#ahkmenrah x oc | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

freebooter4ever · 3 years

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Guardian Of Queens: Ahkmenrah/OC that takes place a few months after the first movie when everything is still a little new to our golden boy. Ahk is actually 17 in this, both characters are ace, there is a lot of fluff and sillyness, and art talk, and Ahkmenrah getting the worship he probably knows he deserves (Pharaoh!) that the movie didn’t give him. And basketball, because it’s the only team sport I know and Larry seems exactly like the kind of guy who if given the opportunity would create a sports tournament using famous historical figures on opposing teams just for shits and giggles a’la Hexwood.

Anyway I’m dedicating this to @zacksfairest who even after a decade of my blog still wants to read my writing?????

Setting the scene: it’s the winter of 2006, when the days are short and nights come early, and a sarcastic teenage artist is furiously sketching the stuffed animals in the Museum of Natural History, hurrying before they get kicked out at the end of the day...

The museum is closing and I'm packing my pencils into my case, when I feel a sudden strange gurgle in my gut. I recognize the feeling, and I know what it means.

"Hey D?" I ask my friend kneeling on the floor next to me, who is also hastily stuffing her art supplies into her satchel.

"What?" she asks distractedly, "We stayed too late, we gotta go or the docents will glare at us."

D's biggest fear in life is making other people angry at her, and number two is secondhand embarrassment. I'm the same way so we get along well.

"You know how you said I shouldn't have eaten food off those street carts? Because of what you saw in the storehouses?" I ask.

"Yeah…?" D looks at me.

"That food might be coming out of me sooner than expected…" I stand up and the slight stretching suddenly makes the need more urgent, "much much sooner."

The look of horror on D's face tells me everything.

"Bathroom options outside the museum…?' I ask, though I know it's futile.

"Closest one would be Central Park but that'll take at least a ten minute walk, maybe a five minute run," D says.

"Absolutely no running will be happening," I wince and try to take a step. My stomach gurgles stronger. Any movement is clearly dangerous.

"Just go in the museum," D pulls out her very wrinkled and folded ancient Natural History Museum map, "I'll meet you outside the museum doors and tell anyone who asks that you're lost." She circles the nearest bathroom with her blue pencil and shoves the map in my hands. D is the expert here, she grew up in the city. I'm just taking a college prep course for the summer.

Speed walking to the bathroom while trying to keep your butt clenched is not very dignified, but speed walking while also skulking around corners to avoid being caught by docents or guards is even less so. I barely make it in time. Somehow the body knows when relief is near, and the closer you get, the harder it is to hold everything in.

I will not repeat the noises I made once sitting upon the toilet, but suffice to say any passing museum staff member might have thought someone installed a new waterfall in the restroom.

Having the runs in a public bathroom is a real shit show.

It hurts, for one thing, and the rough low quality paper only makes things more raw. I lose complete track of time, focusing instead on making sure there is absolutely nothing left in me. It comes in waves, each slightly less painful than the last, until finally they subside. I wash my hands thoroughly and stumble towards the bathroom door. And then open it a tiny crack. I peek outside.

Nothing in the hallway - no movement, no noise, no museum guards. I open the door fully and almost step into the hall, when suddenly an RC car zips past my feet and scooters around the corner. I barely have time to process this unexpected intrusion before I hear a loud rumbling, like an earthquake. Except I'm no longer in California, I'm in New York where the ground doesn't shake...it couldn't possibly be…

A giant mass rumbles past the bathroom door so fast it's almost a blur. I slam the door shut and throw my body against it to keep it that way.

I fumble my shitty emergency cell phone brick out of my bag and dial D's number with shaky hands.

"Are you still alive?" D asks, "It's been a half hour! I thought maybe you fell in!"

"I'm really sick, D," I tell her anxiously, "I'm hallucinating dinosaurs."

"Like real dinosaurs or 'heffalumps and woozles' style animated dinos?"

"One real dinosaur. It ran past the bathroom door…"

"You're still in the bathroom??? Why are you still in the bathroom? We need to leave!"

"There's a dinosaur out there!"

"Dude, the sun's gone down!" D says frantically, "You know my parents hate it when I take the subway after dark."

