They go by river, a great number in every boat, men and women together. Who: Bast and Osiris What: A random run-in Where: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Egyptian exhibit When: Backdated to Saturday afternoon
Sara Elidae loved going to the Met on sunny afternoons, so much that she had been given a season pass at a steep discount by the cute ticket girl who liked to make eyes at her. She would prowl the halls, appraising the history of human art with the same pride a mother has for her child's finger-paintings as they morph into art over the years. The changes, the evolution of techniques and thoughts, the sometimes-sacrelige that was as admirable as daring in battle to the never-embittered goddess, were as poetry to her.
And the Egyptian wing, how she reveled in it. Sara tried not to dwell, she tried not to linger in the past and to dwell instead in the present: focusing on what her current worshipers gave her, her ability to change shape, the modern way she had acted as protector and devourer, but there were the times. The times when this gallery was better than a scrapbook or a family portrait: for who could portray a pantheon better than its faithful?
It was in just such a nostalgic mood that Sarabi Elidae, once the goddess Bast, found herself in the Art museum on a sunny Saturday afternoon. The cute ticket girl was on her break, and examining the old statues with bright interest alongside the goddess, to whom the girl felt inexplicably drawn. Was it the cat charm bracelet on her wrist, or the ankh she wore religiously around her neck? Of course the girl suspected neither, she never suspected that she flirted with and lit reverent candles to the same entity.
They had only been talking a few minutes when Sara felt a burn of familiarity ripple through her, and without even turning her head she knew who had just entered the wing. She excused herself regretfully from the cute ticket girl (who would be well-off finding someone mortal, as it looked like Sarabi's days of normalcy were over) and crossed the vast room slowly but with confidence. There was no question of who or where, she picked her way easily through various mortals until she saw a familiar-yet-not face turned away from her.
"Khenti-Amentet," she said softly, pairing the old title with a soft hand to his arm, "Is that you?"