Two Eyes Cenote [m] Adder

She had no intentions of breaching the Duat with Machiavelli. Still, she walks with him, eyes pivoting through shafts of light, pawsteps quickened to avoid detection from the grieving woman who roamed their palace.

“Eira,” she named, as soon as they had come to the man’s hidden room of concoctions. She was gratified to see it no longer in operation, but there was little time to inspect the space now.

“She called you ‘it’,” Eset continues. “You are not an ‘it.’ Why does she think you’ve done these things, Machiavelli?” the coy asks, stepping into the chamber and inhaling the musky air. She turns to face the hybrid man with a fleeting shift of her own feet.

“If Harrod came, I needed him to see you in our cells. You could not know. No one could. It had to be convincing.” She knew well the intimacy between a slaver and his helots, the power they would always wield over them in suppression.

“Machiavelli- I have wronged you. I never intend for- for you to be hurt.” She sought his crystalline depths, not expecting a response, but hoping that in the flush of her eyes he would see that she meant every spoken word.

“I did not tell Khusobek, he did not know,” she adds lamely. But this was blood upon her paws, for she felt in her heart, the mazoi would not have acted if he had known the truth. “I am sorry, and I will do what I can to aid you now.”

Machi moved swiftly, his eyes immediately locking onto a plant growing in the dim corner of the chamber. Without hesitation, he stripped several buds from the stem, popping them into his mouth and swallowing them with a grimace. A shudder ran through his body as the bitter taste coated his tongue, but he pressed it down, shaking his head disgustedly.

As Eset spoke, the half-breed remained silent, his footsteps soft as he circled the remnants of his plants—what little remained in Muat-Riya. His paw traced the jagged edges of leaves and broken stems, mourning their wilted state, and taking note of what would be needed to replenish them.

Finally, he settled by the stream, dipping his paws into the cold water, and scrubbing away the filth that clung to his fur and face, watching as the droplets pooled near his nose before splashing back into the stream, first black, then brown, and eventually clear.

Once clean, or as clean as he could get, he collapsed against the wall, the cold stone biting into his back. His body felt heavier than it should, every movement an effort. He glanced at Eset, who stood there, tension radiating off her in waves, and posture rigid with uneasiness.

Please, Machi rasped wearily, as he ran a paw over his eyes. Watching you stand there so anxiously is exhausting. He gestured for her to sit, desperate for some semblance of normalcy in this surreal moment. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, his brain began to properly clear, thoughts slowly returning to their rightful place, though the process was agonizingly slow. Save your apologies until after we've spoken— you might regret it yet.

Khusobek is of no matter to me, the man continued, noticing the flash of guilt that crossed her face. And he shouldn’t be to you either. He played his part perfectly. Just as you said, his voice was steady, though there was an edge of bitterness that he couldn’t quite suppress, you’d be useless if you were torn. His eyes met hers for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable passing behind them, before he leaned his head back against the stone. Your plan was stupid, and poorly thought out, but don’t hold yourself accountable for Khusobek.

His voice dropped lower as he continued, a hint of resignation coloring his tone. And as for Eira, she has every reason to hate me. She thinks I’ve done those things because I have—in part, at least. My paw wasn’t the one that... killed her son, but it was no less my fault, he confessed, voice rich with disgust as he grasped another bud and swallowed it whole.

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: ganga? mentions of drug use

“I’ve a palace to attend,” her words snap, watching the sapped man calm his tremors with a blend of nameless flora. Drugs, if she had to guess. A question for Tavina, at a later time.

Still, she sits in place, because was indebted to listen, to extend some of the same grace Senmut had granted her even as his traipsing around the truth continues to rankle.

Useless, he parodies her words. “What do you mean by that?” Eset asks, flashing eyes narrowing in the dark. Again he ingests the substances, and with every dose appears more assuaged. He mocks her intentions against Herod- and for once the coy cannot argue with him. She’d been rash, unaccounted for the force of Muat-riya’s soldiers- for Machiavelli’s apparent dependency.