"I know, I know," I sympathize, "You go home, I'll be fine."

"You're seeing dinosaurs, you are not okay."

"I don't think it was a full dinosaur, just like the skeleton, so it can't eat me, it's okay."

"Pretty sure teeth are bones. Even if it doesn't digest you, that's still a lot of mashing for your body to go through."

"Wait, I hear voices!" I hiss over the phone and press my ear up to the door, "And keys jingling. I think it's a security guard now."

"No more hallucinations?"

"No more hallucinations," I whisper back, "I'll wait till the coast is clear and run to the nearest exit. You take the train home, don't worry about me"

"Okay, but call me the minute you get out."

"I will," I promise. I click the phone off and shove it back in my bag. My bag I clutch to my chest, hoping to stop it from rattling or thumping or making any noise at all. And then I strain to listen at the door. Once I am certain there's nobody immediately outside, I push through and walk quickly down the hall.

The museum is a maze. I think I get lost, but I can't be too sure because all roads must lead to an exit eventually, right? In the end, it's the noise that draws me to the correct hall - a loud ruckus as if someone's having an after hours party. Potentially my lucky break because if there is an event happening, I might be able to slip out unnoticed as an anonymous guest.

I sneak onto the mezzanine and position myself behind a pillar. I'm just about to lean around the pillar and look out over the balcony when from out of nowhere a basketball sails past my head. The ball nearly hits me. I quickly duck into my hiding spot, and watch the basketball ping off the wall, hit the railing, and bounce slowly toward my feet.

I can't believe someone just threw a basketball inside the Museum of Natural History. In a room full of glass...and decorative sculpture. Where they won't even let you take large backpacks if you're not an artist.

Somewhere beneath the mezzanine I hear a bemused voice say, "Good enthusiasm, but maybe try a little less force next time, Atilla."

"I shall retrieve the ball," another voice says politely - too politely. This must be a golden retriever, goody-two-shoes, rich kid type. It's all in his accent. And I know the type - if this snitch finds me, I'm in trouble.

I jolt forward, still trying to stay hidden behind the pillar but also painfully aware someone is about to come pick up this ball any minute now, and I will be caught. My nerves are frantic, and I keep staring at the basketball as if it will turn into a magic eight ball and give me answers, but no luck. And the next thing I know someone behind me is politely clearing their throat.

I sit back down on my ass, lean back against the pillar, and look up. A few feet away stands a beautiful boy resplendent in royal regalia. He does look like the snitching type. Our eyes meet, and honestly he looks as dumbfounded as I do. His jaw drops in a sort of adorable gape, and he sucks in a deep breath, clearly about to tell me off or launch into a lecture.

I cut him off before he can start. I use my foot to gently roll the ball towards him. He looks pretty stupid, so maybe he will take it and go.

He expertly traps the ball with his foot when it reaches him. He bends down, picks the basketball up daintily using two hands and only touching his fingertips, and straightens. And then looks me in the eye, nods regally, and says, "Thank you."

I nod back.

He leaves as mysteriously as he arrived - in a stunning swirl of orange fabric that blows a gentle breeze at my face. He smells nice… like some kind of flower I can't name. And he's got gold on his sandals. Who the fuck puts gold on flipflops?

I crab-walk in the direction he came from, trying to remain hidden. I'm not bold enough to stand up in full view behind the balcony, but I am mollified by the brief encounter with cosplaying rich boy. Bold enough to dare to try and get a better look below. I can't see anything over the large railing, so I instead scoot my ass to the top of the staircase and crouch there.

It's a full on party happening downstairs.

The beautiful boy is no longer holding the basketball. He gave it to a short security guard and is now standing to the side while the security guard explains about free throws. There's a regulation height basketball hoop hooked up to the ceiling on one end of the hall. Someone marked court lines on the floor in painters tape. I get the feeling that this security guard might be in more trouble than me - absolutely none of this looks legal.

"You gotta make it swish!" the security guard explains. He takes a shot and the ball bounces off the rim.

"That was more of a 'clunk'," the beautiful boy observes skeptically.

