Two Eyes Cenote [m] Adder

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: themes of death, murder, cannibalism

@Machiavelli

The halls are pursued with her serpentine grace but an oxen’s fury, winding down the stairwell into the low belly of Muat-riya, copper-tone shawl acting as rigid as plated armor. So molten are the hebsut’s eyes that the guards are sent away with one cast glance when she enters under the chambers’ narrow threshold.

Quickly her senses are inundated with claggy dungeon air and drips off stalagmites to sever the interval of silence. It is a place for sinners, and until this day, she had not believe him to be one.

She presses into the dark, eyes searching for and failing to find a shattered glass gaze. Washed over by the moon.

She halts.

“Hasdrubal.”

She waits.

Flavor roll for sanity: 1 critical failure

The devil sat with its back pressed to the porous stone, once cool but now warming beneath the feverish touch of its body. How long had it been sitting there? Time seemed meaningless, a blur. Fuzzy brain, fuzzy legs, breath that echoed in muddied ears.

Its eyes, unfocused and glazed, stared at the wall ahead, yet within them, a scene replayed incessantly like a scratched record.

A disappearance. A dinner. A gift.

Many nights in the dark.
Buzzing.
Buzzing. Buzzing.
BuzzingBuzzingBuzzingBuzzing

BuzzingBuzzingBuzzingBuzzingBuzzingBuzzing

B̷͖̘͐ũ̶̟͎ẑ̶͙͉̿z̸̥͊ḯ̶̮̥ṉ̴̿g̷̖̅͗B̴̩̻̈́u̷̫̭̐̈́z̴̜̑̔z̷͖̜̿ĩ̶̪̞͝n̸̨̉̃g̷̫̜̔̍B̷̦̰̔̕ư̴̦͝z̷͖͕̃z̵͉̰͆ì̵̩ņ̵͝ĝ̴͓̓͜B̴̺͕̎ṷ̷̭̄͘z̶̨͂z̸͎͊ȋ̶̹͊n̴̙̊g̸͖̩̍͑B̵̡̈̄u̵̲̿͘ź̵̦̠̚z̵͈̖̋i̴͈̔ͅṋ̵͎̑̎g̶͉͗B̴̰̹̌̔ů̸͖z̵̳̺͋z̶̠̙͋i̶̘̯̇n̶̲̗̄̌g̸̱̀B̵̡̈̄u̵̲̿͘ź̵̦̠̚z̵͈̖̋i̴͈̔ͅṋ̵͎̑̎g̶͉͗B̴̰̹̌̔ů̸͖z̵̳̺͋z̶̠̙͋i̶̘̯̇n̶̲̗̄̌g̸̱̀

A sound pierced through the relentless drone. When had she gotten there? The head lolled to the side, eyes sluggishly searching until they found the porthole through which the voice traveled.

The devil did not reply.

There’s a shift in the air, subtle and delicate as the flit of a moth's wing. The hebsut steps closer, maw level with the mouldering limestone ventricle.

“Hasdrubal,” she summons again in vicious disgust, “you know this name.”

Her breath is a mix of heat and fever. She listens once more.

buzzingbuzzingbuzzingbuzzing

A low, sinister, bone-chilling chuckle broke through the dank, suffocating air. Time, it seemed, was slipping through its grasp like sand through bony fingers. It stood, wobbling on shaky legs, the motion jerky— like a marionette tugged forward on invisible strings, pulling it toward the stone through which the voice seeped.

buzzingbuzzingbuzzingbuzzing

The beast leaned in, pressing its grotesque, twisted muzzle through the porthole. A macabre smile curled across splotched lips, revealing sharp teeth that gleamed eerily in the dim light.

buzzingbuzzingbuzzingbuzzing

The hollow eyes shone with an unsettling luminescence, catching even the faintest glimmer of light that dared enter the cell. These eyes held no warmth, no humanity, only a chilling reflection of the moon's gentle glow.

A good dog came when called.

buzzingbuzzingbuzzingbuzzing

Nothing; and then a sound so unsettling she wanted the silence back.

