Two Eyes Cenote In Heavy Mist, In Glitter Dust

A dark January night, directly after this thread

As Machi guided @Rooke towards the pools, a whirlwind of thoughts swirled through his mind, each one vying for attention amidst the uncertainty of their situation, unsure and uncaring as to whether the little devil woman, @Legend, was still tailing them, or if she had clung instead to the Pharoh's side.

Amidst the chaos of his thoughts, Machi grappled with the daunting task ahead. There were preparations to be made, makeshift dishes to be conjured from whatever scraps were available in the dead of night, and the pressing need to ensure Rooke presented himself with grace and decorum.

There seemed to be as much room for catastrophe as opportunity—if not more. Toula, would likely be forgiving, so long as Rooke did not make a fool of himself; the dark man she called her husband, however, was sure to prove more difficult to please.

Rooke, Machi began as they entered the chamber, his voice heavy with warning, It is imperative that you maintain proper decorum in the presence of the Royals. Remember, they wield immense power, and any misstep could have dire consequences for both of us. Do you understand?

Thank you for your patience. Something short to get things rolling. <3

He had to have been dreaming. Perhaps he was still in the pass, dehydrated or stricken by heatstroke. None of this could have been real.

The nightmare was growing.

From Machi's side Rooke watched the man with wide eyes. The opalescent gaze focused elsewhere, the tension that set the man's ivory jaw poured into the air. It pulled at the hair along Rooke's spine. Breath caught in his chest, Rooke fell quiet.

Entering the chamber, Rooke lowered his head as Machi turned to him. Sweet brown eyes flicking between Machi's. Unease—guilt—turning in his stomach. He never wanted to cause his friend trouble.

What do you want me to do?

Machi paused, staring blankly at the young man standing next to him. How did one explain all of the intricacies of court politics and gestures in twenty minutes or less?

Just please remember to mind your manners, he decided finally, ushering the boy to the water. The Pharoah and king are not your run-of-the-mill leaders—they are the gods of this palace. It is of the utmost importance that you treat them with the respect they deserve.

Gif doodle by me!

Soft brown eyes were the hearth in which he housed his trust. Hopeful and desperate for Machiavelli's answer, only to fall to the floor at the limited instruction. Ears drawn tightly to his skull. The furrow in his brow being dug deeper.

Mind your manners.

Frustration sparked in his chest. Burning teeth is sunk into his core as heat traveled up his neck, across his face, and behind his eyes. Smoke threatened to make them water but Rooke quickly blinked away the sting before they welled.

He wouldn't be standing in Muat-Riya if he had. He would have been firmer with a "No, thank you!" when Machi offered to take him to the blue palace. He wouldn't be risking his only friend's neck by being a nuisance to a foreign pack.

He is directed into the pool and Rooke obeyed wordlessly. The cool water a relief to weary limbs. Flames doused, Rooke vents steam through his nose with a heavy sigh. Watching the scarce light dance across the ripples.

Rooke glanced back to Machi sidelong. He didn't understand. Rooke never really was good at understanding. His family made sure he knew that. He wanted to. He wanted to understand what was expected of him in this strange place. Why apparent gods wanted him at their table. Why even bother with him?

Rooke frowned at his reflection.

They said you had to prepare dinner. His voice was soft as he diverted the topic.

Machi's brow furrowed as he regarded the frustrated boy, his opal eyes flicking up to the ceiling as he sucked in a breath. I'm sorry, Rooke, he said finally, his tone apologetic as he began to scrub behind the boy's ears. I would never have expected the Pharaoh to show up, especially this late at night. She must have arrived while I was away.

Ah, but enough about that for now, darling, Machi continued, his tone reassuring. Let's focus on getting you clean and presentable, hmm? After all, I wouldn't want to keep Her Majesty waiting.

He was quiet for a moment, methodical as he washed the day from Rooke's fur, unsure of what to say next and grateful when the boy broke the tense silence.

Yes, I'm afraid they did, he responded with a grimace, tugging a stubborn mat from the dark fur with a bit more force than intended. Do you have any experience in the culinary arts, Rooke? he inquired, his paw applying gentle pressure to ease the tension in the boy's shoulder. I do hope you do. Otherwise, our salvation may lie in the hands of... Machi paused, a disgusted wrinkle forming on his nose, Legend.

Right behind them. She marched along with that smile riddled over her maw, and a pep to an otherwise boring step. Boring, boring, boring, boring. Should they eat, she was by them. If they so chose to lift their heads from a leisurely drink, she would be in front of them while they quenched their thirsts. Even so, there was not a peep from her mouth. One second, two second, two minutes, four, five hours, six hours, and seven days if she needed to, there would be a notable silence. Why speak? Why did she need to? Why make any noise at all? When she understood very clearly by order to watch them, and watch them she did, but they were so boring. Boring, boring, boring.