“More foolish than your idea of what- poisoning the lot of them?” She makes an about-face. It had been his plan all along, hadn’t it? It was why he’d mixed his poisons, wasn’t it? “It is not our place to intervene with the will of the Gods,” she asserts before the man can even answer. But she didn’t truly believe that, did she?

Because here was Machiavelli, with the knowledge to do it.

I'm sorry he's so frustrating to deal with sob

Machi’s gaze flickered with barely concealed irritation as he regarded Eset, the thin thread of his patience unraveling. He shifted his weight against the wall, the tension in his body a palpable force. His tail twitched in agitation, the movement sharp and restless. When he finally spoke, his voice was laced with exasperation, rough and low, Then go attend to your palace, Eset.

You came with me, he continued, and I’m trying—gods above, I’m trying—to give be cooperative and give you answers. But you make it so damn difficult. He exhaled sharply, the sound merging with the persistent rush of water from the stream. I don’t want to tell you anything, truly, but I see that silence gets me thrown into one of your harebrained schemes, so here I am, doing my best, yet you make it nigh impossible with your ever-shifting attitude.

He paused, his gaze narrowing as he listened to her, frustration etched into every line of his face. Yes, I intended to poison the lot. It worked once, and I believe it could work again. I told you as much when I first brought you here, yet somehow, you seemed to hear, "I’m going to murder your children," and ordered me to destroy everything.

His ears flattened against his skull, the irritation in his voice mirrored in the rigid tension of his posture. His shattered-glass eyes darkened, hardening with a mixture of resentment and defiance. I have prayed to every god known, begged them to help me, and you want to know what they did? He spat the words, his voice trembling with a raw blend of anger and despair. Nothing. I thought my prayers were finally answered when Juno arrived, but then he died too. And when I asked for another chance, they only granted it after I watched my mum rot in prison. So, it might not be your place to intervene in their will, but as far as I’m concerned, letting me fuck with their plans one time is the least they owe me, his voice broke, the malice in his words giving way to something more fragile— vulnerable. He shut his eyes tightly, dragging a paw through the matted fur of his tail, trying to steady his breath. When he finally opened his eyes, there was a flicker of remorse in his expression.

I’m sorry, he murmured, his voice quieter now, more controlled, though still heavy with emotion. I shouldn’t have said that. I respect that you have faith. I’m glad you still have something to find comfort in, but I don’t. His gaze dropped to the floor, as if seeking solace in the stone beneath him.

When he spoke again, his voice was tinged with resignation, the fight draining from him. I know you mean to help, or you wouldn’t have freed me— you wouldn't be sitting here. But I can see that you still don’t trust me. That’s fine. I don’t blame you. He sighed, the sound laden with a weariness that went far beyond physical exhaustion. So, ask whatever questions you have, and I swear I will answer honestly—if you’re still willing to listen.

never apologize for good drama <33

“Then give me answers instead of commenting on my appearance,” she rails, wondering, despite herself, if a man in her position would be pressed with such criticism. “You don’t want to tell me anything? Then why remain here, Machiavelli? If not for our Gods, if not for those who reside within the palace. I have released you from the cells, I have followed you here, I am choosing to believe your word over that of a grieving mother’s, against my better judgment. Do not sit there and act as though my anxiety is unfounded.”

No- she did not trust him! Of course she did not. But she did believe him.

The memory of a welted back sharply before her, never forgotten. She looks into his eyes and sees the wrath of one who’d had so little say in the course of his own life- and a fear unspoken that would always tether them. A mother who'd been lost to prison. Self-respect lost to the powers that be.

“I am here because I want to try to understand,” she speaks finally again, nose edging lower. “if Muat-riya can be of help to you, I want to offer it. But I need to know everything you can tell me. Who Juno is, why Eira is accusing you of- such barbarism. What your role is in all of this.”

Silently, calmly, she awaits his story.

<333

I don't know when you think I made any remark about your appearance, Eset, or why you think I do not care for the people here. Machi watched the woman with a mixture of confusion and impatience, his brow furrowing slightly.