It would hardly be called a laugh, just as the muzzle that thrust towards hers’ would hardly be called wolf. The once-eloquent man is reduced to fits of incoherency. Nothing is familiar in those crystalline eyes, emptied save for a madness, and yet in all her disgust she had to question still if justice was being carried out here.

Pivoting backwards, she forces herself to keep his gaze when every inclination of her body screams in protest. She does not want to look at him! Because she's made him this way. This is her doing!

But would he not deserve such a sentence, if what the woman says is true? Had he not come to Eset and asked her to be an accessory to murder?

Her head pounds, her belly twists. She no longer knew who to trust, and perhaps she never did.

“So you know her," she speaks at last, searching his face for recognition. "Eira. You... you killed her son? You feed from your own kind?” The coy hisses then, remembering with sickness the grief on the mother's face. “Is that why you’re here? Is that the kind of man you are?” Questions dissolve into growls. Growls into shaking breaths.

Redated for August 1st

This, however, was not a good dog.

buzzingbuzzingbuzzingbuzzing

The beast met her gaze evenly, its eyes passing between the twin funeral pyre embers that flickered with wild swirls of emotion. Listening. Listening. Listening with ears that twitched back and forth. Eira. The name stung like a dagger, sharp and unexpected. It should not have been surprised; it knew this was coming, but it could not suppress the sharp inhale at the woman's name.

buzzingbuzzingbuzzingbuzzing

You know little of which you speak, Hebsut It growled, a low, angry rumble in its throat.

buzzingbuzzingbuzzingbuzzing

I want something—an item in my room, came the serpent's voice from the porthole, smoother than would be expected. Let me retrieve it, and I will answer any question you have, it offered, giving a slight shake to its head as if to startle away an insect.

buzzingbuzzingbuzzingbuzzing

A pause, the silence stretching taut like a wire. The beast's eyes narrowed, its breath steadying as it fought to keep the fog at bay, the pound of its frantic heart at a minimum. The world around it seemed to blur and fade, there was nothing else, only it and the woman on the other side of the wall.

buzzingbuzzingbuzzingbuzzing

I swear I will not run, the beast vowed, its gaze unwavering, a flicker of sincerity in its otherwise monstrous eyes.

buzzingbuzzingbuzzingbuzzing

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: death, murder, cannibalism

“So explain it, Machiavelli,” she demands on a quivering breath, “because I have a grieving mother here who claims you killed and…” Gods! She did not even want to repeat it! She shakes her head, backing another step off. Her stomach turns faster and it’s becoming difficult to swallow.

“I cannot allow that,” the hebsut bristles. He is a loose cannon, she cannot not trust what he will do, and especially now that he has knowledge of Eira residing in the same palace. She looks into his eyes again, this time from the chaos smooths a thread of sincerity. Her jaws clench.

“Granted this item is no danger to anyone here, I will retrieve the object for you. After which you will be honest with me.” It was the only offer she would make.

Here? It repeats, eyes wandering past Eset down the shadowed hallway. She's... I killed... Juno, it muttered aloud, the words slipping out more for itself than for the woman before it. Interesting, it added, a bitter grin curling its lips. Harsh, furious laughter erupted from its throat, a chilling sound that echoed through the chamber.

buzzingBuzZingBuZzInGbuzzing

The disappointment and irritation in her refusal fueled its simmering anger, but it would rather have that than nothing at all. Under the fur—a pouch. After which I will be honest with you, it hissed.

She stiffens into cursory silence, regarding him sharply, that contradicting smile beneath a boiling glare. Every part of her wished to end this all, to hand Machiavelli off to Eira and her kin and let them do what they will, or free him back into the wilds. Both options felt wrong, but who was she to mete fairness?

Slipping from the cells, it would be several long minutes before the hebsut returned, pouch clutched in her jaws. She places it at her feet, expecting eyes setting their mark upon the prisoner.

“What is in it?” She asks in a less of a question and more a dictation. On her face was the stone of neutrality while beneath her legs a gravid belly continued to spin.