Machi said her name, and suddenly there was a quite louder, notable stomp from the devil. Their fates were already sealed. Moreover, she could give them a more damning one if she felt like it! At least, Legend had convinced herself of this much, because Machi was so thin and Rooke was an infant. They were so pushable! So biteable! Legend wanted then to grab onto Machi's tail and shake it violently. Maybe then there would be things more interesting. Less boring.

I don't really know what you mean by culinary arts, he replied sheepishly, sorry.

There was more than silence beyond their voices. Rooke turned his focus to the dribbling water as Machi poured it down his shoulders. The lather of his fur as he was scrubbed down. He wasn't given much time to frown either as Machi worked to cleaning him nose to tail. His face stretching as his ears were pulled back. Rooke's legs stiffened as he braced himself to not shake himself of water. Still, some of the tension was washed away into the pool.

Of course, there was also the stomp stomp stomp STOMP of their watcher.

Was this the Legend that Machi repeatedly mentioned?

Rooke craned his neck to better view her. A darkling woman that eeriely looked like him in terms of coat color and markings. The thought that he would look like her if he had been a real wolf hissed softly as it snaked its way across his mind.

He caught her eye as she rounded to continue her pacing. Breath catching in his throat to see wide silvered discs. The way she looked at them—

He didn't like it.

He would have hated it had he been able to read her mind.

Instantly unnerved, he sharply turned away from her.

His voice wavered, I don't think she's going to be any help to you, Machi.

An annoyed click fell from Machi's lips as he turned to glare at the treacherous stomper, gaze sharp and unforgiving. I think you're correct, Rooke, he replied, rolling his eyes as he regained focus on the task at hand.

After much drying, primping, and plucking of rogue hairs, the man stepped back to survey his work with an appreciative nod. You look wonderful, darling, he cooed, taking the boy's small face between his paws to examine it proudly.

Oh! I know just the thing to polish you off, the fellahin exclaimed, whisking off into one of the nearby storerooms for a small container of glittering powder. What do you think? Traditional blue? Or perhaps purple would suit your coat more? he asked, squinting thoughtfully at the farm boy.

Legend skipped with ooc permission

Groomed, primped, and cleaned to a standard he didn't know possible, Rooke eyed the material Machi presented him with an equal mixture of curiosity and weariness. Rooke really didn't try to make a fuss for the fellahin, but he was wholly unfamiliar with what the man was asking of him. He lowered his nose to the powder presented to him. When he inevitably breathed it in when he went for a sniff, he turned away sharply as not to send the powder flying as he hacked his lungs out.

In between coughs he took in a shaky gasp. Teary eyed, he managed to wheeze out a sorry, blue? Lifting a paw to his chest he wrestled with biology in order to hold back each cough. Shoulders lifting with each struggle.

What—what's that for?

Thank you for the thread! <333

Machiavelli watched with a quirked brow as Rooke stuck his nose into the powder. He made no effort to warn him—after all, if one's first instinct upon being presented with a mysterious substance was to snort it, they needed to learn their lessons the hard way.

It's to make your lungs look pretty so that your autopsist has a nice surprise, Machi stated matter-of-factly, an amused glimmer in his opaline eyes.

You wear it, dear, he explained, shaking his head. The boy couldn't be faulted for not knowing. It serves no purpose other than to make you look pretty, he shrugged, dipping his paw into the container and applying a generous, sparkly amount to Rooke's fur.

As Machi turned to put the container away, he couldn't resist throwing another quip over his shoulder. And next time, darling, let's avoid inhaling strange powders, shall we? We've already got enough eccentric characters around here without adding glittery lungs to the mix, he wiped the last of the makeup from Rooke's nose, shooting Legend a look.

I think you're done now. You look stunning, he smiled, giving the boy an affectionate, if not unintentionally condescending, pat on the head. Come on, dear, are you ready to show the Pharaoh your new look?

His coughing subsided and Rooke's eyes welled before being blinked away. His paw rising to dry them as Machi prepped his death powder. Wear it? He was soon answered that it was simply done for looks before being swept into yet another preening session by the fellahin.

Rooke fought to stay still. An exasperation born from the weariness of this rather long evening instilled in him. He wanted to squirm like petulant toddler. A mere babe. He certainly felt like one in this strange place. Nothing made sense here. He still barely understood the man he considered a friend. But he wanted to. So he held still. He sat good and still and waited patiently for it to be over.

When Machi began to put the makeup powder away Rooke continued to be very good and not immediately wipe his paw along his face. He wanted to. His face felt funny after being stretched and decorated. A quirk to his lips at the mention of the accident with the powder.

I don't plan to. I didn't even mean to in the first place.

He stiffens at the gentle paw upon his head. The part of him that kept wary of these strange folk. The part that remained wary in how he looked at Machi. Rarely in the eyes, ready to hide. The same part begins to anchor him to the floor with a sinking feeling in his gut.

Right. It was time for dinner with the pharaoh.

With a brave face Rooke offered the fellahin a smile and began to steel himself for the greatest ordeal of his life.