Although, if I had anything to say about your most prickly visage, it would be to wash before the whole chamber reeks of vomit, he muttered half beneath his breath, as he reached for another bulb. His paw brushed over it, only to hesitate, counting the dwindling number of flowers left. With a sigh, he rose to a different section of the room, and carefully gathered a handful of small, sweet-smelling white buds, their once bright yellow centers now dulled by time.

Every word he spoke, even those intended to soothe instead of provoke—although some most certainly were meant to provoke, seemed to stoke the fire of Eset’s anger. Machi could sense the continuously rising tension between them, and with no wine or food to present as a peace offering, he settled on the only gesture he could think of. Quietly, he placed the small pile of blossoms between them, saying nothing of it, but making sure it was within her reach. He retook his place on the wall afterward, clear-pink nails absently combing through his matted fur as he chewed on one of the flowers. His eyes remained fixed on the far wall as though looking directly at her might incinerate him under the heat of her gaze, yet, the mud-colored ear remained turned toward her, a silent acknowledgment that he was still listening, despite the distance he kept.

No, I do not wish to divulge the atrocities that occurred in Godsmouth, he finally replied, voice guarded. Would you truly feel at ease telling me every sordid detail of what transpired in your sire's garden? Not just a vague recounting, but every moment that led you to this palace? The man asked, his voice soft, reaching for the understanding the Hebsut claimed to be seeking. I cannot imagine your story is any more pleasant than mine.

And with that, he began his tale.

“Doesn’t truly seem much of a bother to you,” she glares, nose gesturing once for the pouch of soiled nostrum, apparently too valuable to part with. He places something before her, a delicate pale flower with a sweet perfume- an offering of appeasement perhaps, from what was once his trove of poisons. The coy brandishes a smirk, refusing to touch anything he had to give.

“I am not asking for every horrid detail, Machiavelli,” the coy clarifies, “just the ones that might save your life.”

She stills as he begins, ears rounded and forward, cupping to attend every dark word.

Touché, Machi murmured with a slight shrug, rolling the pouch away from the pair with the back of his paw before rising to collect the small flowers.

He noticed the glint of mistrust in her eyes, the smug expression she wore as if to silently declare, "I won’t fall for that." He raised another flower to his lips, his heart finally easing its frantic pace. In a quiet, resigned tone, he offered an explanation, Chamomile— for anxiety. If I wanted to kill you I would have done so already.

But she was asking for every detail, wasn’t she? He had told her only what was absolutely necessary—that Herod and his men were searching, even the manner of their relationship. But that had not been enough. She had pressed for more, and reluctantly, he had given it. Yet, even then, it wasn’t sufficient. The dog could never have anticipated that Eira would be among the party. She was supposed to be irrelevant, a secret buried in Godsmouth with Hasdrubal. But secrets had a rather annoying way of surfacing, and now he was paying the price for underestimating the past’s tenacity.

Machi leaned back against the stone, his gaze growing distant as he began to speak, voice heavy with the weight of memories that had long since burrowed into his soul.

In Godsmouth, I... I was not a good person, he began, the words dragging from his mouth as if made of tar. I did what I was told, turned a blind eye to the suffering of others if it meant I’d be spared Herod's attention for another day. I didn’t care who got hurt, so long as it wasn’t me. It was a wretched existence, devoid of anything remotely resembling compassion or morality—but it was all that I knew.

He paused, his brow furrowing as he delved deeper into his recollections, paw stroking through his matted fur. That was the sum of my life until Juno arrived. I was just around a year or so, and he not much older—and very sick. He and his mother had journeyed from the mountains, desperate for salvation. They sought Hasdrubal, the so-called Prophet, hoping he could call upon the gods to cure Juno’s illness.

Machi’s voice softened, a flicker of warmth creeping into his gaze as he continued, They stayed far longer than most. The weather was unkind, others had come before them, and Juno’s health was unstable. In that time, we grew close—closer than I thought it possible. Juno was different from anyone I’d ever known. Despite everything, he wasn’t hardened by the darkness the world had to offer. Instead, he showed me that there was still light, still beauty, in places I had long since abandoned.