The heavy, spiced scent reached the prisoner before the sound of Eset's approaching pawsteps. The aroma was enough to bring a perk to its muddy ears, the dull eyes regaining a fleeting focus, and its tail tapping impatiently against the cold stone floor.

b̶u̸z̵z̸i̶n̵g̵b̵u̵z̵z̵i̷n̵g̵b̶u̵z̴z̵i̷n̴g̵b̸u̷z̵z̷i̶n̵g̷

What do you think? Canine meat? It snapped haughtily. The beast's tone dripped with sarcasm, as if offended by the perceived stupidity of the question. Leaves, berries... seeds. Its gaze flitted between Eset and the rabbit skin, able to focus, yet struggling to maintain the semblance of clarity.

b̵̻̀u̶̗͛z̵̧̅z̸͈͘i̷̳͛n̴̲̆g̴͓͠b̶͚̃u̸͆ͅz̶͙̉z̶̲͝i̸͉͋ṉ̴͗g̷̝̓b̶̛͎u̶̙͆z̷͉̾z̶͎̋ǐ̵̠n̸̢̒g̷̫̚b̷̤̓u̴̦͂z̶͙̚z̶͕̊ǐ̶̝n̸͙̾g̸͎̋

Some I brought with... Some I brought with me, others I collected before I got back. It paused, the disjointed recollection twisting its expression into one of bitterness, Before you betrayed me, I mean.

b̵͕̰̅͝u̵͖̹͌͂ž̵͙̬z̴̪̒i̶̢͈͋ṇ̵̛͉g̶̘̚b̴̠̩́̾u̷̳̼͗̉z̸͈̽z̸͔̾͝i̵̻̇n̴̩͔̓̆g̴̘̊b̸͚̂̚u̸̫̒̊ź̶͉͍z̸̖̭̈́̓i̷̩̊ͅn̶̛̙g̵̱̓̈b̵͓̩̎ụ̸̹͒z̸̢͘z̶̭̱͂ḭ̷̡̑n̸̤̔̄g̸̰̯͗

Its irritation boiled over quickly, voice rising in a desperate plea, I need it to think, so if you want answers, you better hand it over. It pushed a paw through the crack in the wall, waiting expectantly.

I’m soooooo sorry I had an intrusive thought please forgive me

“Wolf meat. Poison. This is what you have brought to Muat-riya, Machiavelli,” She reminds him, eyes drilling his scoffs with their flame. His antagonizing hits their target, her lips curl and hackles brace. She turns to reach for the pouch…

...and retches, drenching the entirety of the pouch and it’s contents in bile. She heaves until her throat tears, belly twisting like a storm, mouth ripping at the corners. She’d eaten so little and still it seemed her body was intent upon casting up everything she’d consumed in this entire lifetime.

After, she’d heave, chasing breaths which came sporadically.

It was as if a wave of frigid water splashed over the half-breed, the shock jolting through his frame. The shattered glass eyes pulled wide in horror, quickly morphing into cold, seething anger. He wanted to yell, to scream his rage into the oppressive air, but the words eluded him. His mind was a blank, a jumbled mess of fragmented thoughts and hot emotion. He blinked rapidly, eyes darting between the retching Eset and his bag. Eset. The bag. Back to Eset. His vision swam, unable to fixate on either for more than a heartbeat.

Half of him wondered desperately if anything could be salvaged from the ruined contents. Certainly, whatever was at the bottom would be fine, right? If nothing else, it could be washed in the stream. A wild, irrational hope clung to that thought, a lifeline in the shambles of his mind. The other half seethed with a murderous intent, a dark certainty that if she came within reach, he would strangle her right then and there.

The scent of bile and spice was nearly overpowering, and it took all of the dog's willpower to fight back an awful churn of his own stomach. His paws trembled, digits twitching as if already tightening around her throat. The only thing keeping him still was the desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, something could be saved.

Nothing can be saved.

Delirious, and yet it is with half a smile Eset returns a look to Machiavelli, wiping the spittle from her chin. Because they are here. They are alive, the gentlest simmer in her belly, and already they are a team.

