A night to remember...or not

I woke up.

I groaned.

I was not alone in this two activities.

Reaching to the side I touched something warm and soft… groaning again I tried to open my eyes, but as soon as I did so, sun light pierced my eyes and I quickly closed them again, my head suddenly feeling as if it was close to burst…

My hands continued to explore….whatever was draped over me. It was smooth…lightly warm….ohhh…a leg. Furrowing my eyebrows I….was rewarded with another headache, as if someone had taken a hammer and hit against my head from both sides…ok: heavy thinking: no good idea.

So a leg was on top of me and I felt something warm against my side: an arm slung around me and its warmth was slightly tickling my skin on …. Ohhh:

Clothes are also missing.

Biting my lips in concentration I shifted my legs, rubbing them against another after I was sure I wouldn't wake up whoever was snoring next to me: to my delight and peace of mind I was still wearing the underwear for down there –a set of panties (kind of, might be related to some Goa'uld chainmail bikini fashion.)- and while I was not sure what happened –at least that did not happen-…..but my mouth still tasted a little furry on the tongue.

Trying to blink a bit, to get used to the sunlight, I roll a bit to the side, trying to get the leg off me and promptly roll into a back….a heavily armored back for that. Groaning as I nearly hit my nose against it, I reach out and push it away: only electing a snore in reply.

Reaching up to cover my face, I rub over my eyes and do my best to open them as slowly as possible, keeping my protest against the sun and all noises around me in for the time being as I instead take a look around the room I'm…

It was a carnage.

The Jaffa guards were struck down next to the doors, their staffs lying lost and forgotten in a puddle of pudding, while their hands were reaching for the heaven as if they were searching for an answer the wine which was forced into their mouths by the servant girls….who were currently adorning the heavy armored figures in their next to nothing clothing…couldn't give.

But that was only the beginning, as I slowly sat up, pushing the feet poking in my side away I saw the lower ranks of guests on the long tables for the more important Jaffa and minor Goa'uld: They were wasted: totally.

One Jaffa was sleeping with his face in the dessert bowl, the fruity…something covering him up to his ears from what I could see, the frosty thing running down his neck and into his armor: that would be terrible to clean up.

To his right was, I nearly had to close my nose only by looking at the scene, the remnant of a drinking contest between Jaffa group captains and two of their Goa'uld field officers: obviously they were making it a group contest: six Jaffa against the two of them.

From the amount of empty jugs and cups all around them I would guess that they had drunken enough to poison more than twenty normal humans and that was the least!

A part of my could only grin sardonic as I took in their limb forms, after all they were one of the first to "welcome" me and if one sees things positive: after them the rest of the evening could only become better: I think it was something like that: I was just…

…taking the last steps, looking back down the step pyramid amused as I saw the two squabbling administrators staying silent for a change: their common misery silencing them as I only looked at them serenely:

"My friends, I'm sure the Jaffa would take that burden from you, if you would only ask: they could present it to Lord Zipacna for me."

My smile grow in warmth as I watched them both frown and look at each other….each of them tugging on the pincer of the crab which they carried and daring the other to let go.

If I would have been alone I might have giggled at the view and a look to the side showed me that the usually stoic Jaffa were thinking the same: or at least one or two of them.

Neither of them wanted to let go as Lord Zipacna was famous not only for just lust for woman but also for his appetite for crabs: one of the reasons he had let the Jaffa build huge farms for the crustaceans. Our friend here might have been once from one of them before escaping into the river.

And while this fine specimen was a gift from me, both thought about showing up with it to gain a bit of his favor as part of their ongoing rival ship: the reason neither of them wanted to let go even if the crab was making their expensive clothes smell…fishy.

I allowed myself a pearly laughter – I never called it that, but others described it like that: so while I personally don't find my laughter that endearing, please take that simply as me being vain and sucking up flattery- as we ascended the stairs further, the cool air playing over my skin as I closed my eyes and simply enjoyed the fresh breeze for a moment: all the smoke and smell of the city washed away as if we stepped from the world of mortals into that of the gods: a perfectly build palace.

I'm not sure if the others appreciated the architecture just as well, usually most Goa'uld simply build the same old structures and forms everywhere without considering the landscape and effect it will have on specific places. It was only good that the pyramid was built far enough from the river which went through the city, otherwise it would have stunk terrible each day when the sun rose and the muddy water of the river was heated up: a sewerage wasn't something my kin usually took upon themselves to build for their slaves and servants.