"Yeah I know, that's not what I meant to have happen," the guard retrieves the ball and sets up for his next shot, "Swish!" This time the basketball bounces off the backboard and goes soaring.

The boy, transcendent in his orange outfit that matches the ball, lightly catches it, and throws it back to the guard.

"Swish!" the guard repeats, as he shoots again, as if saying it will make it happen. This time the ball at least bounces off the backboard and makes it into the hoop.

"Was that a swish?" the boy asks.

"No," the guard is getting irritable. He hands the ball to the boy, "I think I've demonstrated enough. You try, Ahk."

The boy - Ahk - takes the ball by his fingertips, and launches it into the air. His regalia and cape lifts when he does this. He's not wearing a shirt.

The basketball sails in a smoothly beautiful curve and falls straight into the basket with a very sexy 'swish'. No rim, no backboard, just net. I'm a little impressed.

"How…?" the security guard's jaw drops, "You just…????" He pantomimes the ball soaring.

"It's a simple matter of hand eye coordination and a swift calculation of the optimal angle to arc the ball through the air," Ahk says knowledgeably.

"Yeah but… You just...you made it swish. Shot the ball right into the net, like it was nothing," the guard protests.

"We built the pyramids, Larry," Ahk tells him flatly. With perhaps a hint of sarcasm.

"I think you've been holding out on me," Larry argues, "No way was that your first try."

"I have never held a basketball in my life," Ahk explains, "For one thing, it touches the floor regularly and princes were never allowed to come into contact with anything as vulgar as the unblessed floor, even by proxy. For another thing, throwing a ball is infinitely easier than throwing a spear accurately from a moving chariot."

"So what you're saying is you have experience. That's it, you can't be on my team anymore, it would make things uneven, you have to join Atilla," Larry says.

"But I want to be on your team, guardian of Brooklyn," Ahk looks crushed.

"Atilla needs you more. The guy can't shoot for shit," Larry points at a beefy looking man covered in furs.

Ahk pouts - an unbelievably adorable expression - but he obediently walks over to the other side of the 'court' and stands beside Atilla. His cape swirls around him as he turns to face Larry again. I briefly wonder how he's going to survive a basketball game wearing it. All it would take is a well placed foot on the hem and the boy'd be down for the count. And who would even notice the foul under all that swirling.

I'm so busy staring at his cape, and then at the Atilla guy, and wondering if Atilla overheats underneath all that leather, that I don't notice Ahk eyeing me till it's too late.

"Larry, did we get a new exhibit today?" Ahk inquires casually.

"Not that I know of, why?" Larry asks.

"Because there's a girl staring mutely at us from the top of the stairs. I don't believe she's figured out how to speak yet," Ahk replies and points straight at me.

"Ah shit," I curse under my breath. My muscles go into flight or freeze mode. They conveniently pick freeze.

Larry immediately looks my way. He recognizes that I do not belong to their creepy possibly illegal larping party and yells "Hey!"

Flight kicks in. I take off running down the stairs. I can see the museum entrance forty feet away. Larry looks slow and old, I'm sure I can beat him. I hit the bottom of the steps and see him coming from one direction. I spin around the opposite side, shoot out from behind the staircase, and sprint across the hall.

I can hear the old man security guard behind me yelling "Stop!" I am certain I have him beat, I am well ahead of him, dodging each of the strange creatures and people loitering around watching the basketball lesson. Until finally I reach the entrance doors. And collide into them with a painful thud.

The doors are locked.

I probably should have seen that coming. I shake them. The doors rattle mockingly. I shake them some more. It doesn't give. And the mechanism for locking goes both ways. I need a key.

Who the fuck needs to lock doors of a museum from the inside?? To keep something in? Someone?

"I tried to tell you," Larry comes up behind me. He sounds winded. I was right - he is old, "You're not in trouble but you can't leave. The doors are locked for the night."

"Don't you have keys?!" I demand.

"Yes but I really shouldn't unlock the doors. You have no idea how risky it is. We already lost Lewis and Clark that way," He tells me.

"Just let me out, five seconds to open and close the door," I beg.

