Two Eyes Cenote wheel & sling

whenever! <3

"it is such a shame to damage beauty," khusobek growled over @Machiavelli.

it had remained a threat, a snarl instead used in reminding that the fellahin was indeed a captive.

"tell me of your early days, before you became this prince. who were you then? any names? i want to know everything you know of herod, also. speak at length," he ordered, waving a paw for rations to be brought down.

Yippee!
personal flavor roll for lucidity: 12

Time was a funny thing in the bowels of the Blue Palace. In the furthest caverns, where light did not reach and the only sign of days passing was the drip, drip, drip of water from the stalactites, madness was a phantom that lurked around every corner, batting at wandering tails just out of sight.

Machiavelli was no exception.

There was a chill to the half-breed, anger and resentment built in icy waves towards all of the faces that warbled in and out of focus in his mind, both those that had left him to rot, and the one that refused to leave him at all.

I am already damaged, mazoi, Was the croak of laughter that echoed up the limestone walls, bratty and testing. Juno, Legend, Senmut. The fire would keep blazing until all that was left was ash and bone, and he had nothing left to possess. A dog unlovable but desirable, soon to be repulsive to all. There was comfort in the matted fur and bloodshot, bagged eyes. Comfort in the scabbed pads, and stench of wet decay. Powerful and uncooperative in this captive, wretched form.

I already told you, I was not a prince, I was a prophet, and I had been so for as long as I can recall, The dog replied haughtily. Although, I suppose I can't expect you to remember. He shifted, dragging one arm to cover his face, I did not think anyone could be as dense as they looked, but here you are, leaving me to stand corrected, Machi mumbled inaudibly into the crook of his arm.

omgg

"yes, yes," khusobek growled dismissively, "you have told me many things. i want to know what you are not telling me."

he rose and with a roll of the hard shoulders, knocked away the food which a tentative servant had set down within machiavelli's reach. if a brutish dog was what the man wanted, he would receive that.

he grabbed the fellahin, dragged him into the light across the mucky floor; "prince or prophet, it matters not a damn to me, i promise you this."

the broad face with its mouth of crocodilian teeth loomed closer. "now tell me something i have not heard, or you may go thirsty in the hottest part of the day."

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Sorry he's being such a bitch Khu

The dog's laughter was near feral, thin frame shaking with the force of it as the guard pulled him into the light. He winced at the sudden change in luminosity, letting his eyes remain half-closed in a stupor. You're going to have to try a lot harder than that, he crooned, his voice dripping with a mocking lilt. His lips curled back wickedly, revealing glittering fangs. Your wife said much nastier things to me the day we met, Mazoi.

Is that something you have not heard I wonder? Machiavelli purred, grin widening further still, How she pinned me to the wall?

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, breath playing against the fur of the man's ear, How she tried to fuck me?

The half-breed let his head fall back against the stone, But, I suppose you would know all about her little... pregnancy proclivities. After all, it's the husband's job to watch over things, isn't it?

Or maybe you just turned a blind eye? He tilted his head, eyes narrowing to slits as he looked up into the glacial stare. Does it make it easier to sleep at night?

up to u what damage he takes!

a long laugh of surprise and mockery greeted machiavelli's words. "inji will fuck who she desires. her pleasure is my enjoyment."

surely the bruised little dog did not think that he could taunt khusobek with that? were they not all three servants to the same pharaoh?

his breath stirred the sodden fur of one ear; "i can see why you were chosen to be a mouthpiece," and then he raised a large hard paw, backhanding the man against the floor from where he lay beneath the mazoi.

"you should recognize the blessing of my wife's attention, and scrub her name from your tongue. i will not be putting it out, as we need your words, but a prophet can live eyeless."

Disappointment flashed across the pale face as the man laughed, only to be quickly replaced with manic glee. He had gotten what he wanted anyway.

I wonder if you'll say that when the next litter looks nothing like you, Machiavelli mused, a sly smile curling his lips. He dragged his tongue across his teeth, savoring the metallic tang of blood trickling from his nose. A shiver ran down his spine, the sensation almost electric.

Again.

Blessing? he scoffed, the word dripping with disdain. Is it a blessing to be nothing more than another's object of pleasure? His voice was a meld of mockery and bitterness, each syllable dagger sharp. He clicked his tongue, letting his head loll to the side, a wild cackle breaking free from his throat.

Again.

His rounded ears twitched, opalescent gaze sharpening with sudden clarity. Eyeless? Now there was an idea. The thought flickered through his mind, dark and enticing.

Take them then, he hissed, voice low and dangerously smooth. You'd be doing me a bigger favor than you knew.

"that is the purview of your hebsut," khusobek replied almost warmly, before he struck machiavelli, and harder this time, for the simple pleasure of doing it.

the man's further attempts to wedge his words beneath the name of the crocodile's wife annoyed khusobek, but he kept a vague smiling expression as he gazed down into the bruised face.