“Tell me,” she eeks out between gulps of air, clutching her flank as a second wave begins its pulsing, but determined to keep composure. She takes a step closer, away from the soiling and Machiavelli’s ruined spoils.

Eira had been given ample time to ponder and ultimately decided that she must leave the cenote after all. Though the palace was beautiful and grand, its comfort and opulence only served to make her feel anxious. How could she rest here while that beast roamed free, getting further away by the day?

As she made her decision, Eira had spotted Eset passing through the grand open room and into a passage filled to the brim with colorful flowers and lush greenery, carrying an odd-smelling pouch. When Eira had called out to her, Eset had not seemed to hear. Determined, Eira gathered herself into a brisk trot, trying to catch up with her generous young host, all the while attempting to place where she remembered the scent from. By the time she reached the corner where she had last seen Eset disappear, the murmuring of familiar voices and awful sounds began to flow up the passageway!

Eira's heart pounded in her throat as she rushed down the hallway, her tail flagged boldly above her haunches. Her pace quickened as the stench of bile filled her nose. She had but a moment to take in the scene, and it was then that the realization hit her: the scent of Godsmouth. Eset, and the monster, reaching toward her!

Her fluffy coat bristled into spikes as she charged forward, teeth bared and aimed for the paw that dared to grasp at Eset. She stepped in front of the coywolf, growling deeply. You will not touch her.

Eset stepped close, and the beast reacted instinctively, darting out a paw to grasp her. His paw, however, did not find the familiar dark fur but was met instead with sharp teeth and a ferocious growl. He stumbled backward with a hiss, disoriented, the sudden pain snapping through the remaining fog in his mind.

Glancing upward, he sought the source of the strike, the name slipping from his lips in a gasp, Eira? The word hung in the air, disbelief dripping from every syllable. The sight of her turned his blood to icy sludge, a cold, paralyzing dread seeping into every limb.

Eira, what are you doing here? He stammered, voice trembling. Please, let me explain—

“Get back, Eira!” she came up snarling between them, abandoning the mantle of hebsut for one of gravid motherhood.

Her mouth made to call for Mesaba. She was done with Machiavelli and his games. Khusobek had been right, true appeals for help would not have come shrouded in half-truths.

“Explain what? How you murdered this woman’s son and fed from his corpse?” She tremors with the words, unable to look Eira in the eye, recognizing the woman's intervention may very well have saved her life.

“Or how you've just tried to- what? Strangle me?”

The mountain woman obliged, but only in a half step, silencing the devil with a snap of her teeth before turning to face Eset, her eyes scanning for any sign of injury. She tried to meet the girl's amber gaze, and for a moment, she was searching for the eyes of her son. A pang struck her as she asked, Are you alright?

A call was sent up for the guards, and Eira stepped back with a grim nod, righteous satisfaction settling on her face. A creature like that can only speak in lies, she spat, you would do well to muzzle it.

I will call for my party. In a few hours, you will need never think of this again.

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Language!

I did not kill him! Machiavelli all but screamed, distress turning the words into a choke, I swear it! But could he really? Was it not the direct consequences of his actions that had led to his death? Let this serve as a warning of what happens when little whores get big ideas.

He shook his head rapidly, tears stinging his eyes. I loved him— more than anything, was the hoarse cry from behind the wall—quickly silenced by his would-be mother's clamping teeth.

He would only glare now, tail flicking erratically. The mind clicked and chimed, desperation clogging the gears. He would not return to Godsmouth.

“I’m fine,” she assures the woman, meeting her concern with a tense smile. She wasn’t prepared for the warmth she saw reflected back at her. A mother’s warmth, who had lost her own child. Breath is caught and her gaze flicks between both of them. Now is when she’d customarily move to tidy herself but there is no point with vomit staining her paws.

Machiavelli speaks of love; Eira wants to muzzle him.

“Lady Eira,” she addresses the woman first, “with all due respect, you are in the palace of Muat-riya. Machiavelli is our prisoner and I am in charge here. Send for your party if you wish but with the understanding that none will touch him save for my command.”

She glances down at the soiled ground apologetically. “The guards will escort you to the baths. I need a private word with the prisoner.”

