Luneshale Pass Fingers Tearing Through the Ground

For @Legend other tags for ref! <3

Backdated to before this thread. Around the 8th/9th

A message had been left with @Safiya, intended for either the Hebsut, or her father.

Hello, darling,

There has been a rather unfortunate hiccup regarding one of the essential plants required for the you-know-what involving you-know-who.

Fortunately, I happen to know of a place where it grows abundantly—Luneshale.

By the rise of the sun, I fully expect you’ll find me safely nestled in my bedfurs. However, in the unlikely event that I am not, please panic and assume the worst.

Much love,
Machiavelli

---

Beneath a sky laden with twinkling stars, Machiavelli slunk through the winding foliage, pearl-pink nails click, click, clicking against the pale sandstone, each step a soft rhythm against the hum of night insects and fluttering bats. The diamond-sparkling earth shone beneath him, reflecting the moonlight in a dazzling array of shimmer.

The devil's opal eyes swept across the landscape, their pale brilliance catching and amplifying the light until they gleamed like twin beacons in the dark.

The last time he had ventured here, a chance encounter with the farm boy Rooke had brought a fleeting moment of amusement. Tonight, however, he mightn't be so lucky.

Clamped between his jaws, he carried a long, slender stick, ground at one end to a wicked point. The tip gleamed faintly in the moonlight, slick as though recently wet. The other end was wrapped tightly in layers of pelt, carefully bound to prevent his mouth from coming into direct contact with the wood.

He slithered through the great, twisting arms of the cacti, their spines glittering like needles, and wove between sprawling beds of agave, pausing now and then to take suitable cuttings. When at last he found the plant he had come for, his gaze narrowed in satisfaction. Yes, this one would suffice.

Placing the stick down within easy reach, he crouched low, inspecting the plant with a practiced eye. His deft paws worked with precision, measuring the perfect length to make his cuts for propagation. Hope stirred in his chest—perhaps this batch would thrive where the last had failed.

It wasn't even like home.
Wasn't even like places not like home.
Wasn't familiarly unfamiliar. Not familiar at all. It wasn't even an enjoyable place, and her eyes riddled disgust when walking across the many rocky bits of shale on stilts, each paw lifting to flick off the muck that was hard ground. Moonlight didn't even love her right now. Shrouded in darkness for many moments, and trying to follow the stupid scent of a lone fellahin.
Hating every moment of this place and still marching through.

He was more of a tolerated criminal residence than a slave, but Legend wouldn't nip those words into existence, not when there wasn't need and it wasn't convenient to say. Wasn't need now, but as the days had scorched through the woman's mind, the man's sly smiles and sugary-sweet remarks started to really get on her nerves.

Maybe it was just missing the man, though.
Angry, even, that it seemed there were times that Machiavelli's scent could seem so strong right as an arrival was made. Avoiding her! After that room had been empty for so long and picking up dust in the manner of undisturbed bedsides and a lack of scent. Nothing up to par for Machi's standards. Oh, but that was because Machi had left and upon return, wouldn't even tell her where he had gone. He didn't have to, but it seemed it wasn't even a thought. Of course it was Legend who was left out of it! Of course it was Legend who didn't get told! Of course it was Legend who was avoided like a walking plague! And for what? Being busy? Bored? A lack of sex?

And all that anger stayed stirring in the steam of the woman's mind, and when those pretty white hairs of the man's sunken head finally came into sight, everything felt like it deflated. Legend's ears did like flopping rabbits. Behind a tall cactus, squinting as if she couldn't see him right no matter how much distance could ever be closed.

Demon to devil now.

Voice scratching as it broke through the still air, as if she had not spoken in a very, very long time.

Confused and lost.

"Machi?"

The dog's muddied ears twitched, sensing the soft footfalls before his mind fully registered their approach. His jaws clenched around the stick, lips curling into a snarl as he spun to meet the intruder, kicking up a cloud of dust that billowed in the air around him. Opalescent eyes narrowed, struggling to pierce the swirling haze. The fur along his ruff bristled, every instinct on high alert—until he saw her.