"You're underestimating how sneaky these guys are, I'm sorry. You're stuck in the museum for the night," Larry apologizes. He at least sounds genuinely sorry, "Hey, it could be like a museum sleepover! Most kids have to pay top dollar for that."

"I'm not a kid, I'm seventeen," I grumble.

"Sorry, most seventeen year old kid's parents have to pay top dollar for that," Larry corrects sarcastically.

I glare at him angrily. "Isn't it illegal to keep underage kids against their will?"

"Pretty sure it's also illegal to be in the museum after hours," Larry taunts, sounding more childish than me, "What exactly were you doing, huh? Causing trouble? Trying to rob the monkey? Impossible at this time of day because trust me, after sunset, you do not rob the monkey, he robs you."

"I was in the bathroom," I cross my arms and glare harder.

"Well, that sounds like a load of shit," Larry says. He doesn't believe me.

"Oh it was," I insist, "Loads. Loads and loads of shit. Greenish too."

"Ooookay, don't need to know the specifics," Larry says, clearly regretting his inquiry, "How about you come over and watch the basketball game, huh? If you get tired, there are lots of blankets and pillows in the sea life wing where Teddy and Sac are holding a meditation retreat under the whale."

"Why under the whale?" I ask.

"Because whale noises are apparently really soothing to the human body's circadian rhythm or something," Larry says with a shrug, "I don't know, go ask them if you're curious." And he turns back to his basketball lesson without a second thought.

I follow him and sit cross-legged on the edge of the 'court' to watch.

The Ahk boy smiles at me and gives a shy wave.

I glare at him. This is his fault. He can take that stupid pretty face of his and shove it. Even if he is good at free throws.

"Okay, Ahk, we have to work on your dribbling," Larry says as he reclaims the basketball from an ostrich doing it's best to swallow it.

"Do not treat me like some snot nosed kid," Ahk says snottily.

"What?" Larry screws his face up in momentary confusion, and then realizes, "Oh…no," Larry corrects, "Not like snot dribble...like...dribble. Bouncing the ball…" He demonstrates.

"On the floor?" Ahk scrunches his nose in distaste. I can see him mentally counting every time the dribbled basketball smacks the tile.

Larry seems tired, "Look, if the museum had an ancient Egyptian priest mummy we'd solve the floor problem with a blessing or something. But we don't, so you'll have to make do."

"And dribble on the floor?" Ahk sighs.

"Yes, bounce the ball on the floor," Larry agrees, "Up and down. It's not hard."

"That still looks vulgar," Ahk says.

"Vulgar?" Larry asks.

"You are caressing that ball inappropriately," Ahk says.

"No, I'm not caressing...I'm dribbling!" Larry argues. He is a very combative individual. He bounces the ball to Ahk, who catches it and drops it on the floor. It doesn't bounce back high enough to dribble it.

"It's called palming the ball and it's bad form when dribbling," I interrupt, getting up from my seat and walking towards them, "You'll get a carry if you do that. Here let me." I steal the basketball from the fancy golden boy easier than taking candy from a baby.

"Anyone can make a basket," I say while dribbling effortlessly, "but to execute a perfect layup?" I jog towards the hoop, aware of the placement of my feet in the back of my mind, but at this point the technique's been so drilled into me it's almost natural. One swift jump at the end of my run, and I lob the ball up. It hits the square corner, bounces into the rim, circles once, and falls in.

"Why are we murdering a 'layup'?" Ahk interjects, looking confused.

"Okay that layup was pretty good," Larry tells me grudgingly, "Atilla, we found you a new team captain."

"My dad had dreams of me being a basketball player," I explain, "I was freakishly tall as a twelve year old."

"Yeah I was never blessed with that gift," Larry states the obvious.

"I see that," I nod.

Ahk chuckles at my comment.

Larry gives him a look like 'really?'.

"She speaks the truth," Ahk shrugs, "Even the shortest statues built of me would dwarf you." He raises his hand high above his own head, and then lowers it down to Larry's level.

"Teenagers," Larry mutters. He grabs the ball and passes it back to Ahk. "Your turn to dribble."

Ahk drops the ball to the ground again and pokes at it with his fingertips a few times before it thuds to a stop.