In the dark, she turns towards him.

Eira took a step backward, recoiling as if she had been slapped. Machiavelli? She turned her head to regard the animal through narrowed eyes. Had it bewitched Eset too? Before she had arrived?

Eira nodded her head slowly, turning and heading up the passage where she would send up a call for @Herod and his men.

Eira left the two of them alone again. Two halves of the same whole— each a dark mirror of the other.

His eyes were ice as he stared down the snake woman.
Does victory taste as sweet as you had hoped? asked the shattered, stained half of the looking glass.

If there is a shade of relief in Eira’s exit, it is short-lived as Eset turns to the man. She stands, breathing hard, absorbing what just happened. Her eyes study Machiavelli, the bite of cold, armed with familiar anger. He hated her. He loathed her. She brought him pain. There is nothing she can say to satisfy an explanation. Standing there she remained part girl, part creature- her toes curling and uncurling with what she knew was the truth.

“You are right about me. I was an animal, once. In my sire’s menagerie. A plaything for his friends. They wouldn't cut my skin, Gods no, we’d be useless to them if we were torn. But I've known torment, the kind that doesn’t leave a mark except on the soul of a person.” Nothing gleams in her form; no hurt, no anger, she takes only an anesthetized step forward, eyes hunting for his lucency through a portal of stone.

“I will do what I must to survive, and so will you. I believe you, Machiavelli.” Her voice casts low, until altogether she fades from view to reappear at the cusp of his pit. An arm reaches for his.

“Give me your hand.”

The muddy ears twitched as he listened to Eset begin her explanation, his gaze trailing her form with all of the warmth and empathy of a glacier, every word she spoke only solidifying the icy barrier between them.

"I will do what I must to survive," Eset declared lowly, and though her story hung in the air, her words did not surprise him. They merely confirmed what he had already imagined, the suspicions that had gnawed at him for weeks like a festering wound. He had shared these very thoughts with her once some time ago, the truth of their situation laid bare between them.

"And so will you," she added, although the man was unsure if she knew the lengths to which he would reach.

I will. A final warning as he placed his filthy palm into her own.

She grasps him firmly, arm shaking, but strong in its conviction to pull Machiavelli. He is hoisted thoroughly over the side of his prison cell, body laid upon the same shale bed where her own paws stand. She pants, recovering breaths, backing a step away to give room for his rise.

“If you mean to face them, Muat-riya will do so with you,” her chest heaves, “If you run, there is a back route into the desert at the other end of the palace. We can hold them off, buy you a day or two’s head start.” 

But there was a third option, and as Machiavelli's cold eyes follow her North, she knew it was by his own resolve the fellahin would seek retaliation. An end would be put to what was started, though if the hebsut was going to fall for her part in it, it would not be without a fight.

He stood free. Free of his cell when moments ago he had asked for this very thing and was denied. Yet now, without warning, here he was, unshackled and untethered. What manner of game was this? What twisted trick lay hidden beneath the surface of the woman’s foreseeing gaze? The now ex-prisoner studied her, suspicion curling like smoke in his mind, the last reserves of his energy working to strike off potential schemes.

Why free him now?

His eyes narrowed to slits, a cold, deadly light glinting in their depths. If this is some sort of trick or trap, Machiavelli began, his voice low and calm, we will travel to hell together— I do not intend to go alone. He paused, searching her face, reading for even the faintest hint of emotion, However, if your intentions are genuine, you will walk with me and explain why I was imprisoned.

Without waiting for her response, the beast snatched up his soiled bag, padding up the corridor on cautious, featherlight steps. His body clung low to the ground, every sense on high alert. He was certain that if he was still too long the woman would see the shake that clung to his paws, the weariness that lined his face. His threat held venom but lacked the power needed to call it a promise.

She followed him, and although it was faint, this was not realized without a glimmer of relief. There was only one place they could speak without fear of being found or overheard and it was there that Machiavelli crept, making use of the hidden most servant's pathways until they arrived to his chamber and the boulder that marked the garden's entrance was pushed aside.

After you.