Legend? His voice cracked, barely a whisper, as the stick slipped from his grasp and clattered against the earth.

Without thinking, he rushed forward. Relief and disbelief crashed through him in waves. She was here. And gods above all he wanted was to gather her in his arms, to feel her solid and real against him. His heart raced, and for a fleeting moment, he believed he could close the distance and never let go.

But he stopped.

He had been imprisoned for attacking her.
She had not come to see him once in those many long months while he rotted in that cell—she hadn't even sent word for him.
His room, destroyed upon his release.

His momentum faltered, paws stumbling as he took a hesitant step back. His ears drooped, mirroring the jackdaw's own as doubt wormed its way through him. Was he allowed to embrace her anymore? Was his presence wanted?




Did she hate him?

Venom poured out his mouth from a sizzling throat. A snarl that hit the air like a whip and cracked the ears.

A cloud of dark dust ran off into the wind behind his tall figure.

And next he ran for her and her entire body shut down. Cowering, neck twisting to not dare look for a moment, legs curling into a terrible collapse. Eyes, coming to a shut until the beating sound of running came to an eerie stop.

When she opened her eyes and he was not towering her figure with foaming teeth and blood red eyes, was it wrong to have wished for an embrace from someone?

To understand how that felt?

Even if maybe they did not know each other well at all.
Machiavelli did not know what she had done.

He backed away from her. Maybe second guessing, or maybe it was never the intention at all, and because she was breathing and not yet dead and decomposing, intention no longer mattered to the demon. Never did at all. Only answers now.

And suddenly those big doe eyes caught Machi's and became a child's gaze that had been buried away. Scrambling on legs that felt all too big for her now, and then leaning forward-- the raspiness of a shrill voice breaking through in wounded cracks, "What did I do?" And,

"Why did you leave me?"

And why did she speak towards more ears than his?

She flinched, and the dog's stomach felt as though it had plummeted into the eigth circle of hell.

If it weren’t for the dark whispers curling around his mind, Machi might have realized that he often flinched too—when others moved suddenly, too quickly, even those he trusted. Even those he loved. But now, that realization slipped away, drowned beneath a suffocating tide of guilt and fear. His world shrank to a single, unbearable thought: he had frightened her. Herod's echoing laugh bounced between his ears—smug, mocking.

The dog's opalescent eyes flicked nervously, betraying the flood of emotions he worked so hard to keep buried. In one sharp glance, they darted over her face, silently begging for a sign, any sign, that he hadn’t turned into the very thing he feared. Machiavelli glanced down at his paws, and for a moment, the silvery sheen of something monstrous flickered across his vision. But when he blinked, the illusion was gone, leaving only dirt-streaked fur in its place.

His heart pounded in his chest, heavy and frantic, but outwardly, he forced himself into a mask of calm. He had always been good at that, hadn't he?

Slowly, carefully, Machi took a step back, ears pressed flat against his head, retreating as if distance might somehow erase the fear he’d caused. He lowered himself onto his haunches, making himself small. Not threatening. Not dangerous. Harmless.
Perhaps a monster nonetheless.

I would never hurt you, do you know that?
Could she still believe it?

Legend, Her name escaped him in a whisper, and he cursed how frail his voice sounded. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t get too close, that he wouldn’t let his heart twist itself into knots of confusion and hurt. And yet, here he was, voice shaking, emotions spilling out no matter how hard he fought to hold them back.

Legend... I was imprisoned. The confession tumbled from him, unplanned, the dam inside him crumbling faster than he could stop it. I was imprisoned for attacking you. And then— His words choked off, silenced by months of unanswered questions. Why hadn’t she come? Why hadn’t she said anything?

When I was finally freed... His breath hitched. His throat burned with the weight of it. I found my room destroyed. You... you had destroyed my room.

I didn't leave you, darling, he murmured, barely more than a breath. His chest tightened as he searched her face, his heart thudding violently, searching for a glimmer of understanding. I wouldn't abandon you like that.

Monsters knew when they were monsters. They knew what they did. They knew the sins they committed and made filth of the world with. They knew their disgusting nature.
The thing about monsters was that they knew who they were, but never did anything to change.

