Bacchus stretches out beneath him like a lover reunited. Even with the moon in a sliver, the snow shines brilliantly, and all-black Basma is an obvious monolith above the horizon. There is pride in his posture, and a path to this overlook just beside the residential dens. It has a perfect view of the progressing cemetery.

Ears swivel to the sounds of an approach, but Basma doesn't look. He suspected Rainer would come. Who else would?

Those polished-platinum eyes and their claw-mark black holes don't acknowledge the Bacchus as he admits, I suppose I owe you an apology, Rainer. He will not reference him by title, doesn't offer a mockery of deference, as he has in the past. There is nothing but honesty between them, now, on the cliffside where Meztli tasted death, and lived to regret it. You have to understand, I was brought up from birth with the promise of this place. When it fell, I sought that power everywhere, I bent foreigners to my will, led them in war--

Claws cut gouges in the ice, an paw pads smooth over the scars. I lost my brother to be here, and out of nowhere you appear to claim an assortment of offspring and accept your sibling's congratulations on taking up my throne. I was livid, naturally.

Family is complicated among Bacchus-- as well the overseer of breeding pairs and Historian are well aware-- everyone bearing the blood is related to some degree, but they socialize as they would with any other citizen. Littermates are the only family they have, and likely the only children to be produced by that pair-- arranged, more often than otherwise. Rainer has several, and a plethora of niblings besides: Basma never had opportunity to locate his only sibling's remains. Perhaps that's why he so desperately desires children. He is half-ethiopian, far from pure, fallen from royalty, and there is nothing special to his genes that isn't already in half-sisters and several cousins of varying degrees, but even in his ancestors' homeland, he is still somehow the last of his kind. It's lonely at the top, and cold on the crest of the cliff.

Finally, his gaze falls upon the Prime Minister. There is nothing peculiar in his expression-- not an initiated blankness, or the twitching tells of any emotion fighting onto his face, of course nothing close to tears-- but an acute observer may note a particular lack. He is not smiling. As much as it pains me to admit this, you've done better than even I could.

Basma looks out over what will soon be a cemetery, appearing absolutely indifferent. Tell anyone I said that, and I will have you quietly killed.