Two Eyes Cenote Company is Coming

For @Legend @Rashepses @Rooke @Toula
Sorry this took me so long to put up T-T No posting order! <3
backdated to after this thread in January

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After depositing Rooke into the royal dining room, the usually composed wolf-dog had rushed to the kitchen to prepare the meal, forcing all other servants out and warning them not to come back.

That had been twenty minutes ago. Several nervous fellahin waited outside of the kitchen, cringing at every loud and echoing BANG! or SLAM! that resounded from behind the rocky wall. Each sound seemed to rattle the very bones of the palace, sending shivers down the spines of those who lingered anxiously in the corridor.

They had drawn straws, and now the unlucky coyote was sent around to the entryway to check on the state of their beloved kitchen. She peeked around the corner, her eyes wide and cautious. The new man, the one who had forced them all out, was pacing back and forth, his usually silky coat a deranged mess of blood and berry pulp. The sight was a stark contrast to his usual immaculate appearance, making the scene all the more unsettling.

Do... do you need some help? she squeaked, daring a step into the chamber on trembling legs. The man rounded on her, a wild look in his eye.

Help? Machiavelli's voice was a chilling whisper that sliced through the air like a knife. He closed the gap between them in an instant, his expression softening and a warm smile spreading over his slender maw. Why, thank you, he purred, gathering her forepaws between his own in an iron grasp. His touch was gentle, almost tender, but his grip was unyielding. Do you know what would help me, darling? His stained-glass eyes blinked open, a sincere expression softening the marble features.

The girl swallowed hard, unable to tear her gaze away from his, but the unexpected gentility gave her the courage to speak, Wh-what would help?

Warning your friends not to come back into this kitchen until I'm done, alright? His eyes blinked back shut in a grin, The next person who comes in here is getting added to the menu, alright? He let go of her paws, the sudden absence of his touch as jarring as its appearance.

The girl’s face paled, and she stumbled back, tripping over her own feet in her haste to flee. Machiavelli watched her go, his smile fading as quickly as it had appeared. He turned back to the chaotic kitchen, pearl-pink nails clicking ominously on the stone floor.

Alright, Machi, he muttered to himself, wiping a streak of berry juice from his muzzle, focus. You can do this.

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Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Machiavelli stepped back, surveying his handiwork. The dishes were far from perfect, but they were done. He allowed himself a small, satisfied smile, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction.

There, he murmured, wiping his paws on a splattered pelt. That should do it.

With a final, wary glance at the room's entrance, he began plating the meal with the care of an artist, each dish a testament to his frantic effort. He would impress the Pharaoh, and no one would dare question his abilities—or his sanity—again.