"it seems you are not grateful for the protection of even these cells. perhaps we will start with that."

breaking a man was always enjoyable for it was always different, and machiavelli offered himself as a challenge. khusobek stood. "remember that you are held here for attempted murder. dwell upon this."

a murmur to a beckoned servant: no meals for three days entire, and khusobek would bring the next water himself: in many hours. he sent the fellahin to inform @Eset of machiavelli's defiance and ugly words.

shadows swallowed half the man's profile, coldwater eyes turning toward the entryway where he would remain on guard until another relieved him of the duty for a time.

Oh, don't suck the fun out of this for me, Machiavelli replied sourly, ears flicking back at the mention of the traitorous half-breed. The heat that had suffused his piebald form dimmed slightly, though the feathery tail kept its pace, sending water droplets spraying across the dank floor.

Can we not have a bit of fun? His voice dripped with sarcasm, eyes gleaming wildly. You misunderstand me, Mazoi. I am more grateful than I have ever been in my life. The world has become crystal clear for the first time. The snake replied contentedly, limp under the russet man's grasp.

Attempted murder? Machiavelli remained prone on the rock, another wild fit of giggles spilling from his lips and echoing off of the cell's walls like shattering glass. He drew his paws over his face, righting the milky fur before standing with a stretch, toes curling and uncurling. Blood drip, drip, dripped to form a pool beneath him.

There is a viper among you, Khusobek. The dog grinned his Cheshire smile, head cocked as he regarded the hulking figure through the gloom. I wonder what will become of you when your queen slave grows as exhausted as I—when the magic wavers and the resentment sets in, he hummed blissfully.

Machiavelli dragged the back of his hand across his nose, observing the glittering scarlet stain for a moment. He sat quietly, thinking and pulling a gory finger into his mouth as though savoring the remains of some decadent meal. A smile curled onto his lips.

That is, if it hasn't already, he murmured, shattered-glass eyes flashing with a terrible intensity. The cracks are showing. The facade is crumbling. And when it falls... He let the sentence hang in the air, a deliciously ominous pause.

Has the poor victim of my attempted murder been informed that she no longer has to live in fear of my violence? Machiavelli asked innocently, his voice a sarcastic blend of curiosity and wicked delight.

there was no sound save for the murmur of khusobek at the doorway, bidding that something be brought. he leant against the stone lintel then, watching the wolfdog cavort and laugh in his own madness.

khusobek no longer believed the story of this herod, or at very least found it sorely omitting several steep details, such as the apparent madness of this man who enjoyed being struck.

that interested the crocodile, titillated him. a snap of his tail let the second servant enter, and a length of something was deposited into his grasp.

when the crocodile returned to the light, he held up the stiff coils of vine studded by cruel thorns. in the icewater eyes there was no malice, only that intrigue of detached observation. 

once more machiavelli was seized, and this time khusobek did chuckle. fun was wanted. fun would be had. he forced the man back down beneath him in some parody of intimate touch, letting weight pin the servant's chest, and grabbed the vine. "i tire of your voice, dear heart," and he sought to wrap its ready loops around the grinning muzzle, batting away the fellahin's ineffectual attempts to fight back if any were made.

The stained-glass eyes locked onto the vicious coil, a twisted semblance of satisfaction spreading across Machiavelli's features. Is this your pleasure? the fellahin asked, his gaze flicking up to meet the icy blue. A smirk unfurled across his muzzle, dripping with sardonic amusement. This place is not so different from Herod's dungeon after all.

He was grasped, falling into perfect submission as only a dog could—well-trained, knowing. His tail beat a frantic rhythm against his stomach, heart pounding so heavily against his ribcage that at any moment it might have burst free.

The porcine head was dragged forward, ears pulled back expectantly to make room for the loop to be placed around his pretty throat. But it did not find its place there. Instead, the halo adorned his divine mouth, a sensation so wholly unfamiliar it left him momentarily stunned. The face was not to be marred. The face was not so easily hidden. This was not the way this game was played.

Fear flashed through the dog's gemstone eyes, fleeting but unmistakable, replaced by a clockwork mind that ticked, ticked ticked, buzzing against his skull like the wings of a fly.

amusement shown in the cold eyes. the smile remained as machiavelli looked up at him, and almost lovingly he touched the coiled vine wrapped around the pretty mouth. "the more you talk and rave and say ugly things, the tighter these thorns will curl around your mouth."

khusobek chuckled. "you are a vain man. the thorns will leave scars. opening your mouth to insult or shout will cut you so deeply that you wish you had not."

the coldwater eyes flickered. "fun. pain. two things you appear to enjoy."

with that, khusobek turned crisply and marched from the prison cell.

Woo! Thank you for the thread! <33

Machiavelli did nothing but stare up at Khusobek, the glass of his eyes melting into pools of molten defiance, the manic gleam cast from his countenance. The beast's ears lay flatly against his head, matted fur bristling along his spine into a line of sharpened quills.

With a violent wrench, he tore open his mouth one final time to aim spit and blood into the Mazoi's face.

He hoped with every fiber of his being that it would scar.