Larry hears the pop first, a soft crack, and then he rounds the corner into the guard office. The night guard has learned the value of moving quietly, and so he walks in on Ahkmenrah mid-stretch. The pharaoh's gotten up from the desk and has risen to his toes, stretching his arms to the ceiling and arching his back while his vertebrae pop. After a long, weightless moment, he sinks down with a satisfied sigh.
Larry is frozen, an odd lump rising to his throat as he is confronted with the undeniable sight of the hard planes of Ahkmenrah's body, smooth and sleek skin, tensed muscles outlined cleanly in the linen robes. It hits him like a punch to the gut. He finds himself clearing his throat more forcefully than usual.
Ahkmenrah turns unhurriedly and smiles in a way that makes the lump come right back to Larry's throat. "How did it go?"
"Um," Larry says hoarsely and thinks frantically about how to explain it. "I, uh..." and he makes himself cough, "I fixed the problem. Christopher Columbus..." and he gestures vaguely, but at the moment he can't for the life of him remember what Christopher Columbus had done.
Ahkmenrah cocks his head inquisitively, but Larry has a sinking feeling about the gleam in his eye.
"Yes?" Ahkmenrah gently inquires, moving around the desk and Larry has never been so aware of how...smoothly the pharaoh moves sometimes, strolling towards him without ever once seeming to be a threat. Larry gulps, and someone screams somewhere in the museum, and he saves himself by backpedaling out of the room babbling about emergencies. He doesn't quite make it around the corner before he catches the disappointed flash in Ahkmenrah's face first.
Wood creaked faintly, a knocking in rhythmic counterpoint to the endless wet splish, splish of water. A sweat droplet crept its way over Yatsuha's cheek, a tiny pinpoint of pressure that ended by spreading over her lips in a fresh splash of salt flavor to add to the deep, acrid salt smell in the air. Her thighs felt pleasantly baked.
Wood creaked. Water splashed. She squinted into the distance to shut out some of the ruthless reflecting sun on the waves. A seagull cried, then squawked in surprise and was gone in a rush of outraged feathers, leaving a dripping wet young man in its place on the dock.
Yatsuha tipped her woven grass hat up to regard him while she licked salt off her lips. "You're early," she said, affecting mild interest, and a curious smile. Mugen uttered a faint obscenity, and glared.