It took less than I expected to reach the top of the pyramid, a great hall build on top of it: the doors only covered by free flowing velvet curtains, which were shone upon by the bronze braziers to both side of the doors: holding the cold of the night out, while the two Jaffa guards kept an eye on all visitors.

Either they were forewarned or recognized my two companions: either way, they left us in without even asking for our names, simply lowering their head in a respectful nod as we stepped through the curtain. The warm of lots of human bodies and the smell of far too much perfume hit us as soon as we entered, even with my greater than human durability in that regards: I had to blink and use a moment to compose myself. A moment in which it felt as if my nose was getting filled by sweet smelling wax. Shaking it off after a moment I entered the palace hall: a simply quadratic room which was large enough to fit a hundred guests with servants in comfortably: something Zipacna seemed to make use this evening.

His throne was set up on the opposite end of the room, with free view on the entrance, the long tables, at which the guests lay on furniture resembling triclinia, were arranged on both sites of the carpet covered aisle. On the walls burned bright torches, their light flickering over the brightly colored tapestries which showed quite geometric depictions of Jaffa and wild animals, in fighting and hunting scene's: Mo'taks blazing and/or being used as clubs against the wildlife.

The woods were made from dark tropical wood, with ornate carvings covering each exposed inch and I wouldn't bet against this table being older than everyone present, except Zipacna himself maybe. But the things on the table were far more interesting: opulent dishes: ranging from filled calf's kidney to frosted and then boiled pheasant eggs encased in crystalized honey.

There was seemingly everything which could be produced in this region: the banquet itself being a show of the Dazai plains wealth: Zipacna's wealth.

I was just throwing a hopeful look at the fish plate, with the smoked and filleted salmons and trouts forming an replica of the pyramid we were currently standing in, as a sharp whistled made me turn around and I stared into the eight already red face faces, no: seven: one was currently lying on the floor with two holding a beer case over him, of six Jaffa and their Goa'uld field officers.

"Hey there beautiful! Here to examine our Staffs! Isn't that what you scribes do?",

One of the Goa'uld said with a rather pleased face, patting his lap as he lead another jug of wine to himself and promptly emptied the thing over his shirt instead: at which point the whole group dissolved into laughter again and shifted their attention back to their drinking game.

I simply rolled my eyes and carried on, raising my hand to silence those the two crab carriers behind me as they tried to say something which might get them in my good graces: I didn't listen but it was surely either them feigning outrage or promising punishment or something.

Not that it matters, it was simply a drunken comment: which showed perfectly fine how host + symbiont = finished worldview: just like the good old dialectic.

But it was obvious: Most Goa'uld take male hosts and as long as it does not fancy the Queen or the Lord, only Queens were put in a female host body. Of course there were exceptions, like me, but we were the exception not the rule and it wasn't like the same trend could be seen either below or above us:

There were never more than two or three female systemlords and even those were usually not as long lived in their title as their male colleagues: Lord Yu or my Lord Apophis only as example. That might simply be a problem which comes with the Goa'uld mentality of legitimizing rule: you ruled because you were stronger and could be dominant, while keeping your policies in line with what the rest of our kin could stomach. It wouldn't be that bad if the hosts would be from more rural or primitive human civilizations: at this point man and woman are doing more or less the same everyday wok and having woman in charge isn't that rare. But usually the hosts came from the wealthier servant stocks, were enough food and luxury kept them sufficiently healthy and athletic, while evading the blemish of heavy work: the increased callus on my fingers for example would be viewed as disfigurement by some.

Yes Goa'uld were picky.

But back to the point: this usually narrowed the origin of the hosts down to already civilized and settled city folks, who most often had evolved gender roles in their society at this point.

This leads to the problem that while it's possible to get loyalty from another Goa'uld, this is mostly only possible by first intimidating and dominating them through fear for a long enough time and usually never goes much further. And the point is that now the thinking of the host comes in and finishes the way the symbiont views the world: in this case: woman are smaller and weaker: they submit and are ruled and governed by men: they themselves do not dominate.

It's neither pretty nor right and of course makes no sense for us, but it simply is the way a Goa'uld forms their mind: genetic memory + memories of the host = psyche.