"Okay, that's a start," Larry says encouragingly, "Uhhhh, how about you," - he points at me - "...help Ahk out with the dribbling, and I'm going to try and drill it into Atilla's head that shooting hoops requires finesse?"

I accept my new role as assistant basketball coach without enthusiasm. The golden boy does not appear to have any passion for sport, and even less interest in basketball specifically. He stares at the ball as if he's never played a game in his life.

"I much preferred soccer," he informs me as I come up to him "Kicking things feels more cathartic than dribbling,"

"That's only cause you haven't learned yet," I tell him. I grab the ball from his hands and start dribbling it beside me. "Dribbling is all about control. You make this ball go where you want it to. You know everything about the ball, its size, its spin, its pressure…" I palm the ball and squeeze it between my hands, "well...actually...this basketball is kinda squishy, we'll have to get Larry to find us a pump. But my point is, if you control the ball you control life."

Ahk narrows his eyes at me skeptically, "That's a lot of expectations to place on a tiny orange sphere."

"I know," I shrug and continue dribbling, "But as a bonus you look super cool when you get good enough to do this." I bounce the ball through my legs and continue dribbling with my opposite hand seamlessly.

"That is pretty 'cool'," Ahk agrees, looking mildly impressed. He uses air quotes around the word cool, as if he's not yet convinced about the word's slang meaning.

"Try to steal the ball," I tell him with a grin. I continue dribbling at an even pace and position my body between him and the ball.

Ahk sighs and looks long-suffering, "I miss the days when I never had to steal anything. People just gave me whatever I wanted."

"Yeah, okay, I guessed you were spoiled," I laugh, "but there is no way in hell I am giving you this ball. If you want it, you'll have to take it."

"Maybe I don't want the ball," he crosses his arms and offers a counter argument, "I will graciously allow you to keep it. I do not covet worldly goods."

"Oh sure you don't, 'holier-than-thou' boy," I mock him.

"I am holier than you. I am holier than anyone, for I am a descendent of the gods," he declares.

"That's a lot of expectations to place on one tiny golden boy," I tease him.

He narrows his eyes at me.

"Come on," I urge him, "don't be a chicken."

He lunges forward to grab the ball, and of course fails as I pivot and switch hands. He tries again, and I once again maneuver the ball out of reach. After a few more doomed tries he finally stops in front of me and puts his hands on his hips.

"All right," he orders, "teach me the magic of dribbling. Show me how to control the ball."

I smile and do exactly as he says.

Ahk turns out to be a decent ball player once he puts his mind to it. He learns fast, and he is light on his feet. By the end of a few hours he is dribbling competently and smiling ear to ear.

"Awesome," I say as he steals the ball out from under my elbow.

He laughs and kindly hands it back to me. We still have to work on passing. The boy is far too soft to properly send the ball whizzing straight into his teammate's arms.

"Hey, can I see your hand?" I ask, reaching out my own.

He stares at my hand with wide eyes.

"I want to show you something," I explain, "I swear my hands haven't touched the floor."

He gives me a suspicious look, "You are making a joke, aren't you."

"Yes of course I am," I say, "You saw me literally sitting on the floor a few hours ago, of course I've touched it. Why's the floor such a big deal?"

He thinks about this. I can see the gears behind his eyes working, weighing the pros and cons - an open book, this one. After a few minutes deliberation, he stands straight and proudly extends his hand.

I take his hand in my own and spread his fingers apart. "See how our hands compare?" I ask. I place our palms together and lay my fingers against his, "Your fingers are as long as mine, but your hand is much wider. Means it's going to be easy for you to do this…" I drop his hand and palm the ball, holding my hand face down so the only thing keeping the ball from falling is the grip of my fingers.

He watches me intently, and then politely holds his hand out for the ball in order to try himself.

"Start by holding the ball in both hands, and press your palm fully to the surface," I carefully adjust his right hand grip, "Squeeze with your fingertips, and then let go with the left."

Ahk does as told, and magically the ball stays in place.

"Holy crap, first try!" I exclaim, "See, I told you this would be easy for someone with your hands!"

