Two Eyes Cenote Come on, my Combat Chameleon

Come on, my combat chameleon, give it up
You've got your life to attend to, buttercup

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As the first light of dawn kissed the vast expanse of the desert, and the soft whispers of the morning breeze stirred the sands, creating delicate ripples that danced across the red terrain, two figures lay intertwined in the cool safety of the temple's caverns.

It was the larger of the two who stirred first, a solitary beam of light piercing through a cleft in the rocks and brushing gently against his face. He shifted, tucking his head into the chest of the woman beside him and away from the snooping eyes of Ra with a protesting grumble.

Tranquil sleep kept her away from the world. Away from the alert of work and the ever-abundant clicks of stepping feet. There was a world in which things were a little different. Where each day, and each night, she could sleep herself away into a nothingness. When she awoke each time, there was always a greater something hitting her nape and telling her there was more coming. More that there could perhaps be no preparation from, and more that they could do nothing but sip the blood from. A blinding numbness that kept her dizzy each morning and feasting on the aftermath. Next, tired when it all ended.

Blazing heat stirred her. These things distracted from the question of how she arrived here. How she ended up in a morning tucked in arms and feeling the pulse of Ra begin to engulf the day. The struggle of heat waves and feeling every moment that the sun would take you reminded her of home. Truth be told, Legend didn't remember how she came to be in here. She did not ask, either. Only took it for what it was and took to finding a comfort in touch.
Her head pulled down and pressed roughly to the top of Machiavelli's. The shaking of his chest when he protested the day woke her further, and a big breath of air fled her nose as quickly as it entered. Curling her stomach, she moved to shelter not only his own eyes, but hers. The result was a lengthy nuzzle into his fur. Ra was cruel! 

The chamber, save for the single invading shaft of light, remained cool and dim, illuminated by the gentle, ever-present glow of the palace's bioluminescent fungi.

It was the uncomfortable, sweltering warmth from this rogue ray that prompted the man to sit up with squinting eyes and a dramatic yawn after enduring several minutes of its unwelcome attention on the back of his neck.

After adjusting himself to block the annoying beam, Machi regarded the woman quietly for a moment, an unreadable expression settling onto his face. When he noticed her stirring awake, he leaned down with a playful grin, affectionately nuzzling the jackdaw's cheek. Good morning; did you sleep well? he purred softly, as if disrupting the tranquil stillness of the early hours was a crime.

She was simply tired. After many long nights, and many long days, her body had crashed again. This was not the first time, and it would not be the last for a little jackdaw with legs that ran faster than her mind. It was hard to consider, wasn't it? But she had found such a warmth in the sun that transcended her wishes to escape it. An extended, ever-loving embrace that held her so gently in the day. The woman could wait for it again each night. Its rays were prone to cling to her night-fur, and it was easier for Tefnut to abandon her. But Ra wanted her, and Ra always had.

Stirring to a nudge, with the silliest rummaging on her cheek, her eyes lifted lazily. "Yes." Very closed, with little opening, and to see the blurry warmth across his muzzle. A frown now, her head turned to the entrance. "Is it morning?" Legend knew..she should not be here in mornings, even if she was not sure how she arrived. But she did know that she would rather stay than go. She was pretty sure she liked the nuzzle attack upon her cheek- she had never felt that before. He smiled weirdly, it made her smile back, lopsided and silly, unlike her usual uniform one.

It is, indeed, Machiavelli responded, a mischivious glint dancing in his opal eyes as he stifled a boyish chuckle. Gods above, do you know how utterly adorable you are? If you keep this up, I fear I won't be able to resist the urge to bite you, he exclaimed, his laughter bubbling forth as he pulled her into another embrace, his lips diving playfully into her sooty fur with the most delightfully unbecoming "om nom noms."

Breathless from laughter, the man pulled away, but not without one final boop to the woman's nose. But alas, Ra beckons; it's time for us to greet the day, my darling, Machi whispered fondly, gazing down at her. Allow me the pleasure of seeing those captivating eyes of yours.

