Two Eyes Cenote ninety-third

backdated to around july 14th, @Meseba welcome to cameo as mazoi! <3

worried strides carried the prince in stately quiet to the lower reaches of muat-riya.

explanation given, but he wanted for himself to know, to witness, to behold, to record as befit his first status as scribe.

"bring @Machiavelli here," senmut ordered gently at the entryway. "then leave us, please, mazoi."

he waited, and at the shuffle of jailed paws, turned sharply to see.

Flavor roll for sanity: 6

The beast, once known as Machiavelli, had been left to wither away in brooding solitude for days on end. The ceaseless musings on the incident with the coyote woman, and the child's innocent observations wound tighter and tighter, twisting away at what remained of its fractured mind.

Having been pulled from the most shadowed recesses of its cell, it hobbled now through the Blue Palace's winding corridors. Each step was a struggle, its thinning paws and stilt-like legs pulling through the air as though it waded through a thick, invisible sludge. The heavy silence was only punctuated by the erratic beat of its heart, a relentless thudding that grew louder and more insistent the further it strayed from its cell.

The beast’s thoughts ebbed and flowed like the tide, occasionally crashing against the shores of its consciousness with unwelcome memories, only to retreat into a vast, numb void. The cold, cracked stone beneath its feet felt distant, each step tentative and uncertain, as if the ground might suddenly disappear beneath it. There was a disconcerting heaviness in every footfall, a disconnected jolt as if it was descending for just a moment too long before finding its footing once more.

The dog's mind was fuzzy, oh so fuzzy, and it wished for nothing more than to be allowed back into its cage where it might sleep. But instead, it was being dragged along, to test a new form of torment, a device or punishment certainly... not that it particularly cared anymore.

Deposited into a chamber, the creature sat obediently, eyes flicking around the room but focusing on nothing. Its movements were detached as it lifted a forepaw to prod at the remaining thorns jutting from its swollen muzzle. It had refused to allow anyone to remove them—it did not want to be touched. The skin, inflamed and painful, radiated a faint heat. Most of the barbs had been removed, but a few of the most obstinate remained, jutting out with a stubbornness that reflected the beast’s own. It considered them indifferently, as though removing them was a distant concern—one it would attend to in its own time.

"what is this?" and senmut's voice gathered anger, and surprise; eset would not have left machiavelli like this.

surprised then, to have outreached hand perhaps scorched, scorned by teeth in a swollen mouth;

this was not the grinning, glint-eyed beauty who had accompanied the prince on his long march. machiavelli had become a monster.

"eset told me what occurred." his voice held a worried frown, his face a stricken look. he could smell the fever in the addled skin, and reached again; "let me remove these thorns. then we will speak."

The beast gave a startled jump, flinching violently from the unexpected touch, its lip curling instinctively, ready to snap at any perverse specter that dared to approach.

A red form. Unfocused but familiar. It scrubbed a heavy paw over its eyes, blinking furiously to clear the haze. Senmut? The beast reached out a paw hesitatingly, extending toward the crimson shape as though it expected its limb to pass through an illusion. Surprise flickered across its pale face when it instead pressed against warm, tangible fur.

The beast recoiled, confusion marring its features. Senmut? But I thought you... It trailed off, a flush of heat spreading from its head to its very toes. Oh gods, don't look at me. It turned away, desperately trying to smooth down its dulled, ragged fur into something more presentable. I— it began, a sick feeling rising in its stomach, choking off the rest of its words.

Wait. The beast's eyes snapped back to the red figure, narrowing dangerously. Eset? It growled, the name rumbling deep within its chest. Did you say you've been speaking to Eset? It stood abruptly, shaking its head and taking a wary step away from Senmut, the fur along its spine bristling like quills and tail tucking tightly to its stomach.