A faint smile touched his lips as he recalled those fleeting moments of happiness. We’d sneak out after dark, chasing fireflies along the edges of the swamps, or lie hidden in the reeds, listening to the symphony of cicadas and frogs. For the first time in my life, I felt... like I was somebody—like there was more to me than just The Prophet.

But the smile faded, replaced by a shadow of regret that darkened his features. Then, without warning, everything changed. Juno’s ritual was moved up. They were going to leave, return to the mountains. The night before, Juno begged me to come with them, to escape the hell that was Godsmouth and start anew. He even promised to help me find where Herod was keeping my mother so she could come with us.

Machi’s expression darkened further, his voice thick with the weight of what came next, he shut his eyes tightly, looking ill. I agreed. But as we were making plans, we heard a noise, someone lurking too close for comfort. We fled before we could be discovered. The next day, after Juno’s ritual, Herod sent me away to bless a neighboring pack's newborn whelps. I rushed back to our meeting place, only to find Juno gone—Herod was there instead.

The dog's paw froze, digging into the matted fur as though it was the anchor tethering him to the present, tension radiating from his every word. I asked where Juno and Eira were, and Herod told me they’d left right after the ritual. I felt... betrayed, utterly heartbroken. But Herod, being the manipulative bastard he is, convinced me to join him for dinner. Said he had a special surprise for me, something that would cheer me up.

Machi’s voice faltered, the pain of the memory evident in his trembling tone. The dinner felt wrong from the start. I didn’t want to eat, but Herod insisted—he said he’d prepared it himself. After I finished, feeling sicker by the minute, Herod told me the surprise was waiting in my room. We went there together.

He paused, swallowing hard as if the words were lodged in his throat, threatening to choke him. The voice grew hoarse, almost a whisper, as he forced himself to continue. The surprise was...  Machi’s breath hitched, the words dissolving into mere noises as he shook his head, trying to clear away the memory. But the image would never leave him, and he could see it still now, with his eyes shut tight. He was quiet for a moment, clenching white-knuckled to the tangled fur. It was... Sick, Machi finished finally, sounding very much like he might be sick himself.

There's only a little I remember after that. I— blacked out. When I finally came to, I was in an underground cell, badly injured. My mother was there. She told me I’d nearly killed Herod— that the guards had to pry me off him.

A few months later, Herod left on a trip. That was my chance, and I took it. And, well, you know what happened after that, The dog concluded, voice trembling. When he opened his eyes again, he found his vision blurred, and untangled his paw to wipe at his eyes, a disgusted expression crossing his face.

Excuse me, please, he whispered, trying to steady his breathing. His gaze fixed on the floor below him, and although he watched Eset from his periphery, he would not meet the coywoman's gaze, knowing full and well that the judgement and disdain he was sure to find within would unravel him completely.

His voice is loosed in the room around them, where all the intrusive smells of stale earth again threatens to roll her fragile stomach once more. She is cold, face like the cool shale walls unmoving, but no less attentive behind the shield of her wariness.

As he goes on her ache for him is a twin to the anger, just as strong and demanding. She holds back any inclinations to comfort, claws tensing the stone as he finishes, eyes caught on the jeweled veins.

Herod, his fingers of control, they deserve to be severed for what was done. Why not pain? Why not death? The hebsut imagines a no more fitting picture of justice than wolf writhing in the dirt with a sword through their heart.

“You have poisoned his men before,” Eset broaches only after long silence, “if they know you are behind this, they will suspect it again.”

It is why she had placed Machiavelli in the prison, but she had no heart to voice it, nor to consider casting him back in after months of suffering in solitude. Her eyes move up to his, shed of mistrust, now brimming with a harsher resolve.

It was a long while before Eset replied, and Machi found himself grateful for every second of silence that stretched between them. Each passing moment was a small mercy, allowing him to steady his breath, although his opal eyes remained bloodshot. Finally, when she spoke, he nodded in agreement, his voice low but firm.

They will suspect it regardless of whether they know I am behind it or not, he murmured. That is why we won't poison him outright—not with anything lethal, at least. He dared a quick glance at Eset before his gaze fell back to the floor, his mind racing through the details of his plan.