As for today's agenda, he continued with a tilt of his head, have there been any further developments regarding that pesky intruder from before?

For a small moment, things were okay. That was the context of okay, wasn't it? The fun was upon her skin, and cenote water was spinning in her ear. With a voice to her ear with affirmation and molded sounds that made her feel special. And so very warm again. With a static amongst her mind that made her want to fall back into sleep. Head fuzzy. Fuzzy head. Fuzzy head. Fuzzy head. Pretty mind. Pretty mind.

A nose was buried into her fur and awful noises were made that made her squeaky laughter finally make an appearance.

For big, owlish eyes, few would know the way she awoke in the mornings. How they squinted, and how they downturned. How they imperfected and were so very tired, and how quickly her mouth dropped when sleep danced her back into its arms. She stared at Machi with a wobbly mouth that could hardly force itself to grin, and yet it did, because she wanted to. It felt good. 

"Up." Up she would go. Lifting with tired feet, and a big yawn. 

It took much of her to not fall back over and rest. Another yawn. "She has informed her Erpa-ha of the intrusion." Leaned forward, her nose touched to his very slowly, and her eyes closed again. Fuzzy head. "Precaution is in effect. Khusobek with..children. And wife. I come to check upon the palace before return to Akashingo, where I must be there far more often to serve the Pharaoh and consort, and Erpa-ha. Do not know who the intruder was. Perhaps we are taunted," and though unneeded, she felt the need to say his name, "Machi." 

Pangs ran rampant through his heart as her small black nose touched his own. For a moment, Machiavelli thought perhaps she could be forgiven. She had been talking, but he found himself utterly captivated by her owlish eyes, the tilt of her black lips—the way she hadn’t asked him to leave. How they had stayed a bundle of limbs and sound breathing and Legend had not sent him away.

He thinks he has changed his mind and cannot get up yet. He thinks he is too tired and needs morning kisses to be recharged, Machi sighed dramatically, flopping onto his back with exaggerated flair. He peered impishly over his stomach at the jackdaw, his feathery tail swishing softly.

With a playful grin, he continued, Perhaps a few more snuggles would give him the energy he needs. What does she think, hmm? His eyes twinkled with mischief and affection as he reached out a paw, gently brushing her cheek. Or maybe just one more kiss, right here, he suggested, tapping his nose lightly.

As he lay there, the morning sun filtering through the cracks in the stone above, Machi felt a warmth spread through him. He gazed at Legend, his smile softening, You make it very hard to leave, you know.

There were little things she could process now. Like how when she closed her eyes long enough, she could feel the daze begin to hit again, or how when she opened them, there was something very unreal to the vividness of colors she saw. More so, how when she was met with opaline eyes, that she felt a strike through her stomach. Held eye contact, frozen in their iris', frosted at the pupils, and maybe even more frigid if he were able to touch them.

Tick.

They softened, and her brows lifted as she laughed. Jester to jester, foul and then innocent in the next breath. Her mouth leaned and placed a kiss to his cheek where he touched her own first, then one that trailed to his nose. 

He mimicked her speech. That was enough to cross a wakefulness in the imp as amusement tried to dance into consciousness. Down upon the floor, Machiavelli laid flat, and though not as a god as Senmut had, he resembled much of an angel in its fall. Sun bleached fur, crystal eyes, the rise and fall of a defined chest, and deep breaths. 

"Is it only that He wishes to stay?" Machiavelli smiled before her. She smiled too. "Walk the palace with her. There is much of it She has yet to see. The vines fall not far. Come wrap in them with her? He can lie there." It was just like her to pick another option once the one she wanted was finally presented.

The man closed his eyes as she kissed him, the quiet swishing of his tail intensifying with each brush of her lips until it became a proper thump.