Don't you dare touch me, it snarled, suspicion and betrayal twisting its features into a mask of porcelain rage. I'm not interested in anything you or that traitorous witch have to say.

one face, then another. senmut stared with dismal relief and something else mingled upon his face. "you are addled with fever, i am sure. it looks as though you have not slept in days. eset told me what was done," or rather, that it had been her fault.

the bright gemstones of his eyes were poignant. "hate me if you must, machiavelli, but allow me to remove these thorns and lance the pus before the infection reaches your teeth or your gaze."

a doctor, pleading; a scribe, recording; a lover — the lover was not present here, only the insistence of a prince accustomed to being heeded for he knew he was correct.

The dog listened to the priest's insistence, its mottled flank pressed heavily against the cold stone. Rounded ears flattened against its skull, trembling from the hopelessness that seemed to seep from its very bones. Its eyes, wide and glassy, fixed upon the red man with the same despair as a rabbit caught far from its burrow.

Senmut, it began, the words barely above a whisper, for it was afraid its voice would crack if it spoke any louder, If anything that happened between us was real, for even just a moment, I beg you, the plea trembled in the air, a fragile thread of hope and misery intertwined, please, just let the infection spread. Let the rot overtake me—let me die here. The words spilled out in a frantic rush, its chest heaving with the effort of speaking.

Please, I cannot go back. The final appeal was a broken sob, the dog’s gaze imploring, searching Senmut’s face for any sign of mercy, any glimmer of understanding. Its paws trembled, clear-pink claws scraping against the stone floor as if seeking purchase in a world that seemed to be slipping away faster than sand through an hourglass. Its legs buckled under the weight of its body, and rather than collapse the beast lowered itself to the ground, slow and unsure.

But there was an understanding, perhaps between both of them, perhaps not, that if the prince were to approach, the beast would not bite, only submit to the touch that was once longed for, but would now sting like flames lapping against its skin.

Its gaze would find purchase on some faraway spot on the stone, and gradually lose focus, silent tears carving a path down the clenched jaw.

"suppose i cared nothing for you." prickly-pear juice, diluted to a light wash with water. "suppose i was only at the height of my skill as a physician, and asked you to be a patient." each thorn plucked slowly, agonizingly, dropped into a curled leaf and carried away as the poison they were. "would you allow it then?"

a paste of honey and clover, a bandage of split sedgestem running over the wound where once a vine had been twisted.

he tasted tears. they too ran down his own face. "i mean for you to be set free. to walk away from this place. but know you are not alone in your plight. muat-riya stands behind you, machiavelli, even if you have been so greatly wronged in these halls."

he stepped back then, his expression one of a surveying doctor; senmut pulled it away before it became a caress.

It would be the very worst reason you could have come, the beast began, wincing as another thorn was pulled from it flesh. But it would be... expected It would be something I understood. It stole one last, lingering look at Senmut, the Prince who had deigned to humor its infatuation, who had brought a flutter to its heart like no other, save the stone-furred boy who had shown it life did not have to be so painful—before turning away again.

I don't have anything left to offer you. Not even my body, the thought flickered through its mind, accompanied by a wave of disgust and self-loathing. So... I would understand. I would wish you joy with your Priestess, even if you could never marry, and it paused, the words emerging as a choke, Legend, as well, if it would satisfy you both.

The priest's next words, however, gave it pause, bringing the opalescent gaze to once again meet the twin emeralds. Confusion settling into some semblance of understanding at the sight of the tears.

You among them, doctor?

nazli. legend. senmut sighed and let his hand drop. "me among them, machiavelli." he had forged ahead with his desires for the yaret, and ignored all else, thinking their longevity more worthwhile.

he had pained machiavelli himself, and even unknowingly. but it had been done, and he saw now why the pearled man drew away from him so severely.

"i need nothing more from you. we have taken enough. you are not being sent away. i want to free you. it is your choice what to do then." the scarlet prince's voice fell silent. could machiavelli continue here, wounded, spurned? or would he shoulder offered wealth and make his way into a new world?

or would he choose neither of these things? senmut did not know what else he might say.

Freedom, walk from this place, not sent away, cold and cruel one moment, a doctor and patient, crying next and standing beside. Contradictions swirled in the half-breed's mind like a tempest, each thought clashing violently with the next. Senmut’s words fluttered through the storm, too complex to grasp with a brain that felt sluggish and muddled, and a body so weak and achy that even the simple act of holding its head upright to meet the priest's gaze caused near unbearable strain.