Machiavelli was a monster the moment he began to lie.

"No!" The word cracked from her throat, ragged and desperate as she staggered back. Tumbling backwards, searching across every which way with wandering eyes that couldn't sit right on any given thing. The desert darted across the vision and cast an awful blur.

They shot back to Machiavelli with an ironclad fret. "No. No, you're lying!" Said like a bird trapped in a cage too tight. Beating, beating against the cage. Head shaking frivolously, no. Oh, he thought he could trick her. Thought that a knee would be bent and a cheek would turn, and that the soot of each lie wasn't burning both lungs. But she knew liars too well. It was easy to know one when you were one yourself.

"Nobody imprisoned you, over- over me!" Chin, pulling up to the fur of that dark neck to bury away in a hug. Visually climbing through each scenario, their probabilities, stammering when the most obvious answers came to light. "Who would? Nobody! Nobody, and," and who would do that? "That make no sense! Nobody tell me. I'd know!" Who cared to? There had been no charges to press because she didn't choose to! She did what she wanted to! Machi was made into a fellahin! She had her games! Games had been played and they were all done now! They were finished now. They were supposed to be done now.

Legend didn't like this game.

Mouth, open from gulps of air that rushed down and fled back out like a ghosts imprisoned howl.

"I. Enter your room, to- find you! And you, gone! You. Gone! And when finally can smell? You? You leave before I get there! Gone!" Voice breaking like a cracked bell, rattling from somewhere deep, feral.

Cowering away from no beastly man with large teeth and bloody hands, but the image of a world that didn’t line up with hers.

Hardening, bristling not from the hairs of her hackles, but the tone in her voice. One foot stomped forward and that mouth fired like a gunshot and hummed low in the ground.. "Oh, but I see." Machiavelli thought she was stupid. Oh, did he now? Well, he had something coming for him. "I see! You think I don't know that you're just trying to get away from me. Oh, but you won't fool me. Trying to- avoid me. You got done and trying to run away now. Trying to shake me off! You're leaving me! You think I- stupid!" Maybe she was. And pain scarred her face as it cringed away, staring Machiavelli down through every moment of it.
Legend's mistake was ever straying from the priest. At least she knew his ways.

"But I know!" Heart, racing across and legs trembling below her stomach. Eyes angered. Glossy.

"I know!"

And it was easier to believe something that had happened before than deal with something that hadn't.

Machiavelli held his ground as Legend’s cries tore through the air, a cascade of anger and wounded disbelief breaking like the tide against the cool mask he wore like a shield. Beneath the calm, however, a hollow ache stretched, a brittle crack widening in places he had hoped to keep whole. But he was practiced, so practiced at sealing those cracks before they could ever show.

Legend, he started, voice low, steady, meant to calm but sharpened with a note of unmistakable hurt. I know better than to take you for a fool. You're brilliant, incredibly so.

Her wild gaze seared into him, the Jackdaw's once-familiar eyes looking upon him as though he were a stranger, something horrifying. Machiavelli forced himself not to recoil, though the sight of her retreating from him gnawed at his insides, leaving the remnants raw and exposed. He remained seated, quiet, while her tongue lashed whip-like against his skin, biting deeper than he let on.

Do you truly believe I would make up such a tale? You believe me capable of cruelty so callous? His opalescent eyes softened, their pale depths catching the moonlight, reaching for some glimmer of understanding through the furious haze clouding her face. Tell me, then—why would I desire to avoid you? To harm you?

He exhaled softly, his gaze drifting downward as he chose his words with care, as though speaking to a wounded animal—one that might spook if he spoke too suddenly, each one carrying the weight of what he could not otherwise express. If you think me a liar, he continued, his voice hardening, then by all means, hold to that notion. His paw dragged across the tip of his tail where it curled at his feet, the faintest tremor betraying the strain in his voice. I was under the mistaken impression that we understood one another. That perhaps… our time together was something of value.

But I see now that that was the lie, he murmured, an edge of bitterness sharpening his tone. This is what you truly think of me. Very well, then.