He beams at me. My praise elicits an expression of such joy and excitement, it's no wonder he's a quick study. I imagine every teacher in his life tried to constantly find something new for him to learn just to see him that damn happy and fulfilled.

"Good job, Ahk," I say.

He tries to move his hand, and fumbles the basketball out of his grip.

"Woah," I catch the ball as it tries to bounce away, "It's harder to palm the ball and move it at the same time. Even you will have to practice that, Mr. Naturally-Large-Handspan."

His smile broadens, and he reaches towards me. And then a loud ear splitting tone beeps over the loudspeakers. When the tone finishes, "In A Gadda Da Vida'' begins.

The whole hall breaks into chaos, everyone starts running at once.

"What?" I spin around in confusion, trying to make sense of the sudden spurt of activity this noise caused.

"That's the alarm to warn us we only have seventeen minutes of life left," Ahk explains kindly, "When the song ends, so do we."

"What?!?" I exclaim louder.

"We return to our exhibits and become lifeless once more," Ahk says.

"Exhibits…?" I echo.

"Walk with me?" Ahk takes a step towards the stairs and cocks his head, "Larry's got his hands full right now, so it must fall on me to explain."

"Okay…?" I follow the boy up the stairs and down a few hallways, "So you're really from Egypt?"

"I was born there thousands of years ago…" Ahk smiles and holds his hand out for me to step into the Temple of Ahkmenrah.

"Ahk...Ahkmenrah...you're the…"

"Pharaoh, yes," Ahk interjects. He looks delighted by my surprise and sudden comprehension. I get the feeling he enjoys mystifying people.

"How…?" I ask. As soon as I step inside his room the two Anubis statues turn to face us with very real, very dangerous looking spears. "Oh!" I freeze.

Ahk chuckles and says something in his old language. The guards stand down.

"Wow…" I drift forward and then pause before my hand connects with the priceless artifacts, "Can...can I touch."

Ahk nods his consent regally.

I reach out and place my palm on the guard's knee. "Wow," I repeat eloquently.

The guard bends down so his head is about at my height, and places his hand gently on mine. I touch his cheek, and run my hand up his face in awe. "I always wanted to be able to tell sculptures how beautiful they are," I say.

I swear the guard's cheeks crinkle under his eyes like he is smiling.

"They can understand me?" I turn to Ahk in wonder.

He grins and nods.

"You're amazing!" I gush at the guard, "I spend hours - days - studying the lines and shapes you create in three dimensional space. Thank you for surviving all these years and representing centuries of composite artistic knowledge."

The guard inclines his head lower in deference.

I glance back at Ahk, worried I might have said something wrong.

The boy's grinning at me again, looking especially pleased with himself. "Come, see my tomb," Ahk orders and sweeps regally past me in his cape.

"Your tomb? ...oh...hell," it finally dawns on me what all this is adding up to. I walk into the antechamber and sure enough, Ahk is climbing into the sarcophagus in the center of the room. He wraps his cape around himself rather tightly.

"It gets a little chilly in there," he explains when he sees me watching, "All that stale air."

"You're going to die again?" I ask in a little bit of panic, "Please don't."

"I don't have a choice," he gestures to the wall behind his coffin and smiles at me benignly, "This tablet brings me and the exhibits to life at night. But the minute the sun rises, the spirits return to slumber."

"I know," I tell him, "I figured it was something like that, I just had to say it. That I don't want you to go yet."

He smiles at me brilliantly. There's an innocent enthusiasm to his eyes that I'm pretty sure has always been unusual even in ancient times. It's hard not to feel bitter and shriveled in the face of all that open kindness.

"Do you close the lid?" I ask stupidly, staring at the person-shaped hunk of gold leaning against the tomb wall.

Ahk looks at it too. "Yes," he says sadly, the light in his eyes dimming.

Our conversation slows. It's a little odd talking to him when he's sitting upright in his coffin. A little too vampiric for comfort. "Do you need any help?" I ask. Probably another dumb question - he dies every morning, of course he needs help. More professional help than I could offer. And belatedly I realize it might be rude to be hanging around till he kicks it, maybe this time is private, maybe he wouldn't want anyone to see his lifeless body, maybe I should have left a half hour ago - what am I even still doing here, inside the museum after it already closed?