Where would it go if not here? The thought was fleeting, only the ghost of an idea that drifted aimlessly above the churning waters of its mind. Would Eset even allow it to walk free? A dirty paw rubbed over bloodshot eyes, trying to clear the haze and comprehend what otherwise would have been a simple concept for the usually insightful beast—trying to think, to understand, but it could only draw a blank.

You said you wanted to speak. How have you been? The words slipped out, desperate for distraction, seeking refuge in simpler matters. Its voice was strained, and the question more an automatic reflex than conversational curiosity, How is Legend?

There was a pause, a hesitation, and then more quietly, almost as if afraid of the answer— Is she angry with me?

"i am well." he did not speak of the daughter born nor the priestess who lay in weak respose.

"the palace continues. life goes on. pharaoh will bring forth heirs quite soon." some luster for the gritty void of these prison walls.

"legend has been gone on patrol almost since we returned," senmut murmured, for that had been his perception of things. "but if she is angry, you know she will not say." shadow such as the one who dazzled him did not mention their life-cores, not for nothing.

I see, the beast murmured, lowering its gaze to the floor, its voice barely more than a whisper. It turned Senmut’s words over and over in its mind, searching for a response—something, anything more to say. But the words were like shimmering fish swimming in a storm-tossed sea, always just out of reach, slipping through its grasping, empty hands.

Even now, in this quiet moment, the beast would have rather faced death than confess how profoundly alone and afraid it felt. The truth was a jagged thing, too painful to admit, too heavy to carry, and yet it was not ready—could not bear—to retreat back into the darkness. Not now. Not when this might be the last time it would lay eyes on the red priest. A sharp, unfamiliar ache had lodged itself in the beast’s chest, a yearning that defied explanation, a need that was hard to name but even harder to ignore. It clung to this fragile connection, knowing that for the first time in a long while, there was someone to hold onto—even if it was only for this second, even if it was only pretend. Maybe it always had been like this.

The hurt that had once festered within it had dulled over the days spent in solitude, buried beneath layers of isolation. And though a chill lingered in the air, an unspoken uncertainty settling like a heavy fog between them, the creature found it easier now to push the pain aside. It could not bring itself to confront the emotions that simmered beneath the surface, emotions that would only complicate an already uncertain existence.

I am glad to see you.

since this is outdated, u can decide when in machi's timeline makes sense for this gift to get there! <3

"and i you, machiavelli, even if we are meeting like this." he regretted no situation of theirs; even now he found the opalsheen gaze which sparkled knives between he and the fellahin now.

in answer he stepped back and dipped his head, paws stinging gratefully with the work he had done. "i will make a salve for you. i can make no guarantees, but it — please accept this." the scars of flesh might be well-mended; he knew he could not do anything for the spirit, and this burned him.

in cowardice, in acceptance, in respect, in unsurety, senmut offered a lower bow than he should have, and on the exhale of a breath, he turned away and padded up through the cells.

true to his word, though on a timeline which had its maneuvers — one odd day, a round bundle would find its way to machiavelli's quarters: to unwrap wet leaves dried in shrinking exposed the soft inner bark of willow, all crumbling away to expose a bleached-white skullpan of a raccooon.

it would hold a neat catch of softly viscous sap mingled with the oils of oak to make it more pliant. bound with aloe, the salve was meant to lighten the marks and nurture the torn skin.

for some time he would not see machiavelli again. senmut wished their next meeting to be lighter.

Sounds good! <3 Thank you for the thread! I completely misunderstood so I am glad I did not close it lmaoo

It was a great comfort that the prince returned the sentiment, and it was cast from the dog's mind at once that Senmut might have had anything to do with his imprisonment. Legend, however, remained a dreadful, stomach-churning possibility. The doubt was by far the worst part.

Thank you, Machi replied, returning his low bow with one equally low—giving relief to a body that was more exhausted than previously thought imaginable. And then the prince was gone just as suddenly as he had arrived, and in turn so was the man. The beast was whisked back into darkness and the solace of sleep.