He does wish to stay, Machi sighed dramatically, raising a forepaw to cover his face. He is not a creature meant for grunt work. One eye squinted open to peer up at the ashen woman. Wrapping in vines this early in the morning? Naughty, naughty, Legend, he scolded, his tone light and teasing. Well, I suppose if our mighty mazoi asks it of me, I'm not in a place to refuse, am I? I simply must miss out on cracking my nails digging through piles of rock for the temple, he lamented, paw theatrically covering his face again. Such a shame, I don't know how I'll ever recover, he mourned, stretching his spindly legs out with a grunt.

He let his theatrics settle for a moment before pushing himself up and standing, falling into rank behind Legend. Seeing her tail swishing gently before him, he couldn't resist. He picked it up between his teeth for a gentle monch, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He wanted to hear he laugh again, sweet and squeaky.

Perhaps, he said, peering at her around a mouthful of tail, you'll reward my sacrifice by joining me again tonight? Your company seems to be the only thing capable of soothing my poor, overworked soul. He released her tail with a playful flick, trotting alongside her with a bounce in his step. After all, a wolf of my refined nature must be pampered properly, don't you think, love?

The waving of her tail continued throughout every word in foxy flips. She was awake now.

"There are many tasks to be done in muat-riya, he may find. That are beyond nail cracking, and voice breaking. Perhaps one will eventually fancy his interest. Surely, he is smart enough to find them?"

The skin upon his face was raked by the pads of his paws, and somehow upon release, he still was celestial. Opal eyes, but beyond that, crystalline fur. Untangled, and groomed. Messy only from a bedtime frizz, and the clawing from his own wrist. He spoke as a scribe who challenged the scripture of her own tongue. It was a sin to take her eyes off of him, so she did not for a moment as he drew himself awake from a robe of bedfurs to move closer. The serfs head tilted to follow the fellahin's body, watchful, because his very steps demanded that much.

Enough that the title mazoi felt strange from his lips when he spoke it, and she did not know then if it was an acknowledgement, or a degradation. Yet he was a fellahin, and so that just couldn't be.

The curve in her mouth turned to meet her tail being grabbed. He was gifted a subtle laugh from her vexatious throat. Swiftly, she slipped around his side to nip at the fur of his neck, missing it by the fringes. As if he had a collar on that she could drag him by, and to bring him away with her deeper into the growth of the palace. Slinking down low, with then closed eyes that opened again delicately.

"She must leave before it gets far too late once Hebsut is addressed. Before then," she would leave when the moon was centered in the sky. She needed to ensure that Eset did not need another message carried. That Khusobek could handle the borders. That the rocks were sparkly enough still to keep her entertained. But when it came to Machiavelli, a new task unveiled itself now. Taunting, as she stared to him.

"He can be then pampered thoroughly for the night, yes?"

Pulling her body away to ask him closer, she trotted forward with him, leading. "Come." Again, a nip to the fur upon his neck as she spoke, to frizz the silk of his coat a little more. "Machi." She hoped it angered him. They led to the center of the cenote, where the tunnels opened up a crater in the system. Algae swept over their heads as they walked through, and water rushed in front of their feet. Above them, the second floor of their system wrapping around the opening to look directly down. Sunlight bore through from the top of the desert.

A spirited hop to her steps, she jumped forward beyond the small bridge connecting the island to the walkways, and looked back to the eyes of Machiavelli with a breathless breath before she disappeared quickly into the overgrowth of flora. Come find me, and she would make it an easy game for him, because she wanted to be found by the devil. 

I don't believe I have much choice, my love the man responded lightly, a playful lilt in his voice. I am but a poor leaf cast adrift in the currents of royal order, He pouted in mock exasperation, his opalescent eyes tracking the graceful flick of her tail with a mixture of amusement and affection.

As she turned towards him, baring her teeth in a light, teasing manner, he braced himself inwardly, though his exterior remained composed. His eyes widened subtly as she drew near his throat, a hint of tension rippling through him. He tried to mask his reaction, but the involuntary flare of his hackles betrayed him. The dog's gaze lingered on her uncertainly, a breath escaping in a quick, shaky puff as she pulled away. Still, he managed a gentle munching, his movements slightly more deliberate as if trying to regain his composure.