"Help would be greatly appreciated," Ahk says warmly. He looks at me like I just offered him the world.

I can feel myself blush, which is stupid. Shouldn't he be used to people offering him the world? Being a Pharaoh and all?

"The lid is not difficult, but I always have to do it myself because Larry is too busy with the other exhibits," Ahk explains quietly, "Would you do it for me?"

"Yeah, sure, of course!" I say, and in my enthusiasm to show how helpful I can be, I immediately start lifting the lid and shifting it closer.

He stops me with a hand on my arm, and his eyes earnestly beg. "No...," he says.

I drop the lid like it's hot lava.

"I mean...close the lid after I'm…gone," he explains, "...I don't like being locked inside there while I'm awake."

"Of course…I can do that…" I stammer, embarrassed that it hadn't occurred to me. Of course he wouldn't want to be enclosed in a tiny dark space while alive. Who would?

"Thank you, guardian of…" he waits for me to fill in the blank. His hand is still touching my arm.

"Um...Queens?" I offer.

"Of the Queens?" He repeats with surprise, "A venerated position!"

"Oh!" I exclaim, "No! Not those kind of Queens. Not any kind of Queens at all, really. More of a place."

"Ah...a place where queens reside," Ahk concludes. He lies back in his coffin and gets settled.

"No, not that I know of...I mean princess Di might have driven through Queens during her tour in the 90's, but she's really the only royal anyone cares about anymore and…" I start babbling.

"You live there?" Ahk asks, "Among this Queens land?"

"Yeah…" I say.

"Then I know at least one person of royal comportment resides in the valley you speak of," Ahk grins.

"Oh, no no no no no," I protest, "No I'm not royalty. In fact my great-great grandfather was a groundskeeper for some upper crust asshole in my family's home country, and he fell in love with the asshole's noble daughter, and the asshole was so angry that the lovers escaped to America to become my ancestors, but it also meant they lived in a one room shack in the appalachians and mined coal…" I shut up when I see Ahk's brilliant smile is back on his face. His eyes are dancing in amusement and I realize… "You're teasing me. You know I'm not royalty." He's not as stupid as I first thought. In fact, he might be a little clever.

He chuckles. He closes his eyes and leans his head back, and he must know something is happening, because he's ready. But I'm shocked when his body fades like a gradient from head to toe. Now he's the shriveled one.

I swear my soul leaves my chest as well, watching it happen to him. There was so much life there - more than the average human - and suddenly it's just gone.

"Ahk?" I ask, though I know he can't answer, "Ahkmenrah?"

The boy's smile is still on his face. A small comfort - knowing that instead of him pulling his own lid over and disappearing in darkness, he was laughing this time. But the room is suddenly so, so empty. I can feel the futileness of even talking to him like you would a ghost. He simply is no longer there.

I drag the coffin lid over his face and secure it. And then I think about him waking up in that tomb alone. And how maybe it takes Larry quite some time after finishing with the others to get to Ahk's exhibit and let him out. And I examine the hinge mechanism locking the lid in place. Unlike Ahk, this hinge holds no hidden cleverness. It's new and was obviously constructed by the museum.

I dig into my art supplies bag and pull out my palette knife. The hinge is glued to the side of the coffin rather than screwed in - probably to avoid putting holes in the solid lid. I wiggle my knife into the gap between the hinge and the coffin and slap at the knife handle. Slowly I chip away at the glue until the bottom half pops off. I do the same to the hinge at the foot of the lid, and then stand back to survey my work. At a glance the lock appears to be still closed. Unless anyone inspects it closely, no one will know, and this will let Ahk come and go as he pleases.

Satisfied that I've done at least one small thing to try and ease the unfairness of this boy's strange existence, I collect my bag and go.

~*~

YES ok if anyone likes this it may be continued...

@diasimar @edteche2 @poptod @perpetuallymywinchesters @zodiacaldust @actinggalkate @cactusnumber73 @bearkare

#ahkmenrah #ahkmenrah x oc

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