I have enough of these buds left to contaminate the food, he continued, his voice growing steadier with each word. We can strip them of their resin, crush the seeds, use the entire bud if necessary. It doesn’t matter how it’s done, only that it is.

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in the stillness of the room. Then, his voice softened, taking on a more persuasive tone. Let yourself be convinced by him, Eset. Accept whatever treasures or bribes he is willing to offer. Bring him to dinner, and have the Mazoi escort me out. A fellahin must serve—one who is not privy to the plan. All dishes must be taken from the same tray, all wine poured from the same shell. He can switch plates, or have his own tasted—it will make no difference.

Machiavelli's gaze sharpened, a predatory gleam flickering in his eyes. After that, we only need to keep up the charade for fifteen minutes. Then, when the time is right, I will kill him. And he did meet the golden eyes now, his own knife-sharp with deadly resolve.

A dinner, where all invited were to be contaminated– “I will not risk poisoning any of our people,” she asserts quickly. Machiavelli was confident in his plan, eyes glazing with clear determination, but Eset’s mind could only trail down all possible avenues that ended in devastation for Muat-riya. “We do not know how many servicemen he will employ, and they will be expecting your retaliation as soon as you are shown to him. It is too risky, Machiavelli.”

Additionally pressing was the fate of the grieving woman– the one Eset could not imagine harming in spite of her misgivings. “What about Eira? Does she deserve death?”

He turned once more, a thoughtful, yet disapproving hmm rumbling in his throat. I do not think that it would be wise to hold a public dinner, he murmured, the words slow, each syllable carrying the weight of his concern. That way there is no chance of anyone else being harmed. Poison or not, it could be dangerous.

The faces of those he had come to care about in the palace flickered in his thoughts, each one dearer to him than he would have liked to admit. The memory of their laughter, their kindness, haunted him, and the idea that any of them might suffer due to his actions tightened a knot of dread in his chest. No, he thought resolutely, he would not allow them to be caught in the crossfire of his schemes, nor suffer the consequences of a plot gone awry.

His shoulders tensed as he considered the weight of his next words. Perhaps it would be wise to send the families away from here, just before the plan is set in motion. Not too soon, or Herod would grow suspicious. Perhaps to Akashingo… The Erpa-ha mentioned that Pharaoh was expecting heirs? The families could be sent there, under the guise of delivering tribute. His thoughts spilled forth, each word laced with the careful calculation of a mind working to uncover flaws in the plan, to shield the innocent.


Machi's brow furrowed as he weighed the consequences, I cannot deny the risk, he conceded, voice heavy with resignation. He shook his head, a dejected sigh escaping his lips. What do you suggest, Hebsut?

His eyes widened sharply at her next words, her suggestion taking him aback. Eira? No—no, I do not believe so, he replied, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. She is here to avenge the death of her son, and I cannot fault her for that.

“Then there is another innocent to consider,” her eyes hold steadily over Machiavelli’s exasperating face. These are tedious and exhausting maneuvers, the hebsut’s own tactics thus far only ever kept to a senet board. But Khusobek had served a court before Toula's, his was the mind of a strategist.

“I suggest you rest here. I will find a way to placate Eira for the time being. Bathe, eat. Keep yourself to this room except under nightfall. You must not be seen as a free man by her eyes,” She rises then, instinctively reaching to dust her own coat when she is reminded of how soiled she is.

“I must go inform the mazoi.” But first she would find the mother and rinse herself.

The dog inclined his head. I understand, Hebsut. For a long, lingering moment, he remained silent, watching as she rose gracefully to her feet. The quiet stretched between them, filled only by the trickle of the stream, and the muted sounds of the world outside their hidden chamber.

Thank you, he whispered, the words barely more than a breath, for not turning me over. There was a quiet ache in his tone, an unspoken acknowledgment of the danger she accepted in sparing him. I know that would be much easier... smarter, even. I will make it worth your efforts.

A pause in mid-step, ears falling over her shoulders to listen.

Once, a Queen had found an enfeebled girl at her borders and instead of turning her away, took a risk by making her into a handmaiden. Now the girl sought to do the same...

"Don't make me regret it," her words burned. She passes quickly from hidden room.