Thoroughly, hmm? he asked, eyes flashing as he considered her proposition, leaning down to headbutt her flank. Yet, as she nipped at the silk fur about his neck, he faltered, his next step hesitant. His heart raced, a drumbeat echoing in his chest. Each touch, though meant in jest, sent shivers through him.

You always know how to keep me on edge, he murmured, his tone attempting to convey playfulness, though it wavered slightly. He tilted his head, offering her a crooked smile.

As they walked, he forced himself to focus on the rhythm of their steps, the gentle sway of her movements. His mind, however, kept drifting back to the proximity of her teeth to his throat.

So, my love, he continued, striving for a light-hearted tone, shall we continue our story tonight? His eyes, now more composed, met hers with a spark of intrigue. He hoped to steer the conversation, and their interactions, into safer waters, where his heart could beat a little slower and his thoughts could regain their usual clarity.  Or did you have something else in mind?

The question seemed to be answered in the next breath as the woman darted into the lush growth with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Machi paused for a moment, a smirk crawling over his muzzle as he counted the heartbeats before giving chase, his senses alive as he slunk through the fauna and over rocks.

Laughter faded away with the sight of her body. Gone into the trees and the thick cover of leaves.

Deeper into the canopy, darker into the verdant. Every step taken, drowned intensely by the songbirds that had flown in from the valleys. Thundering groundwater, trickling streams. The rustle of jittering leaves would grab attention, and lose it just as quickly.

They would break through the dense wall of vegetation in a relentless pursuit until light spilled down once more from the leafy ceiling. Her claw marks adorned the smooth stones and soft patches of silt. Trails left behind, clues to where she may have hidden, and also where she ran. Running faster, and harder, until she suddenly slipped by much quieter. Find me! Find me! Find me.

Disappeared again into the thicker belly of the plantlife, her heart raced itself into what she believed must've been gently symphonies of pleasure. Frolicking in place, dipped into the soil, alive.

Machiavelli would find the woman when she appeared before him, mid-stride in his gallop, as if sprung from the very ground itself. Closed-eyed and smiling, wrapped in vines at the throat. They could feel breath at this distance, and Legend could see the gold from his voice before a word was ever said. Laughing demonically, quietly into a collision, nose to nose.

The man crept through the growth, ears twitching as the Jackdaw's laugh bounced around the greenery. He was the one hunting now, and it was evident in the slinking pull of his limbs across the earth, the twitch of his pink nose, and the flashing of his gaze.

The game had a serious edge, a thrilling undercurrent that Machiavelli relished. He enjoyed games, but he loved to win. His quarry would be found, no matter the effort.

Suddenly, she appeared beside him in a blur of movement. Without hesitation, Machiavelli darted out a slender arm, catching her and sending them both tumbling to the ground. They fell with a thump, a cloud of dust billowing around them. His shattered-glass eyes gleamed with wild, predatory excitement.

In the next breath, the pale stone of his face was as soft as a kitten's. I caught you, he murmured, leaning down to kiss her brow, touch as soft as a whisper.

They hit the ground in a daze gifted from the capricious hand if Hathor. An airy giggle released, soundless, yet tangible. The flare of her teeth were displayed in a smile, and Machiavelli's sentence could have been finished before it was spoken by the demon. Trapped between his arms, back digging into the cool embrace of soil, they were together again. "You found me."

Running a wrist along his head, her back arched to then lean for the vines above them that weaved through the air. They were moved to run along the angels neck, the angels spine. Vines lifted from her own neck by the top of her paw, their tendrils were wrapped gingerly around the silk of his own pelt. Adorned. They were beautiful now.

Their faces brushed, a lingering cold-sting where her brow had been kissed. A burst of sunlight over his back, and the jackdaw in the shadow of his covering figure and ivory teeth. A whisper wove through the air, her paws pressing then the vines into his fur, moving them in a serpentine dance.

"Tell her the story." Soft, beckoning for Machi. The story. Oh, how she loved stories. It had been taken from her when she fell into a deep slumber. Spellbound by fairytale.