Of course there are exceptions: Bastet and her female Jaffa for example, but that's also thanks to the genetic memory, in which they remember the times before human when they took the female of a feline species for themselves: their masks and claws are still stilled after the Sekhmet.

This concludes my little excurse into the way patriarchal human structures, became patriarchal Goa'uld structures, in which even the most important females: the Queens are often little more than the consorts of their male lords.

And I was just finished in time to find myself bowing stiffly before the throne, one arm at my side and the other across my chest as I gave him the most polite greeting I could use, while maintaining the distinction between his vassals and their boot licking and me as vassal of a greater lord: who was the only one whose boots I'm going to kiss if I had to.

"Ahhh…the new scribe, now I will have…four of you in my province?"

His tone showed only fainted interested, if he truly felt like this or not I could not say, but he waved a servant girl closer and took a heavy ceramic jug from her try, bringing it to his lips and taking a deep gulp from it, red wine running over his lips as he put it down again and wiped the rest away with the back of his hand.

It was quite obvious were Mohar got his fashion sense from: Zipacna was wearing the far richer version of the same outfit: even if he had opted for a dark more leathery tunica, covered by an even more ornate knot systems which announces his rank and mayor victories, each of them emphasized by the incorporation of a blue jade stone into the knot.

Finishing the looks were a pair of richly decorated, two times closed sandals, while a high crown made out of leather straps and golden endings was set on his head and a blue sash was wrapped two times around his waist –mine obviously looked better than that gaudy blue thing-.

"That is correct lord Zipacna, I'm third minor scribe Anai, I will be working for our Lord in the city of Da'lamar."

He simply smirked at me as if it was the most amusing thing ever and gestured for another jug of wine setting it down on the armrest of his throne as he drained the first one to the bottom, his eyes never leaving me, even as I bowed a second time:

"I bring to you as sign of my respect…especially for your refined tastes…a crab.",

Maybe it was the same amusement which was carried in my tone or simply the incredible size of the crab which was brought before him, but his smug expression turned into one of true delight, as he stood up and went two steps down his thrown, raising his hands and crying:

"Wine! And Food! Get the scribe a good seat! We shall show her how we feast in my halls!"

It was quite bemusing to see such a powerful Lord show truly gourmet delight as he took the crab into his own arms, guesses its weight and height with a lick over his lips.

I soon found myself a seat at the high table, squeezed in between one of the captains, who were commanding two of Zipacna's three ships. All around me things speed up and….

… yes the high table it was…next to me?

Looking to the side I saw the toppled over form of the heavy furniture and winces lightly: I guess Zipacna was true to his word when he wanted to show just how they did party in here. At least I now had identified the back against which I nearly crushed my nose: it was the captain of the third Ha'tak in the fleet his name was….Grenior? Gryii? Something with G at least… my mind was still foggy.

Using his still armored form to push myself up I took the area around me under scrutiny: The bare leg from before belonged to one of the servant girls, more or less just as dressed as me she was pressed against one of the top Jaffa of Zipacna, cuddled into his arms and his armor laid somewhere back in a corner. I found myself a bit envious….it was cold in the morning and I shivered lightly as I stumbled on my legs, wobbling as I clutched my temples as pain flared up in them and I needed to rub them to get that down to a more manageable level.

Gingerly stepping over a few plates with half eaten meat and even more empty jugs which smelled faintly like whine and rolled over the floor lost and forgotten in the puddles of sauce and alcohol which gathered on the flat stones and sipped into the carpet.

A few meters away I spotted my sandals, one half sunken into a pot of marmalade….and the other in one of honey? Now I'm kind of grateful I have no idea how that happened….especially with the two guides from yesterday sitting behind each pot and their faces smeared all over with the red juice paste and the golden sugar crystals.

Shaking my head I write them off and instead steps over another fall guest, my bare foot getting tickled by his expensive robes as I step on his belly for a moment and leave just after he groans, only reaching down as I find another of the servant girls who was felt in the arms of her patron or lover.

Measuring her feet for a moment I grin satisfied and pull her soft boots off and tap against the suede to test the quality before stepping into them myself, closing the clasps on their sides.

Once again equipped with safe footwear I head back to the last known position of my chair, nodding ever so slightly to some other people who were slowly gaining conscious again and flipped a sleeping Jaffa out of my chair, were his bulk had laid on my outfit and crushed it quite thoroughly.