He shook his head with a faint scoff, the sound barely louder than a breath. Turning from her, he straightened, standing tall, his frame casting a long shadow across the scintillating ground. I am going home, Legend, he stated, each syllable clipped and cool, but beneath the smoothness of his tone was an agony that he could not entirely mask. His tongue slipped over the pinprick scars haloing his pale muzzle. I suggest you ask Lady Eset why you were not informed.

"Yeah?" Brilliant? Her? Machiavelli didn't have to say it twice. "I know." How could she not? How could he not, even, to think that she was just some whore who couldn’t realize just what he meant, what he was doing—oh, but she knew! She knew! Machiavelli thought he could create a wild tale and spin it to the damsel just to walk out the door. Some filthy ruse on the tongue for an easy way out when the boredom kicked in a little too hard, and Legend knew all about that. All too well. How it felt when someone stopped performing hard enough and stopped giving enough energy to be different from the rest of the gray society they lived in. Boring, gray, dull walking figures with no life in them. None of them were fun enough to make you bleed a little bit more or keep your attention with a savory give and take.

Who was more brilliant than her as tears foamed at her eyes?

So, that was what it was then. There was nothing else it could be that was perceivable, realistic. Imprisoned. Imprisoned. Jailed. What was next on the list? Then the woman was trapped in the deepest pits of hell for the perceivable days that had been his prison sentence in the land of illusions.

Standing, assertive. "You. Bored."

And that was the end of it. The wobbling lip? Unacknowledged. Didn't feel it. Wasn't happening. If it was, it was no fault other than Machiavelli's for making her feel that way.

Liars would be liars.

Traitors would be traitors.

She wouldn't be the one to turn away when the man tried to lie his way out of being either of the two.

Maybe it was unvalued. Who needed the value in any relationship, regardless? And if there was value in what they had, if what they had was even something to be held, then it wouldn't have been up for debate in this very moment. There it was. There it went.

And there Machi went.

That was what she thought of him.

There Machi went.

There he went.

"ESET!" she hissed.

Was that Eset's plan? Who would've done anything but this? There was no one of power to truly imprison Machiavelli except Eset. It could not have been in Akashingo. It could not have been the Pharaoh. Could it have? Could it have?

And why did she buy it now when she hadn’t the entire time?

The man was tailed by the fire of her steps.

"No! NO. Home." He had a follower breathing down his neck. "You leave now? Where? Home? Where's home? Back to prison?" And what was she saying? She spit it out anyway.

Machi moved slowly, body stiff with tension he refused to reveal, each movement heavy. He bent to gather the fresh cuttings, one by one, arranging them with meticulous care, paws trembling ever so slightly as he tucked them into the pouch. His face betrayed nothing, the calm mask immovable, but his eyes—those opalescent eyes, usually bright and alive in the Jackdaw's presence—seemed dulled, drained entirely of their usual glitter.

Finally, he reached for the stick. His jaws clenched around it, the leather-wrapped end creaking in protest as he tightened his grip, biting down until he felt a faint, splintering give beneath his teeth. The sensation felt satisfying, if only for a second.

He needed to leave. Machiavelli, the coward, unable to face the situation.

He didn’t respond, made no attempt to untangle her words, not with his mouth full and certainly not with the bile and hurt simmering inside him. The man was a patient one, however, it did not arise from an endless well.

He might have left then, silently, with his ears pinned to his skull and eyes focused on some far away place, had she not trailed after him with nippy words from a nippy mouth. Her light steps barely touched the earth, yet each one seemed to scorch the ground between them.

She was distressed, that much was apparent—he could see it in the flicker of her eyes, hear it in the trembling edges of her voice—but any urge he might have had to soothe, to explain, had been thoroughly drowned beneath her biting accusations. If abandonment was the crime she wished to pin upon him, then perhaps it was a role he could fulfill.

What difference would it make if he abandoned her again?

sorry oml lol

Tick.

"Where are you going?"

Machiavelli's side was rubbed by that lanky figure, frantic. Back arching, maw leaning into that soft neck, firm enough to feel the rise and fall of breath and bear air run down his body. Not needed right now? Oh, he didn't love her enough right now? That was it? That was why? Not pretty enough to turn around for, that was it? Oh, why not? Why not at all? 

