Two Eyes Cenote Reticulated

he is greeted, and looks out the corner of his eye to the other mazoi who appears to refuse to look at hebsut. there is a soft prickle of meseba's guard hairs, a soundless rumble brewing in his throat; affronted for hebsut. but their issues were not his business to tangle himself in; still, he would protect hebsut with his very life essence from threats domestic or foreign.

his attention drifts back to eset where it lingers as she speaks that machiavelli has been freed from the prisons: not a guiltless man but not guilty of the crimes he was first imprisoned for. she speaks then of slavers that were on their way to collect him. though sheltered from that sort of life in cubhood, he is no longer innocent to such things.

let the slavers take him, let them devour him. let him pay his dues. meseba's inner monologue intones with the golden and cold threading of the father judgement. if machiavelli's heart was weighed against a feather: how would he fare? would Osiris find him guilty? his heart heavy? would he sate ammut's hunger?

hebsut's answer is not the one that meseba thought it should be and disappointment pangs hollowly in his chest: there and chased away in the breadth of moments later.

she suggests using the captain's own suggested methods: poison.

should we invite them in, hebsut? trick them? treat them like guests while offering them poisoned food and wine?