The soup which was emptied over it didn't improve the quality very much and the only thing salvable seemed to by me sash, which I used after a moment of musing to cover my chest: modesty isn't that important…especially if you have the memories of a few dozen fertility gods somewhere in the recess of your memory….but ok.

Now covered a bit above the norm of the Goa'uld fashion sense appropriate for me, I headed for the throne and I did not get much further than the central aisle: then as soon as I had a clear view, I couldn't help but…

…laugh, my hand quickly covering my lips as I turned to the current narrator and listened attentively as he started again:

"So there was the Invasion of our glorious lords planet Tabungtu. And one of Kali's minor lords had set his eyes on the naquadah mines in the mountain ranges: as it was only a small planet they only did a Chappa'ai attack. The had readied three hundred Jaffa to attack as the garrison was only ten Jaffa strong and a cousin of mine was commanding them because he had angered a superior on his last posting."

Leaning forward, I mirrored the expression of curiosity the other Goa'uld around me wore, expect from me the other three were only fighting in space, so a ground side story was also new to them: not that they would ever declare something like that, but right now the wine had risen high enough in our heads to make us more sociable: a human would have fainted because of the poisonous amount of alcohol in his blood but…wine takes its time even for us.

"So: they send in fifty Jaffa to secure the Chappa'ai and ready the rest of their invasion force….only for no one to return or to even send a message back after the gate closes. After waiting for an hour they send another attack, this time a hundred Jaffa: and again no message of victory returns. All other Jaffa are put into the last wave and run forward, waving their Mo'tak for their god….only for none of them to return too."

He lets out a lough and stays silently while we regard him curiously, the ship commander next to me holding out a fresh jug and making a sharp motion with his hand to carry on:

"Good good: My cousin did this: He pushed the Chappa'ai over and all Jaffa which exited it had only a moment to look into the blue sky…before falling backwards again and getting dematerialized on the event horizon!"

WNe all burst out into laughter as we try to imagine the scene and the narrator leans forward and whispers conspiratorial:

"Of course my cousin had to kill every last the Jaffa before they could tell what they had seen, but each of them went down in the service to their gods, so It's just and a worthy death for our servants."

Solemn nods get exchanged in our group and he just wanted to add something as a loud appreciative sigh went through the room and soon all eyes were on Lord Zipacna:

He was holding up the crab with both arms as a group of strong dark skinned slaves carried in a huge cauldron with boiling oil letting steam rise up through the whole palace hall:

"The food of the gods!"

He cried and let the crab fall into the boiling cauldron, laughing as those closest to it flinched backwards as oil was send flying in all directions.

But of course he didn't finish with this alone: with huge gestures he reached in and pulled the now thoroughly cooked crab out with his bare hands, unflinching at the ugly red tone his hands had taken, only closing his eyes before divine light shone out of his eyes and his wounds closed by the gift of his magical powers.

Now I was left wondering…

…wondering when in the night he had lost his crown: and even more important…at which point had he put the emptied crab shell as his new one?

Moments like this make you wish for a Goa'uld smartphone! Even if most social networks on it would surely soon be flooded by selfies.

Even after his feast Lord Zipacna was still seated in his throne: his arms resting on the armrests and both hands…were clenched around the bright red arms of the crabs, were he hold the pincers like scepter and simply wouldn't let go of them…even if remains of the crab were still smeared over his mouth and face.

But the most amusing thing was the way the crab stared down from the throne, its head and the eyes still intact as they seemed to throne on top of the throne lord. Its belly had been ripped open to reach the delicious flesh and I think one can safely guess who got the best parts of it.

And into his whole torso had been forced the head of our host, his short hair hidden underneath the crust and cold crab sauce running down his face as he leaned back into the throne.

Fighting down another laugh or: Apophis forbid!, another giggle.

I bowed down to the unconscious figure and turned in my new boots, walking smartly out of the hall –I at least thought it was smartly….I only swayed a little- and towards the waiting curtain.

Only as my hands were already pulling the curtain aside my brain caught up with it and it was already too late to close my eyes again…

..light….not good….

Groaning I stumbled forward and nearly fell down the few hundred stairs I went up last night…only to be caught by one of the guards again, making me nod thankfully which threw them a bit of the loop and prompted some confused looks till I made my eyes flash golden and they let me go in respectful silence again. Making my way down I reached back and pulled the sash a bit tighter around my chest before rubbing my eyes and looking at the city:

"Now where to find a tailor?"