Flipside Muck Simba - Wednesday, December 03, 2003, 10:23 PM Pridelands - Promontory ----------------------- You are standing on the promontory, looking out over the vast majesty of the Pridelands. While the lands are still rich and fruitful, a cloud seems to have settled over the inhabitants, rendering them less happy, and more nervous. Mufasa ROARS from the Promontory of Pride Rock, calling all residents to come to him. Flying over those gathered down below, Zazu gracefully sails up and over to land before the King and bows to him. Standing regal and proud atop the promontoy of Pride Rock, Mufasa watches over the gathering of animals down below. The milling of creatures, all great and small, arriving for the presentation of the King's son.. Simba, Heir to the Throne of the Prideland s. A look of serene peace and pride graces the sharp and noble facets of the great beast's face. Only the flutter of wings draws his attention, and Mufasa looks down at the arriving avian.. nodding with a warm smile following the majordomo's bow. A gentle, warm breeze dances through the African morning, tousling a few blades of green grass and brushing over the soft strands of fur of those who has gathered below the massive great rock that weilds the mighty pride. Its prescence is known by the wa y it whispers through the leaves, crashes against the rocks, and stirs slight cyclones in the dirt. Its almost as if this moments holds something more then just a simple ceremony, more like a legend being whispered through the ears of each creature, tell ing a tale yet to be unfolded. Somewhere from within the crowd of elephants and impala that has begun to bow their head in a patient manner, strides slowly the old one, the medicine man, Rafiki. He walks with a slow lumber, using his finely crafted staf f to guide him over the rough terrain, chin raising upwards a bit to catch sight of those gathered upon the peak for a moment, before pushing himself on. It takes nearly a lifetime for his old legs to make the trip, carefully winding his way up the old, stone path that has been treaded upon by many great leonines in the past, most of which he has overseen in his younger, more vital days in his lifetime. From Ahadi, to Mufasa.. now -- Simba. As he reaches the top, he takes a deep breath of the rich air, filling his lungs with the spirits that dance and sing invisibly about him, eyes widening into a bemused, yellow glow, grin shaping its way over his features. Ah -- there.. his old friend with the thick red mane. "Moo'fah'sah..." He softly drawls in hi s old voice, like that of gargling rocks without water, hinted with tradition and accent. Watching the arrival of Rafiki, Sarabi smiles at him a moment. Then lowering her gaze, to the bundle within her forepaws, she gives a gentle lick to the forehead, waking him up. The prince and future King, a tiny golden ball of fur curled up between his mother's forelegs, sleeps peacefully, blissfully unaware that so many have gathered here just to see him. The tender lick causes little Simba to stir a little now, tucking his head in against the lioness's softly furred chest. The brief stirring down below as the simian mystic is afforded a respectful path towards the monolith draws Mufasa's attention. Throughout the ensuing hush as Rafiki makes his ascent, the golden furred monarch smiles, watching the shaman's laborious climb . With the backdrop of the crystal blue skies, a few languidly drifting clouds, and the endless greens beyond with their throngs of gathered animals, the huge cat grins towards his long time friend and confidante, drawing Rafiki's aging and frail frame in against his massive bulk in a warmm hearty hug. A spindly arm wraps around Mufasa's shoulders as he leans in, giving his life long friend a good hug, then cackles softly to himself, leaning backwards. Rafiki's eyes turn upon mother and son, then slowly releases the large lion. Lumbering over towards them, he draws his staff forward with practiced ease, lightly teasing the attention span of the small child with a soft shake. The fruit rattles about noisly, catching young Simba's eyes, playfully yanking it back as a swipe of the small paw is missed. With a twist of his wrist, he snags one of the large orange globes and cracks it open, spilling sticky juice down across his fingers. With a brief look towards Sarabi, he draws his thumb slowly along the golden brow, then tosses a half handful of dust ov er his face, chuckling as he sneezes. "Ah.." He softly coos. Slowly, the child is scooped up in his hands and turned about, long legs making his way towards the edge of the cliffe. At this moment, he can almost hear the parents behind him hold their br eath, he can see the wide eye'd gaze of all those beneath him, hundreds of feet below. There is a second's pause, before the child is thrusted into the air swiftly, held high over the edge, catching the rush of the wind as his hair is tousled backwards, shouting out a loud scream to the air, high pitched, wailing. His voice is soon dwarfed by the roar of the herds below and the stomping of feet, cheering, venting their joy for the newest addition to the royal family. Throughout the entire ceremony, little Simba gazes up into the face of the old mandrill with a look of childish curiosity and wonder. Unaware of what's about to happen to him, the cub doesn't protest being lifted out of his mother's arms. Rather, he blink s several times and watches, fascinated as he's brought out to the very tip of the promontory. So many faces down below, all gazing up at him, watching to see what's next. The tiny cub's eyes grow wide as he's thrust up toward the sky, innocently peering down below uncomprehendingly. The great clamor rises up from the gathered throngs. Rises up to the sky.. the clouds even.. the Great Beyond of the Heavens themselves, where the Great Kings reside, watching.. Asking.. pleading.. demanding, even, that a verdict be placed upon this child of royal destiny. As if in answer to this great cry, the brief lull in the sun above, blotted out by interviening clouds, is momentarily lifted.. The Gods showing their blessing of this new cub and his future rule over all those present. A single ray of divine light, shining down upon the child, held aloft despite bewilderment and youth, for all to see. The prince is held high, bathed in the light of the gods themselves. And while the creatures below bow in respect, little Simba begins to squirm just a little within the aged mandrill's hands. The time has come for him to be returned to his mother's arms. Rafiki carefully pulls the cub back to his chest, strokes the little one's ears affectionately, then ambles back down the lengthy spire of rock, to return the child to his mother. All the while, the King and proud father, has been watching the shaman's entire performance from the sidelines.. Standing beside his Queen, watching with great pride as his son is accepted and blessed by both those below as well as those above. But with t he ceremony and presentation now over, the lion is more than happy to see his son returned to the safety and sanctity of his mother's paws, and, with a last loving embrace to the lioness at his side once Simba is safely returned, Mufasa purposefully begin s to ascend the promontory once again to address those below, speaking for the first time since the entire presentation began. "I give you..." he calls out, voice deep and booming, "..my son, Prince Simba. Thank you all for coming." And with that, the Kin g bows his head as a show of respect to his assembled subjects before turning and heading back to his family. Sarabi has remained quiet and her eyes never leave the sight of her son. Letting out a soft breath, she gently welcomes Simba into her embrace again. She gently curls a paw around the cub, giving him a small lick.