Two Eyes Cenote i'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre

the stars, while usually safe harbors of peace for him, do not necessarily bring him the same peace they once had. not this night. not with the dark plague-like things seething in his stomach, in his heart. and meseba is disappointed. in himself, in truth.

in a very un-guard-like way, meseba gives a small start as machiavelli's voice startles him out of his reverie. that half worship state he'd put himself into. he blinks and turns his head to fix machiavelli in his gaze. meseba, despite machiavelli's freedom, does not trust him.

perhaps it is unwarranted, but his judgement was cast the moment he was placed behind the bars of their prison.

tonight ... drawls meseba finally, after a long pause. tonight, they act as mouth piece of Sopdet and Osiris. and i do not want to hear what they have to say, because he wouldn't like it, he knows. tonight, i do not find them beautiful.

why are you out here? asks meseba next, not in the mood to mince words.