The devilspawns tail shivered as she could have purred around his frame. 

A soft voice reached out 

"Why do you leave so soon, Machi?"

Tick.

Whispering,

"Stay."

Tick.

And so what if she did not mean it?

Did anyone really?

Didn't matter! Stupid! Didn't matter! Stupid, stupid, stupid! Rattling against the sybarite, a weighted drowsiness overtaking. Feigning, even, the amount of emotion there and the lack there of.

So, she circled, and brushed more. Waiting as if they'd teak a break from their words to take a soft nap right there in the cold night.

Tick

Then desperately.

"Leaving?" Teary eyed, frowning. Nudging playfully. "Come on! Just playin'!" 

And just wouldn't stop nagging.

Soon dragging along like a sorrowful puppy trying to apologize, lip licking, tail tapping, and dragging feet. A weary, sad head that swayed back and forth with a shadow eating away at her frame. Sniffling, nuzzling. Feeling, oh, she could not stand feeling. Head rolling over top of his shoulder, and then looking with eyes searching for validation that he might give. Not leaving. Pulling away from touch, and just crawling. Bad. Bad. She had been bad. The imp grew quiet. Muttering, confused, cracking, asking after a period of silence: 

"Are you mad at me?"


"Did I do something wrong?" 

Divine fury. Mortal ache.

The half-breed recoiled at each touch, shrinking back from her as though she scalded him. His steps quickened, the distance growing between them, until his supplies fell with a dull thud, and a shaking paw extended—keeping her firmly at arm’s length.

Hard eyes fixed upon the Jackdaw, because ignorance did not suddenly relieve his own feelings of abandonment. Ignorance did not turn lovers into liars.

Her question hung in the air, unanswered, as he leveled his own.

When did you stop trusting me?

Had she ever trusted him in the first place?
Another thought.

Did you ever actually care, Legend?

Memories of that night so long ago.
A pain that had perhaps never been forgotten, only half-buried under ever shifting sands.

Or was I just a fleeting entertainment? A means to an end?

Tailing along like rain was pouring down on her slinking back. The distance between them grew so wide. Legend was insistent on getting closer, being closer, until a shivering lip met the back of his neck. Wide, soft eyes that turned to stone when Machiavelli shot around. An outstretched paw that extended to keep her back? The rat tried to swivel beyond it.

Nagging, swearing that Machiavelli was pulling punches and waiting to turn, and oh, she would get him to throw them. She would get him to throw them, she would. She would! He thought he could outsmart her? He thought she was stupid?

Still, no matter how hard she tried, there was space between them. So, she stopped trying. Head tilting, trying to go below the mans own to look up into those eyes of painted glass. Emotional one moment, and then the next? 

When did you stop trusting me?

A cold, neutral blink.

Did you ever actually care, Legend?

Like the gears just wouldn't keep moving and they were raking against her skull.

Or was I just a fleeting entertainment? A means to an end?

Turning, turning. Trying, failing. Or was that just another game of hers?
Legend didn't know.

Legend didn't know at all, and so, and so-

"I don't know."

It hurt. By the gods, it hurt, and he loathed it. A wound torn open, wide and raw. His brows knitted together as he fixed her in his gaze, shattered-glass eyes veiled with anguish. Anger. Hurt. Betrayal. A thousand other wounds he couldn’t begin to name.

You know, ever since that first night—since this... thing between us began—I often wondered how it would all end, A derisive snort followed, his lips twisting into a faint, bitter smile as he shook his head. I’d hoped for something different, truly. I counted the days, the hours, daring to believe perhaps—just perhaps—it might work out.

The half-breed's laughter came sharp and cold, breaking the quiet like glass shattering upon the red sands. But we both knew this wouldn't last forever, didn't we? Midnight always chimes.

His gaze flicked back to hers one final time. It lingered, stretched, burned as though he sought to commit her face to memory, and then he turned. The distance between them felt immeasurable even before his first pawstep carried him away.

Do not follow me, Legend.