Papyrus

rnShe leaned forward, hair flaring over her shoulders in waves of metallic copper that cascaded over his face. With a start, he woke, lungs working as he breathed soap-scent and lavender. His eyes focussed, black pupils on black irises looking up into the wells of her crystal blue gaze. “Isis,” he breathed, as he reached up to pull her toward him. She leaned back further, arching her eyebrows in a teasing twitch, her breasts molding to the curves of her upper body as her arms moved to support herself, suspended above him. The sheets between them were tenting, and she smiled at him before moving away, swinging her legs over the edges of the bed. “Good morning, starshine,” she murmured, her voice soft and dry as her hands pulled a robe from off the back of a chair, wrapping herself in silken gauze. The man stared at her outline, highlighted by pink flowers and cream, then shook his head and blinked before sitting up. “Is this any way to behave?” he asked, his eyes following her movements as she tied a sash around her robe and slid her feet into a pair of light slippers. “You know how I hate your games.” rn “Not always,” the woman blew him a kiss, as she left the bedroom, pulling the door closed after her. The man’s jaw rippled, then he threw the sheets back stood, taking a fresh pair of boxers from the drawer beside the bed and pulling them over his hips. He padded out into the kitchen, where the woman was spooning Nescafé into a pair of porcelain mugs. Beside her, the kettle steamed in regular pulses, then clicked off as she tightened the lid of the coffee jar. “Any sugar?” the man asked, as he opened the fridge and pulled out a litre carton of full cream milk. He poured a brief splash into each mug, then poured hot water over the top. “No, haven’t been shopping yet,” came the reply, as the woman returned the coffee to its shelf. The man grunted, then picked up one of the mugs and swallowed. “Decaf. Fantastic.” “Healthy, sweetheart,” she emerged from the cupboard, and slapped him on the left thigh. “Caffeinated coffee drains stamina.” He grunted, and swallowed more of his coffee. “As if that’s ever been an issue.” She smiled, and began to butter toast, the silk of her robes sliding up and down her arms with the motion of the butter knife. He watched her for a moment, his eyes fascinated by the brief glimpses inside her robe that the motion afforded him. She glanced across at him, and laughed. “Didn’t get enough of an eyeful last night?” “No, nor any of the nights before that,” he agreed, moving behind her and grasping her waist in his hands, as he breathed on her neck. “I’ve never had enough, not in all the time we’ve been together.” “A near death experience will bring you closer. Now, kindly unhand me, lecher, unless you prefer your honeyed breakfast cold,” she replied, wriggling out of his grip and piling the toast on a pair of plates. He sighed, his expression mournful, then laughed and sat down at the table. “You remember that the kids are coming home tonight, don’t you?” she asked, as he chewed through the second piece of toast. “I did tell you they called yesterday, said they’ll be here around six?” He swallowed. “I remember. I’ll be cooking then, I suppose.” “Unless you like your liver raw. Please, you know me and the kitchen. You’re eating my masterwork now,” she replied, finishing her coffee and taking the mug to the sink. He stood and joined her, running hot water and dishwashing liquid into one side as she began to rinse the plates. He pushed her, gently. “I’ll do this. You have to get ready.” She smiled at him, and left the kitchen as he began to scrub the two plates, tracing patterns of bubbles across their painted surfaces. The motion of the floating soap-suds engrossed him, and he jumped as she touched him on his shoulder. He turned, and grinned at the sight of her clothing. “A policewoman today?” he asked, his eyelids flexing up and down quickly. “Why? Uniformed fun?” “They say that variety is the spice of life,” she teased, swinging a pair of handcuffs in an arc around her left hand. “Besides, don’t you think the outfit suits me?” “Very much so,” the man laughed, dropping the two coffee mugs into the bubbly water, “but I don’t know that the role suits your temperament.” She smiled, and walked to the front door, turning back as she lifted the latch. “We’ll see. I’ll be home early, help you get ready for them arriving, alright?” “Sure,” he replied, as the door swung shut behind her, then returned to the dishes. After he had dried the soap suds off and placed them back in the cupboard, he walked back to the bedroom and put on a pair of dark pants and a black polo shirt, then made the bed. He sniffed the sheets, and grinned, shaking his head. “Need to wash these again soon I think,” he told her portrait on the bedside table. He tidied the bedroom, then strolled into his study, sitting on his pneumatic chair with a thump and reaching onto his desk to power-on his computer. With a low ‘beep’ text started scrolling across his widescreen monitor, and he leaned back, hands behind his head as he watched it boot. Beside him, as he relaxed, his desk phone began to shrill, and with a surprised look he picked it up and checked caller ID, before hitting “Accept”. “Well hello there, young man,” he said, his eyes watching his computer continue to log in. “Hey there Pops. Mum told me to call, just to organise what we’re doing tonight. How’ve you been?” “No changes, really,” the man replied. “Just doing some bits and pieces. I’m cooking tonight, by the way.” “Better you than Mum,” the voice laughed in his ear. “So do you want us to bring anything, something to drink, or just a dip or whatever?” The man’s jaw twitched, his face thoughtful. “You know, if you could pick up some sugar and full-caffeinated coffee, I’d be really happy.” “Mum’s on another health trip, isn’t she?” the mocking reply came. “Where is she, anyway?” “She’s out working, you know her. Policewoman this morning, no idea about the afternoon.” The man heard a laugh. “‘Course she is. Fantasy factory, that’s Mum. ‘Spose it’s what you get, her job.” “Well, she’s not just your mother, remember. She’s been playing the maternal figure for a long time now.” “We’ve all been around for a while now, Pops,” the reply came. “You’re still bitter?” “Aren’t you? No-one has cared for longer than I want to remember. Why do we still bother?” “It’s what we do; what we are, Pops. And hey, you’ve got it easier than the rest of us, remember? Working from home, all that jazz?” The voice was light, almost flip. “Easier? You want my job, son? You couldn’t handle-” “Oh, come on Pops,” the voice interrupted. “You’re almost retired now, after all. Look, we can talk about it more tonight, I’ve got to get back to work.” “See you at six, Horus,” the man replied, and pressed “End”. Osiris, Lord of the Underworld and God of the Dead, tilted his leather chair back and stared at his LCD screen. The Incoming column flickered and changed, whilst the Outgoing remained the same, little soul statistics glaring out into his face. He dropped his phone on the desk, and selected another soul from the Incoming list. “Retired. Sure.”

rnAlcata’riel.

-Andiyar