"Of the white rabbit, and the river bank."

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He allowed himself to be bound by the woman, a smile gracing his lips as he lowered his form to ease her task, ensuring she wouldn't have to stretch her limbs too far. There was a dignity to his submission, an grace in the way he yielded to her touch, as if every movement was part of a carefully choreographed dance.

As the restraints tightened around him, he rolled onto his side, drowning in the depths of the woman's moonstone gaze. His tail beat rhythmic patterns into the soil beneath them, each thump sending gentle wafts of air that ruffled the nearby plants creating a cocoon of seclusion around them.

A large rose-tree stood near the entrance of the garden: the roses growing on it were white, but there were three gardeners at it, busily painting them red... he began, his voice low as he devoured her with his eyes.

Together.

He fell away in a wisp, landing upon his side. In turn, she followed his trail, rolling over to stare with moon locked eyes. Together, embellished at the necks. Ornaments to their mortal bodies, and when the scarf she gave him tightened, his tail fell into a bliss.

Her eyes searched quickly over his mouth, his cheeks, his eyes, his face, and she toyed then slowly with each tendril. Liked how they felt, how they moved, how they sounded when they slithered. For a moment, she could be the erpa-ha, and he could be the mazoi, when she tightened it with a laced curiosity.

It loosened right as it grew tight, and sat again gently upon his throat. Legend watched intently, and not for a moment did she feel as a high priest, but she knew then what it might be like. Holy, and so it was a sin for her to repeat a god.

They basked in sunlight. Resting figures in a blissful state of wind between the botanical growth. In tune, listening, there to learn. To hear. The fallen angels voice was Saffron.

A garden now, with roses standing by its door. They were white! Colorless, with gardners to tend as they hurriedly painted away at them with pigmented dyes. She imagined this, within the world he created and wondrous as to how the roses were different. In need of change, to be normal. Wide eyed, engaged.

"Painted red?"

He lay still, his form stretched out placidly, the picture of tranquil surrender. His gaze, heavy-lidded and dreamy, slipped through the blonde of his lashes, basking in the sensation of her touch. The yaret handled the tendrils as though a novelty, tightening it just enough to remind him of the power she held.

Fellahin.
Fallen. God no longer.

She loosened it before it became too much, and the man released a shuddering breath. Indeed, my love, he breathed, his voice a smooth whisper to twirl shimmering and metallic to her waiting ears. The deepest shade of crimson. Machi’s eyes fluttered closed, the imagery of the story swirling in his mind, vivid and surreal.

 Alice thought this a very curious thing, and she went nearer to watch them, and just as she came up to them she heard one of them say, 'Look out now, Five! Don’t go splashing paint over me like that!'

White roses to crimson! Crimson roses! Maybe, if Alice was in a garden, it was the one that they were in now. With all the bushes, and all the trees, and all the flowers, and all the vines.

They did not have roses, but they would grow other things in the palace of Muat-riya. Eset would be sure that it was beautiful, for she loved beauty. Legend was not very good at beauty, but if she could do anything at all, she could see the invisible silhouette of the figure Five being splashed with red paint!

Quiet, patient, reserved, reverent with big eyes and a tail that tried not to thump an interruption into the story. Patience that rattled and shook itself to its core while she watched, owlish. Singed at the tongue! A shake in her lips, she blurted! "Then what?!" Entranced! More! More! More!

Thank you for the thread!

He could see the story clearly in his mind, the verdant green of the grass, the pearlescent shimmer of the roses, and the heavy floral fragrance of the paint. “I couldn’t help it,” said Five, in a sulky tone; “Seven jogged my elbow.”
On which Seven looked up and said, “That’s right, Five! Always lay the blame on others!”

Always lay the blame on the others, he repeated the line softly, playing it over in his mind.

Legend listened as if she had never been capable of doing so before: forward, keen-eared and attentive.

'That’s right, Five! Always lay the blame on others!'

'Always lay the blame on the others.'

Always lay the blame on others.