body not do so for him. The crimson cheeks as bright as a traffic light. The clamor in his words. The misguided attempts to divert his stares, everything, answering in his stead.

~Eyes on me, lover~ she whispers, knitting his head straight. His eyes, taking every second to meticulously devour what he sees, his body afflicted with a famished state previously alien to him, as his own expedition was. A repeat, he was not prepared for.

Such is her hold on him, compounded by his own blooming, yet returned desire to close the gap, that he does so in the way he always did: A picture. Surprise afflicts Azizi, and himself, the former, giggling in his action ~Ohh? Enraptured with me, are we? Well then...~

Two words "come here".

One finger, gesturing as well. Confusion, from the masked man "...what?"

"You heard me. Come here".

"...

......what?" His head refused to accept her words. A shame to play the dense, as millennia of hunger had now fully blossomed within her. Her words, much more direct.

"Ohh, alright. I will give in to you request..."

Taking in a come-hilter position, arms open for an embrace, she words in unmistakable dialect ~You. Will. Come. To. My. Bed. And. Ravish. Your. Queen~

"O-o-oh, y-you're hungry! L-let me get you something" he splatter, trying to drag time along. An abject failure, his own thoughts turning against him as well.

~Nah-ah~ she wags with a finger ~Your. Queen. Demand. To. Be. Lovingly. Devoured. This. Instant~

His mind slips from the rationalization to the corner of his desires, becoming louder "B-but, hold on, I'm no expert--

~All the better. We shall both learn of this nascent sensation. Now...~ her tone does not switch, merel adding a more royal decree ~I demand that my newly annointed king comes to bed and ravages his queen until she forgets the notion of her overstayed virginity~

Egged on, he walks forward, though not out of obligation. His strings, played on the moment their eyes met, reminding him of what brings him to her. An ancient individual, bestowed with the power of gods, having singled a mere photographer, to be her faithful. He had no idea how fiercely he had capture her heart through his love of all she held under her wing. She wanted to give him a more...physical display of that rapture. And she was not this night, of all night, taking a stumbling no for an answer...